break her sister’s heart. For all Jillian would ever know, their parents had simply died in a car wreck. She would never know they’d been on their way to check out another lead on their missing daughter and her lunatic grandmother.
They’d had plenty of chances to giggle like sisters since Daniel’s new bride, Annie, kept sneaking into the hall to lure Daniel away. They had giggled about Quinn, about Monty, and giggled a helluva lot about the comparisons between Quinn and Monty. When Daniel had swaggered back into the hall, they’d giggled about him too. It was like they’d been making up for all the years they’d had no one to laugh with.
And now Daniel’s sculpture—which he called The Green-Toed Fairy, even though it was Jillian’s boots she’d been wearing half the time—was finished. Ewan was forgiven. And there was nothing left in the fifteenth century left undone.
It was time to go home.
“All right then, get ye gone." Ewan turned to Monty. "I'll miss ye, cousin. Perhaps when ye're needin' some peace from all yer bairns, you'll come here. I'll keep a barrel below the hole. Always. And the next time ye come visit, I’ll tell ye all about yer grand funeral."
Monty shook his head. "No, my friend. Carry on as we'd already decided. The Ross lairds must keep their course, so everything stays right for the future. Guard our secrets. The clan is all."
"Aye, cousin. The clan is all." Ewan gave Monty a knock on the shoulder. "Up with yer sorry arse, then."
Monty hefted himself up into the hole where Jillian waited for him.
James gave Jules a wink, then followed Monty. "Oh, aye. Plenty of room still. Come on, Juliet."
She shook her head. "Quinn first. I'm not taking a chance on this elevator leaving before he can get in."
Quinn laughed and jumped on the barrel, then he looked over her shoulder in horror. Monty and James already had a hold of his arms and were lifting him up.
"Wait! Stop! Let go!" he shouted.
Jules didn’t know what terrifying creature might be behind her, but she lunged for the far side of the barrel where the Muirs and Ewan stood, sure the adrenaline shooting through her would help her fly. But hands grabbed her from behind. She struggled until she saw the flash of a blade, then felt it pressed against her throat. She'd felt such an edge before, when she'd awakened in Debra's bed.
Back on the barrel, Quinn held out his hands. "Percy! Percy, don't hurt her. You can have whatever you want. Just don't hurt my lass."
"Just what a man likes to hear," the young man snarled in her ear. "In truth, I've come to tell ye I've made me decision. I've decided to believe ye, that ye are able to change history. When the big red bastard turned aside to stab yer heart, so no one could see how deep the blade went, I kenned ye’d cheated death yet again. It’s a charmed life ye live, aye?"
"History is written by the folks that write it,” Quinn said. “I can write whatever history you wish. Is it your ambition to replace yer father, then? Or make certain the Gordon clan will be ruled by your children? Whatever you wish. Just let her go."
Quinn had slowly lowered his body until he was squatting on the top of the barrel. He started to lower a leg to the ground, but pulled it back when Percy hissed.
The knife bit into her skin but she didn’t dare make a sound, afraid Quinn might attack to save her, afraid Percy might feel threatened enough to start slicing and dicing. Besides, with his injuries, Quinn might not be able to move as quickly as he’d expected to, just as she hadn’t been able to get to the other side of the barrel as fast as she thought she could.
"I'm no’ daft, Quinn Ross,” said Percy. “I'll not take yer promise and let ye flee. Besides, it's no' the future I wish to change, but the past."
Quinn frowned. "I canna change the past, Percy. What's done is done."
The man behind her grunted, maybe even sobbed. Jules almost felt sorry for him. She reached up and laid a hand on his elbow. He jerked away from her touch, but luckily, not with the hand holding the knife.
He stiffened.
She thought she was screwed.
"I don't believe ye,” he spat. “If ye can change the future, ye can change the past. And for yer sake, ye'd best think of a