Not Without Juliet - By L.L. Muir Page 0,84

fact that his father was laird of the mighty Gordon clan.

Quinn pushed up off his knee and pulled Juliet aside so none could hear their conversation but the odd Muir witch or two that might be eavesdropping on his thoughts.

One of the sisters, likely Margot, laughed loudly and led her sister over to the well.

Quinn tasted metal, but it no longer frightened him, knowing the cause. He only wished it would go away before Juliet tasted it from his own lips. First, he had to explain why she couldn’t simply claim Percy Gordon as her own.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

“I’m not sending him back to that bastard,” she said. “And I’m not going to tell him that his beloved William wasted away in that dungeon. If he goes back, he’ll have to suffer that loss all over again. And they’re not going to believe who he is—they’ll probably burn him as a witch like they were going to do to you!”

“Juliet. Sweet. We’re going to have to send him back through the tunnel. When he gets to the other side, we’ll explain to him what’s happened, help him all we can before we’re on our way.”

She stepped back from him then, horrified. Slowly, her head began to shake.

“No,” she said. “He’s a child. You send him back through that tunnel, and he’ll be a child in a man’s body. And he’ll have to learn it all again, including what his father did to William. I won’t let you do it.”

He thought it best to hold his tongue for a bit. The village square was no place to discuss such things, even though anyone with the Muir name likely knew about the tunnel and its workings.

He turned to James.

“Would you mind rounding up the horses?”

James grinned and headed down the street.

“Quinn Ross!”

The gathering crowd parted and an ancient man made his way forward with an equally ancient walking stick that must have weighed thirty pounds. Patches of white hair covered less than half of the hundred-year ach time the stick lifted seemed a miracle. Each step he took seemed a victory over death itself.

“Quinn Ross,” he said again, with the strong voice of a much younger man. “This lad’s fate is out of yer hands and now into mine.”

Juliet was suddenly at Quinn’s side again, clutching his arm like he was her personal walking stick—or the stick she planned to use to beat back an old man if he was foolish enough to get in her way.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The old man looked her over, then stared into her eyes. His own glittered as if he were quickly reading over a document, and yet those cloudy orbs never moved. Quinn had to suppress the urge to push Juliet behind his back, for he knew she wouldn’t appreciate his protective instincts when her own instincts were demanding she protect Percy.

“I’m laird here,” said the ancient one. “And any who come through the tunnel must be weighed and measured.”

“Are you kidding me?” Juliet’s volume made it clear she’d misunderstood.

Quinn would have laughed at her, but he didn’t care for the idea of the old man making any sort of judgment concerning his woman, let alone young Percy. He glanced behind him and was pleased to see that Monty was up off his arse and ready to fight. The lad was tucked in behind him and Jillian. Monty gave Quinn a slight nod. Ewan stood at the ready with the old Muir sisters behind him, as if they belonged to Clan Ross and not in the midst of these mind-reading strangers.

When Quinn once again faced forward, the old man was watching him closely, his head tilted slightly to one side as if he were somehow weighing and measuring Quinn. Or maybe the heaviest rock in the old one’s head had shaken loose and rolled to one side.

“Our land. Our rules, Quinn Ross,” he said.

Quinn leaned forward. “Stand back, laird. We’ll be taking ours and going.”

Although he never noticed the movement, the clansmen had shuffled around to form a tight circle, shoulder to shoulder, in front of them. There was nothing threatening in their eyes, just as there is nothing threatening about the pawns on a chessboard. But there was no doubt, they’d been moved into position.

Quinn’s hand went to his sword, but the weapon would not release its sheath. One look at Monty and Ewan told him they suffered the same problem. The fact they’d tried