Not Without Juliet - By L.L. Muir Page 0,87

His hands slipped out of her reach.

“I beg pardon, nephew,” Monty said cheerfully, “but as Juliet’s brother of the law, she is mine until such time as I hand her to ye, aye? And I doona see a priest about.”

“In truth,” said Ewan as he squatted before the hearth poking at the flames of his fire, “James has gone to fetch Father McRae, just in case mind ye.”

Jillian started laughing. “Poor man! He’s going to think he’s marrying us again, Montgomery.”

Monty didn’t seem to hear because he and Quinn were locked in some kind of staring contest, like they were summing each other up. Was Monty daring Quinn to back out? Maybe run away before the priest showed up?

Jules felt the smile slip off her face when the word marrying finally registered. She heard a whimper and realized it had come from her own throat.

Quinn noticed her distress and pushed Monty out of the way to come to her. He hugged her to him, then ran his fingers along her hair.

“Don’t listen to them, lass,” he crooned. “We’ll marry when you’re ready and not before. I’ve more family who will want to be in attendance, aye?”

More family? The idea was shocking enough to get her mind off a rushed wedding.

What a difference a week made. No family, no ties. Now plenty of family with more waiting in the wings? It seemed like a pretty picture, but with one, unwanted face looming on the back row.

Gabby. The father figure. Smiling for the camera.

It was one tie she needed to sever before she’d be ready to tether herself to this family of Scots.

“We need to go, Quinn. I have to get back to New York in the next thirty-six hours, or I’ll have to hide for the rest of my life. None of you will be safe if Gabby comes looking for me. I have to make sure he gets put away.”

The color drained from Quinn’s face.

“You will be safe,” he demanded. It sounded a lot like the time Monty had shouted at Jillian that she would be fine, when she’d been crying beneath the tree.

“Here we are!” James led in a priest wearing a floor length robe. The man looked a little nervous, like he thought Satan might rear his head out of the giant mass of curls on James’ head.

“Face the wall, Father McRae, if ye please.” Monty’s voice boomed around the room.

The priest did as he was asked, like he was invited to face the wall on a regular basis. Then he fainted dead away.

Everyone looked at Monty because it had to have been his voice that scared the man.

Ewan laughed.

“Och, forgive me,” he said. “The man’s likely been planning the words to say o’er yer grave, and here ye are, orderin’ him about.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Standing in the tomb once more, just to the side of the hole and surrounded by all those who were supposedly traveling with her to the twenty-first century, Jules lowered the necklace onto her collarbone, just as Jillian had done a minute before.

Again, nothing happened.

The torchlight still rose through the hole. Ewan still gawked up from barrel below.

Jules huffed. “I don’t know why I need to do this. I wasn’t wearing the necklace when I came through the first time. Neither was James.”

She didn’t mean to sound cranky, but the six of them had been standing there for a while, and with five hands clamped on her arms, for fear she’d leave without them, she was feeling more than a little claustrophobic.

Quinn’s arm, wrapped securely around her waist, gave her a little squeeze. When she looked at him, he winked.

Percy was squished between them with one hand on Juliet’s arm and one wrapped around Quinn’s wrist. The poor kid was scared to death.

“Each time I’ve done it,” Jillian said, “it happened right when the silver was lowered onto my skin.”

“Perhaps there are too many people,” James suggested. “I can stay behind—”

“No,” Monty growled.

There was something going on there that Juliet didn’t know about.

Jillian perked up. “I know what it is! The Muirs. There were always Muir twins nearby.”

Everyone turned to stare at her. No one bothered to say it out loud, that there were Muir twins already inside. Jillian wrinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, we’re not old,” she said.

“By Muir standards, we’re far from old ourselves,” came the voice of one of the sisters. It was hard enough for Jules to tell them apart when she could see them. It was impossible to