Jules couldn’t help but look over her shoulder as she rode away from Armadale, Colin MacDonald’s arms loosely around her.
So much for Hugh ordering me to stay another day.
Colin’s hold was nothing like the laird’s.
Was she crazy to miss Hugh’s touch?
God. I’ve lost it for sure.
Hugh had run from her.
He hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye first. What a change from the guy who couldn’t stop touching her. Kissing her.
Jules had grown used to him—well as much as a person could in so short a time—taking what he wanted no matter what she’d said.
She’d liked his kisses, as much as she hated that idea floating around in her head.
He must still love Brenna. So much he couldn’t bear to look at me after talking about her.
Jules swallowed and tried not to fidget on the back of the big brown horse.
According to Mab, the girl had been dead almost eleven years.
He feels guilty for wanting me.
She harrumphed and squared her shoulders.
So what?
Jules didn’t want him to want her. Certainly didn’t want him.
So why does it bother you now?
Because knowing he lost his wife and child made him just a little bit less of a bastard, a voice whispered.
Who could be normal after that?
“Never mind,” Jules muttered.
It didn’t matter. Not really.
Not being able to deal with loss didn’t justify kidnapping. Or stolen kisses.
“My lady?” Colin’s deep voice made her jump and her eyes darted to his. “Are ye well?” Blue eyes, so different from his cousin’s, regarded her with concern.
Jules cleared her throat. “Yes. I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”
He smiled and inclined his head. Colin was handsome, but the curve of his lips didn’t make her stomach flutter or her heart patter like Hugh’s.
And she loved dark eyes. Always had.
Dammit.
Seriously. Stop. It.
She wasn’t lusting after a barbarian, no matter how hot he looked.
Or how good his kisses were.
Jules cringed. “H-h-how long until we get there?”
Stuttering? Really?
If Colin noticed, his voice and expression didn’t give it away. “No’ much longer, my lady. Over tha’ hill.” He pointed up ahead.
She could already see the castle looming, so it was a wonder he didn’t think her question was stupid, or snap at her for asking.
Hugh would’ve.
Jules rolled her eyes at herself for knowing her barbarian would’ve been a smartass about her nerves.
Knock it off, for reals, Juliette Ann McGowan.
Could one disown themselves?
She busied herself with memorizing the terrain, then screamed at herself for it. Like she needed to remember how to get back to Armadale. She’d come for Claire. Colin was taking her to Claire. Then they could go home.
The rest of the ride was silent, though not unpleasant. The closer they got to the MacLeod stronghold, the more Jules’ nerves danced in her stomach.
Claire. She was about to see her sister again.
“Halt!” The yell made her freeze in Colin’s arms.
Shaking started when the guard jumped in front of the horse, a big sword drawn. He was blond and huge.
“MacDonald,” he spat.
“Aye. Colin MacDonald. Cousin to the laird.”
The big guy on the ground didn’t look impressed. Two more MacLeods—both wearing kilts and brandishing swords—flanked him.
“What do ye wan’?” The dark-haired one on the right hollered.
Jules straightened and met the brown eyes of the fair-haired guard. “Claire is my sister. I’m here…to see her.”
Silence fell and the three guards stared.
The blond man slid forward, his face scrunched as he scrutinized. “Dismount,” he barked.
She shot a look over her shoulder at Colin.
When Hugh’s cousin nodded, Jules slid off the horse, accepting the helping hand of the blond guard to her biceps. He gripped, but didn’t hurt her.
“Ye’ve the look of her.”
Jules nodded. She’d been told that her whole life. “We’re only a few years apart.” Four to be exact, but he wouldn’t care even if she’d explained. “Can I see her, please?”
The blond man looked at Colin without answering. “Get off MacLeod lands, MacDonald.”
She shivered at his harsh voice.
“Doona’ harm the lass,” Colin barked.
“We doona’ harm lasses.” Another of the guards answered, eyes narrowed.
Colin snarled.
Harsh words were exchanged on both sides. As well as some posturing with swords and puffed chests.
Jesus. These guys are worse than a buncha cops.
It only took her a few moments to catch on to what the fuss was about. It was more than a dick-measuring contest. They were all referring to the debacle of Margaret MacLeod being sent home in disgrace—as well as burned—after a botched marriage to the MacDonald laird.
God, it was almost a hundred years ago—this time, anyway. Mab wasn’t kidding about anything being a war threat.
Jules shot forward when Colin drew his sword.
She waved her arms. “Boys! I just wanna see my sister. Colin, I’m fine with these guys. Go back to Armadale. Tell Hugh…” she cleared her throat. “Tell Hugh thank you and that I’m okay here. Thank you for bringing me.”
Silence fell and all four men outside the gates stared at her.
Finally—finally—Colin sheathed his sword and nodded. “I’ll tell the laird yer in safe hands.”
“Thank you,” Jules whispered.
The three MacLeod guards didn’t relax, nor did they open the gates, until after Colin was a speck on the horizon.
When Jules met the big blond guy’s eyes, he laughed.
She arched a brow. “What’s funny?”
“Yer strong, like yer sister. Like a MacLeod lass. Ye’ll fit ‘round here just fine.”
Jules smirked. “Good.”
Won’t be here long enough to matter.
“I’m Cormac, head of tha guards, and cousin ta the laird. These two are Braedon and Jamie, my brothers.”
She nodded, muttered polite greetings, and met the dark-haired guards, even though she was antsy. Jules shifted from foot to foot in the boots Mab had gotten her. The only part of her wardrobe that fit.
I want to see Claire. Now.
“Come, lass, I’ll take ye ta yer sister,” Cormac said, gesturing as the other two started to open the wide gates.
“You read my mind, dude.”
Keeping up with his long legs was a chore that kept Jules at a jog, but soon she was walking into a great hall bigger than the one at Armadale. A familiar blonde was near the largest hearth—one of three—with her back to them, rocking something in her arms. Even with her back facing Jules, she knew her sister. Claire was before her.
“My lady.” Cormac’s deep voice echoed.
Slowly Claire turned, a smile in place that faded when her eyes rested on Jules. “Jules?” The incredulity in her sister’s voice made Jules’ heart skip.
“Claire-bear,” she breathed. The childhood nickname slipped out and Jules crossed the distance between them, running.
Cormac said something, but Jules tuned him out. Maybe Claire thanked him. Soon, the big guy bowed and was gone.
The dark-haired baby on Claire’s hip took Jules’ attention—the something—her sister was rocking by the warm fire.
He was adorable, with curls at the back of his little head. Big blue eyes dominated his chubby-cheeked face, but Jules saw Claire all over him. His little nose, the shape of those big eyes. Even his lips looked like her sister’s.
Her heart plummeted to her stomach.
My baby sister has a kid.
“Jules. Jules. Jules.” Her name was a chant. “What? How? Are you really here?” Claire’s words fell out of her mouth on fast-forward.
Jules laughed; it was just like her sister. And damn good to hear.
She closed threw her arms around her shorter sister, but tried to be mindful of the baby.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Claire whispered into Jules’ shoulder.
She smiled as she got a whiff of clean baby. She reached out and stroked his downy hair. The little guy flashed a smile that Claire echoed when their eyes met.
“This is Lachlan,” Claire said, beaming now.
“He’s beautiful, little sister.” Jules stroked the baby’s arm. “I have a nephew. How old is he?”
“Eighteen months. We’re trying for number two.” Her sister’s cheeks were tinted pink and she pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead.
Jules’ heart started to thunder in her ears. “Claire, I came for you.”
Her sister frowned. “Came for me?”
“Yeah. To bring you home.”
Claire stared, green eyes that matched Jules’ own raking her face. “Didn’t you read my letter?”
“I did, but—”
Her sister shook her head, making her long blonde hair shift. Claire had always kept her locks on the long side, but it was more so than Jules had ever seen it. Down to her waist. And she was dressed right out of a period movie—in a long olive skirt, ivory puffy-sleeved tunic with a lighter green corset over it. The colors brought out her eyes. She looked gorgeous.
“There’s no but, Jules.”
“Claire—”
“Claire!” A deep booming voice took their collective attention. A huge guy with long dark hair crossed the great hall. He had a sword in his hand, and was only wearing a kilt. Sweat sheened all over his heavily muscled chest.
Damn, are there any normal-sized guys here?
The man on his heels was wearing pants, but was also missing a shirt. The sword at his waist was sheathed, though. He looked just like the guy in front of him.
Twins?
“Duncan!” Claire’s shout made her jump. “Duncan, my sister is here!”
“So Cormac said. But how, mò gradh?” the kilted one spoke, sheathing his huge sword.
Her sister’s husband kissed Claire and swept the toddler into his arms. The tiny boy giggled and clutched his dad, throwing small arms around his thick neck. Then her sister slid her arm around the guy’s waist and grinned.
Jules’ heart skipped a beat. Her sister glowed with love. She had a child with the man at her side. How was she going to get her to come home?
“Hello, I’m Alex, Laird of Clan MacLeod. Are ye all righ’, lass? Ye look pale.”
“I-I’m good.” She met concerned blue eyes and forced a smile. “Happy to be with my sister again.”
Alex smiled and squeezed her hand. “Welcome, lass. Yer family as much as Claire is.”
Jules took a breath—because she wanted to fall over—and nodded. “Thank you.” The guy was hot, but his eyes were kind.
“Our cousin said ye arrived with a MacDonald?” The name was a curse, and Claire’s husband scowled as he spoke.
“Yes, the laird, Hugh, found me on the beach.”
“Did he hurt ye?” This was a demand from Alex.
Jules squared her shoulders. “No.”
Duncan studied her. “Did tha’ coward wretch put his hands on ye?” His voice was low, full of menace.
She prickled. Wanted to defend Hugh for some reason.
Seriously?
He manhandled you. Kissed you. Touched you.
Kidnapped you.
You want to defend him?
There you go again, Stockholm-Syndrome-Girl.
“He-he-he didn’t hurt me.” Jules forced the words out and swallowed hard. Shifted in the borrowed boots.
Nice going. Stuttering? Again?
Now she had her sister’s keen interest. Claire stared, fair eyebrow arched. “Duncan, Alex, I’m going to take Jules up to the solar. We need to talk. Alone.”
Jules could have kissed her sister.
Claire stood tiptoed to press her lips to the kilted man’s mouth, and took their child back into her arms.
“I’ll have Mairi bring some food,” Alex said.
“I’m not hungry, but thank you,” Jules blurted.
“Verra well, if ye are, please let Claire know,” the laird said.
Jules nodded.
“Go back to the yard and your sparring. We’re fine here. I want to talk to my sister before the family descends.” Claire smiled.
The men headed out of the great hall.
Claire took Jules’ hand. “C’mon. Let’s go to the solar.”
“Solar?”
“It’s a sitting room with lotsa windows that hold the warmth. I spend a lot of time in there with Alana, Alex’s wife, and Janet, Duncan and Alex’s sister. My sisters now.”
Jules ignored how the comment had bite. Claire wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings; she was just stating a fact. Both women were her sisters-in-law. Her tone said she cared for them, too. “What, have you learned how to knit or some shit?” she teased instead. Claire—like her—had always been a tomboy.
“Yeah, there’s no TV here.” Her sister threw her a look that was half-amusement and half-annoyance. “It’s called needlework.”
She snorted. “Big difference.”
Claire flashed a grin. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
They climbed a wide staircase and went all the way down a long, dark corridor. Claire pushed open the room at the end of the hall, and light exploded, making Jules squint.
“See? The solar. Sunny. Warm. Comfy.” Her sister pointed to the various chairs and sofas. There was a fire lit in the wide hearth, the scent of peat moss filling the air.
Claire set the baby down on a piece of tartan on the floor not far from the hearth. It was a different pattern than the dark red of MacDonald. She assumed it was MacLeod, since it matched the kilted guards at the gate, as well as what her sister’s husband had been wearing.
Lachlan cooed and waved a wooden block around, babbling happily. There were several more in front of him, along with a stuffed doll. It was a boy, though, clad in a kilt with the same plaid he was sitting on.
Jules grabbed her sister’s arm as soon as the door was shut. “Claire, I want you to come back home with me. Back to the twenty-first century. Back to Texas. Bring your son and come with me.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“I would never take my son away from Duncan. Nor would I leave my husband.” Her sister’s green eyes flashed, and she propped her hands on her hips. “I haven’t seen you in almost three years, and I don’t want to argue with you.” Her words had a slightly Scottish edge, but Jules didn’t focus on that.
“Three years? I saw you last week.”
“Maybe in your time, but I’ve been here two and a half years, Jules.”
Your time.
The words rocked Jules to her soul. “Claire.” She rested her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “Think about Lachlan. Modern day meds, computers. Hell, even TV. He’ll never know any of that here.”
“I am thinking about him. How could being raised with technology be better than being with his father?”
Jules frowned. She didn’t have the balls to retort to that. They’d been raised without either parent, so she didn’t blame her sister for wanting her kid to have both.
Foster care sucked.
Her sister’s eyes were kind, not angry, when she met her gaze. “I made a choice. I chose Duncan and the past. My life is here. Duncan and Lachlan are my life.
She bit down until her teeth ached and her jaw creaked. “I can’t lose you, little sister.”
“I don’t want to lose you, either. But I’m happy here, Jules. I promise.”
“Without…everything you know?”
Claire laughed. “I do miss tampons.”
Jules swallowed a giggle. “But not antibiotics?”
Her sister scrunched up her nose, reminding Jules of when they were little. “An epidural woulda been nice.”
“I bet.” She snorted.
Claire took a chair and planted it next to her son. She motioned for Jules to join them. “You can always visit, you know. Magic is real and all that.”
Jules rolled her eyes, but could stop smiling when she sat on the tartan and Lachlan toddled over to her. “I have a feeling this is a one-time trip. Not a fan of the disorientation. Oh, and the naked part.” She took the baby’s hand when he reached for her.
Claire grinned down and patted her shoulder. “I bet Laird Hugh MacDonald liked that part.”
She stilled, avoiding her sister’s gaze as her neck burned.
“I thought so.”
“Thought so? What does that mean?” Jules bristled.
“Juliette Ann McGowan. You. Like. Him.”
Jules glared at her little sister. “He’s a freakin’ barbarian. Like a real one. I think not. Wait ‘til I tell you what he did to me. Kidnapped me. Carried me around like a sack of potatoes.” She bit her tongue on the kissing and touching—and sharing a bed. Claire would have a field day.
“You were pissed when the twins were talking crap about him. You shoulda seen the look on your face. I can still read you like a book, big sister.”
“Was not.”
Claire threw her head back and laughed. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“How seventeenth century of you,” she snapped, which made her sister fall into a fit of giggles.
Lachlan laughed too, and climbed onto her lap. Jules distracted herself with an armful of adorable baby, but she managed another glare for his mother.
“I think…” Claire’s chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, “that Shakespeare said that, so it’s more like sixteenth century.”
“Shut up.”
Her sister slipped off the chair, kneeling on the tartan and threw her arms around Jules. “God, I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Jules stroked her sister’s long hair, sighing against her.
Lachlan hugged them both with his little arms and they laughed when their eyes met.
“He likes you,” Claire said. She ran her hand through her son’s curls.
“Of course, I’m awesome. I’m gonna be his favorite aunt.”
Her sister smirked, but then her expression sobered. “I cried the day he was born. I thought you’d never see him. I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. I made Duncan feel like crap.” Claire’s green eyes went misty, and Jules kissed her cheek.
“Well I’ve seen him now, and he’s gorgeous.” Jules stroked her nephew’s dark curls and he smiled, patting her cheek and babbling. She grabbed his little hand and blew raspberries on his palm.
Lachlan giggled and clapped.
Claire grinned. “Thanks. I think so too, but I’m his mom, so I’m biased.”
“His dad isn’t so bad either.”
Her sister’s gaze held a wicked glint. “No, he’s not. He’s hot.”
Jules laughed. She refused to think about Hugh as he popped into her head. He was hot, too. “You’re really happy here, Claire?” she whispered, scrambling for anything but the MacDonald laird.
“Yes.” Her sister’s nod was earnest, but she flashed another grin. “Or, aye, I should say.”
She found herself smiling again. Claire was practically radiating happiness. Jules knew her sister too well to think any of it was for her benefit. She sighed and averted her gaze.
Going home without Claire didn’t sit right in her gut. Even if she could see with her own eyes how happy she was. “You found happily ever after,” she muttered.
“I did,” Claire whispered. “I really did. I love Duncan and Lachlan more than life itself. I love his family. You’ll meet them soon, I’m sure. Janet’s pregnant and about to pop, so she’s resting, but she’s fab. Her husband is Fae, but so’s Alana.”
“Like Bree.”
Claire stilled. “Bree?”
“The chick that helped me get here. Opened the…Faery Stones?”
Her sister nodded. “Yeah. The Faery Stones.” Claire’s eyes were narrowed and she cocked her head to one side.
“Something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Where’d you meet this chick?”
“I put an ad in the paper when you went missing. She saw your pic and answered it.”
“What?”
Jules’ instincts pricked and she sat straighter, letting Lachlan go when he pulled away. “Claire, what’s wrong?”
“Keep talking, Jules. What else happened?”
“She said she was from here. Like this century, and she knew you. She said she could help me get here because she needed to go home.”
Claire’s green eyes were like saucers. “Bree? You said her name was Bree?”
She nodded. “Yeah. When Hugh found me, I couldn’t find her; I looked.”
“What did she look like?”
“Why?”
Her chest rose and fell with a breath. “Just…tell me.”
Jules stared at Claire. Her sister was leaning into the edge of the chair’s seat, gnawing on her lower lip. “She was about your height. Shorter than me. Long dark hair. Brown eyes and darker complexion, like she was Hispanic or something. But she’s Irish. Said her grandma was Fae. I didn’t believe it until the bubble thing opened.”
Claire gasped. “Bridei.”
They both ignored Lachlan tugging on his mom’s sleeve.
“What?”
“Her real name is Bridei. She’s dark-skinned because she’s a gypsy. We thought she was dead.”