Life seventeenth century style started early and Jules yawned her way through breakfast and mourned the no-coffee thing.
She should be used to it, since it was the third morning she’d woken up at Dunvegan, but not so much.
Duncan had offered her mead, but she certainly wasn’t going to drink an alcoholic beverage before noon. The warm milk option was out, too. She hadn’t had a glass of milk since she was a kid. And besides, it was goat’s milk. Just…ew.
“Awfully picky, big sister, arencha?” Claire winked and sipped water—the only option Jules thought about going for.
“Scots eat weird stuff in the morning. Even in the future.”
Her sister laughed when all the males at the table grumbled.
Jules pretended to not notice and reached for a warm roll—the only offering that looked appealing.
Claire handed her a small pot of honey and she muttered thanks as she poured some on. The bread was moist and warm; the honey sweet on her tongue. Jules sighed and closed her eyes. She fidgeted in the stupid corset that was stealing her breath. Day three wasn’t working for her attire, either.
“You don’t want your boobs on your stomach, do you? No bra, get used to it,” Claire had said the first morning, when she’d popped into her guestroom with clothes.
The corset was tight and did the job of supporting her breasts, but damn. It was uncomfortable. And way too girly. All feminine curves and the fabric had a sheen even though it was black. Every night when she’d taken it off her torso had ached, no matter how long she’d lingered in a hot bath.
The shirt Claire had given her—she’d called it a leine—was ivory and had puffy sleeves, but Jules didn’t mind that. The neckline was low cut and didn’t constrict.
She’d refused a skirt and Claire had rolled her eyes, but had given her a pair of pants that actually fit—unlike the ones Mab had found. They were dark brown brushed leather, and as comfy as a pair of pj’s. She didn’t mind wearing them for the third day in a row.
The boots were the best part of her outfit. Deerskin, with fluffy insides and white rabbit fur at the top. They fit perfectly, and even though her sister hadn’t said, Jules suspected they belonged to Janet. The woman matched Jules in height and build—minus the pregnant part, of course.
Movement to her right drew her attention, and Jules’ gaze collided with Janet’s sapphire one—as if the woman had known Jules was thinking of her.
Janet smiled and reclined in her chair, rubbing her distended tummy.
Xander leaned over, kissing his wife’s cheek. “Are you well, mò aingeal?”
“I am.” The smile for her husband was brilliant and they gazed at each other as if there was no else at the table—or in the world.
Jules tried not to stare, or admit she was jealous. Not of Janet for Xander or anything, but because she didn’t have a guy to look at her like that.
Geeze, get over yourself. Since when are you a sappy chick?
She definitely ignored the memory of the very vivid—erotic—dreams she’d had every stupid night she’d been there, starring a certain barbarian and a whole lotta naked.
Xander placed a wide palm on his wife’s stomach, a dreamy smily curving his lips.
“He’s kickin’ somethin’ fierce this mornin’.” Janet grinned.
“I hope he joins us soon,” Claire said, biting into an apple.
“Me too!” Angus grinned. “I want to meet him.”
“I hope you all will be jus’ as happy, if he is a she,” Janet said.
Xander chuckled and whispered something in his wife’s ear that made her blush and beam.
“’Tis a lad,” Angus said.
No one contradicted the boy, and Jules bit back the urge to ask if he knew from some sort of magic.
Conversation and bantering continued until the men all tapered off to start their collective days. They’d discussed finding Bree for the hundredth time, and mentioned the party that had already left Dunvegan before dawn to continue the search.
Duncan said they’d be stopping to question the local clans that had active ports and ships, again. The same had yielded nothing the day before.
The trackers that’d stayed out that first night had come back empty-handed, no leads.
Three days later hasn’t changed nothin’.
Jules still didn’t get what the big deal was. Bree had said she wanted to go to Ireland. She hadn’t gotten the feel for anything other than the chick’s honest desire for home. As a cop, Jules was usually pretty good at reading people. If the Irish woman had had mal-intent, she’d masked it well.
Jules sat like some sad third wheel—or more like seventh—when Xander, Duncan, and Alex kissed their wives enthusiastically before leaving the table.
Hugh’s face wouldn’t stop haunting her, no matter how much it pissed her off.
“C’mon, Jules.” Claire tugged on her sleeve. “We got stuff to get done.”
A few hours later, Jules could’ve collapsed on her feet. Even though she’d seen it three times now, it was no less exhausting. Claire’s day-to-day was filled with household chores—even though the MacLeods had servants.
She’d helped her sister whack dust from two huge tapestries that normally hung in the great hall. Duncan and Alex had dragged them out to the courtyard and hung them so the women could work.
Jules had pictured Hugh’s face with every loud smack, so the outlet of aggression was pretty awesome, even though it wore her out.
Next, she’d helped spread rushes on the floor of the great hall—Claire said they did that once a week—and it’d taken five women to cover the vast space quickly.
She’d watched Claire and Alana consult with the women heading to the market to buy food for the household—there were a lot of mouths to feed.
Evidently, they always sent at least two guards with them, but because their best soldiers were out searching for Bree, two younger guys met them in the kitchen. They were probably late teens, but still tall, broad MacLeods. The younger of the two had bright red hair and blushed every time his blue eyes met Jules’ gaze.
Alana was the lady of the castle, since she was married to Alex, but Jules got the impression that she and Claire—and Janet for that matter—all ran the place together. It was eye-opening to see her sister in a take-charge position, and Jules’ admiration of her shot up more. Seventeenth century or not, her baby sister had found her niche.
“I need a break,” Jules confessed when she and Claire made their way back into the great hall.
Alana had forced Janet to rest, and fussed her upstairs about ten minutes before. The princess said the dark-haired beauty wouldn’t get into bed unless she had an escort, so she’d gone with her.
“That’s fine. I’m gonna run to check on Lach in the nursery. He and Lexi should be napping. Meet you in the solar?”
“Does that mean I can relax?”
“Sure, I’ll teach you how to embroider.” Claire’s lips rippled as if she was fighting a smile. “Or we can talk about the Laird MacDonald. Again.”
Jules smirked and chose to ignore her sister’s dig about the Hugh. “Well, you’re wearing a skirt and you did housework all morning—for the third morning in a row. I figure that rounds out your domestication quite nicely, lil’ sis.”
“Not that I’d ever admit to the likes of you.” Her sister winked when Jules laughed.
“You kinda just did.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Claire grinned.
“See ya in a bit.”
Her sister nodded, lifted her skirts, and jogged up the stairs.
Jules leaned back for a full body stretch, pushing her arms so wide her muscles protested. But she felt good. Even the mention of her barbarian hadn’t dampened her spirits. She and Claire had—unfortunately—discussed the man too many times over the last three days. Her sister had accused Jules of being obsessed with him.
Am. Not.
She’d never admitted to kissing him, but Claire’s green gaze was too knowing. Her sister saw right through her.
Dammit.
“Are ye well, lass?” A female voice asked.
“I am. Thanks for asking.” Jules crossed the distance to the wide hearth, returning Mairi’s smile.
“Verra glad ta see ye wit’ Lady Claire.”
She met a pair of kind brown eyes. “I’m glad to be here, too.” The truth of her statement hit when the words exited her mouth. Despite how she’d gotten to 1675, Jules wouldn’t trade the time with Claire and her new family for anything.
The older woman stirred the contents of a giant black kettle over the largest hearth. Jules didn’t ask what it was.
They spoke for a while, then she said a polite good bye and sprinted up the stairwell to join her sister in the solar. The room was bright and warm as usual, and Claire was alone inside.
Her sister leaned over a small table, pouring mead into three glasses. There was a plate of bread and cheese there also, and Jules stomach growled. All the hard work had made her hungry. She hadn’t seen her sister bring the food up, but she was glad it was there. She wouldn’t complain, even though she’d never been a fan of eating chunks of cheese.
“Where’s Alana?” Jules asked.
“With Janet still. Said she would come as soon as Janet falls asleep.”
“Ah, good. What about the kiddos?”
“Mairi said they’d just fallen asleep.” Claire smiled and looked up from her task, clay pitcher still in hand.
“Mairi?”
“Yeah, she was with the kids.”
“Do you have more than one Mairi?”
“No, why?”
“She couldn’t be with the kids, then.” Jules frowned.
Claire straightened. “What are you talking about?”
“I just saw her. I mean, I was having a conversation with her. She was still in the great hall when I came upstairs, stirring something in a big pot. I assumed she’d be a while. Sure looked to be in the middle of something.”
“What do you mean? She’s in the nursery, with Lexi and Lachlan.”
Jules cocked her head to one side as alarm crept up from her gut. “She can’t be in two places at once, little sister.”
Something’s wrong.
Claire dropped the pitcher. It shattered at their feet. Mead shot out all directions, but Jules didn’t pay attention to the scent of fermented honey filling the air.
Alex appeared in the doorway of the solar, a screaming red-faced baby girl in his arms. He was shirtless and covered in sweat, like he’d come in from the bailey. “Have ye seen Alana?” he asked, trying to comfort his daughter.
“No,” Jules said.
“Lachlan,” Claire breathed.
“What?” the laird asked.
Her sister rushed past Alex, who was having no luck at all with Lexi.
“The nursery, Alex. Were you just in the nursery?” Jules demanded.
“Nay. Came in from outside. Duncan and Xander did so as well. Why?”
“How did you get Lexi?”
“She blinked into my arms.”
Her heart plummeted to her stomach and Jules just knew. Claire had said her niece always found her dad when she was upset. Even the tiny kiddo knew. “Shit,” Jules spat.
Alex arched a dark eyebrow, but moved out of her way so she could rush after Claire. The laird came too, but his daughter’s cries didn’t quiet as they went.
Claire was crumpled by Lachlan’s empty crib, tears streaming down her cheeks. There was no one else in the nursery. “He’s gone.”
Jules ran to her sister, enfolding her into a hug.
Alex cursed savagely, already hollering for his brother, father and Xander.
Jules was glad they hadn’t gone out with any of the search parties. They’d all been sparring out in the bailey with the remaining men.
“Alex. Bridei took my son,” Claire wailed.
The laird didn’t contradict her.
Iain and Xander tore into the nursery, both looking confused.
Alana appeared next, and Lexi blinked from her father to her mother.
Seeing the magic again and knowing what it was didn’t make Jules feel any better. Tremors chased each other down her spine and she held her sister against her, rubbing Claire’s back.
Nothing she whispered comforted her sister.
How Claire was so sure the Irish woman was the reason her son was missing, Jules couldn’t bring herself to question aloud. Alex seemed to believe it without a doubt, too.
Jules hollered at herself to be a cop about all this, but she was too busy comforting her sister. That was her first priority. Finding her nephew would come next, very soon.
Duncan was last into the room, his expression demanding to know what was going on, though he didn’t speak yet.
Claire tugged away from Jules and rushed to her husband. “Bridei took our baby! Duncan, she took him!”
Duncan caught her up, plastering her to his broad chest. “How?” His angry demand made Lexi cry louder, despite the fact Alana now held her daughter.
“Magic,” Jules breathed.
Xander nodded, brandishing a fist. “I agree, lass. It’s all over the room.”
“A masking spell.” Alana frowned, rocking Lexi with more vigor.
“Is that how Claire thought she saw—and talked to—Mairi?” Jules asked.
“Aye, that would do it,” Xander said.
Claire whimpered.
Duncan squeezed her in a tighter embrace, but Claire hadn’t stopped crying any more than her niece.
Can Lexi feel the magic, too?
Angus spilled into the nursery. “Mother, Father! I had a vision.”
All the adults froze.
The baby girl disappeared again, only to pop into her brother’s arms. Damn good thing the kid looked ready for her. He held her in his arms, rocking her like their mother had.
Lexi stopped crying.
“Angus-lad, tell us,” Xander urged.
“The halfling lass—she’s runnin’ on tha beach wit’ my cousin.”
“Rally the men. Mount up, now!” Alex barked.
“She’s taking him into the Fae Realm,” Alana breathed. She had her palm on her son’s forearm.
She didn’t say so, but Jules got the impression she could see—and feel—what the kid had.
“But why?” Claire wailed.
“My brethren killed her lover. They’ll kill Lachlan, too. Bairn or not, he’s human. They will sense him immediately.” Xander said.
“No!” Her sister’s scream was even more anguished.
Jules’ heart thundered as she reached for police professionalism, trying to forget that the child missing was her nephew. Or that Xander had said the little guy’s life was in danger. “I hate that eye-for-an-eye shit. Let’s get this bitch.”
If anyone was offended by her language, they didn’t show it as they rushed from the room together.