Not Without Juliet

chapter NINE



The pain is worse because I want to live.

The thought was already forming in his head before Quinn woke on the hard dirt ground. Again.

There was not so much as a moment’s confusion about where he was this time. His mind was alert—brought to attention by a hard, mean headache. That ache made it immediately clear that he yet lived. Either that, or hell was going to be a bit more hellish than he’d imagined.

He groaned if only to prove his ears worked. When he then heard the shuffling of feet, he supposed it was his blind babysitter going to alert the media that he was awake and ready for the next Gordon sibling to come have a go at him. Why not?

“Has no one ballocks enough to kill me thoroughly this time?” he complained, for even though he’d decided he wanted to live, the pain in his head was convincing him otherwise. What he wouldn’t give for some good old headache tablets and a bag of ice.

Someone shuffled in his direction and the darkness was pushed back a bit by the orange glow of single weak torch.

“Why nay, Laird Ross,” said a woman. “I haven’t ballocks at all. But I do mean to see ye dead. Unless...”

Quinn thought it only right that he sit up, though slowly, and show a bit of respect for anyone offering him but a dram of hope. He’d need something more promising to get him on his feet, however.

Etha Gordon stepped forward. A manservant stood beside her holding the light. The last face he’d seen, before losing consciousness at the gallows, had belonged to this lovely red-haired lass. Unfortunately, the backhand that had sent his abused head back into the darkness had also belonged to her. Either her brothers had taught her a thing or two about defending herself, or he was a soft, delicate man to have been laid low by such a soft, delicate lass. One more blow to the brain would be his last, no doubt. He was in no better shape than a prize fighter who’d lost one too many prizes. And he’d best start protecting himself or he didn’t deserve to survive.

Quinn knew two things: The Gordon had but one daughter, and Montgomery Ross had been about to marry the woman when his current wife, Jillian, materialized in the tomb and made such ghostly noises that everyone fled Castle Ross. All believed she’d been the ghost of Montgomery’s sister, Isobelle, come to protest the wedding. Obviously, Etha was not the forgive and forget type.

“Etha? Is that you?”

“My name is Betha, ye bastard. Ye were about to speak vows with me and ye failed to learn my name?” Her voice got louder as she went on. A sweet voice, turned a bit ugly at the end.

From what Quinn had heard, she was a quiet biddable lass. Or perhaps she had been, once. It was possible she’d been affected by Isobelle’s ghost arriving in time to ruin her wedding. The only thing Montgomery had done wrong was not to have learned her name. Quinn was certain both Monty and Ewan had told him it was Etha.

“Forgive me if I heard amiss, but did you say you’d see me dead unless? Unless what, Lady Betha?”

She stared at him for a moment, as if weighing the worth of his apology. She gave a nod, as if her mind was made up, then she offered a smile that made him shiver. He didn’t care much for the look in her pale eyes.

“Ye will lie with me, Montgomery Ross. I will at least have yer child, bastard or no.”

He was not about to explain that one night together had little chance of producing a child, not if keeping quiet meant he might be untied, conscious, and on the other side of those bars. The combination meant freedom.

“As you wish, my lady. Will you then see me free?”

“If ye please me, Ross. But only if ye please me.”

Was that her game? Was she only looking for a bit of pleasure, perhaps a taste of what she’d forfeited when she’d run from Castle Ross and a perfectly sound bridegroom? What might be wrong with the woman, other than her family’s manners, that kept her from finding another husband all this while?

Suddenly he was much more hopeful that Percy would come through for him. Pleasing Lady Betha sounded like a task he might not be man enough to accomplish. She was pretty enough. Beneath all her velvet and furs, she seemed petite, but in truth was probably an average size for the century. But lying with the daughter of the man who was supposedly his greatest enemy just didn’t seem like a wise move to make. If they were caught, he’d die on the spot, he was sure, and the idea of dying with a bare arse would make his martyrdom anything but noble.

He hoped his wife Libby was otherwise occupied in Heaven at the moment, and not looking down on his sorry state.

Since Percy showed no signs of coming to a quick decision, he felt it wise to try and buy the man some thinking time. But in order to do so, he would need food. His stomach had long since ceased to growl, turned outside-in as it was. He needed food, and water.

“Aye, my lady. I’d be happy to oblige you,” he said in his most seductive voice. She stepped closer, to be able to hear him. She lifted a pale hand to her face and he was certain she’d gotten a whiff of Skully, as he’d begun to think of the skeleton next door. “But I need my strength to do so, as you might understand. But mayhap a bit of sleep is all I need.”

“Boyd!”

At her call, a large man moved into the light.

“See to it this man has food—good food—then a bath. Tell no one. If my brothers ask what you are about, tell them to see me.”

“Aye, milady.” Boyd bowed before leading the woman away with his torch.

A moment later, Quinn was alone again, basking in the cheer of real hope—for food and a bath, at least. Hope for survival was close, but he didn’t dare reach for it. It might just disappear. And if he really thought he might live, he’d have to start thinking about what he was going to do with that life.

What in the world could he do? How could he tell Ewan that he’d had a change of heart and wanted to go home, to live the life he was meant to live instead of hiding in the past and mourning his wife in peace?

The image of the witch’s hole popped into his head. Of course he couldn’t go back. He had a role to play. A promise to keep. And if he went back, he’d be facing Jillian and her husband. He’d have to deal with his dreams of her.

That cursed dream! It made him want to live, then made the living unbearable.

God help him.