Not Without Juliet

chapter TWENTY-TWO



"Juliet Ross, brace yerself," the redhead whispered in her ear.

She was seated on his horse, basically in his lap, while Quinn's body was strapped over the horse her supposed husband had brought along for her. The head and arms of her supposed lover hung down the side nearest them. She tried not to stare at the large bloodstain on the rough sack cloth in which they’d wrapped the body.

"Quinn's not dead," the man behind her said carefully.

"Just what is your name?” she blurted. “I can't keep thinking of you as Gabby's hitman."

He didn't answer, so she turned to look at his face. It was located a bit higher than expected, so she tipped her head back. His mouth was hanging open.

"Your name?"

"James, actually. Did you not hear what I said?"

She faced forward. "Yes. I know."

"You know?" Quinn’s words were muffled, but intelligible just the same. His carcass didn't move. The hands still hung limp.

"You're doing a fine job, Quinn. You still look dead." She knew if she was the one who had to play dead for miles and miles, she’d appreciate a little encouragement.

James gave a rude laugh. She decided to ignore him.

"How did you know?" came Quinn’s voice again.

"I’m not an idiot,” she said. “I figured it out while I was still in the dungeon."

"You did not," whispered James.

Jules shrugged. "You'd be amazed how much clearer things seem in the dark."

"Bull. Shite."

His breath on her ear made her shiver.

She shook her head and gave him a frown. “That tickles my ear.”

“What?” Quinn demanded. If he wasn’t careful, their distant escort might hear him.

"Hush,” she hissed.

When she realized James had been tormenting Quinn on purpose, she glared over her shoulder. James grinned back.

She rolled her eyes and spoke loud enough for Quinn to hear.

“It was something Martin, the blind guard, said. That you didn't sound like a monster to him. That made me consider what else you might be. And I remembered you’d never actually come out and said you were going to kill me or deliver me to Gabby.

“There were only two possibilities when you chased me into Castle Ross. Hitman or cop. If you were a British babysitter—I mean agent—then you wouldn't be beating my boyfriend to death. Then there was the small detail of you winking at me every chance you got.”

Quinn grunted.

James laughed. "Shut up, man. Twenty minutes and I'll let you sit." He then gave her a little squeeze around the middle. He was enjoying himself. For a few quiet minutes they were lulled by the clap of horses’ hooves on wet mud. Finally, Quinn’s voice interrupted again.

“Did she say boyfriend?”

James laughed. "She did."

Jules was mortified. The man was at least ten years older than her, and she’d called him her boyfriend.

Gah!

Somewhere, under all that burlap, he was probably rolling his eyes, wondering how he was ever going to get rid of her.

She'd plunged into a special kind of hell when she'd seen Quinn lying on the floor and for that second or two afterwards—until she’d convinced herself it was a hoax. She would have thrown herself across his body and started checking for vital signs if it hadn't been for the slow twitch of James' eye. Then, she was able to do a little method acting of her own. But had it been enough? Was someone suspecting, even now? Would Gordon send men after them?

Jules turned in the saddle. "Can't this horse go any faster?"

James gave her a little smile. "Oh, aye. But it will jostle our package to death in truth. We only need to get over that ridge. Just keep watching the ridge."

She realized his arm had inched up a bit from her waist. Then she felt his long fingers twitch. Maybe he was enjoying himself just a little too much.

"You can let go of me now. I promise this Wyoming girl can keep her butt in the saddle. And it's not like I'm going to run off, right?"

"Oh, right ye are. I beg pardon." He pulled his arm away.

He still sat too close, and she could feel his breath against the top of her head, but she was done complaining.

"James?"

"Aye?"

"Are you married?"

"Uh uh."

Quinn mumbled something she didn't understand, but James must have. He scooted his rump back behind the saddle, until their bodies were no longer touching.

***

As it turned out, they had to leave Quinn across the saddle for a lot longer than planned because at the top of the ridge, there were a dozen Gordons guarding the border. All of them watched James and her like they were suspected pick-pockets leaving a jewelry store. She could feel their stares while they headed down the other side of the ridge with their package in tow.

When the ground leveled out again, James finally turned off the road and into the woods. Remembering the wolf she’d faced, she didn’t know if it was time to relax, or time to worry harder.

“This is the straightest shot toward Ross lands. They would expect us to leave the road here,” he said.

As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she realized they were on a well-worn trail. A minute later, the hairs rose at the back of her head and on her forearms. They were no longer alone. She frantically looked around for a stick and discovered they weren’t surrounded by wolves, but by Highlanders all decked out in blue paint like they were headed for a Colt’s game. Then she remembered. War Paint.

Shit.

They didn’t have time for this. They needed to get Quinn off the horse and treat his wound, not defend themselves again.

She took a deep breath and prepared to pull out her best bravado, when James gave her a little squeeze. He’d scooted close again.

“Don’t move,” James said clearly, and she knew his warning was for Quinn too.

The biggest painted man urged his horse forward until he was in their faces. He held a heavy sword in one hand, reins in the other. He glanced from James to her and back again. His expression told her nothing.

“Hello again, ye ruddy bastard,” he said.

James laughed. “Ewan, is that you? Only my own grandda calls me that.”

“More like he’s the only one to say it to yer face.” Ewan suddenly grinned and his paint cracked around his lips. His beard looked like he’d cleaned the blue off his fingers with it.

To Jules, he looked beautiful. And only when her body relaxed did she realize how tightly she’d been wound. She nearly fell off the horse, shaming the state of Wyoming.

Ewan looked at the other horse. He had to know whose body it was.

“And where’s me cousin, then?” he asked anyway.

Quinn groaned.

Ewan nearly jumped off his horse. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

“He’s not dead,” James announced, like he should get credit for that.

“But I am bleeding,” Quinn mumbled.

James had promised that as he was tying Quinn’s body to the horse, he’d been sure to place pressure over the wound in his back, promised that pressure was the only thing they could do for him until they met up with Ewan. He’d also promised the hole wasn’t deep, but that didn’t keep Jules from worrying.

Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t passed out, hanging over a horse, all that blood going to his head.

Jules swung a leg over her horse’s head and jumped down, but when she ducked beneath its chin to get to Quinn, a big man was blocking her way. She tried to step around him, but he was already lifting Quinn’s body off the horse and onto his shoulder.

“Quinn!” It was pitiful, really, but she had to let him know she gave a damn that he was bleeding.

The big man turned to look at her and she tried to read his expression through the slashes of paint. He looked an awful lot like—

And he looked just as shocked as she was.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. She could feel herself blush, for all the things she’d fantasized about this man in spite of the fact he was technically her brother in law.

“Juliet, is it? We’ve come to bring ye safely home, lass. To the arms of yer family.”

And just like that, her insides started falling apart, like she was a human sized pastry that had just had all its filling sucked out. Pieces of her broke away like crust, including the words she’d intended to say to this man once she got up the courage to knock on his door, the words she’d laid out in her mind to make damn sure his wife suffered enough in five minutes to make them even. If they were going to be nice to her... If they were going to be nice to her, she was doomed. None of the mental weapons she’d prepared would be effective against nice.

She fought the urge to turn and run, not sure her legs would cooperate and damned sure she didn’t want to leave Quinn.

“Monty Ross,” came Quinn’s muffled voice. “Keep yer bloody arms to yerself. She’s mine.”

The big man put Quinn’s feet on the ground and steadied him, then began unwrapping him, carefully, frowning at the wide bloodstain as he pulled it away. Quinn grasped at the plaid at his waist when the unwrapping might have gone too far. Jules couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. His back was a bloody mess, but the hole looked small. And she was relieved to see he’d stopped bleeding for the moment.

“I’ve yet to touch her, Nephew.” Montgomery laughed. “And I can’t tell ye how pleased I am to find yer still alive.”

Quinn ignored him and turned to face her. The way his eyes crinkled, she figured he was pleased to find her so near. She gave him the same smile, but what pleased her was the fact that he’d claimed her.

Too bad it was only for the moment.

Leaving him behind was going to suck. If she was smart, she’d start preparing herself now. But she didn’t want to waste what time they had left.

Who was she kidding? It was already sucking. The reality that they would never see each other again, after she climbed back in that tomb, made her feel hot and sick on the inside. The cool air of shadows surrounded her. A few deep breaths of it helped.

When he reached for her, she stepped up to him quickly, ecstatic there were no longer any bars between them. And as he pulled her to his bare chest, her fingers started tingling. She couldn’t tell if that tingling was due to the fact her fingers were finally getting a little oxygen or if they were anticipating the touch of Quinn’s chest.

His breath caught.

She pushed him back to look at his face. He smiled and gave her a wink, but she could tell he was in a great deal of pain.

“You can hold me later,” she said and tried to step back.

He held her fast. “I believe I’ll hold you later as well,” he said, then bent down to kiss her. It was a glorious kiss with no bars pressing into their faces. “You promised,” he whispered. “‘Till the end, aye. ‘Tisn’t the end yet.”

He kissed her again and she heard the chuckle of more than one man, then the gasp of a woman.

“Montgomery! He’s bleeding!”

The woman’s voice sounded a little too familiar. Jules hadn’t considered that her twin would sound like her too.

Quinn looked down into her face. He was worried.

“Ready or not, aye?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but not because she was afraid. She was just so relieved he understood her so well.

“I’m a coward,” she whispered. “Who knew?”

Quinn laughed. “I suppose you could bash her on the head and try to fight your way out.”

She sighed. “Yeah, but that plan’s getting a little old.”

Quinn nodded. “Will you let me handle this?”

Jules smiled, grateful, and got a wink as a reward. He pushed her hair back behind her ears, straightened her coat, then pivoted so they both faced the woman waiting behind him.

Binoculars hadn’t done the woman justice. And she’d been right. Jillian Ross was a beauty—like a Photo-Shopped version of the chick Jules saw in the mirror each morning.

“Holy shit,” she said at the same time Jillian said, “Holy crap.”

No one laughed.

“Jilly?” Quinn gave the woman a little bow. “This is my... This is Juliet. She’s mine. I’m certain the pair of you will find the time to get to know one another, but just now, I need you to tend to my back, aye?”

Jillian’s pale face stared at her. It was like looking at a ghost. Jules was frozen in place.

“I’m bleeding, Jilly. Remember?” Quinn lowered his head to get the woman’s attention.

Jilly noticed him again, nodded, then hurried away to one of the horses. When she came back, she was carrying a first aid kit.

Jules suddenly felt...extra, like she’d been holding someone’s place in the world and now that someone was there to take it back. She was nothing more than a seat-filler, and the appropriate thing for her to do at the moment was to get the hell out of the picture.