My tears must have moved Katharine because she invited me to come to the house to meet the twins the following week.

  I got to know the girls. They came to love my visits. I got to know my daughter again. Still, she had that Katharine Hepburn strength, and I was glad. There was a good chance she was going to need it.

  It turns my stomach to write the rest, but I cannot leave the tale untold.

  There was something about those little girls that gave me hope. I began believing that I could change things, that the scene played out at Castle Ross could be altered. And if that could be altered, maybe Wickham’s fate could be altered too. I couldn’t deny the hope that perhaps I might cause a ripple that might bring Wickham back.

  It was purely wishful thinking, of course. I was never going to see him again. But I would make sure this tiny, beautiful child was never tricked into climbing into a tomb by a couple of Scots.

  I stayed close to the family. I tried to teach the little girls Gaelic, and I planted some little seeds. When no one was around, I warned them to stay away from a scary place called Scotland. One day, Katharine asked me what I’d been telling the girls about the country. Someone had had a nightmare. I laughed it off, blamed it on a fairytale. But Katharine began watching me.

  And I backed off. For the time being.

  Then I watched. I waited. And I felt like the monster under the bed, waiting to be left alone with the child. I had warned Katharine that if she mixed her blood with a Ross’s something horrible would happen. I just hadn’t realized at the time that I was that something horrible.

  Katharine and Joseph took a short trip to Washington D.C. and left the girls with a nanny. Two little three-year-olds are an exhausting experience, so the nanny was thrilled when Grandma showed up and offered to take the girls to the park.

  It was the worst day of my life, next to losing Wickham. It was the worst day in many lives.

  I fully intended to drive away with both girls. Separating twins that looked so much alike, who obviously loved each other as much as three-year-olds can, would have been a crime on top of a crime. But at the last minute, I couldn’t do that to Katharine. I took Juliet back inside, took her to the bathroom, and told the nanny she was a little ill. The child cried. I forced myself not to hear it, and I left with Jillian.

  I will not go through the torture of relating those times. I cannot bear to think about them, let alone write them down, but I will say that I did everything in my power to make Jillian happy. I was able to convince her, in time, that her name was Jillian Rose MacKay, not Jillian Ross. It was prettier, I told her, and a bunch of little pink roses convinced her. I told her I wasn’t Grandma Muir anymore. I was Grandma MacKay. It was prettier. Her young mind accepted that too.

  We went on an adventure and moved to a farm in the middle of Nowhere, Wyoming. I bought her a pony. I found friends for her. I helped her replace memories of her parents and her sister with memories of her friends and her toys.

  And eventually she forgot.

  I taught her Gaelic. I kept the news turned off. I kept newspapers from our doorstep. In the year before I took her, I’d sold everything of my father’s vast holdings and bought back the oil wells under a different name. When Jillian went to stay with friends, I’d check on Juliet. She seemed to have gotten over the tragedy well enough too.

  Sometimes I rebelled against the monster inside. I would put Jillian in the car and head to Denver, intending to give her back. But my tantrums wouldn’t last long and I always turned around again. After all, I was protecting Jillian. I couldn’t let anything happen to her.

  She was nearly ten when Katharine and her husband died in a car accident. Juliet, thankfully, had not been with them. I was heartbroken for a long time. I’d told Jillian, long before, that her parents had died just that way. I wondered if the Muirs were somehow serving me justice.

  Eventually, I pulled myself together and went looking for Juliet. But she’d already been adopted by the Bells, the family of one of her friends. From a distance, she looked too happy to disturb. If I put her back with her sister, they were old enough to put their heads together and figure out that I was the enemy. I decided to let them find each other later, after they weren’t children anymore. After Jillian was out of danger. Though I was the last one who knew the difference between kind and unkind, I thought it was the most compassionate thing I could do for them.

  And so we went on as we’d begun. Lonely, but together. I felt like Jillian sensed something significant missing from her life, but had no idea it was a twin sister. And I wondered if Juliet felt the same. If Wickham were around, I could have asked him if that was how it went with siblings, or just with twins.

  And then, in the most poetic twist of all, I was diagnosed with cancer. A vicious cancer that mirrored my soul, no less.

  To this day, dear, sweet Jillian takes care of me, which I do not deserve. I think she must have inherited her kindness from Wickham—a characteristic that might be attached to the genes for dark hair and bright green eyes.

  I have written my story here, knowing I am dying in my sins, but feeling the need to explain myself a little. There is no justice for me, no forgiveness, for I refused to give that gift to anyone else.

  I have ruined lives. I am sorry. But for my Jillian, I would do anything. And Juliet, how I imagined every day of your life, seeing you through your sister, watching her grow, wishing I could watch you as well. I would have loved to have known you.

  But enough of that twaddle.

  The attorneys have my will. I leave the money to Jillian and this journal to Juliet and hope you find each other and share it all. Jillian is a good girl. She’ll have no problem sharing all that money.

  I have promised Jillian millions if she will just, please, stay out of Scotland. If you find her, Juliet, do what you can to convince her. She already looks much like she did in my memory. I fear the time is coming, but God will not allow me to stick around to stop it. I can only pray I’ve done enough.

  Juliet. Jillian. I don’t ask you to forgive me, but I urge you to be compassionate to everyone else in your life. I’m about to put this journal into the hands of my lawyer and still I cannot forgive Walter. I could pretend, but God knows me too well.

  I hope to see my brother-in-law roasting in the fires of Hell, even if I have to be standing there beside him, holding his hand.

  Jules pointed to the page. “This last entry is signed, Your wicked grandmother, Ivy.”

  Jillian didn’t feel well and figured it was a combination of pizza, chocolate, and what her grandmother had done. She wrapped her arms around her large belly, wanting to protect her unborn twins from the kind of well-intentioned interference she’d just listened to.

  Jules looked at her belly too, then up at her face. “We won’t let anything happen to them, Jillybean. I promise.”

  She smiled and tried not to think about what problems might face her little boys. But at least there were plenty of family around to help deal with whatever trouble they got into.

  “Jillian!” Monty pounded on the door. “It’s time to let us in, lass.”

  Jules got up and went to the door. Monty blew in like a storm, swept around the end of the couch and pulled Jillian into his arms as delicately as speed would allow. “Nothing like that will ever happen to our children, Jillian. I vow it.”

  She hummed against his chest. “You were listening.”

  “Aye, we both were,” said Quinn. “The question is, can ye forgive her?”

  Monty turned, still holding tight, and allowed her to see Quinn and Jules locked in a similar embrace.

  Jillian smiled. “I think I understand her well enough now to forgive. After all, if she hadn’t interfered I may have never come to Scotland at all. How could I wish any of you out of my life?”

  Jules shook her head. “No complaints here. At least, not when I consider how it all ended. I can forgive her. I certainly pity her.” She smiled at Jillian. “Besides, she showed us what can happen to someone who can’t forgive.”

  Jules? It’s going to take me a while to digest it all, I think. But they don’t need another thing to worry about.

  Agreed. Poor guys. Forgiveness is an easy enough word to say. Doing it will take time.

  “Weel, now,” Monty said, “seein’ as ye’re in such a fine, forgivin’ mood, Quinn and I have made a decision, and we’ll hear no arguments about it.”

  Jillian pushed away from his chest so she could look into her husband’s eyes. He didn’t make such proclamations lightly, but when he did, she knew he wouldn’t budge.

  “All right. Let’s hear it.”

  Monty looked at Quinn like he needed a little encouragement. The other Highlander gave him a nod, and he turned back to face her. “The Muir sisters must go. Before the babes are born, they must go.”

  The doorbells chimed.

  Monty released Jillian and stepped back from her before exhaling in a roar. “That will be them, no doubt. Speak of the devils and they’ll appear, aye?” Jillian walked around him intending to answer her door, but he held up his hand. “I shall handle this.”

  Quinn made his way over to the large fireplace and bent in front of it.

  “What are you doing? It’s a warm day.” Jules came up behind him and gave him a nudge.

  “I’m starting a fire so you can burn that book.”

  Jillian gasped, as did Jules and their two great aunts standing in the doorway. A frustrated Montgomery stood behind them. Apparently, he’d had no more success handling the sisters than he usually did.

  Jules thumped Quinn on the shoulder. “Don’t waste a match. We’re not burning it.” She lifted the journal off the couch and held it out to Loretta and Lorraine. “You’re going to want to read this, I’m sure.”

  “Ivy’s diary?”

  Jillian nodded. There was no use wondering. Her great aunts were notoriously canny.

  Lorraine took the book reverently. “This might be just the thing,” she said to Loretta.

  “Just the thing for what?” Monty hovered next to Jillian like a basketball player defending the key.

  “There might be some clue for finding Wickham,” Loretta said, taking the book from her sister’s hands.

  Jules gasped. “Finding Wickham? The Wickham who’s lost in the tunnel?”

  Lorraine grinned and shook her head. “Not anymore.”

  Loretta’s head shook too. “The tunnel is empty. Our brother has escaped.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I don’t care for the word escaped,” Monty growled. “Do ye believe the man is mad? Dangerous?”

  The sisters gave him a dirty look. “Of course not.”

  Jules moved closer. “So how do you know he’s gone?”

  The sisters grimaced.

  “What have you done?” Jillian demanded. “Come on. Tell us.”

  Monty looked a little sick and gave her a look that said clearly, you see why they must go? She ignored him and turned a stern look on Loretta.

  The old woman shrugged. “We just felt the need to take a walk around the block, is all.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Jillian turned the same look on Lorraine.

  She shared a shrug with her sister, then nodded. “We were going through some odds and ends at the old family house in Muirsglen—a cousin’s grandson lives there now—and we found some notes…”

  “We’ve found a way to use the tunnel,” Loretta said. “In spite of having Muir blood, it can remove the years without removing any memories.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jules said on everyone’s behalf.

  “The tunnel adds years, or takes them away, depending on the direction you walk. But only if you’re not a Muir. We found a way to—”

  “God’s teeth! They’re going to live forever, aren’t they?” Monty suddenly collapsed onto the couch and shook his head.

  Jillian still didn’t understand. She frowned and waited for him to explain.

  “Don’t you see, Jillian? They’ve found a way to make themselves younger!”

  The sisters gave Monty a big smile. “He’s got it.” Loretta gave his cheek a pinch. Monty flinched. Poor man. There really was nothing on Earth that frightened him, except for those sisters.

  “We’d only gone around the block once when we realized the tunnel was empty.”

  “Thought it was just our spell that made it so different. Then we realized we couldn’t feel Wickham anymore.”

  “I don’t wish to sound indelicate, ladies,” Quinn said. “But do you suppose he’s died?”

  “I believe,” Lorraine said, “we would have found his body.”

  Loretta sighed and sat down beside Monty, not noticing how he leaned away from her. “And I think we would know, in our bones. The problem is, we haven’t really been paying attention. He might have been gone for years and we didn’t know it. We’ve had other things on our minds when we’ve been in the tunnels lately.” She gave Monty a meaningful look.

  “You called it walking around the block?” Jules said.

  Lorraine wrinkled her nose, which actually appeared less wrinkled than normal. “We have to go in on the Muir side and come out at the castle. Then we’ve got to drive around to the Muir side again, to go through again. The tunnel removes time, but only from East to West. And we need to get back, to do it all before the spell ends, but we felt a strong need to come here first, to share the news.”

  Monty cleared his throat, tried to speak, then cleared it again. “Just how many decades do ye plan to remove?”

  The sisters laughed, glanced at each other, then at Monty. “Only three more, I think,” said Loretta. “Fifty was a very good year.”

  “And though I know you would wish to have us near for the birth of your sons, Laird Ross,” Lorraine said pointedly, “I’m afraid we have other plans.”

  “Loretta and I have decided to move to Edinburgh, permanently. We’re going to open a tea shop for the tourists.”

  “Really?” Jillian was happy for her husband’s sake, but she would miss her old aunts. She and Jules were only starting to understand their own bond as twins—as Muir twins—and they would need a little guidance if they discovered they had powers beyond telepathy with each other.

  “Yes, really.” Lorraine patted her hand. “But don’t worry, Jillian dear. We will have mobile telephones.” She leaned close. “Have you seen wee James Ferguson lately? Has he come back? We’ve got a small job for which we’ll need the help of an MI6 man.”

  “MI6?” Monty sounded a bit faint.

  “We’re not going just yet, of course.” Loretta narrowed her eyes at Monty. “We have to find Wickham first.”

  Monty recovered quickly and sat forward. “Why didn’t ye say so? How can we help?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  An hour later, Jillian’s hand shook as she wrote down a phone number they’d found on the internet. It had been too easy.

  “Wickham Alexander Muir,” Jules read aloud, from the monitor. “Inverness. Formerly of Muirsglen. Twin of Walter Muir. Age…24. Hobbies: Spelunking.”

  “Ye’re jesting,” Monty said.

  Jillian shook her head. “Who puts their phone number on Facebook?”

  “Someone who is waiting to be found,” Quinn answered. “And the resemblance is uncanny. The man looks like the pair of you.” He nodded at his wife, then to Jillian.

  Jules looked over her shoulder and shared an excited smile with her husband. She certainly knew her way around the internet and had found half a dozen legal documents Jillian would have never thought to look for. She’d only been joking when she herself suggested they look on Facebook.

  “Who’s going to call?” asked Jules.

  Jillian moved back to the couch and sat down abruptly, overcome with thoughts of her grandmother, and how sad it was the woman hadn’t lived long enough to hear her husband had escaped the tunnel. Even though the woman had done one particularly heinous thing, she’d done it for Jillian’s sake. And the one thing she’d tried to prevent had happened anyway.

  “I wish Ivy were here. Right here. Right now. So she could see that I’m okay, and she could know that Wickham got out.”

  Jules abandoned the computer to sit beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders for a brief hug. “Buck up, sis. We’ll just have to handle this on Ivy’s account, okay?” She pulled out her cell phone. “Someone read me that number.”

  She dialed, then put the call on speaker and sat the phone on the coffee table. No one breathed.

  The phone rang. Rang again. Stopped short.

  “Hello?”

  Jules smiled. “Hi there,” she said. “My name is Juliet and I’m looking for a man named Wickham Muir. He looks like you, but honestly, he has to be a lot older—”

  “Juliet! Is Jillian with you? Is she all right?”

  Jules laughed, then she looked a little sick. “Just a sec,” she said, then ran to the garbage can by the desk. Jillian decided she’d better talk to cover the sound of her sister hurling up pizza and chocolate.

  “Mr. Muir? This is Jillian.”

  He laughed. “Well, I sure don’t want ye to call me Grandpa, but Mr. Muir isn’t going to do.”

  “Wickham!” The sisters knelt their still-aged bones in front of the coffee table and leaned over the phone.

  Jillian moved so the sisters could have the couch. Monty followed her to the other side of the room and smothered her into his chest again. It was something he did when he was nervous. It was something she never minded.

  “Will Juliet be all right, do ye think?”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine,” she told him, “in about seven months or so.”

  Monty laughed, looked at Quinn’s worried face, then laughed again. “Just one do ye think?”

 

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