She rolled her eyes. “How should I know?”

  He laughed yet again, but she knew this time it was due to his relief that she did not share her aunts’ capacities to know things that were none of their business to know.

  Together, they listened to the phone conversation. Eventually, Jillian was called back over.

  “Well, Jillian,” Wickham said. “I’d like to meet with you and yer sister. Ye can bring my sisters along too, if you will.”

  “No problem.”

  “Can ye come at noon tomorrow? My sisters have the address now.” He paused. “I have something to show the pair of you. Then we’ll all go on with our lives, aye? We will not meet again.”

  Jillian frowned. “Okay.” She tried not be hurt by the comment. After all, he was pretty much a stranger, just a character in the book they’d just read. She’d had a brief conversation with him almost a year ago, in the great hall of Castle Ross, just before she’d hurried back to the fifteenth century to collect the man she loved. But other than that…”

  “Dinna fash, lass. Ye’ll understand everything tomorrow.”

  The sisters were invited to wait in the kitchen. Monty shut the door behind them, spread his feet, and folded his arms. “I doona think ye should go, Jillian.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes and mimicked his stance. Then the arguing commenced. Somewhere in the middle, Quinn discovered he was going to be a father and had to bow out of the ring. Suddenly on his own, facing two emotional sisters, Monty didn’t last long. He tapped out less than five minutes later.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The city of Inverness sprawled out to the south from the mouth of Beauly Firth. The address they had took them west of the city on Clachnaharry Road, to a large farmhouse just outside Craigphadrig Wood. It was an utterly charming house standing on a lonely rise on the edge of a field.

  Apart.

  Jillian thought back to Ivy’s journal and a conversation between her and Wickham about choosing their neighbors carefully. It looked like he’d chosen to have no neighbors at all.

  Lorraine and Loretta looked like a couple of monkeys ready to shake their cage apart if someone didn’t let them out of the car soon.

  “Monty,” Jillian said. “Have pity and stop the bloody car, would you?”

  He stopped immediately and Jillian reached into the glove compartment to pop the hatch. The old women scrambled over the back of their seats and hit the ground running.

  “Who would have known ten years would make such a difference?” Quinn said.

  “I don’t know,” Jules answered. “It probably feels like one helluva dose of steroids.”

  Everyone laughed and Quinn jumped out to help Jules from the SUV. He’d been treating her like a cracked egg since he’d learned she was pregnant. Spring was going to be a long time coming for everyone.

  By the time the four of them joined the sisters on the porch, Lorraine was frantic. “He’s not answering the door.”

  “We’re early,” Jillian said. “Maybe he comes home for lunch.” She tried not to show that she was freaking out just as badly.

  A man came out of the barn at a dead run. It was Wickham. His long dark hair, mature build, and lack of black leather created a much different picture from the first time they’d met, that fateful day at Castle Ross. But she would never forget that face, that grin, or those electric green eyes.

  The sisters beamed and choked back their tears as they waited for him. Jillian stepped aside to offer the siblings more room for their reunion. But Wickham took little notice of his sisters and ran straight up the stairs to Jillian. He quickly noted her belly, then picked her up anyway, spinning her in full circle before setting her down again.

  “Jillian! Lass! I cannot tell ye how happy I am that ye’re hale and hearty. I’ve worried…Well, let’s not fash how long I’ve worried. Just know that I… I’m relieved, is all. Verra relieved.”

  Steam shot out Monty’s ears and Jillian realized the only reason Wickham was still standing was because her husband had been caught completely off guard. But the shock had worn off and he stepped toward the offender.

  Wickham rushed him, wrapped his arms around Monty’s waist, and hoisted him into the air, giving him the same greeting he’d just given Jillian. Monty was still speechless when he was set back on his feet.

  “Glad to meet ye, Grandson,” Wickham said, laughing.

  Quinn and Jules took a step backward in unison.

  Wickham gave them a nod and respected their wishes to keep their feet on the ground, then he turned to his sisters and picked them up, both at the same time. “Ye did it,” he said. “Ye saved her, just like ye said ye would.” Then he planted a kiss on each fuzzy cheek. After he put his sisters down, he pushed the door open and ushered them all inside.

  The house was roomy and inviting. A long dining table filled the space to the right. The far end was sprinkled with coloring books and crayons. There were pictures on the walls of a man, a woman, and a little boy. Wickham had started a family.

  Jillian was happy for him, but sad for her grandmother. It looked like he’d been out of the tunnel a few years—probably long enough he could have found Ivy before she died. Grandma probably wouldn’t have wanted him to see her that way, though she would have loved to see a picture of him at least.

  Comfortable furniture filled the left side of the room. The dark wood tables were covered with lace doilies, more picture frames, and little toy cars parked carefully in front of each. A long Matchbox parking lot took up the space in front of the hearth.

  Wickham invited them all to sit. Monty chose a loveseat and pulled Jillian down next to him, holding her hand so tightly it pinched, but she didn’t dare complain.

  Wickham offered tea but seemed relieved when no one wanted any. “We don’t have much time,” he said. Then he stood next to the window and asked to know what had been going on in Castle Ross the day Jillian had met him. He was happy to discover that no one had actually been trying to bury Jillian alive, that they’d only been trying to get her back into the tomb to return her to Monty, who she’d fallen in love with, and whose hand she was holding.

  Jules finally spoke. “And what about you? We’ve been agonizing whether or not to ask, but I want to know if you were…in Hell for fifty-eight years? And if so, how could you not be angry? And one more thing. If Walter died, how are you still alive? I thought you guys would die together.”

  Wickham sighed. “I was not in Hell. I wasn’t aware, wasn’t conscious most of the time. Is a rock conscious of itself? Time meant little to me. I struggled for a while, worrying about Ivy, trying to think of a way to kill the spell. But the tunnel’s memory became my own. I watched generations pass back and forth in no chronological order. I witnessed the creation of the tunnel by the old man’s hand a millennium ago and every foot that passed through it. I caught glimpses now and then of my aging sisters.” He sent them a smile and a wink. “But there was no pain. After I gave in to the peace of simply being, emotions rose infrequently.

  “As for surviving Walter, only twins who are very close tend to die near the same time. My sisters, for example, are very aware of keeping each other healthy. Am I right?”

  The sisters nodded enthusiastically.

  Wickham shook off the somber moment with a shrug, then asked the sisters about people Jillian didn’t know, including their parents. Lorraine told him Walter had disappeared soon after Ivy, that they wondered if he’d followed her to Wyoming. They’d never heard from him. Decades passed. They’d both gone to the United States to search for the one who might fulfill the prophecy. They’d lost most of their own accents and grown old. Not long ago, they’d received word that Walter had been seen in Muirsglen, but they never found him.

  “I believe he might have died.”

  “I believe so as well,” Wickham said. “He came to the tunnel and released me. He feared he didn’t have long to live, and he thought if there was a chance I hadn’t aged, he could somehow take my youth from me. It didn’t work, of course. He had no idea…” He shook his head and bit his lips together.

  Jillian jumped to her feet and found the rest of the women standing too. “You mean he really could have let you out? At any time?”

  Wickham shrugged. “Ivy told me about the journal. She must not have painted my brother accurately if that surprises you. He was about as power-hungry as they come.”

  Jillian tried to speak, but her throat wouldn’t work. She lifted her shaking hands to Wickham, trying to communicate. Finally, she took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Wickham smiled and waited, like he knew what she intended to say.

  “When?” she croaked. “When did my grandmother tell you about her journal?”

  He winked at her. “There’s the rub, aye?”

  There was a crunch of gravel as a car approached the front of the house. He turned and looked out the window. “She’s early,” he said. “Now, I apologize for the shock. I didn’t realize ye were pregnant. But it’s too late. Forgive me. I’ll have to talk fast.

  “As soon as I was out of the tunnel, I went searching for Ivy. I found her in the hospital, close to death. I had to make a choice. I could choose the woman I loved, or I could choose to protect you, Jillian, from what we feared would happen to ye. Forgive me, but I chose Ivy. I put my trust in my clever sisters, and I chose to save the woman I loved.”

  He looked out the window again and relaxed.

  “She’s gone to the barn looking for me.” He turned back to his captivated audience. “Walter made me part of that tunnel, and the tunnel became part of me. Some of the old man’s power, the power he and an entire clan of Muirs put into the creation of the tunnel, now resides in me.” He shrugged. “Walter never stood a chance, once he released me.” He took a breath. “I took Ivy from the hospital, sent another woman’s body to the morgue in her stead, and got her away from there.

  “Before I took the years from her, which I was now capable of doing without the use of the tunnel, she told me everything. She tried to convince me to let her die, to walk away and forget her, that she wasn’t worthy of me.” He smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. “A few minutes later, she didn’t remember anything after the moment she’d accepted my proposal. Castle Ross, Walter sealing me in the tunnel. It was all gone.”

  Jules gasped. “You didn’t erase what Walter did to her? When he took her to the cottage?”

  Wickham winced. “I couldn’t pick and choose. I could only choose how far to erase. How could I risk it? Maybe she wouldn’t have fallen in love with me if I’d gone back any further. So I took her back to the moment she’d promised to marry me. It was cowardly, but I couldn’t lose her. Not again.

  “She had lived a tortured life, but most of that life has been erased. She’s had a hard time adjusting from 1954 to the twenty-first century, but I explained that I’d taken her through time, to show off, and I’d gotten us stuck. And she has forgiven me. She’s an incredibly forgiving person, aye?”

  He jumped when the front door suddenly swung open and a little blond boy toddled into the house with his pregnant mother just behind him. Her hair was thick and blond and pushed away from her face by a pair of sunglasses.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I didn’t know we had company. I thought maybe you were holding a meeting in the barn.” She came forward, stood in front of Jules, and exchanged hellos. “You’ve got to be a Muir. Are you?”

  Jules looked at Wickham, who nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  “Welcome,” Ivy said. And it was Ivy. The same woman who had tried to save Jillian at Castle Ross, but had been dragged away before anyone had a chance to explain. The same woman—only much, much younger—who had raised her.

  Jillian had to turn away. It was just too much. Monty was there behind her, as he always was, and she buried her face against him. The firm muscles, just beneath the thin cloth of his t-shirt, were the reminder she was not alone. She would never be alone. And she wept silently and joyfully over the fact that Ivy wasn’t going to be alone either.

  Wickham introduced his sisters next.

  “You two were much younger when we left you in the dining room,” Ivy said, then hugged Lorraine and Loretta in turn. And the conversation between them all bought Jillian the time she needed to compose herself. Once she had, she turned and waited for her grandmother to make her way around the room.

  Ivy took one look at her and glanced back at Jules. “You have a twin, too?” She smiled at Jillian and asked her name. “Jillian. Jillian. I have always loved that name.” She leaned forward and gave Jillian a firm hug, then nodded toward her belly. “You too, huh? But I bet you’re having twins?”

  Jillian nodded.

  “A magical thing,” Ivy said. “But then again, we are in Scotland. And you’re a Muir.” She patted her own stomach. “This one’s a Muir too, but no twins for us.”

  Wickham put his arm around her. “One at a time is magical enough for this house.”

  Ivy grinned back at him for a long, silent moment, and Jillian realized they were probably speaking in their minds.

  A thud sounded on the stairs and everyone turned to find the little blond boy had fallen asleep with his knees on one step and his head on the step above.

  “Aw,” said the room at large.

  “That’s why we had to cut our outing short.” Ivy headed for her son. “Excuse me while I put wee Alexander to bed. He’ll have to meet his aunties another day.” She looked at the old sisters. “You will come back?”

  “Yes, we will,” said Loretta. “Whenever we’re in the country.”

  Ivy scooped up the blond boy without any resistance and continued up the steps. When she was out of sight, Wickham turned to Jillian. “Ye realize why we cannot be part of each other’s lives? Something is bound to slip, and I cannot bear to keep secrets from her.”

  Jillian nodded. “I understand. But if you’re ever in the neighborhood…”

  “Perhaps,” he said gently, which meant he never would be dropping by.

  She and Jules dragged their husbands outside and waited for the sisters to say their farewells. Jillian had a thought and turned to Quinn. “You know, I think you had a good idea yesterday.”

  “Oh? Just one?”

  “When you suggested we burn the journal.”

  Jules nodded. “I think the old Ivy would agree.”

  The old Ivy. Back in Wyoming there was a headstone in her honor, proof she’d existed. Jillian realized the woman inside that house was Ivy MacKay, but she couldn’t help but think of the two Ivys as different people. They’d started out the same, but had separated at a fork in the road. And though this new Ivy would age and resemble the one who’d raised her, she’d never be that woman. Not really. And it was that thought that made the prospect of never seeing Ivy Muir again, sting less.

  Apparently, she’d needed less time than expected to forgive her interfering grandmother.

  Jules hissed, and when Jillian looked her way, her sister nodded toward the house. In a window on the second floor stood Ivy, holding back a thin white curtain. She gave a little smile, but the way her eyes bored into Jillian’s made her shiver—and made her wonder just how tight a woman might be able to hold onto a memory if she didn’t want to let go.

  Ivy gave a little wave, and the curtain fell into place.

  The front door creaked and the sisters stepped out. There was no sign of Wickham. No chance for a last wave good-bye. But Jillian doubted anyone could have moved an arm, let alone wiggled a finger, while they watched Lorraine and Loretta dance down the steps like a couple of Rockettes.

  Their blue pantsuits clung tightly to their new curves. The deep creases in their faces were nothing more than wrinkles, and their hair was more red than blue-grey. They’d walked into the house about seventy years old and had come out between forty and fifty. Only a week ago, they’d been eighty when they’d stopped by Jillian’s for a cup of tea.

  The rejuvenated pair came to a stop in front of Monty and waited for him to pick his jaw up from the gravel.

  “Laird Ross.” They gave a little bow, then turned to Jillian. “Next time we say we feel like taking a walk around the block, it’ll just be exercise.”

  “Heaven help us,” Monty said.

  “No,” said Quinn. “Heaven help the tourists in Edinburgh.”

  THE END

  Excerpt from JAMES

  Edinburgh, present day

  Phoebe trudged across North Bridge behind a pack of plaid-loving tourists. She bumped into a short stout one three times in the span of a block, each time the brunette stopped abruptly to take a picture with her phone. Phoebe would have walked around her, but the footpath was packed that day. Edinburgh in August was no place for Scots.

  She worried her heavy backpack might topple her onto her bum if the mob didn’t get a move on. She needed a little momentum to keep on her feet.

  The brunette stopped again, enraptured with the façade of the Carlton Hotel. Phoebe took a quick glance over her shoulder and stepped to the right, into the street, to keep from bowling the oblivious tourist over. Then she dodged cars until she was safely on the opposite side of the street.

  Deep breath. Not far now.

  The foot traffic was allowed to spread a bit onto High Street and she had no problem clipping along to Cockburn. First turn to the right. The street curved left. Her heart raced with every stride. Today, her life would head in a different direction. She just had to find the bloody tea shop.

  Her toe caught on a grill, but she caught herself. Usually, she was so embarrassed she kept her head down, but this time her eyes darted about, anxious that no one noticed her misstep. The street bustled with morning delivery trucks and lost tourists consulting their wee maps. Across the way, an incredibly tall Scot stood against a pole watching her side of the street, but his attention was on something further on. He hadn’t noticed her.

  She noticed him of course. How could anyone not notice him? Tall as a light post, long red curls, black leather coat. Smartly dressed—expensively dressed. With a braw jaw like a statue of William Wallace.

 

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