The Parchment Scroll (8 page)

Whaddaya know, castles
are
drafty.

She tugged the shirt over her head, cursing at the lack of a bra. Her breasts were large; she needed support. They were going to ache by the end of the day.

The tunic fell mid-thigh, but
big
was okay with her. Hugh wouldn’t be able to see her body so much. Maybe he’d stop touching her, too.

Jules ignored the little voice that protested the idea of her barbarian keeping his hands to himself.

His aunt had given in when she’d begged for pants instead of a skirt, but they were too big, too. Jules silently thanked her for the belt as she shoved it around her waist.

Finally dressed, she looked around the room. Morning light drifted in through the windows, and she went over, tugging the thick drapes open. The room brightened even more, looking less foreboding.

Hugh’s stamp was all over the place. The room smelled like him, too, even though he was gone. Masculine spice that flipped her tummy and made her curse at herself.

Hmmm, that painting…

Jules had seen the picture the day before, but she hadn’t taken time to study it.
She crossed the room to check it out. Hugh had been so obviously ignoring it before he’d stomped away from her. As if he’d made
extra
efforts not to look in that corner.

A girl with long, pale blonde hair sat on a carved high-backed chair with her hands folded on her lap. Her gown was light green and elegant, with an embossed bodice, but it was modest. There was a plaid draped over her shoulder and wrapped around her waist, but it was a different pattern than the MacDonald blanket on Hugh’s bed.

She looked so damn young, and her brown eyes were solemn—too much so. Sad, maybe.

Brenna MacInnes
was etched on a little plate on the bottom picture frame.

“That’s Brenna. She was Hugh’s lass.” Mab’s voice made Jules jump and curse. “Sorry, lass. Didna mean ta startle ye.”

She hadn’t heard Hugh’s aunt enter the room. “It’s okay.” Jules forced a smile. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’ to ye, as well.” Mab smiled and hobbled over with a heavy grip on her cane. It was worse than Jules had seen the night before. Maybe she was stiffer in the mornings. “Here ta check on ye. My lad came stormin’ inta the hall. Are ye well?”

Jules smirked and nodded. “Yeah. He was…energetic this morning. Didn’t much like that I wasn’t.”

Mab grinned, but then her wrinkled face sobered. “He didna hurt ye?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. I’d have his hide.”

Jules gave a small laugh. “Glad you have my back.”

The old lady reached out and patted her hand. Silence fell as they both gazed up at the young girl in the painting.

A shiver shot down her spine. Was Brenna’s stare accusing? As if she was demanding to know why Jules had spent the night in her husband’s bed.

Jules straightened her shoulders and stood taller.

It’s a painting.

Not. Real.

Stop being silly.

There was no change. Staring at Hugh’s wife now as was same as five minutes before. “She looks so sad.” She managed a whisper, ignoring her paranoia.

“Aye, I expect she was upset when she sat for tha’ painting. It proceeded her arrival ta Armadale. As a part of her dowry. Her father and Hugh’s were lads together. Clan MacInnes doesna live too far off.”

“Arranged marriage?”

Mab nodded. “As is tha way of most marriages ‘round here.”

“What happened?” Jules stomach fluttered when she met the woman’s dark eyes.

Her expression was saturated in sadness. “She died barin’ his child. The Good Lord took the bairn, too.” Mab made the sign of the cross and whispered something that wasn’t English.

Jules frowned and swallowed against the emotion closing her throat.

Poor Hugh.

It explained a lot about who he was as a person.

Damaged. Just like me.

“’Twas a long time ago, lass. Doona’ look so sad.” Mab grabbed her forearm and squeezed. “C’mon, let us go down ta the hall. Break yer fast, then I’ll get one of the lads ta take ye to Dunvegan.”

Jules heart skipped a beat. “What? Hugh said he wanted me to stay another day.”

Seriously?

Are you arguing?

Don’t you want to go?

Mab cocked her head to one side. “My lad is gone on clan business. He asked me ta see ye safely to yer sister.”

Her stomach dropped. “He…left?”

If Hugh’s aunt could sense her reaction, she hid it well, only offering a nod. “Aye, said he wouldna likely be back ‘til tha morrow.”

Jules nodded, but anger churned her gut.

Coward.

Her barbarian was a coward.

Something she’d never thought she’d be able to accuse him of.

Just wish I could say it to his face.

Jules couldn’t help but look over her shoulder as she rode away from Armadale, Colin MacDonald’s arms loosely around her.

So much for Hugh ordering me to stay another day.

Colin’s hold was nothing like the laird’s.

Was she crazy to miss Hugh’s touch?

God. I’ve lost it for sure.

Hugh had run from her.

He hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye first. What a change from the guy who couldn’t stop touching her. Kissing her.

Jules had grown used to him—well as much as a person could in so short a time—taking what he wanted no matter what she’d said.

She’d liked his kisses, as much as she
hated
that idea floating around in her head.

He must still love Brenna. So much he couldn’t bear to look at me after talking about her.

Jules swallowed and tried not to fidget on the back of the big brown horse.

According to Mab, the girl had been dead almost eleven years.

He feels guilty for wanting me.

She harrumphed and squared her shoulders.

So what?

Jules didn’t
want
him to want her. Certainly didn’t want
him
.

So why does it bother you now?

Because knowing he lost his wife and child made him just a little bit less of a bastard, a voice whispered.

Who could be
normal
after that?

“Never mind,” Jules muttered.

It didn’t matter. Not really.

Not being able to deal with loss didn’t justify kidnapping. Or stolen kisses.

“My lady?” Colin’s deep voice made her jump and her eyes darted to his. “Are ye well?” Blue eyes, so different from his cousin’s, regarded her with concern.

Jules cleared her throat. “Yes. I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

He smiled and inclined his head. Colin was handsome, but the curve of his lips didn’t make her stomach flutter or her heart patter like Hugh’s.

And she loved dark eyes. Always had.

Dammit.

Seriously. Stop. It.

She wasn’t lusting after a barbarian, no matter how hot he
looked.

Or how good his kisses were.

Jules cringed. “H-h-how long until we get there?”

Stuttering? Really?

If Colin noticed, his voice and expression didn’t give it away. “No’ much longer, my lady. Over tha’ hill.” He pointed up ahead.

She could already see the castle looming, so it was a wonder he didn’t think her question was stupid, or snap at her for asking.

Hugh would’ve.

Jules rolled her eyes at herself for knowing her barbarian would’ve been a smartass about her nerves.

Knock it off, for reals, Juliette Ann McGowan.

Could one disown themselves?

She busied herself with memorizing the terrain, then screamed at herself for it. Like she needed to remember how to get back to Armadale. She’d come for Claire. Colin was taking her to Claire. Then they could go home.

The rest of the ride was silent, though not unpleasant. The closer they got to the MacLeod stronghold, the more Jules’ nerves danced in her stomach.

Claire. She was about to see her sister again.

“Halt!” The yell made her freeze in Colin’s arms.

Shaking started when the guard jumped in front of the horse, a big sword drawn. He was blond and
huge.

“MacDonald,” he spat.

“Aye. Colin MacDonald. Cousin to the laird.”

The big guy on the ground didn’t look impressed. Two more MacLeods—both wearing kilts and brandishing swords—flanked him.

“What do ye wan’?” The dark-haired one on the right hollered.

Jules straightened and met the brown eyes of the fair-haired guard. “Claire is my sister. I’m here…to see her.”

Silence fell and the three guards stared.

The blond man slid forward, his face scrunched as he scrutinized. “Dismount,” he barked.

She shot a look over her shoulder at Colin.

When Hugh’s cousin nodded, Jules slid off the horse, accepting the helping hand of the blond guard to her biceps. He gripped, but didn’t hurt her.

“Ye’ve the look of her.”

Jules nodded. She’d been told that her whole life. “We’re only a few years apart.” Four to be exact, but he wouldn’t care even if she’d explained. “Can I see her, please?”

The blond man looked at Colin without answering. “Get off MacLeod lands, MacDonald.”

She shivered at his harsh voice.

“Doona’ harm the lass,” Colin barked.

“
We
doona’ harm lasses.” Another of the guards answered, eyes narrowed.

Colin snarled.

Harsh words were exchanged on both sides. As well as some posturing with swords and puffed chests.

Jesus. These guys are worse than a buncha cops.

It only took her a few moments to catch on to what the fuss was about. It was more than a dick-measuring contest. They were all referring to the debacle of Margaret MacLeod being sent home in disgrace—as well as burned—after a botched marriage to the MacDonald laird.

God, it was almost a hundred years ago—this time, anyway. Mab wasn’t kidding about
anything
being a war threat.

Jules shot forward when Colin drew his sword.

She waved her arms. “Boys! I just wanna see my sister. Colin, I’m fine with these guys. Go back to Armadale. Tell Hugh…” she cleared her throat. “Tell Hugh thank you and that I’m okay here. Thank
you
for bringing me.”

Silence fell and all four men outside the gates stared at her.

Finally—
finally—
Colin sheathed his sword and nodded. “I’ll tell the laird yer in safe hands.”

“Thank you,” Jules whispered.

The three MacLeod guards didn’t relax, nor did they open the gates, until after Colin was a speck on the horizon.

When Jules met the big blond guy’s eyes, he laughed.

She arched a brow. “What’s funny?”

“Yer strong, like yer sister. Like a MacLeod lass. Ye’ll fit ‘round here just fine.”

Jules smirked. “Good.”

Won’t be here long enough to matter.

“I’m Cormac, head of tha guards, and cousin ta the laird. These two are Braedon and Jamie, my brothers.”

She nodded, muttered polite greetings, and met the dark-haired guards, even though she was antsy. Jules shifted from foot to foot in the boots Mab had gotten her. The only part of her wardrobe that fit.

I want to see Claire. Now.

“Come, lass, I’ll take ye ta yer sister,” Cormac said, gesturing as the other two started to open the wide gates.

“You read my mind, dude.”

Keeping up with his long legs was a chore that kept Jules at a jog, but soon she was walking into a great hall bigger than the one at Armadale. A familiar blonde was near the largest hearth—one of three—with her back to them, rocking something in her arms. Even with her back facing Jules, she
knew
her sister. Claire was before her.

“My lady.” Cormac’s deep voice echoed.

Slowly Claire turned, a smile in place that faded when her eyes rested on Jules. “Jules?” The incredulity in her sister’s voice made Jules’ heart skip.

“Claire-bear,” she breathed. The childhood nickname slipped out and Jules crossed the distance between them, running.

Cormac said something, but Jules tuned him out. Maybe Claire thanked him. Soon, the big guy bowed and was gone.

The dark-haired baby on Claire’s hip took Jules’ attention—the
something
—her sister was rocking by the warm fire.

He was adorable, with curls at the back of his little head. Big blue eyes dominated his chubby-cheeked face, but Jules saw Claire all over him. His little nose, the shape of those big eyes. Even his lips looked like her sister’s.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach.

My baby sister has a kid.

“Jules. Jules. Jules.” Her name was a chant. “What? How? Are you really here?” Claire’s words fell out of her mouth on fast-forward.

Jules laughed; it was just like her sister. And damn good to hear.

She closed threw her arms around her shorter sister, but tried to be mindful of the baby.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Claire whispered into Jules’ shoulder.

She smiled as she got a whiff of clean baby. She reached out and stroked his downy hair. The little guy flashed a smile that Claire echoed when their eyes met.

“This is Lachlan,” Claire said, beaming now.

“He’s beautiful, little sister.” Jules stroked the baby’s arm. “I have a nephew. How old is he?”

“Eighteen months. We’re trying for number two.” Her sister’s cheeks were tinted pink and she pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead.

Jules’ heart started to thunder in her ears. “Claire, I came for you.”

Her sister frowned. “Came for me?”

“Yeah. To bring you home.”

Claire stared, green eyes that matched Jules’ own raking her face. “Didn’t you read my letter?”

“I did, but—”

Her sister shook her head, making her long blonde hair shift. Claire had always kept her locks on the long side, but it was more so than Jules had ever seen it. Down to her waist. And she was dressed right out of a period movie—in a long olive skirt, ivory puffy-sleeved tunic with a lighter green corset over it. The colors brought out her eyes. She looked gorgeous.