Part 10 (2/2)
With a gesture, Quinn bid the group step closer.
”The oddly shaped construction you see at the back of the dais was erected by Montgomery as a tomb for both his sister and the accursed torque, built here so she would always be near him. You see, Isobelle was spared from a stranglin' and a burnin', but she could not escape her death sentence. Before the last stones were set, his very-much-alive sister and her offensive creation were sealed inside the wall by her brother's hand.”
The kilt-clad Hercules paused dramatically, no doubt so the tragic image could sink in. He pulled a handkerchief from his sporran and turned aside to wipe the corner of one eye. When he dropped the white cloth back in his pouch, the rest of the women sighed, the men cleared their throats, and Jilly resisted the urge to applaud.
”Montgomery thought only to spare his sister the horror of being burned,” Quinn continued. ”He had no idea that he'd sentenced them both to madness. Day after day he sat next to the tomb, listening for any sound from his sister within. Actually, for the rest of his life Montgomery Ross would occasionally be seen with his ear pressed against the stones, listening.”
Jilly could not stop herself from leaning toward the edifice at one with the huddled ma.s.ses, as if they might be able to hear some of what Montgomery had listened for. You could have heard a pin drop.
Quinn's voice lowered reverently.
”For days he was tormented, regretting his interference, but The Kirk would not allow him to take back the bargain he'd struck. And during that time, Montgomery would cross and re-cross that invisible line into lunacy, thrilling over every little sound Isobelle made, only to cry to G.o.d to end her suffering. More than once, he tried to tear down the stones to put her out of her misery, only to be halted by The Kirk's henchmen who stood guard until the witch was clearly dead. After ten and two days, the little sounds ceased...and the haunting began.”
The squawk of bagpipes lurching into life made Jilly nearly jump out of her skin. It was a moment or two before she was relieved enough to laugh along with the rest. She stood respectfully listening to the set of three tunes that first lured emotion out of her, pulled tears from her eyes with a mournful dirge, then prodded her like a racehorse across an open field. By the time the piper's bag exhaled its final dissonant breath, she was exhausted.
”Gather ye round, gather ye round.” Quinn stood near the pedestal with its over-glamorized, but romantic jewelry. ”If any of you here is believed to have both Ross and MacKay bloods in your veins, come forth and try the truth of Isobelle's prophesy.”
Two very excited old women gave her a shaky squeeze before prodding her in the back. After that jolt from the bagpiper, Jilly prayed their dusty hearts would last the day. Hopefully, hers would too.
So. This was it. Time to play the game, Jillybean. Before she took a step, however, a girl about six or seven years old stepped up to Laird Ross.
”I'll try it on, Uncle Quinn, if'n there's nay one else.”
Rather than chide the little girl for interrupting his show, Quinn picked her up and chucked her under the chin. ”And you shall, Eileen, you shall. We all ken you have the bloodlines to do it, aye? But let's save the best for last.”
Eileen beamed.
And all those silly women sighed again.
Jilly was pushed forward a bit faster than she was prepared to go, but before she could turn a frown on the wiry sisters, Quinn caught her hand and pulled her closer until she was nearly nose to nose with the child on his hip.
”Considering your company, and that black MacKay hair, I rather suspected you'd be stepping up.” He nodded to the Muir sisters and introduced her to Eileen. ”I've a feeling one of you may do the deed this very day, aye? And when a Ross gets a feeling, well, we'd best stay on our toes.”
Amen to that, cousin.
This was what she'd come all this way to do, b.u.t.terflies be d.a.m.ned. Later, once she was alone in her B&B room, she planned to celebrate how less-than-dull the day had been.
Then she'd puke.
Jilly stepped in front of the pedestal. After a nod from the laird, she picked up the torque and worked it around her neck. Quinn put down his niece and took Jilly by the arm, turning her to face the crowd...
...a crowd that gave a collective ”humph” when nothing holy-c.r.a.ppish happened.
”How do you feel, la.s.s?” He patted her shoulder. ”You look a mite green. Do I need to fetch a rubbish bin?”
”No. No, I'm all right.” She pulled her face into what she hoped was a smile and turned her back to the group.
She wasn't all right. She was mortified. Standing in the middle of way too many witnesses, trying on a supposedly magical necklace that was supposed to do who-knows-what, and trying not to look disappointed when who-knows-what didn't happen, left her a wee bit angry at herself.
Magic necklace? Are you kidding me?
Eileen smiled hopefully and clapped her hands. Jillian was more than happy to whip off the silly thing and hand it over.
”Looks like you'll have to save the day, Eileen.” Jilly slung a brief smile in Quinn's direction, then moved coolly through the crowd to the rear.
She couldn't say when it had happened, but sometime between packing for the trip and stepping into the Great Hall, she'd forgotten she was only in Scotland to patronize the fragile sisters in their final fantasy. And to prove wrong her grandmother's life-long conspiracy theory, that Scotland was a dangerous place for their family and no Scot was to be trusted.
She'd just gotten lost in the role she'd been playing, that was all. She'd begun to pity Ivar and Morna and had spent far too long wis.h.i.+ng there was actually something she could have done to help them.
Ridiculous. They'd been dead so long even their dust had dust. Twenty-one layers of it.
She now had to keep in mind the second reason she'd come...
When her grandmother had died, she'd tried to pa.s.s her paranoia on with her estate, but Jilly refused to believe that a mysterious group of Scots had sinister plans for a specific Wyoming gal who'd never before been away from home. And for what? Her DNA?
Bull.
In another week she'd be back home, safe and sound, wondering what adventure she might try next while standing over Grandma's grave, telling her how wrong she'd been.
There. She felt better already.
She couldn't be disappointed that nothing had happened when she'd put on the necklace. Of course nothing had happened. She was just disappointed for the sisters. That was all.
Jilly was in no mood to stick around and listen to the wrinkled twins tisk and shake their heads. She was out of there.
But as she zipped up her second-hand leather jacket and headed for the door-and a three-mile walk back to town-she could almost imagine Montgomery Ross's stony form screaming for her to come back and fight.
But Jillian MacKay was done making a fool of herself.
For the moment.
CHAPTER TWO.
Castle Ross, 1495.
Montgomery Ross took his leisure in his grand chair and let The Gordon come to him. At his right shoulder stood his braw cousin Ewan, and to his left, the Italian's statue of himself. It did no harm to let the mighty Clan Gordon see him as a Roman-like G.o.d who was ever watching over his own.
Posing all those days for the mood-ridden Southerner had been worth the time after all.
”Monty, please.” Ewan spoke low. ”I beg you not to do this. You've nay thought this through, mon.”
”Oh?” Monty did not turn, but looked steadily at the entrance. ”And who else would have me, Ewan? Every la.s.s on the island kens what became of my sisters. None would risk my affections now when the only two women I've loved were either buried alive or made to wish she were dead.”
”I won't argue that, cousin. But why a Gordon?” Ewan grunted his frustration. ”Nothing good happens when there's one about. If ye marry the la.s.s, a Gordon will be about all the time! I'd rather you married a b.l.o.o.d.y MacKay!” He dropped a hand onto Monty's shoulder and dropped his voice as well. ”Mayhap you should look a bit longer. Try the Lowlands. h.e.l.l, I'd rather you kidnap an English la.s.s-”
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