Dragon’s Downfall (The Curse of Clan Ross #3)

Prologue

“Do ye suppose they’re gone?” James finally asked when he’d heard nary a whisper for some time.

“Aye,” said the witch to his left. “They are far from here, though they’ve been gone only a moment.”

James eyed the hole in the ceiling that led to the inside of the tomb of yet another witch, Isobelle, a tomb that had become a portal in time. It was true, he’d come through that very tomb from the twenty-first century and into the fifteenth, but it now seemed as if the future was but a dream.

While standing inside that tomb a few moments ago, contemplating the lures of both the future and the past, James had known in his bones he should stay.

But he’d needed a more tangible reason to bow out, and a search for Montgomery Ross’s sister was the best excuse he could pull from the air on short notice.

Finding this Isobelle would remain his first priority, of course, but there was no hurry.

She was in another country, for one thing, so he couldn’t very well walk up to her, toss a bag over her head, and carry her back to Castle Ross.

When he did find her, as he’d vowed to do, he’d need to convince her he was no madman.

She’d been buried alive at one point and he was going to suggest she not only return to Scotland where she would be in danger, but that she climb back into her tomb.

What reasonable woman would believe his assurance that this tomb would spirit her away to a strange land where her brother and sister awaited, along with their new spouses, for their family circle to be complete?

He would simply hold out hope that Isobelle Ross was not overly reasonable.

James sighed and turned to Ewan. “Montgomery said ye’ve received a letter from Ossian, that he and Isobelle had been staying in Spain. Do ye ken the city? Spain’s hardly a wee place, aye?”

Ewan’s hoary brows rose toward the thin, long hair on the top of his head. He opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted.

“They are no longer in Spain.” A bony hand wrapped itself around James’ arm. The frail sister-witch frowned up at him. “East,” she said.

“Yes, East,” said the other. “An island. Perhaps an island city.”

“Venice?” James glanced at the sisters, then at Ewan. The big man’s eyes were wide as saucers as he, too, looked from one sister to the other. He then met James’ gaze, shook his head, and shrugged.

A great help he was.

“Venice,” the sisters said in unison.

James peered closely at the one holding his arm. Her confidence shined back at him in the reflection of the torchlight. Not a wrinkle wavered.

“Fine, then. Venice.”