Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Monty stood with Ivar in a room dubbed The Man Cave by his modern wife and her sister, though the only stone in the room surrounded the hearth.
And if it weren’t for his insisting against it, Jillian might have allowed the contracting man to use false stones.
Why would the world have invented false stones when true stones lay on the ground for the taking?
It was one of the symptoms of an ill civilization, he was certain.
He and Ivar turned at the sound of ice tinkling against glasses.
“The Muirs are coming,” Jillian announced as she entered the newly painted room.
Monty hastened to take the tray of drinks from her, then he gave her a scowl. “Firstly, ye shouldna be toting heavy things about in yer condition, and not in a newly painted house, aye? The fumers—”
“Fumes,” she corrected and rolled her eyes. “And the paint is dry. The fumes are gone.” She took one of the glasses from the tray and handed it to Ivar.
“And secondly, ye should never walk into a room and announce that those meddling old women have come to call. Ye should invite us to sit and brace ourselves before ye share the bad news, aye?”
Jillian nodded. “I see your point there.”
“And thirdly.”
Her brows rose in the way they did when he lectured overmuch. She had issues with being ordered about, whatever that meant. After all the months he’d spent in her century, he was beginning to have issues with the word issues.
“And third,” he said again. “I dinna care to hear ye lie, Jillian. Even when ye’re but jesting with me.” He set the tray on a chair and took a glass for himself. Lemonade, they called it. He was fair to certain it was puckering his innards, but he couldn’t seem to quit the stuff.
His wife grinned. “I wasn’t lying, Montgomery. My aunts are here.”
Lemonade spouted from his lips and he fought to keep it from climbing up his nose. He glared at Jillian, then looked around him at the damage done. He’d sprayed the stuff all over the floor and Ivar was wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, his eyes promising some sort of revenge.
“Ye see what happens when ye call them family?” Monty pointed at the wet little circles on the subfloor. “It is good the carpenters have yet to arrive.”
“Carpet layers,” she corrected.
No matter what they were called, Monty worried that once he had his carpets and the wee castle was finished, he might never allow anyone inside for fear of mussing his home.
The twenty-first century was a grand place for keeping clean, and he rather liked the idea of his new home stayin’ that way. If his own boots weren’t clean enough and he needed to go indoors, he planned to walk over to Ivar and Morna’s castle and muddy their floors instead.
His sister’s home would be finished in the next day or two as well.
Of course, she’d married a MacKay, so she’d be living on the far side of the burn.
Monty and Jillian—and their expected sons—would live on the Ross side.
The trees that used to surround the Ross/MacKay burn back in the 15th century were gone long ago, but a peaceful forest still grew.
And though the burn itself had turned into a small river, he and Ivar had decided there was not a more appropriate place to build their new homes.
Jillian and her twin sister, Juliet—who now lived beside Castle Ross—mocked Ivar and him for insisting on curtain walls around their modest keeps, but the women would never understand.
A man must protect his family the best he knew how, and he and Ivar knew how to defend their homes with curtain walls.
They were still working on collecting men at arms, but each time they found a fit man and made an offer, they were laughed at.
When next they went to the city, they planned to consider a more sober sort.
There was another fine reason for the curtain wall which he didn’t share with his wife, however—that one day he and Ivar might have another falling out, as they’d once done, and Monty wanted a wall between them in case that day came.
And Ivar, being no fool himself, was no doubt preparing for the same.
Of course, he couldn’t fathom anything that might cause such a rift between them again.
But the fact was, it had happened once, so it could happen again.
Especially if Monty and Jillian’s boys got into mischief one day with their MacKay cousins, and sides needed to be taken.
And just as the mason had said, who’d built those walls, a good fence a good neighbor makes, or something to that effect.
The three of them took their drinks and went outside to meet the witches.
Monty claimed he wished to breathe unpainted air, but what he truly wished was for Loretta and Lorraine to never step foot inside his home.
If they stopped to admire a wall, Monty would worry he might one day find a tunnel on the other side of it. The two simply could not be trusted.
Morna’s black SUV pulled through the gate just as the old sisters were climbing out of their small car. Ivar kissed his wife at the bottom of the stairs, then greeted the sisters cheerfully, damn him.
Monty opened his mouth and Jillian reached a hand up to cover it. Then she gave him a stern look. “Be nice,” she said.
Monty rolled his eyes. When was he ever un-nice?
“Welcome,” he said to his sister and assumed the witches would think he was talking to them all. Then he turned to Jillian and smiled innocently.
She rolled her eyes and abandoned him to greet the unwanted ones.
He bit his tongue and withheld his aid as she swayed back and forth down the steps.
She’d warned him, if he lectured her again on breathing, walking, and the like, she would go live with her sister until the babies were born. And he believed her.
Of course, if the witches hadn’t come visiting, there’d have been no need for her to descend the stairs yet again.
One of the old sisters looked up at him sharply and wrinkled her nose. “One day, you’ll appreciate us, Montgomery Ross.”
“Oh, I do. I do,” he said for Jillian’s benefit. “What do ye think of our new homes? ‘Tis a pity they’re not closer to Castle Ross where ye might pop in whenever ye like, aye?”
The other sister finished hugging his wife and grinned knowingly at him, but he refused to believe the woman kenned something he did not.
“They’re fine houses, both of them. Yer children will find happiness here.”
He snorted, though he was relieved to hear they weren’t predicting otherwise.
“We see just one problem,” said the first sister, grinning like a fool.
“Oh?” Ivar took Morna’s hand and gave the old woman his full attention. Jillian looked equally as concerned. Monty frowned, not happy in the least the sisters would make his delicate wife worry.
“What problem?” he demanded. And though the pair would prefer that he wring his hands and beg for their secrets, that was all the bending he would do.
The sisters smiled at each other, then turned to Morna. “Where will you put the third one?” they asked in unison.
“The third what?” Ivar wrapped a protective arm around his wife and threw a worried glance up at Monty. Monty shook his head to comfort the man, but they were likely both thinking the same thing—triplets for Morna.
“The third house,” said one sister.
“For Isobelle,” said the other.
Isobelle? It was but a whisper he never allowed out of his heart.
Monty would have collapsed on the step beneath him if his legs were not bidding him run.
Instead, he moved to the side and started down the steps, leaning on the half-wall—as Jillian should have done—expecting his knees to fail him as he went to Morna and took her from Ivar. Together they faced the witches.
“Where is she?” He asked politely.
“She’s coming,” said the one. “But she doesn’t come alone.”
“Is it James?” Jillian asked.
And though Monty would be grateful if the man did indeed bring his sister to them, he couldn’t suppress the brotherly instinct to pummel the man if he had been wooing his sister. Even James, impressive as he was, was not worthy of Isobelle.
The other Muir sister shook her head and smiled. Her entire face was a waterfall of wrinkles. “She is bringing…a dragon.”