Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Isobelle,” Jillian said loudly, drawing the young woman’s attention away from Morna.
“Lorraine and Loretta, our own set of Muir sisters, told us you’d be bringing a dragon with you.
We were prepared for just about anything to come out of the hole.
I think some of these guys were a little disappointed you didn’t bring a small scaly pet along. ”
Everyone chuckled, then waited for Isobelle to reply.
She smiled wide and shared a glance with Gaspar. Then she nodded at him. “This is my dragon. Gaspar Dragotti—”
“God’s Dragon!” Monty’s voice boomed around them as he strode menacingly in Gaspar’s direction. “Surrender your sword!”
Ivar and Quinn jumped to their feet and moved quickly to surround Gaspar.
James reappeared, looking both sheepish and angry.
His right hand was tucked behind him and Jillian realized he kept his gun there.
But they’d dealt with the man when rescuing Juliet from a 15th century Gordon chieftain, and Jillian trusted him to keep a level head, even though Monty was over-reacting.
After all, James was familiar with Monty too.
Poor Isobelle’s mouth hung open, and she shook her head as Gaspar pulled his hand from hers and rose to his feet.
Then he gave a heavy sigh and removed his sheath and sword from his belt.
Ivar took them and glanced at Monty for some explanation.
But her husband’s attention was on Gaspar and no one else.
Isobelle reached up to Quinn and he helped her to her feet. “Until you hear the entire tale, brother, I insist you hold your judgment.” She gave James a disappointed look.
The tall one shook his head. “He didna give me the chance to say much. Only what I learned before I found ye on the island, aye? Only who he was and that he’d taken ye. For all I knew then—”
“He is one of them, Isobelle.” Monty choked on his emotion, then growled past it. “He tries witches, puts them to death. Deny it, Dragon!”
Gaspar’s eyes narrowed. “I do not deny that I have put women to death—”
Isobelle stepped closer to Gaspar. “Only when there was no way to save them, Monty. He saved as many as he could.”
“Is that what he told ye, mavournin’? To win yer…affection?” Monty hissed the last word.
Tears washed silently down Isobelle’s face, but she stood proud. “He saved me, brother. He saved me from myself, then he saved me from the kirk’s men. Just as ye did. Was it so long ago?” She looked at her tomb still perched on the dais. “I remember the last stone ye placed there, brother.”
There was a long silence while both of them stared at the aging structure.
“Blow us a kiss,” Monty whispered. “And douse the light…”
He often mumbled those words in his sleep. It meant he was stuck in the nightmare again, and he never came out of it easily. Jillian just hoped that Isobelle’s arrival might mean the end of those long, horrible nights.
“Gaspar sacrificed himself,” Isobelle said, bringing Monty’s attention back from the tomb.
“He offered himself in my place so James might bring me home to you. But we got him away as well. The man he thought of as a father planned to torture him, perhaps kill him, and he accepted it gladly if James was allowed to take me away. He was a powerful man and he lost everything for loving me, Monty.”
“And now he will lose a little more, I think, for locking my sister in a cage. I cannot bear to think what else ye have done to her.”
Gaspar’s arm whipped around and the back of his fist connected with Monty’s cheek. “How dare you do her the dishonor!”
Jillian wanted to run to Monty, but she stood still with the stone image of her husband at her back.
Constant as that stone image—that’s what Monty was.
He fiercely loved everyone who belonged to him, a true laird of his clan.
And he was clearly in Hell at the moment because he hadn’t been there to protect Isobelle yet a second time.
“We will let our blades decide who has dishonored my sister,” Monty snarled.
James pushed past Ivar to get in Monty’s face. Jillian hoped Scotland’s James Bond could stop the fight, since she wasn’t able to breathe, let alone speak.
“You canna kill him, Monty. I willna allow it. I’m still in Her Majesty’s service until I’m told otherwise. If ye try to kill this man—”
“I am not dead yet,” Gaspar said with a smile.
Isobelle pushed herself between the men and held Gaspar behind her. “I will not allow it!”
Monty ignored her. “Fine, then. We will not fight to the death, but to first blood. That shouldna tax ye beyond bearing, Dragon.” He put his hands on his hips as he often did when he thought he could lay down the law.
“If ye’re the victor, my sister may keep ye.
And if I draw first blood, ye will climb back into the tomb and return from whence ye came.
And if ye’d prefer not to face me blade, ye’re welcome to heigh thee home while I fetch my weapon. ”
“No!” Isobelle shrieked. “He is in as much danger from the kirk as I ever was, Monty. He canna go back! The man from whom he saved me will send men to hunt him and kill him, and only because he defended me! And I’ve finished with it, brother.
I’ve finished with others suffering because of my foolishness. Do ye hear?”
Monty turned away from her, still caught up in his own emotions.
“I love him, brother. I love him as sure as ye love yer wife! And ye, and Ossian, and Ewan—ye teased me all me life that no man could ever love me, but ye were wrong.”
Isobelle’s declaration fell on deaf ears.
Monty avoided all eye contact and left the hall.
Jillian was torn between running after him and keeping her eye on Gaspar.
If the Muirs had some idea of what was going to happen, she thought the safest thing was to follow their advice and keep the dragon away from the tomb.
Besides, she knew better than to try and stop Monty when he was in warrior mode.
He was going to be fighting a man with a sharp blade and she wasn’t about to cause him any distractions.
Gaspar and a distraught Isobelle moved away from the others and bent their heads together, and Jillian looked away to allow them a little privacy.
This was no time to inform the woman that another man named Luthias had loved her so much her supposed death had driven him mad.
That story would wait until Monty’s tantrum was over.
Quinn drew Juliet into his arms and they held each other silently, probably remembering how it was not so long ago they’d had to fight to be together.
Morna stood a bit behind Isobelle, ready to comfort her sister if she could, but all the while she carried on a silent conversation with her husband, Ivar, who stood holding Gaspar’s sword and sheath, waiting on Monty.
Always watching each other’s backs, Ivar and Monty.
And she could imagine them as young boys, becoming like brothers, one test of bravery at a time.
It gave her hope for her own sons, that one day they would have each other’s backs.
Too bad they would probably support each other in some pretty stupid stuff too—like fighting someone with a real sword.
But she’d seen Monty fight. She’d seen all of them fight.
And the one to worry about was Gaspar. Even if he were hiding some impressive dragon scales beneath his tunic, he was in trouble.
And if Monty ordered him back into the tomb?
She had to decide just how far she’d go to stop him.
After all, they each owed Isobelle a debt for starting it all.
If she’d never tried to help Ivar and Morna, none of them would be together.
None of them.
There was movement, and Jillian watched as Gaspar kissed Isobelle on the forehead and then turned her, to hand her off to Morna.
Then he headed for the archway that led to the kitchens.
Juliet frowned at her—Quinn had her locked in his arms and it didn’t look like she would be getting out any time soon.
The guy had nearly lost her too many times to count, and he still wasn’t quite confident enough to let her get too far beyond his reach.
Most of the time, they had to kidnap her and leave a note if they wanted to go shopping, and Quinn would still come looking for her. Poor guy.
Jillian found Gaspar standing at the head of the stairs that led to the cellars, but he wasn’t looking down, he was staring at the kitchens. There was an addition there that he wouldn’t have seen in the 15th century version.
He glanced at her, then back into the kitchen where empty pizza boxes covered every inch of an old table.
“She will love it here, will she not?” he said. They both knew which “she” he was talking about.
“Yes. Actually, no one cares if you’re a witch nowadays—not that Isobelle’s a witch, because she isn’t.”
He nodded. “I know she is not.”
“And no one bats an eye when a woman speaks her mind.”
That got his attention. “Truly?”
She nodded and smiled. “Truly.” Then she realized what he was saying. “Uh. You know, you’re going to be very happy here too.”
He smiled politely. “We both know that is not true. Your husband seems quite capable of spilling as much of my blood as he wishes to spill. But I believe I can avoid causing Isobelle too much shame.”
“So you plan to fight?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at the bottom of the stairs. “I thought maybe you were looking for the tomb.”
He shook his head. “No. Just wishing for a quiet moment to prepare for battle.”
“Ah. Well. Maybe I can help you there.”
His brows rose. “You would aid your husband’s opponent?”
She grinned. “I would, if that enemy promised not to hurt my husband too much.”