about their matching smiles, though. Jules didn’t trust them for a second.
Ewan let out a deep sigh and she couldn’t tell whether he was glad to see them or really disappointed.
"Speak of the sisters and they’ll appear,” he muttered. “Ye’ll see I spoke the truth about them.”
The women in question reached the landing. One of them looked surprised to see Jules. The other one kept her eyes on Ewan and gave him a little bow.
"Laird Ross,” she said. “Ye've a busy cellar this day it seems."
Ewan shook his head slightly. "Hopefully, ye’re the last to come out of it. Won't the pair of ye sup with us this e'en?" The last sentence came out through his teeth.
The second woman gave him a sly nod. "Such a kind laird ye are, Ewan. We'd like nothing more than to sit and have a grand chat with Jillian.
The way the woman was eyeing her, Jules knew she understood perfectly well she wasn't Jillian. Was she hoping for an introduction? Or did she expect Jules to lie about who she was? She had to admit, it was a little intriguing to know that her sister had known these people. She just wondered why Jillian had come to be there in the first place.
Jules had been about nine when she’d demanded to know why her grandmother had stolen Jillian and disappeared. They’d been searching for six years and the only explanation her parents had given was, “ Ivy MacKay is mentally ill.” But at nine, Jules wasn’t buying it anymore. Finally, they’d told her what the paranoia was all about, that the old woman was certain there were people in Scotland who would try to kill Jillian, who would try to bury her alive. The crazy part was that Grandmother claimed that she’d traveled to the future and been there when those murderers were planning it.
Since Jules’ mother couldn’t believe her, the old woman had taken Jillian away, to protect her. And back in the days of no internet, it was much harder to find someone who didn’t want to be found.
Now that Jules realized she, too, had been convinced to climb into that Scottish tomb—and apparently traveled through time—she was beginning to think her grandmother wasn’t as paranoid or crazy as her parents had believed.
But even if she hadn’t been, that didn’t excuse her for the hell she’d made of their lives. No amount of money could make up for that. And half a fortune wasn’t going to excuse Jillian for not trying to come home.
No. She wasn’t Jillian. She’d never be Jillian.
Jules put her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "My name is Jules. I'm not Jillian."
"Of course ye're not Jillian." The woman winked. "How silly of me. I can see the difference now."
Jules resisted the urge to ask what the woman saw that made her so different. She never wanted to look like Jillian, of course, but she didn’t care for the feeling that she was lacking in some way. She wasn’t jealous.
Well, maybe just a little envious—it didn’t help that Jillian was married to the mouth-watering Highlander that had started to haunt her dreams for no reason whatsoever. The website for Castle Ross Tours said the man was Quinn Ross, but it must have been the name he used for tourists. Jillian’s husband was Montgomery Ross, or Monty, as Ewan called him.
In her dreams, she’d never known his name, only that they had to stay together or...something bad would happen. And she’d always been pretty sure it would be bad for them both. Pretty melodramatic for a dream with a stranger, but anyone who’d laid eyes on Montgomery Ross wouldn’t laugh. Even the shot of him on the website took her breath away and made her heart stutter—and this from a girl who never got breathy over anything but a great dessert.
Every night, when she’d fallen asleep, she’d willed herself back into that dark dream. She’d make it there, too, but only every couple of weeks when she went to bed early. Maybe their dreams only linked up when they were both asleep, and time-zone-wise, that meant earlier in
Ewan let out a deep sigh and she couldn’t tell whether he was glad to see them or really disappointed.
"Speak of the sisters and they’ll appear,” he muttered. “Ye’ll see I spoke the truth about them.”
The women in question reached the landing. One of them looked surprised to see Jules. The other one kept her eyes on Ewan and gave him a little bow.
"Laird Ross,” she said. “Ye've a busy cellar this day it seems."
Ewan shook his head slightly. "Hopefully, ye’re the last to come out of it. Won't the pair of ye sup with us this e'en?" The last sentence came out through his teeth.
The second woman gave him a sly nod. "Such a kind laird ye are, Ewan. We'd like nothing more than to sit and have a grand chat with Jillian.
The way the woman was eyeing her, Jules knew she understood perfectly well she wasn't Jillian. Was she hoping for an introduction? Or did she expect Jules to lie about who she was? She had to admit, it was a little intriguing to know that her sister had known these people. She just wondered why Jillian had come to be there in the first place.
Jules had been about nine when she’d demanded to know why her grandmother had stolen Jillian and disappeared. They’d been searching for six years and the only explanation her parents had given was, “ Ivy MacKay is mentally ill.” But at nine, Jules wasn’t buying it anymore. Finally, they’d told her what the paranoia was all about, that the old woman was certain there were people in Scotland who would try to kill Jillian, who would try to bury her alive. The crazy part was that Grandmother claimed that she’d traveled to the future and been there when those murderers were planning it.
Since Jules’ mother couldn’t believe her, the old woman had taken Jillian away, to protect her. And back in the days of no internet, it was much harder to find someone who didn’t want to be found.
Now that Jules realized she, too, had been convinced to climb into that Scottish tomb—and apparently traveled through time—she was beginning to think her grandmother wasn’t as paranoid or crazy as her parents had believed.
But even if she hadn’t been, that didn’t excuse her for the hell she’d made of their lives. No amount of money could make up for that. And half a fortune wasn’t going to excuse Jillian for not trying to come home.
No. She wasn’t Jillian. She’d never be Jillian.
Jules put her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "My name is Jules. I'm not Jillian."
"Of course ye're not Jillian." The woman winked. "How silly of me. I can see the difference now."
Jules resisted the urge to ask what the woman saw that made her so different. She never wanted to look like Jillian, of course, but she didn’t care for the feeling that she was lacking in some way. She wasn’t jealous.
Well, maybe just a little envious—it didn’t help that Jillian was married to the mouth-watering Highlander that had started to haunt her dreams for no reason whatsoever. The website for Castle Ross Tours said the man was Quinn Ross, but it must have been the name he used for tourists. Jillian’s husband was Montgomery Ross, or Monty, as Ewan called him.
In her dreams, she’d never known his name, only that they had to stay together or...something bad would happen. And she’d always been pretty sure it would be bad for them both. Pretty melodramatic for a dream with a stranger, but anyone who’d laid eyes on Montgomery Ross wouldn’t laugh. Even the shot of him on the website took her breath away and made her heart stutter—and this from a girl who never got breathy over anything but a great dessert.
Every night, when she’d fallen asleep, she’d willed herself back into that dark dream. She’d make it there, too, but only every couple of weeks when she went to bed early. Maybe their dreams only linked up when they were both asleep, and time-zone-wise, that meant earlier in
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