The Parchment Scroll by C. A. Szarek Read Free Book Online

knock it off.
    Why are you playing Stockholm-Syndrome-Girl?
    Jules rubbed her arms when tremors chased each other down her spine. Just because he looked good, didn’t mean he was. So far, her acquaintance with him proved that, if nothing else.
    Hugh MacDonald was all barbarian, no matter what the packaging looked like.
    The door swung open, hitting the stone wall hard.
    She winced and jumped.
    “Lass, are ye hurt?” A little old lady shuffled forward, leaning heavily on a wood cane and walking fast enough to make her pant. Her awkward gait didn’t seem to impede her step as she closed the distance to the bed.
    Jules shot to her feet, worried the elderly lady would trip and fall. She tugged Hugh’s shirt down as far as she could, but didn’t take her eyes off his aunt.
    “Ye can wipe tha’ look off yer face.” The woman straightened and drummed her fingers on the top of the cane. “I am well. ‘Tis ye I’m concerned wit’.”
    “I’m okay.” She stumbled over the words, feeling heat scorch the back of her neck as the woman’s eyes trailed her frame.
    “Talk funny, ye do.”
    Hugh came into the room, his arms crossed over that broad—and still bare—chest. The look on his face was as dark as his eyes. “Auntie—”
    “Ye and I are finished speakin’, Hugh MacDonald.”
    Jules arched an eyebrow.
    The old woman’s tone was hard as nails, to match the glare she threw at him. But her expression softened when she looked back at Jules.
    Hugh hovered like a socially inept teenager. Practically in the corner.
    She didn’t know whether to look at her suddenly humbled barbarian or the woman who was appraising her.
    “Pay no heed ta the lad. I’ll call for Catriona and ge’ ye some clothin’.”
    The lad?
    Hugh had to be at least thirty.
    Jules tried not to snort when he shifted from one boot to the other at the end of his bed.
    He said nothing, but he wore his brooding like a shroud.
    “Lass, are ye hungry? I’ll have a bath drawn as well.”
    “No. I’m fine. Don’t go to trouble over me, please. I’ll take the clothing, though.”
    The woman smiled, taking years from her wrinkled face. “Yer no’ trouble.” She pointed to Hugh with her cane. “This one, on t’other hand, is nothin’ but.”
    “Amen, sister,” Jules muttered.
    Hugh threw her a black look, though there was no way he’d know what her phrase meant.
    “I’m Mab, this one’s aunt. I raised ‘im up, I did.”
    “I’m Jules.” She didn’t mind giving her name to the woman who could put her barbarian in check.
    Mab paused, cocking her head to one side.
    “It’s short for Juliette.” She smiled at Hugh’s aunt.
    “Bonnie name, bonnie lass.” Mab circled her body, looking her up and down.
    Jules squirmed, chiding herself to stand still. “Thank you,” she managed.
    “No’ from ‘round here, are ye?”
    “No.” Jules sought Hugh’s gaze for some reason.
    Her barbarian gave a slight nod.
    “I’m from the future.”
    He straightened those broad shoulders and dropped his arms as Jules voiced what she hadn’t said aloud even during their civil conversation on his horse’s back.
    “The future?” Mab asked.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Both MacDonalds listened intently as she explained meeting Bree and coming back in time. They didn’t even look at her like she was crazy when she told them Claire had come back before her.
    Jules didn’t admit she’d come to grab her sister and get home, but she’d already confirmed to Hugh Claire had married Duncan MacLeod.
    He wasn’t stupid. Could probably put two and two together. His shrewd gaze watched her as she spoke.
    Mab kept nodding and cocked her head to one side as she listened. “The Fae are nothin’ but trouble,” she declared finally.
    “But you believe me?” Jules asked.
    “Aye.”
    Hugh was quiet as he regarded her.
    No matter how Jules tried to avoid his dark eyes, she couldn’t. Their gazes collided over and over.
    Mab looked at her nephew. “On the