Free The Parchment Scroll by C. A. Szarek

are Braedon and Jamie, my brothers.”
    She nodded, muttered polite greetings, and met the dark-haired guards, even though she was antsy. Jules shifted from foot to foot in the boots Mab had gotten her. The only part of her wardrobe that fit.
    I want to see Claire. Now.
    “Come, lass, I’ll take ye ta yer sister,” Cormac said, gesturing as the other two started to open the wide gates.
    “You read my mind, dude.”
    Keeping up with his long legs was a chore that kept Jules at a jog, but soon she was walking into a great hall bigger than the one at Armadale. A familiar blonde was near the largest hearth—one of three—with her back to them, rocking something in her arms. Even with her back facing Jules, she knew her sister. Claire was before her.
    “My lady.” Cormac’s deep voice echoed.
    Slowly Claire turned, a smile in place that faded when her eyes rested on Jules. “Jules?” The incredulity in her sister’s voice made Jules’ heart skip.
    “Claire-bear,” she breathed. The childhood nickname slipped out and Jules crossed the distance between them, running.
    Cormac said something, but Jules tuned him out. Maybe Claire thanked him. Soon, the big guy bowed and was gone.
    The dark-haired baby on Claire’s hip took Jules’ attention—the something —her sister was rocking by the warm fire.
    He was adorable, with curls at the back of his little head. Big blue eyes dominated his chubby-cheeked face, but Jules saw Claire all over him. His little nose, the shape of those big eyes. Even his lips looked like her sister’s.
    Her heart plummeted to her stomach.
    My baby sister has a kid.
    “Jules. Jules. Jules.” Her name was a chant. “What? How? Are you really here?” Claire’s words fell out of her mouth on fast-forward.
    Jules laughed; it was just like her sister. And damn good to hear.
    She closed threw her arms around her shorter sister, but tried to be mindful of the baby.
    “I can’t believe you’re really here,” Claire whispered into Jules’ shoulder.
    She smiled as she got a whiff of clean baby. She reached out and stroked his downy hair. The little guy flashed a smile that Claire echoed when their eyes met.
    “This is Lachlan,” Claire said, beaming now.
    “He’s beautiful, little sister.” Jules stroked the baby’s arm. “I have a nephew. How old is he?”
    “Eighteen months. We’re trying for number two.” Her sister’s cheeks were tinted pink and she pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead.
    Jules’ heart started to thunder in her ears. “Claire, I came for you.”
    Her sister frowned. “Came for me?”
    “Yeah. To bring you home.”
    Claire stared, green eyes that matched Jules’ own raking her face. “Didn’t you read my letter?”
    “I did, but—”
    Her sister shook her head, making her long blonde hair shift. Claire had always kept her locks on the long side, but it was more so than Jules had ever seen it. Down to her waist. And she was dressed right out of a period movie—in a long olive skirt, ivory puffy-sleeved tunic with a lighter green corset over it. The colors brought out her eyes. She looked gorgeous.
    “There’s no but, Jules.”
    “Claire—”
    “Claire!” A deep booming voice took their collective attention. A huge guy with long dark hair crossed the great hall. He had a sword in his hand, and was only wearing a kilt. Sweat sheened all over his heavily muscled chest.
    Damn, are there any normal-sized guys here?
    The man on his heels was wearing pants, but was also missing a shirt. The sword at his waist was sheathed, though. He looked just like the guy in front of him.
    Twins?
    “Duncan!” Claire’s shout made her jump. “Duncan, my sister is here!”
    “So Cormac said. But how, m ò gradh ?” the kilted one spoke, sheathing his huge sword.
    Her sister’s husband kissed Claire and swept the toddler into his arms. The tiny boy giggled and clutched his dad, throwing small arms around his thick neck. Then her sister slid her arm around the