Scarlett stared up at him, searching his chiseled face for the answers. He’d always been able to provide them for her, but now Laird looked as troubled as she. His calloused fingertips traced the edge of her jaw and down the long line of her neck.
“Come, lass, I ken ye’ve always an opinion.”
“I don’t want to go.” Scarlett swept a hand over her rounded belly. She hadn’t had another contraction yet, but with her water broken, it was only a matter of time. “I mean, I suppose I have to go given the option, but I don’t want to.”
“Ye ken ye dinnae hae to,” came his soft response.
Choices.
But to not go could mean losing their child if it was too premature to survive on its own. High infant mortality rates in the sixteenth century had provided Laird a far more philosophical outlook than she had on the subject.
Babies often died, it was a part of life here. Accepted. When Laird’s young sister, Aileen, had recently miscarried during her first pregnancy, she and her husband had been saddened. Already they had moved on, however, thinking ahead to their next child.
If she and Laird lost this baby, he would mourn. Fully. Perhaps forever in his heart. But life would move on.
For him.
Even after so many years in the sixteenth century, Scarlett couldn’t fully embrace their fatalistic attitude. When she’d begged Donell to return her to 1513, to Laird, she’d assured him she would accept whatever fate had in store for her. Mostly, as he’d pointed out. However, she hadn’t fully realized how a medieval lifestyle might affect her until their daughter had been born. The realization that at any moment some disease, or even infection from the most miniscule injury could take Hermione from her had turned Scarlett into the worst sort of helicopter mom for a long while.
Taking a philosophical view on life had been a difficult process for her. She still didn’t excel at it.
Hugging her stomach to cradle the babe within, she considered the alternative. Hope mingled with fear. Laird’s big hand covered the top of her belly, his thumb caressing back and forth. He loved to feel the baby move, feel the life growing.
Hermione, with all the energy of a three-year-old, burst into the room and bounced up on the bed between them. She snuggled against Scarlett’s side and Scarlett hugged her close, rocking her gently.
Laird moved his hand to Hermione, stroking her cheek tenderly. He was torn, Scarlett knew. Torn between the safety and security of each of them. In this moment, though, she knew without a doubt he’d choose Hermione’s safety and future over their unborn babe. He’d had three years of loving her to cement the choice. However medieval the logic, Hermione’s loss would crush him more than that of a child he’d yet to meet, as much as he loved that child already.
“My love for ye all consumes me.” His low brogue was rough with emotion. “I ne’er imagined such joy in my life. Nor nae greater sorrow at the thought of losing one of my dear lassies. I cannae risk ye. Risk this.”
In a way, she understood this thought process, understood his loyalty to his precious daughter. To the family he had in his reach. But Scarlett had that new life within her. Felt it. The love she had for her unborn baby was as powerful to her as it was for her daughter.
Still…
“I don’t want to take any chances that I might not make it back either,” she admitted quietly. Hermione’s eyelids began to droop and soft, breathy snores ruffled her hair. Scarlett brushed the strands back from her face with a smile. Gambling on the future of her whole family petrified her.
Unaware of her inner debate, Laird gave a short, harsh laugh. “If it ‘twere to happen at all.”
Scarlett grinned at his skepticism. “Part of you still doesn’t believe in Donell’s magic, does it?”
“Do ye? Deep down?”
“Of course. That magic showed me a whole new way of perceiving life. The world.” She reached up and ran her fingertips along his bearded jaw, brushing them back and forth. “It brought me to you, Laird. It gave me this life. There’s nothing more real to me than what I have with you.”
A little shudder of trepidation rattled her. God, she really didn’t want to lose what she had here. But she didn’t want to lose her baby either.
“What am I to do?” Low and husky, her voice trembled with the same indecision quaking in her soul. “I can’t leave you. Can’t leave her. Yet I cannot knowingly sentence our unborn child to a certain death when there is the tiniest chance I can save it.” A hot tear blazed a trail down her cheek before Laird brushed the drop away. “I just can’t, Laird. I’m sorry.”
He clasped her trembling hand, pressing it to his cheek then turned his head to kiss her palm. The action soothing in its warmth, comforting her with his quiet strength, just as he had for the past five years.
“Dinnae be. Ye willnae leave us. Or rather, I willnae let ye leave wi’oot us. I swore long ago to protect ye wi’ my life. To ne’er leave yer side, mo chroí. If Auld Donell is to work his magic, he will take us all.”
Love for this marvelous man infused her but a flash of amusement pushed to the forefront. Laird was a wonderful man, loving husband, amazing father, and she adored him beyond reason, but for all his strength and solidity, he wasn’t one to appreciate unpredictability. Especially since she’d delivered him the biggest shock of his life in the revelation of time travel.
Like Emmy, he was a man who liked to be in control. Of his life. His destiny.
He hated surprises, and unlike Connor who was a few hundred years closer to the innovation and changes, the experience and understanding betwixt them, that’s all Laird would find in the twenty-first century. One appalling surprise after another.
Sending Laird to the future would be like strapping him into a roller coaster and letting him roll. No escape, no control.
It was not the place for him. It wouldn’t be friendly to him and she was afraid he’d be no more friendly toward it in return. She had to express her doubt, but his stern expression only became more implacable.
“Ye’re my life, lass. Tá tú mianach.”
“Yes, always yours,” she swore.
He leaned forward to brush his lips over hers. The light kiss stole her breath and attacked her senses as always. Helpless, she succumbed to the passion and parted her lips beneath his with a sigh. His breath hitched and he slipped a hand behind her neck to draw her closer. Scarlett’s heart raced, her blood turning from icy to scorching in seconds.
With a groan, Laird pulled away. “How do ye do it to me, mo chroí? Even in circumstances like these, I’d like for nothing more than to tumble ye thoroughly.”
His brogue filled with raw yearning never failed to send a quiver of longing through her. She laughed softly. “How do you think I feel? I long for the same and I’m in labor.”
Laird chuckled but his humor fell away into a rueful smile. She tilted her head to fully capture the tender brushing of his thumb along her cheek.
“Och, my bonny lass, I couldnae bear to hae ye leave me wi’ only the promises of a blethering auld nut-hook to reassure me. Whatever awaits me there, I will face it wi’ the same courage ye did when ye came here.”
“So, not very well then?” she quipped, but the uncertainty and tension that had held her captive since Donell put his stamp of approval on their trip through time ebbed. There was comfort in knowing she wouldn’t have to suffer the uncertain days ahead alone. “I’m sure you’ll face the challenges of my time with the same aplomb you meet all others with.”
A mild contraction stole her breath and Scarlett covered the spot with an open palm. “I guess we’d better get on with it, then.”
Laird nodded grimly and lifted Hermione into his arms. Her head lolled sleepily against his shoulder, but she didn’t wake. “Should I hae a bag packed for her?”
“You plan to take Hermione as well?”
“I said we all go,” he restated firmly. “Our fate, whatever it may be, lies together.”
Scarlett swallowed hard but nodded.
>
“Shall I add some toys and such to her bag to occupy her?” he asked as Scarlett’s maid finally arrived.
“Don’t bother,” she told him. “I’m pretty sure we’ll have no trouble finding things to distract her.”
* * *
Scarlett slipped on some clean petticoats then they made their way back to the common room. Voices raised in debate amplified in volume with each step.
“Well, if you ‘cannae move us aboot’, where is the nearest hospital to here once we get there?” Emmy mimicked Donell’s accent. Her fisted hands and taut body screamed of combativeness, though Donell had taken up a spot near the fireplace while Emmy paced the room. Likely to keep out of her reach, if he were smart.
“Edinburgh,” Scarlett answered as Laird helped her down the stairs with one hand, carrying their daughter in the other. A maid followed behind with a small bag.
“You should be in bed,” Emmy said.
“Or we should get going,” she volleyed back. “We still need to get to the hospital before this baby comes and that’s going to take a while. And the closest major one guaranteed to have the facilities we’ll need is the Royal Edinburgh.”
Laird frowned down at her. “The journey to Edinburgh will take days.”
Amusement erupted in Scarlett and she patted Laird’s cheek. “Have I told you lately how adorable you are?”
“Why are ye smiling like that?”
“You’re going to hate this, ye know?”
“But I love ye and I’ll no’ leave ye to the wolves wi’oot protection.”
He’d heard enough stories of the particular wolves that once stalked Scarlett to have his protective nature on alert. Again, love washed over her, along with the urge to trot her entire family back up the stairs and shield them all in turn from what awaited them.
Instead, she lifted her chin and descended the remainder of the steps. Taking the bag from the maid, Scarlett sent her to retrieve Emmy and Connor’s coats and to bring her a cloak. Laird passed Hermione to Emmy, effectively forestalling any further arguing as Emmy cradled the sleepy toddler against her shoulder and proceeded to rock her with practiced efficiency.
“What’s all this?” a jovial male drawl boomed into the room as Laird’s brother entered, sweeping a heavy velvet cape from his shoulders. As usual, Rhys was dressed to the nines with a tufted and bejeweled velvet doublet beneath his draping Hepburn kilt. His shaggy ginger hair was ruffled and windblown, though his short beard was tidy. “I thought ye were to the Tarly’s tonight?”
“Change of plans.” Scarlett forced cheer into the explanation before Laird could say anything. “The baby’s coming a bit early and Donell’s brought someone to assist in the birth.”
Rhys was as perceptive as his brother. His all-seeing eye took in the strangers with their unusual clothing at a glance, before settling on Donell with all the suspicion Laird had given the old man. His hand fell to the hilt of his only armament, a jeweled dagger. “Ye’ll do no’ harm, auld mon.”
The threat brittle, full of dire promise. Rhys was one of the few people who Laird and Scarlett had brought into their confidence regarding her true past. Since he’d been the one to initially interrogate her after they’d found her at Dunskirk, the reality of time travel hadn’t surprised him and he’d accepted the truth. Far more readily than Laird had, at least.
He had been her greatest ally when she’d first arrived and become her dearest friend since then. Her confidante. But she didn’t wish to burden him with the whole truth at the moment.
“Everything’s fine,” Scarlett assured him.
“Then why is Laird strapping on his sword?” Rhys lifted an inquiring brow.
Sure enough, Laird was buckling on the wide leather belt that held his scabbard.
“Where do ye think ye’re going, lad?” Donell protested.
“I told ye, I’m going wi’ her. Frankly, auld mon, I dinnae trust ye to bring her back.”
Emmy snorted indelicately. “I so get that.”
Connor nodded in agreement. “That’s why I’ve come this far and I’ll no’ stay behind again. I’m going, too.”
Rhys lifted a brow. “Going where?”
Emmy tossed up her arms. “Fine, but you cannot take a sword into the twenty-first century.”
Rhys gaped as the words sunk in. “Twenty-first…?”
Laird, too, froze for a moment as if the reality of what he was about to do truly sank in, but then finished securing the buckle with grim determination. That done, he drew the huge Claymore from the scabbard about a foot or so, examined the jeweled hilt for a moment then slid the blade back in. Unlike Rhys’s weapon, the battle-tested sword was not a decorative piece.
“If ye think I’m going into the fray unarmed, yer mistaken.”
Emmy looked to Scarlett for help but she only shrugged. She knew her husband well enough to know when he dug in his heels, they’re be no dissuading him. She wasn’t about to argue this one sticking point when he knew all-too well how nerve-wracking life had been for her in her own time. He wouldn’t take ill treatment of her person lightly. By anyone. No, she wouldn’t be able to talk him out of arming himself, but could only pray he wouldn’t need to use it.
Connor also shrugged when Emmy turned to him in silent appeal. He ran his fingers through his dark hair until it stood on end. “I’ll hae to admit, after everything ye’ve told me, I’d rather like one myself.”
“Of course you’d approve,” she muttered with some disgust. Not for him alone, Scarlett presumed, but for the male gender as a whole.
“Into the fray, eh?” Rhys pondered the idea, combined with what little information they’d provided, and came up with an accurate conclusion. “I’m going as well then. Ye’ll need all the help ye can get, aye?”
Laird seemed ready to protest but Scarlett forestalled him with a jerk of her chin. Not only could she use another dear friend and steadfast ally at her side if she were to resume her former life, she could use the comic relief as well. Rhys had a way of finding humor in any situation. She had an ugly feeling that in the days ahead laughter would be a precious commodity.
“He comes, too.” The command was so definitive, no one dared to argue. Another contraction came, catching her breath for a moment. About ten minutes or so apart. They needed to move this along. “My daughter as well.”
Rhys fetched his sheath and blade and strapped them on. Donell looked ready to pull his hair from its roots.
“I cannae take ye all, lass!”
“Oh, of course you can,” she dismissed him as her maid returned. Scarlett took the garments and sent the girl away. No one else in the castle needed to see what was about to happen. They’d all think the devil was upon them if they did.
“He might be able to but can you imagine how it’ll look? We can’t all show up in the future dressed like this without making even more of a scene than we already will,” Emmy pointed out. “Do you have anything more modern we can wear?”
“Just more of the same.” She distributed the coats and slung her wool tartan over her shoulders.
Emmy scowled at Donell once more. “Let me guess, not a magician either?”
Scarlett almost laughed at the beleaguered look on the old man’s face and felt a stab of pity for him. “It doesn’t matter, Emmy. There will be a scene no matter what we wear.”
“There’s no chance we could do this anonymously?”
The idea was so absurd, Scarlett laughed aloud. “If Donell insists we go to my time, what do you think? I was in the middle of a media circus when I left.”
“Och, lass,” Donell griped. “’Tis a bluidy circus we’ve got here. I’m tempted to wash my hands of the lot of ye.”
“After this, feel free,” Scarlett told him and felt Emmy’s approving eyes on her.
Laird retrieved their daughter, holding her in one arm. Tucking Hermione’s hood around her snugly, Scarlett gave a decisive nod to hide the apprehension growing in her heart.
“Whatever kind of sh
ow it may be, let’s get it on the road, shall we?”
“What will your time really be like?” Rhys’s stilted question revealed his sudden anxiety.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Aye, I do. Ye’re my family.”
“We both do.” Laird’s lips pressed against the top of her head and stayed there, whispering a prayer.
“Well?” Rhys pressed.
“Hell,” she told them.
“We’ve been there before.”
Not like this, she wanted to say, but he’d experience it for himself soon enough. “There will be no bowing and scraping. No one will know or treat you as the son of an earl.”
“Och, that’s too bad. Bowing and scraping are among my favorite things in life.” Rhys winked roguishly but Scarlett could see the apprehension in his eyes.
God, her love for her family was beyond reason. Funny how this time had changed that in her, the willingness to care so deeply. She couldn’t lose them. Any of them.
“Bugger it all, enough of yer natter.” Donell fiddled in his pocket for a moment, his hand fisting within.
Then the oddest thing happened, so quick she thought for a moment she might have blinked. For a fraction of a second, Donell disappeared, then he was back a few inches from where he’d stood before.
If she wasn’t sure she’d imagined it, Scarlett would have described it as a glitch in the Matrix.
Before she could ask about it, he waved an impatient hand. “Gather close.”
“Don’t you need Laird’s sword or something to do it?” To Scarlett’s limited understanding, that’s how his power manifested itself. In an object perhaps imbued with magic.
Donell only shook his head and mumbled something about dramatic effect. “Nay, get closer.”
Scarlett closed her eyes as both Laird and Rhys smothered her and Hermione in their tense embraces.
Even through her eyelids, Scarlett saw the wash of white light. Then there was silence.
The moment of peace didn’t last long.
A Laird to Hold Page 4
