A Laird to Hold
Page 11
They piled into the SUV.
A man sat in a car nearby, curious how the group left the hospital in greater numbers than when they’d arrived. Who were the newcomers? What did their presence mean? Why were they at the hospital at all?
He tapped a finger against the barrel of the gun lying across his lap as he considered his options.
Act now or learn more?
Picking up the pistol, he aimed it out the open driver’s side window. First at one man in the group, then another. Then one of the women. His finger itched to pull the trigger as he imagined the headlines once the truth was out.
Small reward for what he’d suffered.
He squinted down the barrel then paused. Trading the gun for his binoculars, he zoomed in on them. And the child with them.
In the short time it took him to mull over the elasticity of his moral fabric, the SUV left the parking lot. With a curse, he turned the ignition intent on following them, then looked back at the hospital. It took only a moment to decide there was a much better way to find out what he needed to know.
Hugh
Hugh led the way into the Kirkyard Hotel. His guests followed in varying stages of wonder. While he purposefully chose a hotel housed in an older building, the seventeenth century structure was still more modern than fifty percent of them were accustomed to. The old-world décor more in tune with Connor and Emmy’s time.
Still, the dark paneled walls and heavy furnishings weren’t as shocking to Laird and Rhys as the evening wear displayed by some of the ladies lingering in the lobby, waiting for tables at one of the restaurants. Great expanses of bare feminine legs weren’t something they’d had a chance to encounter at the hospital.
At the front desk, he gathered up keys for the extra rooms he’d reserved. The electronic key cards would no doubt raise a dozen questions. Hugh chuckled at the thought, remembering how incessantly inquisitive he had been when he’d first roamed Claire’s compact townhouse in Spokane.
What is this? What is that? Why? Why? Why?
He still did the same thing sometimes, when he came across something new. He’d studied hard to acclimate to this time, to fit in, but surprises still came his way. Laird, Rhys, and Connor had displayed none of the same curiosity in Hugh’s presence, as yet. Not about the car he drove or the more modern buildings they’d passed. Not one of them had played with the controls for the windows.
Either they had more self-control than he, or Scarlett and Emmy had done a thorough job of preparing them for the future.
Hugh wished he’d had any preparation at all. Hearing how they’d met and married their spouses had been a revelation to him. Not at all like his experience. He had to wonder why.
“There you are, Mr. Urquhart.” The front desk clerk handed him the keys with a smile. “The rooms are all connected as you requested.”
“My thanks.”
“Oh and I have a message for you.”
“A message?” He looked to Claire. They hadn’t told anyone where they’d be.
He unfolded it and read the short missive with a frown.
“Who’s it from?” his wife asked curiously.
“My publisher,” he answered. His upcoming novel reminiscing his many conversations with David Hume, Frederick the Great and François-Marie Arouet, known by most in this time by his nom de plume, Voltaire, as a work of fiction was set to be released in the spring. His publisher had been hounding him as if the event were happening the following week. “I’ll return his call down here while all of ye head to the rooms and get settled.”
He dealt out the key cards and watched them head to the elevators. A part of him would regret witnessing their reactions when the doors closed. His first encounter with a lift had been horrifying.
With a sigh, he turned on his heel and headed not for the public phones but to one of the hotel bars called The Whisky Room. A more apt place to meet his visitor, Hugh couldn’t imagine. The sight of the old man at the end of the bar hunched over a tankard of ale was one he’d seen a dozen times or more. Three hundred years before.
Donell pushed back his cap when Hugh took the barstool next to him. His ruddy face wrinkled. Little tufts of gray hair stood out over his pointy ears, but his eyes were like those of a child. Lively and impish. “Ye got my message then.”
“Aye, though I’m curious why ye asked me to come alone.”
The elfin old sot took a long pull on his ale before answering. He did seem to get some perverse pleasure out of making people wait. “I wanted to hae a chat wi’ ye wi’oot the others’ ceaseless badgering. I truly dinnae expect ye here, ye ken?”
“But now that I am, perhaps ye can explain to me why my story is such a far cry from the others.”
“Aye, I suppose I should hae done it long ago. ‘Tis one of my greatest regrets.”
Still, rather than giving Hugh the satisfaction of producing an immediate explanation, Donell buried his nose in his tankard once more. Exasperated, Hugh lifted a finger to draw the bartender’s attention and ordered his favorite rye shaken neat.
It wasn’t until he’d taken his first sip that Donell came up for air, dragging the back of his hand across his lips with a lusty sigh.
“Well?”
“Well it ‘twould be easiest to blame yer wife, to be sure.”
“Sorcha? How would she be to blame?”
“Getting her to come aboot took longer than I anticipated,” Donell confessed, then ordered a refill on his ale.
“Come aboot to what?”
“Yer Claire’s no’ the sort of lass ye can just drop the perfect man in front of and expect her to gi’ in to the throes of love, ye ken? No’ in the state she was in at the time,” the old man explained.
The state she was in at the time they met held no mystery for Hugh even as ambiguous as the description was. When he’d first met her, she’d been in full mourning for her first husband. Closed off completely from any sort of romantic relationship or even a physical one. Though she’d come around eventually, he had no doubt if he’d tried to pick her up in a bar like this one in the beginning, she would have dismissed him without a second look.
“Aye, ye see it?” Donell stared at him over the brim of his mug, blue eyes light with humor. “Ye always were a clever lad. And she a stubborn lass. She needed a reason to risk her heart once more. A cause.”
Aye, and he’d made an excellent one. His soft-hearted lass couldn’t bear the sight of him caged like a beast. While she hadn’t been the one to free him, she’d been there to save his life and help him find freedom.
“I regret it took so long to see ye free after I arranged for yer—er, shall we say extraction—from yer own time.”
“Ye dropped that portal in front of me then?” Hugh pressed. “Did ye hae a hand in building the time portal Dr. Fielding was working on?”
Donell rocked his open hand from side to side. “’Tis a gray area. What I cannae do on my own, I can provide a nudge of inspiration to accomplish what needs to be done. I befriended one of the scientists, a bonny wee lass named Al, much as I had yer Claire. I slipped Al a few hints here and there to help them along.”
“Ye put a wicked weapon in the hands of an immoral man.”
“For a short time, aye. Though it ne’er truly worked properly for them. Only when I’d fiddle wi’ it when I needed it,” Donell told him. “Should gi’ ye comfort to know it’s been destroyed. Regrettably all the research to rebuild it is gone as well and the lass who’d come up with the key component nae longer there to help them.”
“The blonde lass who was there in the lab when I first came through? She’s the one?”
“Good guess, lad. Ye always were a bright one.”
“What happened to her?” Hugh probed. “Was she part of yer plan too?”
“Nay, regrettably accidents do happen. In this case, for the best.” He chuckled into his cup again. “I gave Al the option of coming back, but she refused. Seems she’s content wi’ making yer cousin a happy man.”
“Fell in love, lad,” Donell corrected. “Tumbled, more like. Seems she makes the burden of bearing the dukedom more tolerable.”
The idea stunned Hugh, but pleased him nevertheless. He’d missed his cousin terribly these last months, worried for him and his future as Duke of Ross. Keir had never wanted the title, hounding Hugh again and again to produce an heir of his own.
“He is contented then?”
“Aye.”
“And my sisters?” Hugh asked. Now it struck him in thinking about them how similar his sister Mathilde’s coloring was to Scarlett’s. Auburn hair. Brown eyes. Though his sister was more statuesque in build.
“They’re all well. By the by, yer cousin and his new wife hae taken on a wee lad as their ward. An orphan of the battle at Culloden who has nae other to teach him the duties and responsibilities for his new title.” Donell’s face folded into a fond smile. “Once I pointed it out to Keir, he appreciated how appropriate it might be for a man learning to be a duke to share his education wi’ a young earl who is equally unprepared.”
Keir always had a kind heart. Though he’d hidden it well. Hugh was pleased to hear his cousin was doing so well. “Incredible. I’ve been able to find nae information aboot Rosebraugh.”
“And ye willnae. Cannae. I’m sorry for that as well.” The old man tipped his head back and swallowed down the rest of his ale as if he were drowning his sorrows. “But rest assured yer cousin is better than contented. He’s truly happy. For all the many mistakes I’ve made, ‘tis glad I am that one of them turned out for the best.”
“But I am nae mistake? Nor Scarlett? Or Emmy?”
Donell shook his head in the negative but provided nothing more.
Frustration inched its way up Hugh’s spine. “Will ye no’ tell me what we are then? That they will all be able to return home? Ye ken it weighs on them?”
“Ye’re no’ mistakes. Ye’re my attempt to fix one,” he answered cryptically. “And as long as ye’re still here, ye can ken they get home safe.”
Hugh took a sip of his own drink, considering his words. Aye, he wouldn’t have been born or be here now if they didn’t return to their lives in the past.
Donell slid off his stool and tipped his hat. “Well, ta-ra, lad. I maun be on my way. Pick up the tab, will ye?”
“Wait,” Hugh called after him as he ambled toward the door. “Will ye no’ tell me how ye did it?”
But he was gone with more speed than a man of his years should possess, leaving Hugh to ponder all he’d learned. Why had Donell gone to such lengths to help create a time machine when he possessed such power? What made Hugh different from the others?
There were no answers at the bottom of his whiskey glass. He suspected there would be none at all until Auld Donell was ready to give them.
* * *
The infant beneath the plastic shell of the incubator beyond the glass was asleep. Scrawny little thing, the man looking at her through the window to the neonatal nursery thought. Though the newborn lacked the excessive tubing and breathing apparatuses some of the even tinier babies had. He’d overheard the nurses talking. The child was basically healthy, just needed help to keep warm and eat. It wasn’t excessively premature.
It wasn’t going to die.
Not unless something drastic happened.
It’d been easy enough to backtrack the group he’d been watching outside from the parking lot to where they’d come from within the hospital. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to glean any information about the father of the child his investigation had led him to. The nurse became closed-mouthed when he’d asked too many pointed questions.
Were they just visitors or something more?
Unfortunately, the band around the baby’s ankle provided no assistance. Only a series of numbers and a barcode graced the blue band. He took a picture of it on the off chance he might be able to hack their system. Briefly, he considered snatching the baby and making a run for it, but the RFID technology imbedded in the ankle bracelet secured the child’s good fortune.
For now.
Turning on his heel, he strode with measured steps down the hall and past Scarlett Thomas’s hospital room. Unlike many of the rooms in this section, there was no window to the hall and the door was closed.
A part of him longed to open it, step in and confront her about the child and its father, but again he refrained. He wasn’t prepared to reveal himself and show his hand yet. He had time.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
Rhys
Ten days later
“Are ye all right, mate?”
“What? I beg yer pardon?” Rhys blinked and lifted his gaze to the lean man skirting the pool toward him.
“Nothing.” The chap laughed and slung a towel over his shoulder. “Ye’re just staring at the pool as if ye’d never seen one before.”
Rhys chuckled too, though he had to force some levity into the sound. If it looked as if he’d never seen a swimming pool before, it was because he hadn’t.
The water was impossibly clear. He could see through to the bottom. Even at what Hugh had termed the ‘deep end.’ What discouraged him thus far from diving in and enjoying the cool water, however, was the stink of it. An acrid stench he couldn’t quite identify. He’d been thinking about waiting for Hugh to join him prior to risking his health.
But perhaps he didn’t have to.
“Smells bluidy rank.” Rhys phrased his curiosity as casually as he could.
“Aye,” the fellow nodded. “They may have put too much chlorine in. Seen worse though. At least we’re not bleeding out our eyes, aye?”
“Aye.”
Taken aback that such a thing was a possibility, Rhys nonetheless echoed the man’s laughter once more. ‘Twas enjoyable the way he threw back his head and let the humor flow unrestrained as he removed his T-shirt. He was young, a few years younger than Rhys’s thirty years if he had to guess. Close cropped brown hair and hazel eyes. Nearly as tall as Rhys but far leaner with finely cut, pleasing musculature. His blue swim trunks were shorter than those Claire had helped Rhys purchase. Snugger, too. He couldn’t resist dipping his eyes down a notch.
When he looked back up, the fellow’s expression had changed. He cocked his head as if Rhys were a curiosity or surprise, however there was no censure in his eyes nor the revulsion Rhys had experienced throughout his life when he’d been caught admiring the male form. In fact, he could have sworn there was a hint of pleasure there as the full-body assessment he’d just completed was returned in kind.
“Huh, I wouldn’t have guessed it,” the man murmured.
Rhys’s body tightened under the appraisal. Many of the males in this time were not as broad and heavily muscled as Rhys was. It left him wondering if he would pass muster. He never had to wonder in his own time but this one was ever contradicting all he thought he knew.
Added to that, it’d been some time since he’d felt such a tug of attraction. Not since Willem had died. A mournful pain squeezed his chest. He looked away. The sting wasn’t as piercing as it had been in the past. He was healing from his loss. Mayhap the time had come to begin looking to the future.
Rhys certainly hadn’t imagined Scarlett’s modern world to be anything like this. They’d been in this time for over a week already. Scarlett and Laird spent their days at the hospital. She’d gotten her agent to provide additional security for them there, leaving Rhys free to spend his days as he wished. He, Connor, and Emmy explored the new world around them. Hugh had updated them regarding the history of Scotland. The changes over time concerning government and religion, though he’d mysteriously asked Rhys not to get him started on notions of evolution and the Big Bang Theory. Whatever that was.
The Edinburgh he’d known was still there between the cracks of the more modern world. Rhys took some comfort i
n knowing the things his contemporaries had built weren’t entirely swept away by the winds of time.
There was a fresh exhilaration though in exploring the new. Never knowing what he’d find next. Far more exciting than his predictable life at home—travel from court, to his family at Crichton then to Dunskirk and back again in a never-ending rotation.
Unlike Laird, Rhys relished the unexpected, the rush of blood in his veins. He felt truly alive. Hugh and Claire were excellent guides. They’d been from one end of the city to the other in the past week. He’d visited pubs with the recognizable flavor of old Scotland and a nightclub with hellish music and flashing lights that left a bad taste in his mouth. Small shops and vast stores with enough clothing to fit every person he’d ever known a hundred times over.
Bookstores with volumes enough to keep him occupied for the remainder of his years. He couldn’t resist touching them, despite the no-touching policy Scarlett and Emmy had originally burdened them with. Hours spent at a bookshop called Blackwells were he’d found favorites that Scarlett had introduced him to with the books she’d brought to the past and hundreds more to explore. He’d brought his niece back with him for hours more. Even purchased her a replica wand of the one Hermione Granger had carried in the Harry Potter book series with the paper bills Scarlett had retrieved from her bank and distributed among them so they might fully enjoy their time here.
Hugh had introduced the men to the gym at the hotel, giving them another outlet for their energies. And had suggested the swimming pool to try next.
Through it all, however, Rhys had never been struck nor even clipped by Cupid’s arrow. Not tempted in the least by anyone he passed on the streets or talked to in the pubs.
He may not have been pierced full-on this morn. Nonetheless Rhys felt the breeze of one whizzing by. Best to ignore it, he thought. Despite Scarlett’s tales over the years about LGBT rights and social acceptance, Rhys didn’t fully believe such open approval was possible.