A Laird to Hold

by Angeline Fortin

  I am hers and she is mine.

  Since the day he’d made that declaration before his father and his King, his life had been hers. What they would do if something happened to one of them, he had no idea.

  And didn’t want to find out.

  He only wanted to take his family away from this hellish place and leave behind the threat, the source still unbeknownst to them.

  He would return them safely to Dunskirk.

  His Dunskirk.

  Och, but that bluidy Auld Donell had best show himself the moment they had their bairn in hand or he’d find himself on the wrong end of Laird’s blade.

  Claire

  The next evening

  “I’ve told you a hundred times, no making fun of the pregnant lady!” Claire slammed the car door muffling Hugh’s merry laughter as he dropped her at the front door of the hotel. Dropped her off so she could run for the restroom, unable to wait until he parked the car.

  Surely the novelty and humor would wear thin in a few months when she wouldn’t even be able to hear the word restroom without feeling the need. No, he wouldn’t be laughing then.

  Nor would he be laughing right now if he saw what she did. Claire came to a dead halt inside the hotel doors. Any urge she had besides the one to flee died a quick death.

  She’d recognize that bad comb-over anywhere. Holy hell, had she not had enough of her nemesis already? And did he own a suit other than that tacky navy blue one? Ugh, she’d thought they were done with this nonsense.

  With his nose buried in his phone, her infuriating antagonist hadn’t noticed her yet. There was a fair chance Claire could slip back outside and avoid this rubbish. What stopped her was curiosity powerful enough to override good sense.

  What was he doing lingering in the lobby of her hotel? Coincidence? She thought not. He was here for her and Hugh. For another round of threaten and be threatened. Well, if the bastard was dead set on pestering her, she’d gladly shovel a crap load of shit back at him.

  Claire pasted on a smile and strolled forward, calling his name with sweet feminine surprise. “Phil!”

  He looked up in disbelief and grimaced when he noticed her. Then frowned. Whether it was because she was there or that the pleasure in her inflection was so obviously negated by the daggers she was shooting at him didn’t matter. In any case, her tone was pleasant enough when she spoke again, only because she knew how it aggravated him. “What a small world, Agent Phil Jameson.” She clicked her tongue. “Microscopic even. Imagine seeing you here, exactly where I would least imagine you being. Vacation? Again?”

  His lip curled and those cold hazel eyes scoured her from head to toe. “It’s Special Agent to you, Mrs. Manning.”

  “Really? How special?” Claire asked, to annoy him more, but geez, she was curious too. Just a month before he’d been on desk duty. Had something changed? She couldn’t ask but took the opportunity to goad him. “Are we talking simply special or special-special?”

  The NSA agent—former or present, it didn’t matter—was grinding his teeth. Claire took some gratification in riling him, but not enough to offset her dismay at finding him here. It was obvious he’d followed them to Edinburgh, just as he’d come all the way to Scotland as a part of his fanatical pursuit. Even so, she wasn’t about to let him see how his presence affected her. The jerk would no doubt get a cheap thrill from knowing he rattled her.

  “And it’s Mrs. Urquhart, remember? I did tell you… recently in fact,” she went on in the same friendly tone, “that I’d remarried. You haven’t forgotten have you? It hasn’t been that long.”

  No, it had been just a month since Phil had tracked her down at the Highland Games in Braemar and threatened once again to take Hugh down. Just as he’d hunted Hugh relentlessly since his escape from Mark-Davis. He was dogged in his pursuit, but Claire hadn’t yet been able to conclude whether duty alone drove the agent to such a sociopathic degree of tenacity.

  Jameson said nothing but scowled ferociously.

  “My husband, you know the big, burly Scotsman? He should be here in just a few minutes. You want to stick around and say hi? I’m sure he’d just love to see you.”

  Since Hugh had threatened Jameson’s life last time they met, the agent’s sudden pallor wasn’t misplaced. If Hugh were here now, he’d wring the man’s neck without bothering with the questions.

  “Really, what are you doing here, Phil?” She pressed for answers. “You’ve already lost your job over this nonsense. What more could you want? I’ve told you again and again, Hugh isn’t the man you’re looking for.”

  “I doubt that.” He spat out the words with far more vitriol than she was used to hearing from him. But then, because of them, he had lost his job. “But if he isn’t maybe one of the others is?”

  Taken off guard by the accusation, Claire was unable to provide a quick witty comeback and she could tell from the morbid glee in his eyes, he knew he’d struck a nerve.

  “I’ve been watching you all for some time, but I can’t decide. Which one is it?” His low, raspy undertone toyed with her. “Not the redhead obviously. That would have been easy to spot. One of the others then? Both of them are about the right size. With similar coloring. But then your new husband meets the criteria, as well.”

  Watching them? For how long? Had she brought danger down on her new friends? Oh, she’d never forgive herself!

  Claire struggled to regain her bravado, her only defense against him. “Fishing season is over, Phil. I told you before, go home and forget about this ridiculous obsession of yours. You know, if you’re looking for a man, there are plenty of places that hire them out for your personal pleasure.”

  Her heart jolted as his hand swung back, then froze and fisted. God, had he been about to strike her there in the lobby with a dozen people around to witness it?

  The rabid hatred in his eyes said yes and a icy coil of fear gripped Claire for the first time. He’d never frightened her so before. His persistence had been nothing more than an annoying obstacle to overcome, but now…

  God, where was Hugh? With him by her side, her bluster would be fully restored, but she refused to glance around for a rescue and give Phil the pleasure of knowing he’d shaken her.

  “You think its all bullshit, Mrs. Manning?” he snarled and stepped so close she could see his nose hairs as he glared down at her. “Do you think I won’t fight this as long as I know the truth? About everything?”

  Claire clamped her lips together, refusing to say anything more. He moved even closer until she could feel each word leaving his mouth against her cheek. He was digging, he had to be digging. There was no way he could know the truth.

  “I know more than you think, Mrs. Manning,” he rasped out close to her ear. She tried to duck away, but he caught her upper arms and yanked her closer. “I will hunt each one of them down and wipe the earth of their savage blood. It doesn’t matter that you know I’m here anymore. They will never see it coming. I promise you.”

  A shiver snaked down her spine, but Claire couldn’t let fear overtake her. “My name is—” she drove an elbow into his ribs as hard as she could “—Mrs.—” a quick up-thrust and her elbow caught him in the jaw “—Urquhart.”

  Jameson released her, and panting, Claire skipped out of arm’s reach. “Don’t forget it again.”

  Her eyes darted around the few gawking onlookers and then she spotted Hugh coming through the main doors. Calling his name, she ran to him and flung herself in his arms. “It’s Jameson. He’s here.”

  In a heartbeat, Hugh changed from the man he’d become to one she hadn’t seen in months. Hard, ferocious. He pushed her behind him, ready to do battle.

  But Jameson was gone.

  Hugh turned back to her. Once again, his blue eyes were soft, brimming with concern as he examined her from top to bottom. “Did he hurt ye?”

  “No. I’m fine. He’s obsessed, Hugh. Not like before. Worse. And I think he knows,” she added. “And I’m not entirely sure he’s just guess
ing.”

  “Knows what?”

  “Everything.”

  Scarlett

  An hour later, Scarlett and Laird had been recalled from the hospital and they were all convened in the hotel suite for an emergency meeting. Hugh explained who Phil Jameson was, and then what the NSA was for the trio unfamiliar with the agency. From there, he gave them a more thorough rundown of their past encounters with the agent.

  “He’s relentless,” Claire continued from there. “He lost his cushy job over this obsession with hunting Hugh down. He acts like Hugh isn’t even human, referring to him as it or thing. Calling him an anomaly. I honestly think he believes it’s like his calling in life is to capture Hugh. But I’ve never seen him like this.”

  “Do ye think he’s after us all now?” Laird shared a thoughtful look with Scarlett. She knew what he was thinking and hoped he was wrong.

  “She’s long been a worrier,” Hugh said of his wife. “But she’s never been one to overreact. Aye, ‘tis possible Jameson’s extended his hatred of me to all of ye.”

  Laird traced the pad of his thumb across his lower lip. An unconscious gesture he displayed when deep in thought. “Could his hatred be turned to violence?”

  Hugh raised a brow. “Why do you ask?”

  Scarlett shook her head minutely in hopes of stopping him, but Laird continued quietly, “Scarlett and I were besieged at the theater last night.”

  A wave of questions bombarded them.

  What?

  How?

  Why didn’t you say something?

  “Someone got into the theater and took a shot at us.” Scarlett downplayed the truth. Still, when Rhys slid to her side and wrapped an arm around her, she couldn’t help but take comfort in his caring gesture. “We weren’t hurt,” she assured him but went on for the others. “I don’t know who it was. I’m assuming a fan who’d become fixated or something. It happens from time to time. Obsession with an ‘if I can’t have her, no one will’ twist. If they’ve linked me with Laird, someone might feel insanely betrayed. That sort of thing. Though I’ve never had one act on one before, I’ve had plenty of threats in my life. I’m sure it wasn’t connected.”

  “But might it hae been?” Laird persisted, looking to Claire for an answer. “What if Scarlett is wrong and it was this scurrilous agent of yers?”

  Claire thought about it and looked to Hugh for guidance.

  He tapped the corner of his mouth with one finger. Scarlett could have smiled at the thoughtful movement so similar to Laird’s if the situation weren’t so dire. “I will admit, I cannae see it.”

  “I wouldn’t think so either,” Claire agreed. “I mean, he’s a Grade A obsessed asshole but he’s never been violent before.”

  Hugh cast his wife an incredulous look.

  “Oh, him sic’ing his thugs on you doesn’t count,” she told him with a tight smile. “They didn’t stand a chance and you enjoyed it. Admit it.”

  “I did,” he granted. “Dispatching them was barely e’en sport.” He fell silent for a moment. “When last we saw Agent Jameson, his frustration was palatable. I did taunt him to a degree. Could he hae been driven to madness?”

  “Driven to murder you and anyone you know?” Claire asked him skeptically, but turned to the others. “I hate to think that was enough to do it. That we brought him down on you, but why would he do it at all? He’s obsessed not utterly irrational.” Claire had been treading circles around the room, wringing her hands. The encounter had clearly distressed her.

  Not that any of them were calm. Or even sitting. All of them were on their feet, ready to take action at a moment’s notice. If there were an action to take against this agent who may or may not have been the one to shoot at her and Laird. Scarlett hated not knowing for sure.

  Claire went on, “Otherwise he would have been after every friend we’ve made since coming to Scotland. Unless he suspects you are like Hugh. Time travelers.”

  “What would make him suspect such a thing?” Laird voiced the question before Scarlett could. “That we’re from the past? Even if he’s been following ye as he says, ‘tis a radical assumption to make.”

  “He may hae seen the…er, video is the word, aye? Of our arrival here,” Connor speculated. “He may hae seen the clothing we wore and drawn his own conclusions.”

  But that still linked the association back to Hugh and Claire. Clearly, Claire was devastated to think she’d brought this agent’s obsessive wrath down upon them.

  In a heartbeat, it all clicked into place for Scarlett.

  This was the source of all her reservations when it came to Hugh. Somehow she’d known he’d bring some threat down upon them. Not that he’d meant to or even been aware of it, but he’d linked them to the danger. Her previous wariness now made sense given recent events. However, Scarlett realized she shouldn’t have feared Hugh, but feared for him.

  As she feared for them all now. Their destinies were all linked together. Because Claire was correct.

  “Given what little we know, I believe Claire is justified in her worries,” Connor went on as if reading Scarlett’s mind. “I’d wager this Jameson fellow not only suspects but knows we are no’ from this time either.”

  “How would he guess that?” Emmy wanted to know. “I agree with Laird. Association by proximity alone isn’t enough to jump to such a conclusion.”

  “Nay?” he retorted, lifting a brow and gesturing to Laird and Rhys then to Hugh. “Look at them. Ye might put them in fancy clothes but ye cannae take the ancient Scot out of them. This agent knows unequivocally Hugh is from another time, aye? Hae ye seen another man in this time who looks as they do? I’m no’ talking size or build, there are others as large. I’m talking aboot their demeanor. I’ve heard Jack tease Rhys aboot being old-fashioned but ‘tis no’ only that. They are battle worn. Ye can see it wi’oot a word from their mouths, but if this agent heard them speak, ye dinnae think he would note the difference in their speech from the Scots here?”

  “He said savages,” Claire exclaimed suddenly, drawing all eyes. “Jameson said something like he was going to rid the world of their savage blood. I was so flustered, I didn’t catch it in the moment. He often referred to Hugh as a savage when he talked about him. I think I realized the connection deep down and that’s why I guessed he knew everything. Because Connor’s right, somehow he does.”

  Their combined confidence in that upsetting conclusion had dread clawing in Scarlett’s stomach. She’d suspected but didn’t care to be proven correct in this instance. A fanatical admirer tracking her was one thing. In the past, the danger was to her and her alone. She hadn’t anticipated obsession might compel them to remove any imagined obstacle between them, but she’d already set provisions in place after the attack at the theater to counter such a threat. Laird could defend himself, especially with the assistance of Tyrone’s added security guards. She’d felt confident in that last line of defense.

  However, this was a different story. A madman bent on eradicating the men she loved from the face of the earth with the power of a government badge and years of training behind him may not be so easily defensible. And this agent might not stop at the men. Funny how she was fine thinking someone only wanted her dead, but this was unacceptable.

  “Okay, fine.” Claire paused in her rotation of the living room to throw up her arms in surrender. “Assuming he knows or thinks he knows, we can force him to withdraw over lack of evidence just as we did when he was after Hugh. I’ll call my brother Danny and have him get Laird, Rhys, and Connor into the system and send some passports just in case Jameson pursues the issue. The sooner we have them, the sooner Jameson will have to desist in pursuing you.”

  “As he’s refrained from pursuing ye?” Laird pointed out. “And what if he disnae? What if he persists in his quest? Takes it e’en further?”

  “Will he come for us again?” Scarlett threw the chilling question out there. Icy dread weighed heavy in her gut. “Wait, are you saying he may go after my girl
s?”

  Hugh shook his head adamantly. “Nay. It makes nae sense. Even if he suspects ye’ve traveled in time, it makes nae sense he’d be so convinced.”

  He didn’t want to believe it, but wishing didn’t translate to reality. Regardless of the magic in her life, Scarlett wasn’t one for living in a fantasy world.

  “Well, I’m not going to wait around to find out for certain.” She stood and marched across the room. “Not when he might be the one who tried to kill us last night. Not if there’s even a chance my children are in danger.” She picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. “Hello, this is Scarlett Thomas in room…yes? Yes, I’m sure I could find time…Sure, but listen, there’s a man who’s been hanging about in the lobby and I wonder if he’s still there? He’s…” She looked at Claire.

  “About forty-five with brown hair and a receding hairline.”

  Scarlett relayed the information and listened for a moment. She focused on Claire again. “She’s asking if I’m talking about the gobby ponce in a cheap blue suit and vomitus green tie?”

  Claire nodded. “That’s him.”

  “That’s him,” Scarlett repeated into the phone and listened for a bit. “No, thank you. That’s it. I appreciate your help.” She hung up the landline and pulled her cellphone out of her pocket. “The front desk clerk says he’s been hanging around for a week or so, not staying here but just loitering. When they ask him to leave, he flashes a badge and acts like a—I’m quoting here—a jobby-flavored fart lozenge. I guess that means he’s being a pretty big dick?”

  “Verra big,” Hugh agreed.

  Pursing her lips, Scarlett scrolled through her recent calls and redialed one. When Tyrone answered, she gave him a brief rundown of the previous night’s events. “I think the guy who did it has been stalking my hotel, too. He’s probably still down there. Do you think you could get the cops to pick him up?” She gave a brief description and told him the guy might try to pass a phony badge, too. She paused, listening. “Well, attempted murder should hold him for awhile, shouldn’t it? Great. Let me know. Thanks.”