A Laird to Hold

by Angeline Fortin

  “Aye and I look forward to it, lass.”

  Scarlett

  “Wait,” Scarlett interrupted the happy moment. Her eyes… and scowl, were all for Donell. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. This isn’t just some cosmic coincidence, you showing up just when we’re talking about you, is it? You’ve been watching us? Listening to us? All this time?”

  “No’ all the time, but of late, aye.” Donell shrugged as if it were no big deal that he was eavesdropping on their lives, but Laird had him snatched up by his collar and his feet dangling in the air before his shoulder had time to drop.

  “Where were ye last night when my wife’s life was in danger then?” he growled.

  “Betcha didn’t see that coming,” Emmy murmured under her breath.

  Scarlett didn’t succumb to Emmy’s attempt at humor but it did give her a glimmer of pleasure to see the old man swinging in the air. A little payback for all the times he’d left them hanging with his sudden appearances and disappearances.

  Donell squirmed in Laird’s grip, but only succeeded in slipping out of one arm of his jacket. “Ye had the matter well in hand, lad. There was nae true danger.”

  “He was shot!” Scarlett protested and another flood of exclamations rose from everyone. Even Emmy’s mirth was subdued by the knowledge that things had gotten real. “It was just a scratch. Hardly worth mention according to Laird but it could have been much worse if the shooter hadn’t been so far away. Why weren’t you there to save him, Donell?”

  “Well, I…I…”

  Laird dropped him to his feet with a harsh curse then a rueful laugh. “Because I’ve already played my part in this farce. That’s the sum of it, is that no’ so?”

  Donell only flattened his lips together and didn’t say a word.

  Scarlett stared at her husband, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What do you mean, Laird?”

  “I’ve done my bit,” he answered shortly. “I’ve sired the bairn he needed to see Hugh born.”

  Was he saying he’d become expendable to Donell? Surely the old man couldn’t be so cold-hearted. She lifted Hermione into her arms and glared at Donell.

  “Am I dispensable then too?”

  A fierce glower crossed Laird’s face, then smoothed. “Nay, he needs someone to raise the bairn and keep her safe.”

  Surely he couldn’t be trying to justify his theory? Scarlett shook her head in denial. “You could do that, too.”

  “I’m nae mother.”

  Frustrated Scarlett turned on Donell with worry worming its way into her heart. Not for herself. Only her family. Laird couldn’t be correct. “Tell him he’s wrong,” she demanded.

  Old Donell wrinkled his nose at her. “Need I remind ye that ye claimed one more day would be enough to share wi’ him, lass?”

  “I said that five years ago when I was simply falling in love with him,” Scarlett shot back, though the words were drenched with pain. Her voice splintered as she continued, “Now he’s my life. My whole world. Everything I have and everything I am revolves around him and our children. You can’t have one without the other.”

  Her passionate plea brought tears to the eyes of everyone around her. Even Donell wasn’t immune to her heartfelt declaration.

  “Admirable answer, lass.” He gave a satisfied nod. “I always kent I made a good choice in ye. Well, maybe no’ always.”

  “Then wh—”

  “I told ye, I kent ye’d make it oot safely.”

  “Safely being a relative term?”

  “Enough,” Laird broke into the argument and scowled at Donell. “If ye’ve had yer eyes upon us all this while, ye might hae given us all some wee clue aboot what was coming.”

  “He might have,” Emmy agreed. “But that’s not his style, is it?”

  “’Tis why I dinnae want to bring ye here to begin wi’,” Donell countered, his wary blue eyes following Scarlett as she passed Hermione to Rhys and asked him to put her to bed.

  “Och, but I’ll miss all the fun, Scar,” he jested though he did as she asked.

  Arms free, Scarlett crossed them over her chest and waited for Donell to continue.

  “Och, lass, what can I say? Knowing too much about yer future will only hurt ye.”

  “Now you’re sounding like Doc Brown.” Scarlett snorted with laughter but there was little amusement in it. “This isn’t Back to the Future, you know? What we don’t know apparently can hurt us.”

  And the ones we love. And our friends. And our children’s children’s children.

  Scarlett looked to the others for support. Laird merely lifted a hand in a gesture that said he trusted her to speak for them all.

  Hugh drew Claire into his arms and nodded.

  Even Emmy was content to let Scarlett do the talking.

  “First, you didn’t want us here, then you clearly hadn’t planned on us meeting Hugh and Claire. Now you don’t tell us about Jameson before the threat is all too real.” She ticked off the points on her fingers. “So, what else is there? Because I’m willing to bet there is something more.”

  Donell pursed his lips, disgruntled by her direct assault, but only scratched his balding pate irritably. No words, but the action spoke volumes. She was right. There was something else.

  “Well?” she demanded. “What’s coming for us next? The Libyans and a bazooka?”

  The old man sighed. “Jameson is the threat ye need to worry yerself wi’ and ye’d best be on yer toes wi’ him.”

  Hugh shook his head in disgust. That dollop of information did nothing to appease him more than it did Scarlett. “That’s it?” he asked. “Nothing more? Not when he’s coming or how?”

  Emmy snorted. “Since he’s apparently all-seeing and all-knowing. How does that work, by the way?”

  Donell descended into stubborn silence once more and Scarlett’s frustrations grew. Perhaps Emmy had been on point that Donell and the hows and whys of his power were the issues they should have been addressing all the while.

  “How about at least telling us how you know of him?”

  “It willnae help ye, lass,” he groused. “Just steer clear of him for one more day and I’ll see ye home.”

  “But what of Hugh and Claire?” Laird pushed, as unsatisfied by his vague reassurances as she. “What awaits them once we’re gone?”

  “I will make sure they’re safe,” Donell swore though he offered no such guarantees for the rest of them.

  Why would he, Scarlett wondered. When there was obviously much more than Donell was telling them. Was Jameson like Donell? The old wizard had claimed Jameson no longer had the power to move through time, so perhaps. But where did that power come from? How did it work? Why was Jameson so set on destroying them?

  Was he destined to succeed?

  Those were the questions needing answers. Everyone else must have agreed, they were all closing in on him.

  As if he knew they were about to bombard him with more questions, Donell spoke up. “All will be revealed.”

  Great, now he was quoting The Bible.

  Before, she could hound him some more, Donell was gone. Scarlett turned to Laird.

  “I will ne’er get used to that,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “In my time, he’d be burned at the stake.”

  “Ha, if you could catch him,” Emmy pointed out.

  Claire looked up at Hugh. “What do you think he’s hiding?”

  “Because clearly he’s hiding something,” Scarlett added. Hugh flattened his lips together, looking for all the world like Donell in that moment. God, did he know something more, too? “Hugh?”

  “I dinnae ken,” Hugh said though his denial was unconvincing. “Everything? Nothing? We may ne’er ken.”

  “I wish I at least knew how Donell knows this Jameson,” Claire frowned. “That might at least answer a few questions.”

  “Will it?” he countered. “We ken we’ve all met Donell in our own lifetimes. Some of us for years, yet none of us kens how he could be ev
erywhere through time.”

  Connor nodded. “I get the feeling he’s…how hae ye put it before? Playing us?”

  Yes, he was. Scarlett only wished she knew his endgame. Screw knowing too much about the future.

  “Ugh,” she ground out. “I hate this.”

  “One more day, lass.”

  Laird took her in his arms, hugging her close. Scarlett pressed her cheek against his chest. Listened to the strong beat of his heart, drawing on his strength. On the patience she didn’t possess herself.

  The morning after the next couldn’t come quick enough.

  But that wouldn’t be the end of it. They couldn’t leave without knowing everyone else was safe. And for that to happen, Jameson would have to be taken care of.

  Just as Laird had said.

  She didn’t like that option any better than wallowing in all the uncertainties Donell left them with. Laird was a fighter, a protector. He would do what he thought he must.

  But there had to be another way.

  As if everyone knew there was nothing more to say, or that to say more would only be beating a dead horse, they drifted away to their separate rooms. Emmy and Connor followed Hugh and Claire to the connecting suite. They, at least, had something to celebrate tonight. Something good among all the recent misery.

  Laird took Scarlett’s hand and led her toward their adjacent bedroom.

  Mind still churning, she undressed and turned back the duvet before climbing onto the bed. She had one knee up when Laird’s big hand cupped her bottom and slid down her thigh.

  Hot lips nuzzled the back of her neck, his breaths deep. “Already ye’ve turned my mind to more pleasing thoughts. Mayhap I can do the same for ye?”

  He already had.

  One touch. It was insane that was all it took. His palms slid over her hips, up her ribs to cup her breasts. Her knees wobbled when his thumbs flicked over her sensitive nipples.

  Scarlett turned in his arms and welcomed his mouth as it slanted over hers, his tongue tracing her bottom lip slowly. The sensuous caress left her quaking with desire. He lifted her easily, slipping her naked body between the sheets. Passion built even without his hands on her as he undressed. One by one, he undid the buttons on his shirt, exposing his magnificent sculpted chest, ridged abs. He popped the button on his jeans, down went the zipper. Inch by inch, until her heart sprinted, pounding against her ribs. Fully aroused, he jutted toward her as he stripped down.

  He crawled over her, huge and hungry, and Scarlett opened her arms to him. No denial. No inhibition. Knowing the heights he could take her to. The peace he could bring to her body and mind. Laird kissed her again, again with slow purpose as he slipped between her thighs. The hard length of him sliding against her wrenched a cry of delight from her lips. Again, he glided over her quivering flesh, light as the most tender touch. Again. Again. Until she was whimpering.

  Needy.

  Blood searing, singing through her veins. Heat pooled in her belly, her breaths desperate against his lips. Matching his. Laird groaned, his pace building. His body hard. “Mo chroí!”

  “Yes, Laird,” she urged him on, clinging to his shoulders. “Yes. YES!” she screamed as her frenzied climax struck hard.

  With a shout to echo hers, Laird shuddered with his powerful release and dropped down on top of her. Chest heaving, his heart thundering.

  “Mo chroí,” he moaned against her neck. “I am yers.”

  I am hers and she is mine.

  Long ago he’d claimed her with that declaration. A vow to keep her and protect her.

  She had to find a way to do the same for him. Whatever Laird might say about being expendable in Donell’s vision of the future, he was crucial to hers.

  “Aye, aye!” Rhys yelled from the adjoining room and pounded on the connecting wall. “If yer finally finished, can ye try to keep it down? There are children present, ye ken?”

  A giggle escaped Scarlett, relaxing her for the moment. But with a sigh, her amusement fell away again.

  There were children to consider. There was no way she was going to let hers grow up without their father.

  Hugh

  Sleep eluded him that night. Claire lay cuddled close with her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her rich red hair trailing across his chest and the gentle swell of her belly pressed against his side.

  A bairn of his own nestled within. Mayhap a lass as bonny and lively as Hermione. Or a lad as strapping as he.

  If they could be kept safe.

  “What’s wrong, Hugh?” Claire mumbled sleepily. “That’s probably the twentieth heavy sigh in the past ten minutes.”

  “Did I wake ye, Sorcha?” He smoothed her hair back from her temples and brushed his lips on the top of her head. “My apologies.”

  “No need to apologize.”

  She propped her chin on his chest to look at him. The room was dimly lit by the glow of streetlights creeping through their curtains, but she shouldn’t have been able to see his expression. Alas, his wife was getting better at reading his thoughts as time passed.

  “You haven’t been this restless since the night we planned to run away from Seattle.” Her subdued whisper was ripe with concern. “What’s bothering you?”

  “Naught,” he assured her, but could make out the roll of her eyes sure enough. Another deep sigh rose within him and Hugh barely managed to draw it back. He rolled on his side to face her. Hesitant to broach the true subject of his worries, he vacillated by answering, “Scarlett tisane seemed to take to me yet. Hae ye noticed?”

  “Scarlett is the cautious sort. Not given to allowing herself to care too deeply, too quickly. Given the life she led here, can you blame her?”

  “Yet, she’s taken to ye,” he pointed out. “To Emmy. Even to Connor. But no’ me, her own blood. I wonder why.”

  Claire’s caressing fingers slid up his cheek, ruffling his beard. “I would bet it’s because she doesn’t want to become too attached to you.”

  A wry chuckle escaped him. “I doubt that’s it.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. Scarlett’s hesitant to trust people, especially anyone who might hurt her or her family, but when she loves, she loves fiercely and forever.”

  “Mayhap.”

  Or perhaps she’d sensed from the beginning the danger his presence would bring. How he would threaten the safety of her husband and children. He wouldn’t blame her if that were the case.

  He stared up at the ceiling, expelling another protracted breath. Claire caught his chin and forced him to turn to her. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you? And don’t give me any nonsense or another feeble excuse.”

  Bugger it all, she was getting to know him too well.

  “’Tis a wonder aboot yer being the descendant of Connor and Emmy, aye?”

  “Nice try. Come on. Tell me.”

  “Verra well, but I dinnae think ye’re going to like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “I fear Laird may hae the right of it,” Hugh said slowly. “We may hae to find a way to eliminate Jameson permanently.”

  A gasp choked her. “You’re right. I don’t like it. Why would you even think such a thing?”

  “The situation is different from the one we faced before.”

  Bloody hell, why would the woman not just let her man protect her as God had intended it? Claire did not need to be unduly troubled in her delicate condition. Her expression was stubbornly set, however. She motioned for him to continue. “There is more at stake. The Jameson we kent is gone, Sorcha lass. Once he was content to simply rid the world of me. Now Laird and Connor hae been drawn into danger. And the wee bairn, my ancestor.”

  “Why would you think the baby’s in danger?”

  “’Tis another way to eliminate me, ye ken?” Hugh rolled on to his back again and crossed his hands behind his head. Tension drew his body taut, fear for the lives that might be lost for his. Because of him.

  Damn Auld Donell and his games. At least when he’d disapp
eared this night, they’d all been more than glad to see him go. The old man might have brought them all happiness at one point, but these days he delivered them nothing but grim tidings.

  Hugh would have been happier in knowing nothing than what the others now knew. If Jameson were privy to the whole of the truth as Hugh knew it, more lives would hang in the balance. Lives far more valuable than his. Potential losses far more devastating.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  “I wish Donell would just tell us why it was so important to him you be born,” Claire sighed, curling against him again. Her fingers traced idle circles on his chest. “Instead of leaving us to wonder.”

  Hugh fisted his hands behind his head. Och, that was the problem. He didn’t need to wonder. He knew. As Donell said, he’d always been a canny lad, but lately he wished he weren’t so bloody good at solving riddles.

  Questions still needed answering. He might know what was important to Donell, but he still didn’t know why.

  In knowing even as little as he did, however, his resolve to take the action Laird proposed solidified from an alternative to a must. Jameson was still out there. Mayhap in custody, but his confinement couldn’t last forever. Therefore, his threat persisted. Appalling and real.

  Hugh had no desire to live the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. Always on guard. What sort of life was that? For him? For Claire?

  As far as he could reason out of the options available to them, taking Jameson completely out of the picture was the only viable solution guaranteed to save lives.

  Which would make him a murderer.

  For all the debates he’d had with Hume on the subject of God and free will in the past, Hugh wasn’t a devoutly religious man, but he was a moral one. Killing for the sake of killing alone didn’t sit well with him. Aye, he’d taken a life before. Perhaps many on the battlefield of Culloden.

  Fighting for God, King, and country relieved the burden of guilt. The blemish to his soul.