A Laird to Hold

by Angeline Fortin

  Two uniformed hospital employees were sprinting down the adjacent hall toward them from one direction, several more from another. Someone must have sounded the alarm. Jameson’s escape routes were limited. Rhys and Hugh had their foe between them, they had only to take him down. But also between them was Scarlett, crouched over Hermione protectively. Tyrone lay still and motionless beside them.

  Jameson saw the opportunity the same moment it registered to Rhys. Unfortunately, the bastard was closer than he.

  “Nay!” he roared.

  Jameson yanked Hermione out of Scarlett’s arms. Scarlett leapt up like a tigress to fight him, her claws bared. She tore at him, but Jameson bucked her off and kicked her in the ribs. She slammed back against the wall.

  Hermione wailed, terrified by the man. By his violence. Her wide brown eyes rounded with fear. “Mummy!”

  All of it in the space of a heartbeat while Rhys raced to stop him from one direction and Hugh from the other. Trapped between them, Jameson canted to the side and through a stairwell door.

  “I got him!” Hugh yelled, before the door banged shut. A bead of blood dripped down his temple. “Call the others. Take care of the women.”

  With a grim nod, Rhys clutched his shoulder and caught Scarlett around the waist as she tried to run after Hugh.

  “Let me go, let me go!” Her frantic screams burst in his ear. Her fists connected with his chest, her feet with his shins as she tried to escape his hold. “Hermione!” The desolate cry shook the walls, blending with the urgent bellows of hospital personnel as people crowded the halls.

  “Nay, Scarlett,” he shouted. “See to yer bairn. Let Hugh take care of Jameson.”

  All the fight went out of her, but she didn’t move. Her eyes darted between the door before her and the nursery at the end of the hall. Torn between her children.

  “See to yer bairn, Scar. Now.”

  The forceful command jogged her into motion. She ran to the intensive care unit as he followed behind.

  At the door, Scarlett came up short with a shriek of alarm. “Willa!”

  The nurse was sprawled on the floor, blood oozing from the back of her head. Another woman in scrubs was slumped beside her.

  “Help her, Rhys!”

  Rhys fell to his knees alongside the woman, welcoming Scarlett’s gratified cry as she found her bairn unharmed. The heaving, emotional sobs that followed roused an answering ache in his heart. Never had he known such all-encompassing terror.

  Never had he been so close to losing those he loved most in the world. Hermione’s life was in danger still.

  Holding a hand in front of the nurse’s mouth, he waited to feel her breath. The entirety of his medical knowledge.

  “I’ve got her.” A woman in scrubs nudged him out of the way and pressed two fingers to Willa’s neck.

  “She’s alive,” Rhys told the nurse and turned to Scarlett, cuddling her bairn in her arms. “I’m going after Hugh.”

  Rhys tripped down the hall. Ahead of him, he could see Claire and Emmy bent over Tyrone, their hands compressed against his bloody chest.

  “Help us, Rhys,” Emmy called to him. “We can’t move. Get a doctor, quick.”

  Rhys glanced to the door Hugh had run through and back to her, conflicted.

  “He’ll get her,” Claire assured him, though her trembling hands betrayed her confidence. “Please help.”

  Holding his shoulder, Rhys jogged back to the nursery where most of the medical staff hovered. He grabbed the first medically inclined person he found and sent them to help Emmy.

  “Are you hurt, too?”

  Rhys looked down at the nurse attending Willa, her visage swam before his eyes. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “’Tis just a scratch, lass.”

  Her lips twisted wryly. “Let’s get some gurneys in here!”

  “Rhys!” Scarlett was beside him, still clutching her bairn to her chest. Grief engraved deep lines on her bonny face. Tears stained her cheeks and she shook like an autumn leaf. “Are you badly hurt?”

  “I’ll be fine, Scar,” he assured her. “Are ye?”

  Her eyes glazed over again and she shook her head without explanation. Instead, she kissed him and handed him the baby. “Take care of her. I must find Hermione.”

  Rhys caressed his niece’s downy head, thankful for the lives that had been spared.

  However, someone else was going to have to die.

  Hugh

  Hugh trailed Hermione’s screams for her mother as they bounced off the concrete walls of the stairwell. The clatter of each step against the metal stairs echoed along with them. There was but a single flight down. He would catch up easily enough. Jameson wouldn’t be able to outrun him with a toddler under his arm.

  But what then?

  Jameson was armed and he was not. Hugh couldn’t risk Hermione’s safety by attacking. Nor could he let the madman get away with her as a hostage.

  How wrong he’d been. He’d underestimated Jameson’s wrath, his insane conviction to wipe the stain of him from the face of the earth.

  Now innocents had suffered because of him. He couldn’t let anyone else be hurt.

  “Let her go, Jameson,” Hugh yelled over the stair rail. A drop of blood fell from his brow and he wiped a hand across the burning gash at his temple. It hurt like hell but it wouldn’t match the pain Laird would heap upon him if he let anything happen to Hermione.

  No answer from below, but Hugh hadn’t expected one. He ran down the alternating flights, catching a glimpse of Jameson at each turn. Hermione wailed like the hounds of hell were upon her. Not as panicked, but piercing enough to burst an eardrum. Hugh could hear Jameson’s curses when she paused to take a breath.

  Good lass, he thought. Keep him distracted.

  A boom of a door. Then silence but for Hugh’s breaths as he rounded the last corner and sprinted out the door in pursuit. Jameson ran down another hall with the toddler under one arm. He fired over his shoulder and screams of alarm sounded from the pharmacy as Hugh ran after him. Another door opened and a flash of sunlight emblazoned the tile floors.

  “What the fuck?”

  The exclamation reached him just before he ran out the door coming up short at the sight of Jameson holding Hermione in front of him, his arm tight around her middle.

  What cowardice to use the toddler as a shield!

  Jameson’s gun was pointed at another man who’d taken an aggressive stance, holding his own weapon in both hands and aiming at Jameson.

  “Who are ye?” Hugh demanded.

  “Security,” the man told him without turning his head. “Halliday hired me to guard Ms. Thomas.”

  “Ye’re pointing a gun at her bluidy daughter!” Hugh spat out. “Put it down.”

  “No, sir!”

  A showdown, both men ready to fire. Jameson’s weapon wavered between Hugh and the guard. “Back off!”

  “Ye’ve already proven ye’re nae mon,” Hugh sneered. “But this?”

  He stalked forward but stopped again when Jameson pressed the muzzle of his gun to Hermione’s temple. His thinning hair stood out from his head, blood trickled down his neck and from a trio of scratches bisecting his cheek. His eyes wild with hatred and desperation. There was no predicting what he would do next.

  The child whimpered, fear in her teary eyes. “Uncle Hugh,” she howled and reached for him.

  “Shh, sweeting.” Hugh held his hand out to stop her. “All is well. Just hold still.”

  All his life he’d been a reasonable man. He’d lived among the most brilliant philosophers in history, debated with rational consideration. All of it fled in the face of Hermione’s fear. His blood boiled with the primitive passion of his ancestors. He longed to spill the entrails of the man before him.

  “This course of action will get ye nowhere.” Hugh fisted his hands at his sides, holding himself in check lest the fire of hatred and fury consume his good sense. “Let the bairn go ‘ere the manhunt is turned upon ye.”

  “Yo
u’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jameson snarled and pointed the gun at Hugh. “It won’t happen. It might have just been back in the cage for you before, but things have changed, haven’t they? I’ll have your blood.”

  But he didn’t fire. Jameson was smart enough to know it would give the security guard a split second to act. Hermione’s safety was the only thing between him and certain death.

  “Killing the lass will no’ help ye. She’s nothing in this.”

  “No? I couldn’t be sure. Getting to the little one was easy though.”

  There was nothing to say to that. The very fact Hugh was standing there proved Jameson’s inciting statement false. As he knew the whole of Donell’s game now, though his own life was the least of Hugh’s worries. Only two lives would alter his endgame. Neither of them was Hugh’s.

  One of them was safe above stairs. His wee ancestor. Aye, if Jameson had managed to kill her, all would be lost.

  The other life…

  “Now back away,” Jameson ground out, pressing the barrel to Hermione’s head again.

  The reckless security guard did just the opposite.

  “Enough, ye fool, do ye want to get the child killed?” Hugh barked at him and turned to Jameson. Surely he wouldn’t do it and leave himself exposed.

  The security guard’s impatience was palpable. He wanted to take the shot. Probably would. The way Hermione was squirming against Jameson, he’d doubtless hit her instead.

  Bugger it, Hugh hated feeling helpless. He dared not charge forward lest Jameson harm Hermione. He clenched his teeth, longing to eviscerate the man.

  Jameson’s gaze bounced from Hugh to the guard and back again. The security guard shifted, prepared to take a shot, but Jameson hefted the child higher in his arms until only one deranged eye was visible. Hugh could only hope the guard didn’t overrate his abilities and try it. No one was that good a shot.

  “Forget the child, Jameson.” Hugh kept his modulation calm, soothing, and his hands out to his sides. For Hermione’s sake, if not to disarm Jameson. “I’m the one ye want, aye?”

  Hugh took a slow step forward, then another until he was between the guard and Jameson. The guard behind him cursed and inched to the side, but the wee lass watched him with trusting eyes. He couldn’t fail her. Jameson jerked the gun toward him.

  Aye, Hugh thought. That’s it. Me, ye want me.

  Then it was aimed once more at Hermione.

  “If this child doesn’t destroy, killing one of the others will,” Jameson spat out, eyeing the guard again when he moved to a more advantageous position. “Either way, I’ll get what I want.”

  “Killing them will gain ye nothing. They are nae important.” Hugh moved again in front of the security guard. “Merely friends.”

  “I know they are more. Much more. Donell wouldn’t care otherwise.” Jameson turned the gun to the shifting guard and back to Hugh. “Should I kill them both to find out?”

  The thought of Laird and Connor in a pool of blood sickened him. Och, he longed to charge the cruel bastard, beat him within an inch of his life. However, the gun was aimed at Hermione again, staying his hand. Forced inaction boiled his blood.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. The police would be upon them soon. The gun swung toward him and back to the guard again.

  “Let her go, Jameson. Run whilst ye still can.” Hugh took another step forward. “Gi’ her to me and make yer escape.”

  Jameson lifted Hermione higher against his chest and backed away with the gun pushed to her cheek. The lass whimpered for her mother. The bleak whine ripped through Hugh’s heart. Bloody hell, Jameson would run no doubt but he wasn’t planning to release his hostage.

  “Dinnae point that thing at a defenseless child,” Hugh snarled, desperate to keep his attention. “’Tis I who made a fool of ye, Jameson. Point it at me.”

  “You’re an aberration.” Spittle flew from Jameson’s lips. “An anomaly. The only way to fix all this is to get rid of you for good.”

  “Then do it,” Hugh goaded, tamping down his desperation. “’Tis I ye want anyway. I, who am nothing more than a mindless savage to ye.”

  The moment Jameson leveled the gun at Hugh once more, the guard fired. Jameson shot back and the guard fell to the ground. The madman turned the gun back to Hugh, his eyes narrowed and filled with hatred.

  Fook, Hugh cursed inwardly. Jameson meant to do it.

  Running footfalls slapped against the concrete, coming toward them. Hugh lunged forward, and panicked, Jameson threw Hermione at him. Hugh caught her against him and rolled to the ground.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Hermione began to sob against his chest. “Hush, sweeting,” he murmured gruffly and smoothed back her auburn hair. “I’ve got ye.”

  “Hugh!”

  Glancing up, Hugh saw Connor running toward them.

  “We’re fine,” he called. “Git after him.”

  Connor turned in the direction he pointed and waved for the men behind him to follow. One of them stayed behind to check on the security guard and ran to fetch a doctor.

  Wincing, Hugh pushed himself up and cradled Hermione in his arms. His thigh and back throbbed with pain where he’d taken two of Jameson’s bullets. At least the one in his thigh was only oozing rather than spurting the blood. No arterial damage then.

  Most importantly, the wee lass was unharmed. Her safety was all that mattered.

  Nay, there was another life in the balance.

  Jameson was wrong in thinking Hugh’s death would solve all his problems. He wasn’t even aware another stood in the way of everything he wanted. It chilled Hugh to the bone what Jameson might do if he found out. He was already maddened to the point of folly. If he knew Claire carried Hugh’s seed…

  All of it came down to that. A wee bairn deep within his bonny Sorcha’s belly. For all the evil he’d already done, his unborn babe was what Jameson truly sought to stop.

  A new generation.

  Hugh’s child was the key to it all. He’d known the truth from the moment he’d solved Donell’s puzzling game.

  All the players put in place. Only his bairn hadn’t yet been played. Hopefully they could get through this without that happening.

  “Mummy!”

  Scarlett burst through the door. Hermione started bawling and kicked out of his hold. Sizzling pain engulfed him as she ran to her mother. Scarlett dropped to her knees and caught her daughter in her arms. She cuddled her close, soothed her but her anxious gaze was on him.

  “Are you badly hurt?”

  “Nay, Scarlett.”

  Truth or lie, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.

  Tears welled and trailed in the path of those dried on her cheeks. She rocked Hermione against her breast and kissed her forehead, but her eyes were all for him.

  “Thank God.” Her voice broke to a whisper. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  “Hermione’s fine, lass.”

  “I was talking about you.”

  The admission brought a poignant ache to his heart.

  Perhaps Claire was correct and Scarlett did care more than she let on.

  Scarlett

  “What were ye thinking, lass?”

  Scarlett’s shoulder warmed with the weight of Laird’s hand, though she hardly registered it. She rocked a weeping Hermione in her arms with tender care that contradicted her motherly urge to smother her in her embrace and never let her go.

  Yet she couldn’t look away from Hugh. She sat there on the sidewalk with her back against the building. Dumbstruck. She’d never known such terror in her life as she had upstairs. Thinking one of her daughters might already be dead. Afraid the other would die. Not knowing which one to go to.

  Thank God Hugh took after Jameson before he’d gotten away with Hermione. His blood was hers too, however. What would she have done if he’d died in place of one of her girls?

  Hugh.

  A pair of medics were staunching the blood flow before they moved him. The security gu
ard Tyrone hired had already been carted away.

  Tyrone.

  She had done this. All of this. If she hadn’t insisted they come back to her time, none of it would have happened. Or if she’d just stayed put at the hotel. But in either case, her precious baby would have died.

  Yes, but no one else would have been hurt.

  How could she make such a choice even in retrospect? How could she have known her decisions would result in so much collateral damage? Nothing in her life had prepared her to face such incessant evil. She’d never dreamed Jameson wouldn’t care who he hurt to get to them.

  Laird dropped down to sit beside her and pulled them both close. “How could ye run after them and risk yerself?”

  Risk herself? She’d done nothing of the sort. She was safe and whole. Others were not.

  Sorrow pierced her heart like a flaming poker. A ragged sob built up in her, cascading anguish over grief. Her fault. All her fault.

  “He’s dead, Laird.” The revelation choked her. Tears flowed unchecked in hot streams down her cheeks.

  For all those who’d sworn their lives for hers, she’d never imagined one doing it. Never known how sacrifice scarred the one it was given for. Or the guilt the survivor carried.

  She wasn’t worth it.

  “Hugh will be fine, lass.”

  “But Tyrone will not be,” she rasped out, each tortured syllable like a dagger plunged into her heart. Twisted. “He pushed us out of the way…to save us. And died for it.”

  “What?”

  Salty tears caught on her trembling lips. “Jameson killed one of the few people in this world who ever cared about me. H-he bled out in the hall before Emmy could stop it. His last words were to ask if I was okay. Me! When he was dying…for me.” Her vision blurred, her throat ached with tears still unshed. “Because of me.”

  Laird hugged her tight and pressed a kiss to her temple. “’Twas no’ ye, mo chroí. Jameson alone is to blame for all this. And he will pay wi’ his life.”

  “And if he takes yours as well?” she choked out. “Will I have your death on my conscience, too?”