Taken: A Laird for All Time Novel (Volume 2)

by Angeline Fortin

  Scarlett’s stomach knotted, threatening a revolt despite her better efforts to remain calm.

  “Are ye well, my lady?”

  She really wished he would stop asking her that.

  6

  “Yer looking a wee bit better, my lady.”

  There wasn’t a miniscule bit of humor left within her to even summon a mordant smile at that. If ‘better’ meant that she was no longer curled up in the fetal position over the pommel moaning “wibbly wobbly, wibbly wobbly” to herself over and over any longer, then sure, she supposed she was better.

  That her insides no longer quivered with the persistent urge to be outside of her body was also a good sign. Bodily, she was actually rather numb. Mentally, she was almost deafened by a cacophony of jangled questions, rising like a terrible crescendo until her mind was about to burst. It was almost… orchestrophic, Scarlett decided. A nonsensical word being only too perfect for a situation like this.

  Picked apart, the questions themselves hadn’t changed at all. Questions she had no answer to. How? Why? And how again.

  Too emotionally exhausted to go another round with mental anarchy, Scarlett looked to her companion for distraction. “What’s your name? Rhys?”

  “Sir Rhys Hepburn of Crichton, at yer service,” he told her, bowing from the waist in his saddle. “And ye, lady?”

  “Scarlett Thomas.”

  Rhys’s brow lifted even higher at that. “Thomas? An Sassenach name.”

  “An Anglicized name,” she corrected wearily, rocking from side to side with the sway of the horse as they plodded along. The orchestra in her head was dulling to an out-of-tune fifth grade band with a hyperactive ten-year-old beating the living daylights out of the bass drum. “But either way, it isn’t Lindsay.”

  Ha! At least she now knew why none of them had recognized her.

  “Is it no’?” he retorted with guarded doubt. “Yet ye expected the Lindsay clansmen to recognize ye, did ye no’? I would even say ye were most genuinely confused when he dinnae.”

  Yes, she had been but not for the reasons he thought. Should she tell them? Try to explain? Scarlett shook off the thought without hesitation.

  One did not simply announce that they were a time traveler. Such a revelation was far more likely to bring her death far more quickly than salvation, no doubt. They might not hunt witches with torches and pitchforks here, but she’d seen enough of The Tudors series to know that this was a time when heretics were frequently beheaded or burned at the stake.

  If she proclaimed herself a time traveler, even with proof to back it up (the contents of her purse would provide that readily enough), there was little doubt she would be labeled a heretic and probably a witch as well.

  Personally, she had no desire to be grilled to a crispy well-done. All this was torture enough.

  “Where is yer home then? I confess we find yer speech most odd.”

  “Memphis.”

  More doubt, but Scarlett was willing to wager there would be a lot of that going around in the days to come. Days? Weeks? Forever? Bile rose in her throat along with a nauseating quiver in her chest. God, she hadn’t even thought of that yet. What if…

  “Memphis? Is that no’ an ancient city of Egypt?”

  Distraction, Scarlett reminded herself. Take it. She couldn’t let them see her panic. That shouldn’t be too hard; she was an actress and a celebrity. One more than the other made her good at masking her emotions. A deep soothing breath and the mask clicked into place. “It’s in Tennessee. I grew up there.”

  “I dinnae ken such a place. Is it in Spain? France?”

  Recalling what Laird had said before, Scarlett felt compelled to reassure him, if only for her own safety. “I’m not a spy.”

  “We’ll see aboot that when we get ye back to Crichton.”

  Another distraction. One she leapt upon. “Yes, Crichton. That other guy mentioned it. What is it?”

  “My family home at Crichton Castle,” he told her. “Aboot forty miles north of here. We should arrive there tomorrow evening.”

  “Tomorrow eve…?” It was Scarlett’s turn for an upward brow launch. Now that was a diverting thought, albeit an unpleasant one. “But if it’s only forty miles… Wait, do you mean this is as fast as we’re going to go?”

  “We make good time, lady.”

  Scarlett closed her eyes, stifling the urge the shake her head. He had no idea what ‘good time’ might really equate to. Then again, he managed to look rather comfortable in the saddle. She wasn’t.

  “What I meant was, am I going to ride like this the whole time?” She spread her fingers open, gesturing to the rope that bound her wrists. The idea of spending the remainder of that day along with a large portion of the next like that was almost as overwhelming as discovering that she’d somehow landed herself in a different century. “Will you untie my hands?” she whispered rather pathetically. So much for her stellar portrayal of calm. “I promise you, I won’t run.”

  Rhys lifted a skeptical brow. She wished he would stop doing that. Watching it go up and down was rather like watching a carousel go by and just as nauseating. “My brother would hae my head if ye were harmed or if ye were to escape.”

  Scarlett looked at the big Scot who was now heading their procession. They might be brothers but the two men couldn’t be more different. Rhys was humorous, lighthearted and just a wee bit cynical while that Laird guy was… well, so not. Both men were handsome beyond reckoning but Rhys, with his leaner features, tamed hair and tidy clothing, seemed so much more polished. The other one simply radiated savagery. “What’s with him anyway? What’s his story?”

  “James? He’s naught but my bastard brother.”

  “Bastard? That’s rather rude,” Scarlett scolded, eyeing him askance. “What does he call you? His asshole brother?”

  “Ye think I cast insult upon him?” Rhys asked after working his way through her words. “While he is somewhat of a bastard in character as well, I was merely referring to his birth.”

  “His birth?”

  “He’s illegitimate, no’ to put too fine a point on it,” Rhys explained. “My father’s bastard son by the auld King’s bastard daughter. Doubly a bastard, ye see?”

  “I think you’re a pretty big bastard for caring one way or another. It’s not his fault, you know.”

  His light eyes shone with an inquisitive light. “Yer a curious lass.”

  Scarlett bit back a dry laugh. “More than you know. If his name is James, why do you keep calling him Laird?”

  “Well for one thing, it is his title.”

  “His title?” Scarlett repeated, hating that she was so dumbly parroting every word they said. She’d thought Laird was his actual name. Like the famous surfer, Laird Hamilton.

  “James is Laird of Achenmeade,” Rhys explained. “The auld King gave him the title before he died.”

  “A laird is like a lord, right?”

  “Ye are a curious lass, aren’t ye?” he repeated. “Aye, he’s the lord even if over nae one more than himself. He has a tower, lands and a title but nae people as yet. What is a laird wi’ nae people?”

  Scarlett hoped Rhys wasn’t expecting an actual answer to that question since she had no idea of the answer. Just one more thing on the list. “What was the second thing? You said ‘for one thing, it’s his title’. Was there another reason?”

  Rhys grinned. “Aye, because it drives my brother mad, lass. And what better reason is there than that among siblings?”

  “I really wouldn’t know,” she told him, eyeing their leader once more.

  Though his back was to her, she was taken by his ease and grace in the saddle. Not to mention by his size. Beneath the length of plaid trailing down his back, his shoulders were massive under the tautly stretched, ecru shirt, V-ing sharply down to his narrow, belted waist. The massive thighs exposed below the hem of his kilt were bigger around than her waist. He was more innately masculine than any man she had ever met and James, proper and regal, j
ust didn’t seem to suit him at all.

  Laird, on the other hand… rough, Scottish and manly fit him much better. She had never seen anyone like him, not in Hollywood or beyond. Any woman would feel a thrill just looking at him. Any woman would feel the urge to… Scarlett put an end to that line of thought before it took root. Sure, any woman might be tempted… if he weren’t such a huge dick, that is.

  “Lass, I maun warn ye,” he began; almost as if he knew the direction her thoughts had taken.

  “Will you please at least untie my hands?” Scarlett cut in, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks. “I promise you, I will not try to escape.”

  He considered the request for several long moments before pulling a long dagger from his belt and slicing through the ropes that bound her. With a sigh of relief, Scarlett massaged her wrists as the life rushed back into them. Briefly she considered going for the gun in her bag but decided it wouldn’t do her much good to hurt these people. She might have enough bullets to take them down but she wasn’t skilled enough to do it before one of them stopped her.

  Besides, quite frankly, she didn’t want to be dead or even alone right now in this unfamiliar time. “Thank you,” she said, passing him back his handkerchief.

  “Ye might wi’hold yer gratitude, lass,” he said, taking it and slipping the knife away once more. “Cormac will continue to hold yer reins in case ye get any ideas about fleeing.”

  “Well, then I thank you even more,” Scarlett said dryly. “Since, I have no idea how to steer this thing anyway.”

  “I dinnae ken yer meaning.”

  “My meaning is that I don’t know how to ride a horse,” she said, enunciating clearly. “I mean obviously, I’m riding a horse right now and really, how hard can it be? But I’ve never actually had to get on one before and I wouldn’t want to start with one as big and angry looking as these ones are.”

  The disbelieving look on Rhys’ face faded away and he threw back his head, laughter belting out over the soft sounds of travel. “Ye think me a fool, lady? To trick me into giving ye freely the means to yer escape?”

  “No, and believe me, if I ever try to use reverse psychology on you, you won’t see it coming.”

  “Yer speech is most strange, lass,” he said, shrugging out of his long-sleeved jacket. Leaning over, Rhys tossed it over her shoulders. “As is most everything about ye. Cover yerself, lass.”

  “I thought we went over this. I am covered.” Scarlett stuck her arms into the garment any way, lacing up the front. The sun was shining brightly and she had no desire to add the sting of sunburn to everything else she had to bear that day. “Since you’re being so accommodating, I don’t suppose I can just get down off this thing and walk for a while? I mean if this is as fast as we’re going to go and all?”

  “And set ye free to run? I cannae take that chance however much it might please me to please ye.”

  A soft sigh deflated her brief rise in spirits. However much it might please him, there were many things Rhys wouldn’t be able to provide. Like a way home. Some things were more precious than freedom.

  “Dinnae look so aggrieved lass. We’ll stop for the night ‘ere too long has past,” he offered in consolation. “It takes time to secure a proper camp.”

  “Not the only reivers in the night, huh?” she asked caustically and was rewarded by another mischievous grin.

  “I do like ye, lass.”

  “I’m sorry I cannot – ”

  “Rhys!” A deep voice boomed and both Scarlett and Rhys looked up to find that Laird had left his place at the head of the train and was riding back toward them with a thunderous look on his face. “Why did ye untie her?”

  “No one enjoys a journey bound to a saddle,” Rhys explained.

  “Tis no’ a journey meant for her enjoyment. She’s a prisoner.”

  “We dinnae ken what she is yet,” Rhys countered. “She might hae been the Lindsay’s prisoner for all we know.”

  Both looked at her as if they expected an answer but Scarlett couldn’t answer their questions when she didn’t have any answers herself.

  “Relax, Laird, I’m not going anywhere,” Scarlett said with light nonchalance as if she were already bored by their bickering, hoping to diffuse a battle for the alpha male.

  However, Laird’s expression hardened even more. “I cannae believe that as easily as my brother who is to often taken in by a bonny lass.”

  “You think I’m bonny lass?” Scarlett asked dryly as if that was all she had absorbed of his words.

  His jaw worked visibly, clenching and unclenching as he fought back his anger. Well good! It just didn’t seem fair to Scarlett that she should be the only one upset by the entire situation.

  “Keep an eye on her,” Laird barked at Rhys. “Dinnae let her innocence put ye at ease. If she escapes, ‘twill be yer arse.”

  7

  “We’ll stop here,” Laird announced, lifting a hand as they arrived at the bank of a wide stream. Bonelessly slouched over in exhaustion, Scarlett’s roused herself at his welcome words.

  “Oh, thank God,” she muttered, almost falling off the saddle as it halted. Hour after hour of riding along being rocked, jolted and shaken had seemed interminable while the sun hadn’t seemed to get any lower. It was like being in a very slow, very old roller coaster car as it rattled up a steep incline. No, an excruciatingly sluggish roller coaster.

  Cormac dismounted and came to help her down but Laird was there first. Though he looked none too happy about it, he held up his hands. She might have preferred her guard or Rhys to help her down, but Scarlett she was too exhausted to care at that point. She fell into his arms gladly.

  Jellied knees wobbled and gave way. Her legs and hips screamed in protest as she straightened them for the first time in hours. Thankfully, he was as solid as a rock as she clung to him, taking her weight as if she were a ragdoll. She felt like one. It was humiliating to feel so weak but for that moment, cradled against his chest and with his strong arms wrapped tightly around her, Scarlett felt…

  What? Good? Safe?

  Ha! She was none of those things. “Uh, thanks,” she said, looking up at him only to find him watching her solemnly. For a moment something in his silvery eyes arrested her before her gaze slid away and he lowered her the rest of the way to the ground.

  Hobbling away, Scarlett rubbed her backside. “How do you do that all the time? It’s exhausting.”

  “Ye act as if ye’ve ne’er traveled,” Laird said, handing the reins of their horses over to an eager teenage boy who Rhys had pointed out as Laird’s squire, Aiden.

  “I haven’t. I mean, I have but not like that.”

  Laird snorted out his reaction to that as if it weren’t possible. Scarlett again considered telling the truth of her situation but dismissed the urge. More than likely, the truth wouldn’t get her anywhere. Especially with him. Besides, she had more pressing issues on her mind. “Uh, where is the… uh… where can I… you know?”

  “Wherever ye care to, lass. We arenae choosy.”

  Laird waved a hand around and Scarlett felt a flush crawl up her cheeks as she noticed a number of kilts lifted within her field of vision. “Might I find just a little more privacy than that?”

  “Ha! So ye can escape?”

  “So I can pee,” she said bluntly, not about to assure him again and again that she wasn’t going to run. “If you can’t provide a room with a door, I at least want a tree with a nice, fat trunk to hide behind.”

  It might have been humor but more likely irritation that flashed in his eyes before Laird turned and impatiently strode toward a small stand of beech trees farther upstream. Scarlett limped along behind him, continuing past him when he stopped. Determined to leave all eyes behind at least for a few moments.

  “No' too far.”

  Scarlett rolled her eyes heavenward at the warning and signaled him off with a wave of her arm, fighting off the urge to lift a more specific finger. He probably wouldn’t understand the meaning anyway
and Scarlett wasn’t generally one for outward gestures of profanity. One never knew when the paparazzi might be around just in time to capture the moment.

  Like the moment Scarlett Thomas was forced to pee in the woods like a bear. Thank God they couldn’t see her now.

  Digging into her bag, Scarlett searched for her packet of travel tissues and paused when her fingers touched the cool metal barrel of the handgun. Should she use it to get away? Now was her chance with only Laird nearby. But no, the larger problem remained. Where would she go if she freed herself?

  Where could she go?

  “Hurry on now, lass,” Laird called. “We’ve things to do.”

  “Nag, nag, nag,” Scarlett muttered under her breath as she reemerged from the trees and made for the shore of the nearby stream.

  “Lass,” he barked.

  “Go on if you’re in such a rush,” she snapped back and knelt beside the water to wash her hands before splashing some more on her face and the back of her neck. She felt as grimy as a rodeo bronc rider just thrown from his horse and was about as sore as she imagined one might be. Cupping her hands, she drank the clear sweet water thirstily.

  “Lass…” A big hand enclosed around her upper arm and Scarlett’s frustration burst into temper.

  “Come on!” she yelled at him, standing to face him as she jerked her arm away. “What is the freakin’ rush? Can’t a girl go to the bathroom and get a drink of water around here in peace? What is so pressing out here in the hills that it just can’t wait?”

  Laird lifted a brow and looked down. Scarlett followed his gaze to the bloated leather bag he was holding out to her. It looked like… “Oh.”

  “To quench yer thirst.”

  “Uh, thank you.” A flush warmed her cheeks. “Sorry. I’ve just had a really bad day so far, you know? I don’t normally lose my temper like that.”

  “Hae a drink then.”

  “What is it? Water?” Probably not, from what she had read. What did they drink in medieval Scotland? “Ale?”

  “Aqua vitae. Made by our local friar.”