“Oh!” Scarlett gasped, coming fully awake as pleasure pierced through her. The warm cocoon she’d fallen asleep within had become an inferno! She clasped her thighs around the hand between them. The body behind hers stilled, then stiffened.
Slowly the hands withdrew. An inch, then two gaped between them, letting the damp chill of morning air waft between their enflamed bodies, cooling them but no more quickly than the realization of what they had been doing… and with whom.
Scarlett rolled on to her back as Laird lifted himself on one elbow to look down at her. Their eyes met and locked but silence reigned with nothing more than the tweet of a nearby bird or the rustle of the grass to greet the morning. The magenta sky haloing Laird’s head told her just how early it was. Scarlett imagined her face was about the same shade of red. In shame, she told herself.
Who was she kidding? Despite the situation and the fact that James Hepburn was an ill-mannered bully, she had enjoyed every moment of waking up with him. And what a sight to wake up to! The growth of beard darkening his jaw had just a touch of gray sprinkled through it, she realized. It lent a fierce sexiness to the morning-after look. Scarlett was tempted run her fingers along that prickly jaw and into the wayward tousle of the long, shaggy locks that framed his face.
God but he was gorgeous! Beneath his dark, thick brows, his light eyes were like a silvery glimpse into heaven. His lips, not flattened by irritation or anger, were soft and inviting. Sensuous. Without his perpetual frown, he just looked freaking sexy.
Scarlett bit her lower lip and his gaze fell to them, nostrils flaring. Tension seized her as she waited, hoping he would… not kiss her, of course.
“My skinny body seems to be keeping you warmer than you thought it might.” She meant to tease away the awkward moment but the words emerged husky, sensual.
Well, there it was.
A furrow appeared between his brows as Laird took a deep breath and looked away, lifting himself further before rising to his feet to tower above her. He should have looked absurd standing there in nothing but his long linen shirt and thickly knit stockings, but with the front of his shirt untied and skewed, baring his broad chest, and his bulging thighs on display below the hem, Scarlett was certain any girl in the world wouldn’t have a thought beyond wishing they were gone as well.
“I assure ye it wisnae ye I was thinking of, lass.”
“Of course not,” she shot back, offended again much as she had been the previous night by his gruff, dismissive words. “No more than I was thinking of you.”
He shot her a brief inscrutable look before snatching up his plaid from the ground.
A flash of light caught Scarlett’s attention as it was pulled away. On the ground lay a long sword, a Claymore sheathed in a stiff leather casing. The beaming rays of the rising sun winked off three gleaming stones punctuating the ends of the pommel and cross guard of the hilt as if to say ‘Hey there, girl, don’t I know you?’.
Her throat tightened around a soundless gasp and any lingering desire that warmed her body crystallized into icy dread.
Yes, she did know that sword.
“Oh my God! Where did you get that?”
Still in full-on frown mode, Laird only pulled on his boots before picking up his belt and buckling it around his plaid. Turning his back, he began to pleat the plaid into folds beneath it.
“Laird! Where did you get this?”
Scrambling to her feet, Scarlett tried to lift the weapon but it was even heavier than she remembered and the sheathed tip remained on the ground. Laird took it from her with a shrug, slinging the scabbard over his shoulder so that the sword hung down his back. “I always sleep wi’ it wi’in arms’ length. For my own protection. I dinnae require such protection from a wee lass like ye, if that was yer thought.”
Turning, Laird began kicking his men awake, commanding them to arise so they might be off. Scarlett ran after him, stepping over male bodies grumbling with displeasure.
“It wasn’t. But where did you get it?” She might not have killed him in his sleep but she was mighty tempted to do so now if he didn’t give her an answer. Scarlett caught his arm insistently, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Where did you get it? Did you steal it? From the castle?”
Laird turned on her. A menacing scowl darkened his expression, his eyes flaring with anger. “Ye dare impugn my honor?”
Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at his machismo, Scarlett shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s just…” Uncertainty and apprehension stalled her words. “Damn it, Laird, please tell me where you got it!”
“It was a gift.”
“A gift? From who?” Scarlett pressed, feeling almost frantic now to learn where he had gotten it. The first link she’d discovered between his time and hers. Unfortunately, it was like pulling teeth from an angry grizzly to get a word from him that morning. He wouldn’t even stand still. She felt like a fool trotting after him. “Laird, please! Can I just look at it?”
He glanced over his shoulder, lifting that dubious brow she had seen so much of the previous day. “Oh please. I’m not going to stab you.”
In a whisper of a moment, Laird unsheathed the sword and leveled it at her so quickly, Scarlett jumped back in surprised. Just as quickly, he flipped the blade so that the hilt was extended toward her. Her hand trembled slightly but then so did her shallow breaths as Scarlett skimmed her fingertips across the smooth amber stones at the hilt.
It was just like the one she had seen displayed in the gallery at Dunskirk Castle though it was not at all tarnished but shiny and new. Scarlett recalled the flare of light that had blinded her when she touched it. The shocking heat and the thin slice of her skin. She ran her fingertips along the blade again, hoping for a miracle, but nothing happened.
Her heart sank.
“A gift?”
From who? An ancient, mystical being who had endowed it with magical powers? A wizard? Oh! Maybe it was a portkey! No, that couldn’t be it. Portkeys didn’t send people through time.
Neither did they exist. Scarlett knew that Ms. Rowling’s wizarding world and all the magic created in it weren’t real beyond the hearts of her devoted fans, but it would explain a lot.
“The king,” Laird answered gruffly. “The auld king. My grandfather. He granted me his name, this sword, and my title and lands the day I was born.”
A king? That was it? Scarlett was disappointed as Laird slid the weapon back it its scabbard and turned away. Disappointed that there wasn’t something more informative for her to work with.
Still, somehow that sword had to be the key to her arrival in this place. It could also be the key back home.
Which meant that Laird was the key.
Suddenly being stuck to his side was right where Scarlett was meant to be. She just had to find a way to stay close.
The memory of him pressed hard against her backside heated her blood once again.
Close, yes, but not too close.
“Break yer fast in haste, lads,” Laird barked as he strode away. “I would reach Crichton before the sun sets this day.”
“Good morn to ye, Scarlett,” Rhys greeted her as she returned to the camp from her short trip upstream.
Scarlett grunted with a curl of her lip, which only made him smile more widely. That Rhys was a perverse sadist, she decided crabbily. And a morning person to boot.
After retrieving her bag and walking not more than a few steps from the camp, the effects of the previous day had caught up with her all too quickly. Her bottom and thighs ached after a day on horseback. Her back and shoulder, too, from sleeping on the ground with no padding beneath her. To make it even worse, her head throbbed from her impulsive affair with Laird’s skin of whiskey. She definitely wasn’t accustomed to roughing it.
Nor was she used to this frazzled, fidgety restlessness she had been left with since waking in Laird’s arms that morning. Or rather, waking fully to the touch of his fingers against her still throbbing core. She had been left wan
ting… whether she actually wanted the bastard or not.
A splash of the cold stream water over her face and head had done much to revive her. It looked and tasted clean enough so she had enough presence of mind to refill a half-empty Highland Springs water bottle she had found in her purse, since she knew hydration would be key to her recovery. A deeper search of her bag had turned up some painkillers but no doubt it would be awhile before she felt a hundred percent again.
Even longer if she had to get up on that gargantuan horse again.
Laird’s men were already mounted and waiting nearby but Scarlett just stared balefully up at the horse awaiting her. Her guard from the previous day, Cormac, stood by patiently to help her mount again but the task seemed akin to scaling at mountain that morning. She was so sore, she wasn’t even sure she could lift a foot to the stirrup.
Neither did she want to.
They’d traveled only a handful of hours the day before. Today’s journey was to be more than twice as long! It was a daunting thought. “All of the burpees in the world couldn’t have prepped me for a day on horseback,” she muttered under her breath, taking a resigned step forward.
Something warm and soft squished around her sandal and Scarlett stilled with a grimace as her stomach revolted again. “Oh, that’s just great. This all just gets better and better.”
“Mount up, lass,” Laird snapped impatiently, drawing his own mammoth horse up close by.
“Do you see this? Do you see what I’m standing in?” she snarled, lifting her skirt and foot to show him the mashed horse dung covering the bottom of her sandal before swiping it furiously across a tuft of grass.
“My apologies,” he said sarcastically with a sweeping gesture. “Please take your time.”
Scarlett shook her head, finding a rock to scrape off the rest of it. “All the time in the world won’t make a bit of difference, Laird. I’m not sure I can get up on that horse again anyway. My legs are like jelly.”
“Ye can ride wi’ me if ye like, Scarlett,” Rhys offered, though he was watching her efforts with amusement. “I shall take ye… despite yer current dilemma.”
“God bless you,” Scarlett sighed sincerely. His mockery would’ve only managed to piss her off more if she weren’t so thankful for the offer.
Rhys patted his thigh with a roguish grin.
“Really?”
With a laugh, Rhys extended his hand and she stepped forward to accept his help but Laird cut her off briskly. “She’ll ride wi’ me if she cannae ride on her own.”
“Believe me, that’s not necessary,” Scarlett assured him. “You know I won’t run. I couldn’t run at all this morning, even if I wanted to.”
Of course, she knew she needed to stick with him and that sword, but after their wake up call that morning; she didn’t want to be wrapped around him for hours to come. Rhys, for all his flirting and naughty smirks, was far safer. His gray eyes – so similar to Laird’s yet so different – stirred her not in the least. He had all the beauty but none of the magnetism.
“Hey!” Scarlett screeched as Laird caught her around the waist and lifted her off the ground before she could reach Rhys. For several long agonizing moments, she hung there, feet dangling, hoping he wouldn’t let her fall to the ground before he lifted her with obvious ease and dragged her across his lap.
“I’m in nae mood to take that chance.”
“Are you crazy?” she berated him. “You could have dropped me.”
With a snort, Laird shook his head. “Unlikely. Ye weigh no more than a sack of flour.”
Scarlett pinned the still-laughing Rhys with a glare. “Thanks for nothing.”
He raised his hands innocently. “Dinnae blame me, lass, ‘twas no’ I who dared to rouse the dragon wi’ the dawn.”
“Yes, the mighty dragon is pretty angry at being roused, isn’t he?”
Laird cast her a dark look that told her he didn’t appreciate her innuendo and Scarlett cast him a falsely sunny smile. Rhys only laughed and rode off.
Irritated at them both, Scarlett shifted across Laird’s thighs awkwardly, grabbing handfuls of the horse’s mane to steady herself since Laird seems disinclined to hold her there himself.
“Sit still!” he hissed in her ear.
“I’m trying!” Scarlett ground out, moving her rear from side to side in search of a stable position. “It’s not like it’s that easy, you know, with nothing to hold on to.”
Laird sucked in his breath and finally lifted a hand but not to come to her aid. Instead his fingers wrapped around her throat and Scarlett instantly stilled. Now he was going to kill her?
“Enough,” his voice was deadly, close to her ear, “or I’ll drop ye in the bluidy dirt.”
“Then do it, for Christ’s sake,” she shot back, her fleeting fear gone with his feeble threat. “I’d rather ride with Rhys anyway.”
She shifted in his lap again and Laird picked her up, depositing her not on the ground but on the horse’s rump behind him with a solid thump. It was an even more precarious position than before and he hardly gave her a moment to get settled before he kicked the horse into motion. Scrambling for purchase, Scarlett had no choice but to hold him or fall as her already sore behind slapped against the bony rear end of the horse with every step.
Could this whole catastrophe get any worse?
“You know, Rhys says you’re a real bastard,” Scarlett ground out against his broad back. “I’m beginning to believe it.”
10
A fairytale-like mist clung close to the ground but Scarlett seriously doubted that what was happening equated to a happily ever after for her.
This was more like being lost in the psychedelic, drug-induced haze of Wonderland… though the Red Queen in this interpretation was little more than a cantankerous Scot in red plaid.
Even so, it was a lovely rabbit hole to have disappeared into, she thought as they rode northward.
Her resentment with Laird faded away as the scenic beauty of the land they traversed snared her attention. The borderlands of Scotland were truly picturesque. The Cheviot Hills laid out before them in sweeping dips and waves of greens, ambers and browns without a telephone pole or paved road to spoil the view. Not a single vapor trail to mar the perfectly blue sky. Just wilderness, actually wild in a way she had never experienced.
And it was so quiet, too. Oh, there was the occasional noise. The bustle of beast and man, the chaffing of leather and metal but still undisturbed somehow without the electronic hum that accompanied everything in the twenty-first century.
Even her breaths seemed loud here when challenged by nothing louder than the whisper of a breeze, the sigh of the wind moving through the tall grass. The song of the birds. Things Scarlett had never known in Hollywood, New York or even back in Memphis where she had grown up.
It was even different from the Scotland she had discovered while filming there. Edenic. Perfect.
To her surprise, she didn’t miss the sounds of the city at all. The honks and horns, cars and trains. The planes continuously flying overhead. Even the Caribbean beaches she had vacationed on weren’t this peaceful.
Though she certainly preferred a quick plane ride to the hours on horseback awaiting her again today. Though it seemed like an eternity, they’d only ridden about four hours the previous day leaving many more tedious, painstaking hours to fill the day.
The sun was high overhead before James called for a break. His captive wilted off his mount’s bony backside with a low moan, her knees nearly buckling beneath her. He felt stab of remorse for imposing such an uncomfortable position on her but forced it away. She had brought on her problems without any aid from him.
She – Scarlett, Rhys called her – looked different this day when compared to the last, he realized as he set her on her feet. A rash of tiny freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Freckles that he hadn’t noticed the previous day with the cosmetics she wore. Nor were her cheeks and lips artificially colored, the dark kohl from around her eyes had
been washed away. Many women at court painted their faces, though with far different effect.
He usually preferred a natural beauty and this day in regard to his captive, too, he felt the same. She looked younger and more amicable though her brow was still furrowed crossly and her pointed chin set stubbornly as she limped away.
“Dinnae go far.”
The lass raised a mocking brow. “Bossy much? Who died and made you God?”
Though James was taken aback by her blasphemy, it was easy to tell from her tone that her quip was not literally meant. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Even as fatigued as she was, the lass retained her sass.
Scarlett found some privacy over the next rise then washed her hands and face in the nearby stream. Laird had only stopped there for the benefit of the horses, treating his livestock better than his prisoner but she was happy enough to reap the benefits. She drank her fill, hoping she wouldn’t regret the indulgence in the hours to come.
Thinking to work off some of her stiffness and pain, she started out along the creek bank in long, therapeutic strides. But not for long. Laird dragged her to a halt not a dozen steps later and glared down at her.
“Need I remind ye that ye swore ye wouldnae run away?” He turned back toward the horses and Scarlett felt her feet dragging. “Can’t I just walk around?” she asked. “I won’t run away. I just need the exercise and maybe to escape for a little while.”
“Is that no’ the same thing?”
“Absolutely not. Sometimes one needs to get away from their problems and the people causing them. It doesn’t mean that they don’t plan on going back,” she told him. “Haven’t you ever felt that way?”
“Mayhap. What do ye run from, lass?”
Everything. She should have known she couldn’t actually get away though. Not even centuries away from her normal life.
“Surprisingly, not the things I normally run from,” she said instead.
Taken: A Laird for All Time Novel (Volume 2) Page 7
