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

by Angeline Fortin

  Quite likely that everything she was saying was a lie.

  “And are ye a thespian as well then?”

  “I was,” she said shortly.

  James could feel the tension return to her posture, her withdrawal as she dropped the fish and pushed the trencher toward Rhys. Clearly, it was not a subject she cared for, it was easy to tell. Another falsehood?

  “I would imagine players in the theater make for fine liars.”

  “You might think so but we’re really terrible at keeping…”

  Scarlett let the rest her words slip away as a young girl came skipping into the room. She was a pretty, plump girl with apple cheeks and blond hair peeking from beneath her headdress. Bright smiles wreathed her face when she spotted Laird at the table.

  “Laird! Patrick told me you were home.”

  The girl threw herself in his arms as he rose from the table, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek.

  “Hullo, Plumpy,” he said softly, returning the embrace affectionately.

  Too affectionately. Scarlett felt an unfamiliar curl of tension stir sickly in her gut. “I thought you said nobody liked you here?” she murmured under her breath and saw Laird’s lips twitch in response.

  The girl stepped back and smiled warmly at Scarlett. She recognized the sort. This girl never met a stranger. “Hello.”

  “Aleizia, this is Mistress Scarlett Thomas,” Rhys introduced her.

  “Just Scarlett, please,” Scarlett corrected, holding out a hand as she rose from her chair.

  The girl looked at her hand curiously before setting her fingers delicately on the edge of Scarlett’s and bobbing a curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mis… er, Scarlett. I am Aleizia Hepburn of Crichton.”

  In itself, the introduction was unhelpful in providing Scarlett with anything more than a name. Who was she? A sister? A sister-in-law? Something more to Laird? There was true affection there. In that tender hug. She was awfully young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, but what did Scarlett know? They used to marry relatively young in the middle ages. “Nice to meet you, Aleizia. What a beautiful name you have. Very unusual.”

  “Thank you,” she answered with a broad grin. “I can’t wait to hear about what brought you to Crichton.”

  “No’ now, Plumpy,” Laird said with a groan.

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind.” Scarlett insisted as she didn’t object to any open, honest company that kept her from the solitude of her chamber and certainly wouldn’t have minded asking a multitude of questions of a person with few filters. “After the testosterone of the past couple of days, I wouldn’t mind a some feminine company.”

  Aleizia blinked perplexedly before smiling once more. “That sounds lovely. We can talk of fashion and the court.” She stepped back and looked Scarlett over thoughtfully. “Where did you ever find such a gown? It is a simply horrid! With the King arriving soon…”

  “Plumpy!”

  “I knew it!” Scarlett slanted an accusing glance upon Laird then glanced over Aleizia’s gown. Simply cut but lovely in a way the one she wore could never dream of. Yes, she definitely needed a wardrobe intervention.

  And an escape from Laird’s probing gaze.

  “Why don’t ye take Scarlett to yer rooms and help her find something a bit more flattering, Aleizia?” Rhys suggested. “Any lass should be fully armed when meeting the King. Who knows, she might catch his eye.”

  “Rhys,” Laird barked out. “I cannae think that Scarlett would hae much interest in becoming the King’s next mistress.”

  “Absolutely not,” Scarlett agreed, but a more palatable option niggled at her brain.

  “Come with me,” the girl said cheerfully, grasping Scarlett’s hands with an exuberant squeeze as she tugged her away from the table. “’Twill be such a pleasant way to while away a rainy day.”

  James watched them go then turned to his brother with a dark scowl. “What mischief are ye aboot, Rhys?”

  Rhys waggled his booted feet from side to side as he popped a bite of salmon into his mouth with a cheeky grin. “I dinnae ken yer meaning, brother. Did I say something wrong?”

  “She isnae yer concern. Stay out of it.”

  “Stay out of what?” Rhys said innocently, though his eyes were dancing.

  With a grunt, James turned on his heel and stalked away. Sod it all! He couldn’t have Rhys thinking that he was softening toward the lass. Or attracted to her. What hell could such a trickster make of James’ life?

  15

  “Aleizia, I’m sure I have no need for so many fancy gowns. Surely just one or two simple ones will do,” Scarlett protested as Aleizia piled more and more gowns on the bed. Clothes that weren’t even her own.

  Having decided that she was too petite and plump for Scarlett to fit into her own gowns, Aleizia had taken it upon herself to raid the wardrobe of young Aileen Hepburn instead. With auburn hair and grey eyes clearly marking her as another Hepburn sibling, Aileen was taller and slimmer than Aleizia, though not so tall as Scarlett. Her clothes would be a closer fit, but the girl, either overwhelmed by Aleizia or Scarlett or both, stayed perched on the edge of the bed watching the growing pile with wide eyes.

  Scarlett held a gown of vivid blue velvet up in front of her then tossed it away immediately. No, she would definitely take nothing from Aileen if her first thought on the matter was whether Laird would find her bonnier in blue velvet or green silk. Besides she was feeling rather guilty about ransacking Aileen’s closest. “You don’t mind if I borrow a couple of gowns, do you?”

  “She doesn’t mind,” Aleizia assured her before Aileen could respond. So far, she’d emptied more than half the wardrobe with her maid’s help. “Most of these were made for her trousseau but she’s outgrown them already. And you’ll need more than a few gowns if you’re to travel with the progress. They’ll have to be taken down for you, of course, but Piegi here has a fine hand with a needle.”

  “Trousseau?” The word reminded Scarlett of her earlier curiosity. “How old are you, Aileen?”

  “Almost thirteen,” she answered, watching Aleizia as she turned to a trunk and lifted the lid. Lofty white linen was added atop the colorful pile.

  Scarlett shook her head. No, the reason the gowns didn’t fit now because Aileen was still a young girl who wasn’t yet finished growing. Just twelve! Scarlett couldn’t imagine marrying so young, though history attested it happened all the time. “And you’re engaged to Rhys then?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity. Or Laird?

  “Of course not.” Aileen lifted her head in surprise, then a shy giggle escaped her. “He’s my brother.”

  “Oh. Then Aleizia is…”

  “Patrick’s wife,” the younger girl answered. “You probably didn’t know that, did you? They’ve been married for three years.”

  Three years? “How old are you, Aleizia?”

  “Sixteen. Why?”

  Scarlett shook her head and Aleizia looked up from the trunk. “Are you interested in our brother, Scarlett? In Rhys? He isn’t married yet. Neither is Laird.”

  “I wasn’t –”

  Aleizia lowered her voice confidentially. “Laird hates being called that. Did you know that? He just hates it but Rhys and Patrick – have you met him yet? – they’ve always called him that. Just to bother him, I suppose. Because Laird is the oldest and would have been Sir William’s heir if he wasn’t a… er, well, if he weren’t…”

  “If he were legitimately born,” Scarlett finished for her.

  “Yes.” The girl’s shoulders dropped and she smiled in relief. “I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “To many it does. Too many really.”

  “Not to me,” Aileen said softly. “I love Laird… James, whatever name he is called by. He was always an excellent brother to Patrick and Rhys and Adam and Alexander and Arthur –”

  “How many brothers and sisters are there?”

  “Ten, including Laird, Ayla and Owen.”


  Scarlett knew why Laird was singled out but…? “Ayla and Owen?”

  “Sir William’s other bas… recognized illegitimate children,” Aleizia corrected. “They do not have Laird’s same mother, however. Ayla’s mother is the countess of Leeth while Owen’s is no more than a milkmaid.”

  “Recognized?” Scarlett prompted.

  Aleizia shrugged. “I imagine there are others.”

  It was said so indifferently; Scarlett didn’t know how to take it but decided that this Sir William must be something of a man-whore. Spreading a little love around where ever he went. That Aleizia could be so casual about it told Scarlett that having a few children outside of his marriage wasn’t too unusual for a man in this time. Or was it because of Sir William’s position? As a – what did Rhys call him? – Lord High Chamberlain to the King, perhaps William Hepburn was something of a celebrity himself, and with all the ladies throwing themselves at him, found himself presented with the results from time to time. Like some groupie saying they’d had Adam Levine’s love child.

  No wonder Lady Ishbel was so discourteous. Not many women would take kindly to their husband bringing the evidence of his infidelity home with him. Still, she shouldn’t have taken out her resentment on Laird, as if it were all his fault.

  “You didn’t say what brought you to Crichton, Scarlett.”

  “Oh, nothing really. Laird and Rhys are just helping me find my way home.” It was the most honest answer, after all.

  “Where do you live?” Aleizia asked.

  “Here, you should try these on.” Aileen held out a pair of shoes.

  “Oh, how pretty,” Scarlett said in honest admiration, thankful for a reprieve from the difficult question. On a short heel, the shoes were red silk accented at the toes and the top of the curled tongue with what she thought were either real garnets or rubies. Either way, there were more jewels on those shoes than any pair of feet deserved.

  Retail therapy had a place in any time, she decided as the shoes spoke to her, brightening her mood. And they looked to be about the right size. “Wow, they’re amazing. But I couldn’t. They’re obviously very expensive.”

  Aileen shrugged. “My feet have grown and they pinch now.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’d rather you have them than Aleizia. She has too many already.”

  “They are beautiful,” Scarlett said, tempted despite herself. They were as magnetic as a modern pair of Jimmy Choo’s. Her toes curled in anticipation. “They sort of remind of Dorothy’s Ruby Slippers.”

  “Who’s Dorothy?”

  “Oh, no one really,” Scarlett said as she slipped them on. “She just a character from a story.”

  “A story!” The girl pounced on the word with the breathless exclamation, a broad smile brightening her solemn face. “I just love stories! Can you tell it to me? There is a traveling troubadour who comes around from time to time but Father’s regular bard is dreadfully dull without a lick of spirit in his tales.”

  Scarlett couldn’t help but smile in return.

  “Please? Do tell us!” Aleizia dropped onto the bed in a pool of skirts and looked up at Scarlett expectantly. Even her maid looked hopeful. No doubt, they were lacking for entertainment without the constant hum of TV and social media around. Scarlett found it all rather peaceful but couldn’t find it in herself to deny these two sweet girls.

  “All right,” Scarlett relented, wondering where to begin. “Well, once upon a time, there was a girl from Kansas named Dorothy Gale…”

  “Then the wicked, green-faced witch leaned close to Dorothy, pointing a spindly finger at her and said, ‘I’ll get you, my pretty’,” Scarlett cackled in her best imitation of Margaret Hamilton. “‘And your little dog, too!’”

  “Oh, my!”

  “That’s just what Dorothy said,” Scarlett nodded, repeating the words in a perfect, softly breathless imitation of Judy Garland. “Then the Wicked Witch of the West circled around, waving her broomstick at all the cowering Munchkins with an evil laugh before disappearing in a cloud of red smoke.” Scarlett cackled dramatically again for effect while the maid crossed herself. She was beginning to enjoy herself.

  “What happened then?” Aileen asked excitedly.

  “Glinda, the Good Witch of the North told Dorothy that if she wanted to go back to Kansas she must go to the Emerald City to seek the help of the awesome and powerful Wizard of Oz. Only he would be able to help her,” she continued. “Not knowing the way, Dorothy asked how she was to get there.”

  “How?” Aleizia asked as if she just couldn’t help herself.

  “‘Just follow the yellow brick road’, Glinda said, before she transformed into a lovely pink bubble and floated away as the Munchkins waved goodbye. ‘Follow the yellow brick road?’ Dorothy repeated as she noticed the spiraling path that began in the middle of Munchkinland. Dorothy put the toe of her ruby slipper on the first stone.” Scarlett lifted the hem on her skirt and placed her foot tentatively on the imaginary road before her. “‘Follow the yellow brick road,’ she said. ‘Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road.’” Her voice grew more confident as she repeated the phrase over and over and paced the imaginary road. Then she began to sing. “‘Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick, follow the yellow brick, follow the yellow brick road. Da-da, da-da, da! We’re off to see the wizard. The wonderful wizard of Oz!’”

  Aleizia and Aileen clapped their hands with delight as Scarlett began to skip across the room as she sang with a breathless laugh. “‘We hear he is a wiz of a wiz, if ever a wiz there was. If ever, ever a…’”

  Circling at the end of the room, Scarlett turned and spied Laird lingering at the door. His arms were folded over his broad chest as he shouldered the door frame lazily. He looked huge in the narrow opening, overwhelming.

  Heart pounding, Scarlett stumbled to a halt, dropping her skirt.

  God, he was gorgeous! Would the sight of him never stop stealing her breath?

  His light eyes raked down the length of her before lifting, holding hers. She’d never seen a man with eyes like Laird’s. So pale in contrast to his dark hair, beard and brows, as if they were lit from within. Lit with interest. With desire?

  For all his dismissive words earlier, those eyes told another tale entirely.

  Her sudden halt had every pair of eyes in the room also turning to the door and James became aware that it wasn’t just Aileen, Aleizia and her maid but several of the castle maids and pages crowded into the room as well. He’d been so focused on Scarlett’s lively performance, and the sight of her slender calves, that he hadn’t even noticed. Now, each and every one of them sported a scowl for James’s interruption of what he knew to be the liveliest entertainment Crichton had seen for some while.

  The afternoon had been an interminable one, wondering what could be occupying the ladies for hours on end. In the lists despite the rain, James had taken a blade to his arm as reward for his inattention. Unable to put off his curiosity any longer, he returned to the castle and to his sister’s room determined to simply ascertain that his prisoner was still just that when he had heard her talking. Peeking around the door, he found Scarlett shod in a pair of red slippers, holding her skirts up to her knees. He was entranced by her performance, by her nimble steps and the sight of her trim ankles and shapely calves. The lines of strain around her mouth and the shadows in her eyes that haunted her expression since he found her at Dunskirk had faded. She was entrancing.

  Her farcical story was entertaining as well. Some peculiar tale of witches good and bad – Good witches! As if there was such a thing – but her face lit with animation as she imparted the voice of Dorothy in a soft, tentative manner quite unlike the one she had used with him over the past days. Then she had sung. Her spirited voice high and clear.

  “My apologies for the interruption,” he felt compelled to say. Sorry for himself as well. Sorry that he was the reason she stopped. “Please ca
rry on.”

  “I… I…” Scarlett held true to her name and flushed a bright, yet becoming bright red. “I didn’t know you were watching.”

  “Does it matter when ye’ve an attentive audience already?” he asked curiously. “What is one more pair of eyes upon ye?”

  To his surprise, she blushed even more, looking away. “Maybe later.”

  How intriguing.

  “Oh! You mustn’t stop now,” his sister protested. “I want to know what happened to Dorothy.”

  Remarkably, so did James. But he also undeniably wanted so much more.

  “I can tell you the rest later,” Scarlett assured her, kicking off the ruby-encrusted slippers. “It’s getting late anyway, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, the dinner bell has just rung,” James told them, sweeping his glance over his sister and sister-in-law as well. “Perhaps ye might be persuaded to share the tale wi’ us after supper?” James added to Scarlett. “I for one should like to hear it from the beginning.”

  Scarlett caught her lip between her teeth and James stifled a moan at the sight. “In front of everyone? Really? I’m sure there is someone better to entertain everyone.”

  “Oh, no,” Aleizia protested, leaping up to catch Scarlett’s hand. “You are the best storyteller I’ve heard in a long while. I’ve never heard such a tale before and with songs to mark each moment. It’s simply wonderful. You must share.”

  Aileen nodded in agreement still Scarlett hesitated. “I told you I can’t remember all the words to the songs.”

  “No matter, whatever you can do. Right, Laird?”

  “Aye, lass,” he said softly, his brogue rolling lazily. “I am verra keen to see more of what ye hae to offer.”

  16

  James ran the pad of his thumb absently across his bottom lip as he watched his bonny captive’s expressive face as she told her tale.