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

by Angeline Fortin

  All to abide by his father’s wishes. Well, enough of that.

  Never had he felt a lust so strong. Never had he wanted beyond his own will. All thought, all logic had fled. James knew he could not trust her. He didn’t know who she was or what she wanted from them.

  But he knew what he wanted of her. What he had to have.

  Twisting her about, James lowered her onto her back, never breaking their kiss. She welcomed him, parting her lips. Parrying her tongue playfully with his. Encouraging him with provocative noises wrested from deep in her throat. Her arms wrapped around his neck pulling him closer but he wanted more than the taste of her lips. Tugging down her bodice, James cupped her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Her gasp of delight was like an angel’s chorus to his ears. Her skin soft as the finest silk. His lips trailed down her neck, tasting salt, rain and woman until he reached her breast and drew her hardened nipple between his lips, sucking deeply.

  Her cry urged him on, her fingers tangling in his hair. Pulling him closer.

  James gathered up her skirt. She wore no petticoats, no hose. It was just his flesh against hers. Her thighs fell apart with little hesitance. James dipped his fingers between them and was welcomed by hot moisture. Already she was weeping for him. She clung to his shoulders, biting his neck as his fingers circled the opening. Her cry of delight muffled against him.

  Her open, unfettered desire, stoked his all the hotter. No pretense, no coy advance and retreat. She simply wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  He trailed a finger up between her nether lips, circling the nub of her desire. She cried out hoarsely again, locking her legs around his hand.

  “No,” she cried, pushing his hand away and James felt his disappointment like a weight around his heart. His arousal was so painful he wasn’t sure how he could walk away from her again but he could not, would not force her. For all his savage ways, he was a courtier still.

  Bracing his arms, James lifted away from her but to his amazement, Scarlett followed, pushing him on to his back and rolling on top of him until she was straddling him. She looked down at him. Her brown eyes were dark, hot as coals as she panted heavily, shaking her head even as she stroked his chest invitingly.

  Then she kissed him. Hot. Open-mouthed. Taking control, surprising him. Never had he been so challenged by a woman. He was aflame with the need to plunge within her heavenly body. To ravish her with all the primordial hunger burning within him. Her hips undulated, grinding her heated core against his rampant staff. Her hands spread over his chest and moved downward until she reached between them and grasped his erection.

  Their moans intermingled. Her pleasure. His.

  He flipped her beneath him, showing her just how dominating, how masculine he was as he held himself above her. Then he shifted downward, his hard chest grazing over her breasts and belly until he was cradled between her thighs. His fingers sought her heat once more, curling into her as he moved downward to trail kisses and bite at the tender flesh of her moist, quivering thighs.

  Scarlett gasped and tensed. Alternately tugging at his hair to pull him away and grasping him closer as if she alternately welcomed and dreaded what was to come.

  In the shadows beneath his plaid, James paused, studying her while she squirmed in anticipation. “Laird!”

  With a groan of surrender, James buried his face between her legs. Scarlett arced off the ground with a cry of ecstasy. His passionate lass coming almost immediately as his lips closed around her. His blood roared in his ears but still he circled her with his tongue, draining every last throb from her until she was begging for him to stop, weeping in her surrender.

  Primal satisfaction surged through him when there should be shame. She was his captive, his responsibility. He should never have touched her, never coerced her into this but now that he had her beneath him only the pain of death could have separated him. Scarlett tried to close her thighs and roll away but James forced them apart once more and bent his head to taste her again. For all her teasing words, she was as sweet as fine sugar. She tensed, her hips retreating before arching upward. “No, no,” she moaned.

  “Aye.”

  James teased her gently with the tip of his tongue, her still pulsating opening drawing him inward. He thrust his tongue deeply then withdrew, savoring her hoarse, rapturous scream. One finger, then two. He pushed inside her scalding depths as he tormented her with his tongue. Her thighs quivered as he pushed her to the brink, then retreated only to push her higher once more until she begging for release once more.

  Never had he known any woman so impassioned, receptive. A woman who might wring him dry before he even possessed her body. His raging body screamed for satisfaction, but still he denied himself for the pure joy of watching his lass soar again to the gates of paradise. He could do this all day.

  “Please, please! Laird!”

  Ah, never had that sobriquet sounded so good as it did when torn from her lips. James suckled her throbbing nub and finally gave her the release she was begging for. Her muscles contracting strongly around his fingers as she came, hot and liquid.

  He imagined her milking his rod just so and nearly spilt himself at the thought. “Lass?” The question was pained. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she denied him again.

  “Oh God. Yes.”

  This time there was no hesitation.

  A horn blasted through the silent forest, startling them both but Scarlett relaxed almost immediately, lifting her legs high around his hips. “Laird?” She nudged him with her heels as one might spur a horse into action.

  Her hot hands found their way beneath his kilt, grasping his arse in her hands. “Aye, lass.” James bent his head and took her lips again as she lifted his kilt out of the way. His hard length brushed against her bare thigh and upward, toward her scorching, inviting heat.

  The trumpet sounded again. Three times.

  Ah, bluidy, fookin’ hell!

  “What’s wrong?” Scarlett whispered, her soft panting against his ear sending a shudder of pure lust raking through him. Every fiber of his being demanded James ignore the call but he could not. Not for long. Not long enough to finish this properly. And he did want to do it properly and without a rush.

  “My apologies, mo chroí,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her ear. “We maun go.”

  “Now?” Her sweet voice was incredulous with regret. It gladdened him to know that she was no more pleased by the interruption than he.

  “’Tis the King’s herald, lass.”

  “And that’s more important than this?”

  “Upon my honor, no one is more saddened by the fact than I.”

  With one last kiss, he leapt to his feet, throwing the trailing end of his plaid back over his shoulder. Retrieving his sword, he helped Scarlett to her feet and took her hand in his as he gestured to the north.

  Scarlett followed his arm. To her surprise, she could make out what did look to be an army bearing down on Crichton. Bannerman at the front of the brigade were visible, even at a distance.

  “Come we maun make haste.”

  Subdued by the sight, Scarlett followed him back to the castle staying close to his side as they entered the keep.

  20

  “Lift yer arms, please, mistress.”

  Peigi was one of the three maids on hand to help her, Aileen and Aleizia ‘prepare’ themselves for supper, dressing for the affair in a fashion Scarlett was quickly realizing was far more ceremonial than the formality she had already witnessed in this time.

  To meet the King.

  Despite the gravity of the occasion, it was still a tantalizing and thankfully distracting thought. Meeting Queen Elizabeth once a few years back had been one of the most nerve-wracking moments in her life but the occasion hadn’t had this sort of pomp.

  To think, it had taken a five hundred year leap backwards to experience it.

  If they were to ever get there. Dressing, so simple that morning, had become a process proving that she
had been wrong before. This wasn’t Braveheart or a renaissance fair. This was The Tudors but with far more layers.

  Oddly enough, their stockings and shoes had gone on first, when usually they were the last thing Scarlett donned. Then a fresh chemise of fine linen, petticoats – one, two, three – and then the farthingale. They’d had to tell her what it was called since Scarlett had labeled it a hoop skirt. A half-remembered image was forming her mind and she could begin to imagine where this was all going.

  Then the corset, but this wasn’t the kind of corset she was familiar with, one that strove toward an hourglass figure. Besides flattening her breasts, this one squared her out from chest to hip. From there down it was all about width and volume. Now, she lifted her arms – again – while Peigi added a thick roll around her hips. “What is this called?”

  “A bumroll, mistress.”

  Why not? “Of course it is.”

  Next came a ruffled gold lace parlett that would cover her shoulders and bosom modestly beneath the low neckline of her gown, then the underskirt. It was a bronze silk that was pleated into a diamond pattern with a tiny topaz sewn in at each point. Finally came the gown itself. Lush bronze velvet edged with woven gold embroidered trim and strings of pearls and topaz. More of the same draped across the bodice. It laced up the back, allowing for a tight fit, which was a good thing since even twelve-year old Aileen had more going for her up top than Scarlett did. The skirt parted in the front to show the underskirt beneath. The hems on both had been let out but still only reached Scarlett’s ankles. The long draping sleeves were lined with the same silk as the underskirt.

  Unlike The Tudors, there would be no heaving bosoms and bare shoulders in this gown. She was covered and bound securely. Thankfully the day had not been too hot, but she would likely lose ten pounds in water-weight sweating under so many layers.

  Finally a matching, jewel-encrusted French hood covered her pixie cut, curving over her head from ear to ear with all the heft of the Crown Jewels.

  “You look just lovely, Scarlett,” Aleizia enthused as she sat motionless at her vanity. One of the other maids was braiding, looping and weaving her long blond hair into an impossible configuration. It made Scarlett glad that she didn’t have the length of hair needed to be tortured so.

  “Do you like the dress, Scarlett?” Aileen asked. She was all ready to go, and clearly excited as she danced from foot to foot anxiously.

  “I do like it. It’s very beautiful. And very heavy.” She felt royal and wished there was a full-length mirror so that she could see the whole outfit. It was certainly a weighty feeling, she thought, grinning at her pun.

  Scarlett ran her palms down the rich velvet, wondering if Laird would think she looked pretty. Ugh! She was gushing like a schoolgirl. You’d think she’d never orgasmed before.

  “Thank you for letting me borrow it. You look beautiful too,” she told Aileen. It was true. Aileen looked almost grown up in an even more heavily decorated gown of blue silk covered with pearls and with sleeves trimmed with fur that draped nearly to the floor.

  Aleizia was also in blue, though hers was a darker shade that complimented her blue eyes. Done with Scarlett, Peigi placed a matching French hood upon Aleizia’s head that seemed to frame her hairdo like a piece of art from the back. She could have been a queen. “Your hair is just amazing.”

  Aleizia patted her hair with a satisfied smile. “Our Lady Mother has a very fine wig, if you’d like to wear it.”

  Scarlett shook her head with a laugh. “That’s okay. I’m good.”

  A trumpet sounded and Scarlett’s heart leapt with giddy excitement. For the first time since arriving in this time, she was completely devoid of worry and the anxiety of her predicament. Right now, it was all about joy and pleasure, and she meant to embrace it. More openly, Aileen clapped her hands, the long ropes of pearls she wore swung from side to side as she leapt up from her chair as did her long, unbound hair. Even Aleizia could hardly hold still as Peigi hurriedly slipped several long strings of pearls over her head as well.

  “Come, Scarlett,” she cried, grasping Scarlett’s hand and tugging her out of the room.

  Laird was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. Without his kilt, he looked like a completely different person than the rugged Scot Scarlett had become familiar with. More severe, more stoic but for the molten desire still warming his gaze. His dark blue velvet doublet was subdued, modestly quilted and embroidered with black threads. Beneath it he wore a more tailored kilt of navy and red plaid. He wore thick matching hose beneath it and embroidered leather shoes. A short, matching cape was flung over his shoulders and a heavy-looking sporran was slung low on his hips.

  If he hadn’t still managed to radiate pure masculine sexuality, Scarlett might have been hard pressed not to laugh at the sight of him with those jeweled garters above his knees.

  “You look good,” she said with a slow nod, as she looked him up and down. He did. She especially liked how having his shaggy hair clubbed back accentuated his gorgeous face. He’d trimmed his beard close as well, drawing attention to his squared jaw. “You can’t be comfortable though.”

  Laird smiled and inclined his head. “Nae more than ye, I’d wager.”

  He passed soft greetings and compliments on to Aileen and Aleizia but his eyes strayed in her direction once more.

  “Ladies!”

  Rhys and Patrick appeared at Laird’s side. While Patrick was as soberly dressed as Laird, Rhys was more flamboyantly attired in a jewel-encrusted crimson doublet and matching skirt instead of a kilt. The sleeves of his doublet were slashed to reveal gold silk beneath. His black cape was heavily embroidered and lined with the same gold silk. The colors reflected in his shoes and hose.

  “My dear sisters, my dearest Scarlett,” he swept an extravagant bow, pulling a matching velvet cap off his head. “Yer all a vision to behold.”

  Aileen giggled, but bobbed a curtsey, as did Aleizia. Scarlett tried to bite back a laugh but it was hard to keep a straight face with a guy who dressed like that. “I gotta say it, Rhys. You are rocking that doublet like nobody’s business.”

  All four of them looked at her quizzically and Scarlett laughed merrily. “It’s a good thing. Trust me.”

  “Father awaits. Shall we go?” Patrick asked.

  Rhys nodded and offered his sister his arm while Patrick towed his young wife away leaving Scarlett alone with Laird in the empty stairwell. Her pulse fluttered under his steady gaze.

  “What is it? Do I look okay?”

  “Ye’ve covered yer ears,” he murmured, cupping his hand around the back of her neck. His thumb swept upward beneath her hood to tickle her lobe and the air in the stairwell rose by more than a few degrees.

  So Laird had an ear fetish, did he? “Should I take it off?” she asked, suppressing a delicious shudder.

  “Nay, but mayhap I can take it off ye later?”

  So that they could finish what they had already started, was his unspoken implication. “Maybe. If you’re nice.”

  “I can be verra nice. In fact, here.” His husky brogue shivered along her spine, sending a reverberation of desire and anticipation through her. A reminder of their truncated interlude. He held out his other hand to reveal a spill of pearls and golden topaz. “I thought ye might like to wear these tonight. I thought they might match yer eyes, but I suppose they will match yer gown as well,” he told her, holding it out by the ends to show her the necklace, loops of pearls meeting at a topaz as large as a robin’s egg with more pearls and smaller topaz dangling along the way.

  “It’s stunning. Thank you.”

  “’Twas a gift to my mother from auld King James. Obviously ‘tis just a loan.”

  “Of course, but it is sweet of you.” And surprising. “Do you treat all your captives this way?”

  Laird looked disgruntled by her teasing and shrugged. “No’ all my captives join the King’s table. Nae lady should go into battle wi’out the proper armor.”

  Obedie
ntly she rotated so that he could clasp it around her throat. Her hand lifted reflexively to cover the jewels and felt her heart racing beneath her hand as his warm fingers tickled the back of her neck. “How do I look?” she asked shakily, feeling more confident of the answer than she had been the previous morning. Well-armed, indeed!

  “Like heaven,” he whispered, his lips grazing a hairsbreadth below her covered ear.

  “You didn’t even look,” she protested, turning to face him.

  “Yer a bonny lass, as ye well know.” She quivered as his finger traced a path up the side of her neck, feeling the truth in his words right down to the toes of her borrowed shoes. Never in her life, her career had she been covered in so many layers, concealed from head to toe and yet made to feel so beautiful.

  Something had shifted in his attitude in just a matter of hours. What? How? She didn’t know but that change sent her heart thrumming. She really wasn’t thinking this through.

  “Cease yer dallying,” Rhys hissed, sticking his head into the stairwell. “King James is nigh approaching!”

  21

  “That is your king?”

  Amazing.

  “This is nae time to be yerself, Scarlett. Ye dinnae dare offer him insult.”

  “I’m not insulting him, but I’m just saying.” To make him happy and not ruin the good mood between them, Scarlett kept her other thoughts to herself.

  James Stewart was an inconspicuous looking guy. He might have been Laird’s blood uncle, but there was nothing about him that bespoke a genetic resemblance. No taller than she, lanky though richly dressed, the King didn’t have any of the presence she had come to associate with royalty. He had long dark hair cut straight at his shoulders and across his forehead. Scarlett had seen the hairstyle in old portraits but hadn’t really thought anyone actually wore their hair like that.