The bookstore. How Laird would glaze over with awe and wonder if she told him the tale of huge bookstores, mapped in a maze of shelves with thousands of books full of wasteful margins? And pictures! Good thing there were no illustrations to explain. “Uh, my director bought it for me.”
“No’ yer father?”
No, the only book her father had ever bought her was about how to make it big in Hollywood. “No.”
“Yer director maun be verra wealthy to gi’ away such treasure.”
What would he say if she told him that she owned hundreds of books? Keel over in shock? Die laughing? That was more like it. “Yes, books are a treasure. Would you like to read it?”
“Nay. To my shame, I cannae do so easily.”
Laird handed the book back to his now curious brother who opened the book and scanned a page with a frown. “Some of the words are most oddly spelled. Others unfamiliar.”
Having seen the difference between the old English spellings and sentence structure as compared to relatively modern writing, she wasn’t surprised.
“Will ye read from it, Scarlett?” Aleizia asked. “Twould be a most pleasant way to pass the journey.”
“I can, though I’m not sure the men will like it,” she told her as she flipped through the pages. “It’s just a silly story about love and marriage. Things that matter to a woman.”
“Ye think it matters naught to a man?” Laird asked. “Ye think we dinnae wish to find comfort in the arms of our wives if we can?”
“Given what I’ve heard,” Scarlett pointedly cast a sidelong glance at Rhys, “I guess I hadn’t gotten the impression that many of the men around here particularly cared whose bed they found comfort in. You seem to do as you please regardless of your marriage vows given the number of illegitimate offspring running around Scotland. No offense.”
“None taken.” Laird stroked his chin thoughtfully, scratching his short beard along his jaw. “Many more men would be faithful to their wives, I think, given the choice and the chance.”
“Infidelity is always a choice,” she pointed out.
“I was referring to the wife,” he said. “Given the choice of a wife. A marriage bed can be a cold, unwelcome place for a man to rest his head, much less warm his body. A man fortunate enough to love where he lies is a happy man, and me thinks, more often a faithful one.”
“Would you be such a man?”
His eyes were bright as polished silver when they met hers. “I could be given a chance.”
“A chance to do what?”
“Och, enough already,” Rhys groaned, rolling his eyes. “Get on wi’ it!”
“Hey!” Scarlett pinned him with a fierce frown. “We’re talking here.” Lord knew it was a rare enough occurrence. She wanted to savor the moment.
“My apologies for my discourtesy.”
“Thank you.” She started to turn back to Laird but Rhys wasn’t to be denied.
“Och, lass, would ye no’ just read the bluidy book already?”
Scarlett shook her head, but Laird only grinned. His eyes promising to continue the conversation later.
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” she said wryly and opened the book to the first page. “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. However –’”
Rhys burst out in laughter but more to her surprise, Laird did as well. “What is it?”
“Nothing, lass. There is much truth in those words indeed, though I cannae recall that has yet been universally acknowledged.” Rhys chuckled again. “’Tis an amusing thought.”
“Read on,” Laird nodded with a wink. “I begin to like this tale already.”
Scarlett’s lips twitched but she looked down and continued, “‘However, little known of the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of someone or other of their daughters.’”
Laird’s shoulders shook again and with a smile, Scarlett did indeed read on.
27
“I have to say, as far as invasions go, I’m pretty underwhelmed,” Scarlett told Rhys that night when he joined her at the dinner table Aiden had set before the small campfire outside her tent.
Laird estimated that between seventy and a hundred thousand men, women and children now comprised the supply train that had funneled over a narrow bridge crossing the River Tweed into England that afternoon. Even if they hadn’t announced they were mounting an invasion, the English would have to have been idiots not to see it coming, assuming they had any sort of spy network at all. Scarlett was fairly certain they did.
“Underwhelmed?” he asked, pouring her another glass of wine. “What do ye mean?”
Scarlett shrugged. “I guess I just thought it would seem more invasive somehow.”
Rhys chuckled. “The time will come, my dear. On the morrow, we will take Wark Castle. While that willnae provide the action ye feel lacking, from there we will move on in a fashion that will hopefully meet wi’ yer expectations.”
“No, if this is all the violence you’re expecting, I’m fine with that. I like an invasion where no one gets hurt.” Scarlett twirled her wine around the bowl of her goblet. “I worry for you all.”
“I’ve said before, I’m too arrogant to die.”
His conceit was incredible, she thought, pursing her lips. “No one is.”
“Speaking of worries,” he segued as she set her cup aside and absentmindedly began picking her way through a piece of bread. “Tell me, dear Scar, hae ye nae family who might be worrying over yer absence?”
“None nearby.” Ha, what an understatement!
“We’ve undeniably established that yer nae nun but hae ye nae husband?”
“No.”
“Yet ye maun be nearly a score of years in age?” Rhys asked, pushing a plate of food her way. Scarlett absently picked up a piece of some sort of poultry and nibbled at it.
“I’m twenty-four,” she corrected and was rewarded with a look of surprise.
“Truly?” he said, diverted from his interrogation. “I would hae thought ye much younger. I ne’er would hae guessed we were of an age.”
Astonishment of her own coursed through Scarlett. Of an age? Rhys was only twenty-four? She would have thought him closer to thirty, easily. That meant Laird was probably not much older than that when she would have thought him in his early thirties with that bit of gray in his beard. What did that make Lady Ishbel? If she had married at about thirteen or fourteen like Aleizia, that would make her around forty rather than the sixty Scarlett had guessed. That was a revelation.
“Hae ye been widowed then?” Rhys’ squire, Willem, approached offering to refill their wine glasses and Scarlett shook her head before turning back to Rhys.
“No-o-o.” Scarlett drew out her answer. “I doubt I’ll ever marry.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, partially because of my parents.” He truly did ask all the interesting, if occasionally tough questions. “They were a constant scandal. It was almost embarrassing. Each time they divorced and married and divorced and married again…” Scarlett rolled her wrist to indicate the progression as she trailed off.
“Divorce? That is scandalous. How many times?”
“My dad has been married three times… I don’t know why I tell you all of this.”
“I’m easy to talk to. All the ladies say so.”
A grin tugged at the corner of her lips. “I’m sure they do.”
“Please continue.” Rhys waved his fingers encouragingly.
“Okay. Anyway Mom was planning on marrying her fifth future ex-husband when I… saw her last,” Scarlett finished jerkily, just realizing that she might never see her mother again. She stared down into her wine as if it might hold some undiscovered wisdom before lifting it to her lips. As odd as she was, she missed her parents. Did they miss her though?
That was the question.
“Astonishing. I’ve known a widow or two who married four times but always because their spouse died and they needed another protector,” he told her. “And yet ye hae none? Do ye no’ long for a home? Bairns?”
“No. Maybe.” Scarlett scowled at the bone in her hand and tossed it away. “It doesn’t matter what I want. That’s the thing about being in a public position. I’ve never been able to get past the fact that men probably wanted something more from me, than just me. My cache. My fame. I am a product to them. Not a person. I doubt that makes much sense to you.”
“Ah, but it does,” Rhys drawled. “I might be the mere second son of a second son but I hae discovered well enough that there are many things beyond my person that motivate some ladies to pursuit me.”
“Your charm and good looks aren’t reason enough?”
“No’ for many. ‘Tis my purse that attracts them. My family, my position. Rarely my person.”
“It appears we have more in common than I thought.”
“’Twould seem so. Yer lucky I suppose no’ to hae anyone forcing ye to wed.”
“Forcing you to wed?” Scarlett repeated in disbelief. “I guess I’m not surprised that your mom mapped out your life from the cradle but is she really that big of a control freak?”
Rhys smiled at her curious choice of words. “’Tis the way it works at our station in life but ye mistake the matter. It is by my father’s behest, no’ my mother’s that I will soon wed.”
Understanding and sympathy washed over her. “And how do you feel about being a husband one day? Having a wife?”
“We all do what we must, don’t we?” Rhys offered the surprisingly maudlin thought as he twirled his whiskey around his glass. “I ken something of playing a role, lass. I might make a fine thespian myself.”
“Is there no other option for you?”
He looked up at her softly spoken words. Surprise lighting his eyes. “Yer a perceptive lass, Scarlett Thomas. ‘Struth, I had desired to dedicate my life to the church.”
“You? A priest?” Scarlett couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. He did have the face of an angel, but a priest? “I’m sorry but you don’t strike me as a man of the cloth.”
He would be fabulous in the confessional though, if he could pull revelations from his parishioners as easily as he did from her.
Rhys flicked a dismissive wrist. “Och, it isnae all piety and celibacy, my dear.”
“Isn’t it?”
“An appointment in the church would no’ necessarily require either,” he said. “My cousin, John, is the Bishop of Brechin. He manages two mistresses and a half dozen bastards in his time away from the nave.”
Scarlett inwardly cringed, reaching out to cover his hand. “How terrible. And that’s the life you want for yourself?”
“It matters naught what I want. ‘Tis my father’s will that matters.” Rhys turned his hand beneath hers and laid his other hand atop hers, sandwiching it between them. “Alas, I am no’ alone in ha’ing to obey an undesirable command. Take Laird for example.”
Just his name had her heart leaping into her throat. Rhys must have felt her tense because his fingers closed around hers. “The mighty Laird of Achenmeade? Who would dare tell him what to do?”
“Och, lass. Ye ken nothing of how our world works, do ye?” There was something in his voice. Sympathy, maybe? Dread washed over her and Scarlett unconsciously braced herself before he even spoke. “Even ha’ing a title and living of his own cannae save Laird from a fate similar to my own.”
“A fate…?” Scarlett gaped as she grasped his meaning and drew her hand away.
He was engaged? Her contrary heart sprinted and Scarlett scolded herself internally. What did it matter? Just because he kissed her and more? In her time – and not just in Hollywood – sex didn’t seem to mean that much at all anymore. Whether one was married, engaged or not.
“Forgi’ me for speaking plainly, dearest Scar, but I hae to say something,” Rhys said, reclaiming her hand and squeezing it gently. “I should hae sent ye away when I had the chance but I kept ye close to taunt Laird. I dinnae expect ye to engage so deeply.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I ken what ye were aboot last night and I hadnae thought much of it, but something has changed between ye two today and as I said before, I worry for ye. I had hoped ye were safely wed and just looking for a dalliance but I can see I was a fool to think so. I dinnae want to see yer heart broken, knowing he’s gotten to ye.”
Scarlett pushed away from the table in astonishment.
“Ahh, dinnae shake yer head at me, dear lass. I’m nae blind.”
“I’m not in love with him.” Scarlett protested hotly. No, if there was one thing fame had taught her, it was not to get too attached to a men. In truth, she learned not to care too deeply for anyone at all because she never knew if anyone truly cared for her as a person. She had major issues with trusting someone’s word on the matter. She’d seen her parents get sucked in by pretty words and torrid affairs too many times. “I hardly know him.”
Rhys shrugged and retrieved his goblet. “I’ve known him all my life but doubt I will ever truly know him. Time matters naught in these matters nor does familiarity.”
“I’m his prisoner, for crying out loud!”
“Are ye truly? And how is it exactly that he holds ye? I see nae bindings, nae cage that keeps ye here.”
Scarlett turned away, walking in long strides down the lane between the tented rows. She was appalled by Rhys’ erroneous assumption. Heaven forbid Laird thought the same thing!
She wouldn’t have any man thinking she was mooning for him. Why if the press were to latch on to such a notion, it would be the scandal with Grayson all over again. She wouldn’t have it.
Not that she seemed to have much control over it. Scarlett’s pace slowed as the spurt of incredulity Rhys’ erroneous assumption roused trickled away. There was something deeper and far more unsettling about the gap Laird’s absence left in her life these past few days. She missed his presence – which was absurd enough given their short acquaintance – but combined with the depth of her attraction to Laird and the intensity of her physical response to him, the trifecta of symptomatic caring was disconcerting. Even that shallow psychoanalysis had deterred her from trenching any deeper.
Sometimes life was easier without having all the facts.
Strong arms caught her around the shoulders. With a start, she looked up into Laird’s smiling eyes. “There ye are. I was just coming to find ye. The King is well done wi’ my services for the night and my time is yers. What shall we do?”
Scarlett drew herself together, focusing only on the pleasure seeing him brought her and not at all on the reasons why.
“I don’t know. There are so many choices here at camp,” she teased. “What would you like to do?” Flames lit his eyes and a flutter answered in her chest. “Besides that.”
“A walk perhaps around the camp to stretch yer legs? I ken how ye like to get some exercise.”
“Yes, that would be wonderful.”
With her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, Laird led her down the lane of tents. It was dark but small campfires dotted the path at intervals to guide them as they walked along.
“You’re verra quiet tonight,” he said after a long stretch of silence.
“Quiet?” she chuckled. “My voice is nearly raw from reading to you all day long. You wouldn’t let me quit.”
Laird shrugged. “And yet, we’re still no’ finished wi’ the story, but that is no’ what I meant. There is something amiss and I dinnae think that another day on horseback is solely to blame.”
“It’s nothing. How was your night?”
He shrugged, covering her hand with his. “Just taking possession of the armaments France sent through Dunbar and making final plans for the morrow.”
“Rhys said you were going to take Wark Castle tomorrow. I’ve never heard of it. Will it be d
angerous?”
“Do ye worry for me, lass?”
More than she cared to admit. “Yes.”
“Ye need no’ fear, lass. Wark has changed hands so many times ‘tis unlikely we’ll need to do more than knock at the gate. I shall return by supper.”
“Without a scratch?”
“Ye hae my word.”
“Good.” They walked in companionable silence for a while before Scarlett thought to ask, “Laird, do you know Donell?”
“I ken many a man named Donell, lass. Can ye be more specific?”
“An older man, looks like he’s a hundred but about as spry as a ten-year-old? He lives at Dunskirk maybe?”
“Ye mean auld Donell?” he asked, lifting his brows in surprise. “Wee fellow aboot so tall with tufts of hair o’er his ears and face of a troll?”
Her eyes flared. “I would have gone with elf, but yes. Do you know him? Where I can find him?” she asked anxiously.
“Nay, lass. He’s no’ often at Dunskirk but only passes by occasionally. I dinnae ken that he had joined the muster as he is too auld to fight,” he said but curiosity would not let him leave it at that. “What do ye want wi’ him?”
“Nothing. I just want to ask him a few questions. Can you help me find him?”
Scarlett could see the curiosity raging in his eyes at her evasive answer. The questions. What could she want with Donell? How did she even know him? Hopefully, he wouldn’t press her for more information than she could offer.
“I couldnae find anything in this camp even if I kent where to look but mayhap, I can ask aboot.” Laird scratched at his bearded cheek, and noting her impatience, added, “Later. Gi’ o’er, lass, what do ye want wi’ the auld man?”
A sigh escaped her. Scarlett wished she could explain it all to him, but she couldn’t. Laird hardly trusted her at all. There was no chance he’d believe her if she told him exactly why she wanted to talk to Donell. “It was nothing. Never mind.”
She would just have to keep a watchful eye for the old man. When she found him next, there was no chance he’d escape her again.
Taken: A Laird for All Time Novel (Volume 2) Page 21
