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

by Angeline Fortin

“If we’re to Norham this day, we need to make haste, if ye dinnae mind, Rhys.”

  Rhys glanced curiously at Laird, taken aback by his snappish tone and hurried to Scarlett’s side. Looping his arm around her waist, he turned her away and whispered, “Is something amiss?”

  Scarlett shook her head. “I don’t know. He was perky enough this morning but something’s eating him now.”

  “I’ll try to pry the truth from him,” he assured her. “I shall write ye of that and our progress assuming I dinnae lose a hand or other more valuable limb along the way.”

  Scarlett bit her lip. “That’s not funny.”

  The two of them shared a long look and tears stung at the back of her eyes as the implications of the battles awaiting them truly hit her. If the worse were to happen, she might never see Rhys again. Or Laird. The thought was staggering. “Rhys.”

  “Come, Rhys, we maun go,” Laird barked harshly.

  Casting a look over her shoulder, Scarlett turned back to the man who had started out as nothing more than a mordant scoundrel spewing nothing but mischief but had rapidly become her unlikely ally, a friend and confidante.

  “Rhys.” She reached up to rest her palm against his unshaven cheek. “Damn it. Don’t get dead, okay?”

  Humor twinkled in his eyes. His big hand covered hers before he pressed a kiss to her palm. “I wouldnae dare disappointment ye, my dear. How would I ever face ye again?”

  “You’re not as funny as you think you are,” she chided him but couldn’t help the soft smile that curved her lips. “Just be careful. Promise me.”

  “I shall see to it wi’ all the care I am capable of mustering,” he said. “Ye hae my word.”

  Scarlett pursed her lips. “I guess I cannot expect any greater effort than that.”

  “And ye, as well?” Rhys’s eyes clouded over briefly. “I ken there is something bothering ye. Whatever it is, hae a care for yerself and patience for my brother. He is just as conflicted, me thinks.”

  Laird was glaring at them now, she noticed as she shot him a sidelong glance. “We’ll figure it out.” Lifting herself onto her toes, she kissed him softly on the lips then smiled as they parted. “You’re a good man, Rhys.”

  “Yer the only one who thinks so,” Rhys laughed and led her on his arm to his horse, kissing her one last time before he leapt into the saddle. “Fare thee well, my dearest Scarlett.”

  Scarlett nodded and turned to Laird, wringing her hands worriedly. For all that she was uncertain of how she planned to proceed with him, or if she wanted to at all, the last thing she wanted was for a hair on his gorgeous head to be harmed.

  “Laird.” She reached out to him, running her hand over his forearm as he checked the cinch on his saddle, but he ignored her. “Laird? What’s wrong?”

  “Are ye done wi’ yer goodbyes?”

  Blinking at his harsh tone, her hand slid away. His cheerful friskiness of the predawn hours long gone. Now his shoulders were stiff, his spine rigid. “No, not even a little. Laird, look at me, please. You’re angry.”

  “I’m no’. Now I maun go.”

  “Without a goodbye?” she asked, reaching up to rake her nails along his bearded jaw. Framing his face in her hands, she forced him to look at her. “Be safe. Promise me you’ll come back in one piece.”

  Laird scoffed and tried to look away but Scarlett held him firmly. Lifting herself up on to her toes, Scarlett pressed a kiss to his chin. It was all that was within her reach. He held himself stiff, unbending and Scarlett knew she should just leave it at that. She should let him go, let him walk away and be happy that he was putting the distance between them that she could not force herself to create, but she couldn’t let him leave like that. If this were the last time she would ever see his face, she wanted the memory of a smile to carry with her always.

  Or at least not a frown.

  “Laird, please.” She pressed her body against his and nipped lightly at his jaw. Then at the tendons at the side of his neck. At his collarbone. He resisted at first, then a shudder ran down his body and he was kissing her back. Bending her over his arm, he plundered her mouth as if that kiss would save his soul.

  “James,” a sharp voice barked out.

  Laird’s lips eased away, but not in haste. With one last lingering kiss, he drew back with a frown. Not for her but for his father.

  “Let us go.”

  Sir William kicked his horse into motion and trotted by with Patrick, Alexander, Adam and Arthur following close behind. All of them but Sir William looking down at her with bemusement written clearly on their faces.

  Chucking her chin lightly, Laird brushed one last kiss across her lips and turned away. Just a moment later he was mounted. With a wave but no smile, he was gone.

  Soft hands took hers and Scarlett clasped Aleizia’s tightly as they watched their men ride away.

  “Brother.”

  James stiffened as Rhys rode up beside him but ignored him, spurring his horse to a greater pace.

  “Laird,” he said more insistently. “I maun talk to ye aboot Scarlett. She said the strangest thing last night.”

  “Last night when she was bladdered wi’ wine?” Laird asked caustically. “Away wi’ ye, Rhys, I hae better things to do than to listen to ye this morn.”

  “Nay, Laird, I maun tell ye. ‘Twas nonsensical to be sure but she dinnae seem deceitful. I cannae fathom, but–” Rhys put a hand on his arm but Laird shrugged him off, refusing to listen. “Bugger it, Laird, I’m worried for her.”

  “Enough! She isnae yer concern, Rhys.” Laird kicked his horse into a gallop and left his brother behind.

  31

  August 26

  We lay siege to Norham with our score of large caliber cannon under King James’ order but not the Mons Meg, which I believe would be more effective. It’s taken nearly a week already to break down the castle defenses. We have taken the outer ward and hope to have surrender from the castle garrison soon.

  Worry not, mo chroí; I am in no danger of dying from anything more than the want of you.

  James

  August 27

  My messenger returned without a letter from you in hand. Will ye write, lass? A note from you would bring me great pleasure and a relief from the tedium of long nights without you.

  James

  August 27

  Would that you were here, dear Scarlett. I’ve naught but Laird to bear me company and his mood is stale, though I can easily guess the reason. Our supply train remains camped at Wark whilst we move on to lay siege to Norham Castle and ye wi’ it. Best we take it quickly before we expire from rations of cheese and bread.

  Word has reached us that Surrey (an Sassenach Earl, in case you are not aware) has taken up residence for the summer nearby at Pontefract Castle. By now he has heard of our movement and will muster the Sassenach forces to meet us.

  By God’s will, this will all be over soon.

  Rhys

  August 30

  Our forces are now garrisoned at Norham Castle securing the eastern end of our supply route across the Tweed. We move on to Etal Castle on the morrow. When it, too, falls we will have gained control of the bridge over the River Till located just west of there, securing our flank against the Sassenach attack.

  Will you not write me, lass?

  Jam Laird

  September 1

  The Lindsay joined our muster at Etal, my dearest Scarlett. In my ennui during these dull days, I find some humor in the fact that Laird will not approach him though no one else takes note as the Lindsay clan has long been a Hepburn rival. While I know he doesn’t believe you to be the Linsday’s kinswoman any longer, I believe he avoids the Lindsay simply forestall any news to the contrary. He will not allow any circumstance to part you.

  Perhaps he cares for you more than I had imagined. This possibility causes me to worry for you both all the more.

  Rhys

  The days at the Wark encampment were interminable. Letters came from both Laird and Rhys as pro
mised though Scarlett had to enlist Aleizia to read their odd handwriting for her. For a girl used to the instant gratification of email and texts, the notes seemed unbearably infrequent and uninformative. It ate at her, not being able to Google what was happening. To have access to an instant newsfeed. There were no online videos or newscasts to keep her up to date; leaving her with long stretches between those few hastily written lines and a vivid imagination to fill in the rest.

  It would have been better for her if he had left while they were still at odds with one another. When she had anger or even indifference to buffer her troubled thoughts. As if was he had left his masculine scent upon her sheets and the imprint of his last kiss in her memory.

  She missed him.

  The fact didn’t sit well with her.

  Independence played a key role in her life, self-reliance compensated for the lack of supportive relationships. Not that her parents didn’t love her (she was moderately certain they did) but parenting wasn’t their priority. She had never been their priority and she’d learned to live without deeper intimacy. If she were honest with herself, Scarlett didn’t really know what to do with it now.

  Being too close to Laird made her as twitchy as a golden snitch on Quidditch day. Then again having him be too far from her and in dangerous circumstances didn’t leave her feeling any more serene.

  That winding path Laird had somehow convinced her to travel with him was become more and more perilous as the days passed.

  She simply couldn’t write him back. With no news of her own to report, Scarlett feared what else she might reveal in writing.

  Unfortunately the encampment provided little in the way of distraction. Scarlett sat with Aleizia on most days, but without sewing or embroidery, or the skills to take up the task, there was little to occupy her hands or thoughts. Fortunately for her, her young friend did have that distraction because it turned out that sunny, optimistic Aleizia was a serial worrier. If she didn’t have a needle in her hands, she paced restlessly, too nervous to even listen to a story.

  That constant apprehension transferred itself to Scarlett so horribly that she had taken to escaping the tent for long walks or finding ways to make some modern improvements in the encampment. It had become a horrible, stinking place with slop and sewage running between the tents as people emptied their waste along the tented avenues. So, she whipped Aleizia’s servants and Maris into shape, making sure they kept their area of the camp clear and clean, boiling water for washing and drinking since she hadn’t discovered any clear springs during her walks. Wine was no longer an option.

  When that didn’t work, she found some peace in the solitude of her tent with yoga. Child’s pose, dolphin pose, anything to quiet her mind and reduce her growing anxiety. To fill her days.

  The long nights alone were worse.

  As her stay in the sixteenth century extended with no end in sight, it should have been easy to dwell on her fears for the future more and more, mentally beating her problems to death. Even thoughts of Donell, where he might be and if he were looking for her could not overcome her worry for Laird and the battle being fought. She fretted over his safety and Rhys’ until it was almost too much to bear. Even her own plight could not plague her so.

  There were injuries at Norham, she knew. Some men had been brought back, injured and bleeding though none severely. It made her wonder what Laird and Rhys might not be telling her. Then another letter came. This one delivered with the instructions that she should read it personally and written in square, precise lettering that made the request possible.

  September 2

  Etal has been taken and our encampment has moved once more to a neutral site but a few miles away now. I cannot leave by King’s command but I beg you to come to me, Scarlett. This war is a dismal thing. Only the thought of you brightens my days. Only the sight of you can cast away the darkness completely.

  Also, Patrick has suffered an injury to his leg. I do not believe his life will be threatened but Patrick asks that you gently forewarn our Plumpy so as to spare us her hysteria by the time you reach us.

  Yours, Laird

  Though his poetic words made Scarlett’s heart leap, she could only shake her head at that last. War and bloodshed they would take without a second thought but when it came to the truly difficult jobs, they left it to a woman.

  They obviously knew Aleizia far better than she did.

  Despite a gentle breaking of the news, assurances that everything would be all right, and a shoulder to lean on, Aleizia had been a nervous wreck from the time Scarlett told her of Patrick’s injury until they were well on their way to the new encampment with the supply train the next morning.

  She had been in such a state that Scarlett had finally dragged Aleizia from her horse and insisted that they walk the short distance – to Scarlett, that’s all a few miles was – rather than wait on the slow progression of the cavalcade. Luckily, her quick pace had calmed Aleizia’s nerves or at least wore her out enough that, by the time they found Patrick lounging in a chair before his tent, Aleizia only flung herself against him with a quiet sob.

  Patrick stroked his wife’s blond hair with a gentle hand as she lay her head in his lap and smiled up at Scarlett. “Whatever magic ye worked, lady, ye hae my thanks. She is far more calm that I imagined.”

  Scarlett wanted to point out that Aleizia was only sixteen years old. An adolescent with too much energy and no outlet for it but only nodded. “You’re welcome. Is Laird around?”

  “No’ presently, he should be back soon though.”

  Scarlett tapped her fingertips against her thighs impatiently. “How’s the leg?”

  “It pains me some,” he admitted, gently patting the side of his thigh.

  Beneath the hem of his kilt, she could see a bloodied and horrifically dirty bandage. She was no doctor. She hadn’t even played one on TV but that was just wrong. “Do you, er, do you mind if I take a look?”

  “Hae ye experience in nursing?”

  Scarlett shrugged. Her medical knowledge might be limited to what she’d garnered from medical dramas but she couldn’t do worse, could she?

  No, she definitely couldn’t, she realized as she peeled the bindings away. The wound was dirty and already inflamed. Still gaping despite the crust of scabbing. Thankful to have a purpose, Scarlett set everyone to work finding clean cloths, needles and thread to stitch the wound, making sure everything was boiled first.

  She flushed the wound again and again with their strong whiskey then had Aleizia’s maid, Peigi, do the stitching since Aleizia was again working herself into a panic. Scarlett covered it with a clean linen bandage made from one of Aleizia’s petticoats wishing she had some antibiotic cream. All she had were a couple acetaminophens she found in her purse, but hopefully combined with her strict instructions for his care, it would be enough to stop the infection.

  “Did ye learn all that in the nunnery?”

  Scarlett leapt up at the teasing brogue with a wide smile and threw herself into Rhys’ welcoming embrace. “Are we back to that again?” she teased. “You’re unharmed?”

  “Aye, my dear, I live a charmed life.”

  “I know you do.” Scarlett pulled back with a smile and looked around. “Where is Laird?”

  “He’ll be along soon. He’s just ha’ing a final word wi’ the King’s council. Och, dear lass, yer a sight for these weary eyes.” Rhys drew her close again, bending to kiss her cheek.

  From the corner of her eye, Scarlett saw a flash of red and immediately forgot about her friend as she spotted Laird not far away.

  Her eyes ate him up hungrily as she took a step in his direction. He was dirty and bloodied but in one piece. Looking oh, so alive and dynamic. Relief swept through her. He was safe.

  Was she a fool to feel such a thrill?

  Casting aside her restraint, Scarlett ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pressing kisses to his cheek. He was solid and powerful against her. Not until that moment did she real
ize how much she truly missed his presence. Often so quiet but still so overwhelming. Wrapping one leg around his thigh, she pressed herself flush against him, seeking his lips but Laird was stiff. Not returning her kiss just as he had not before he’d left Wark.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His eyes were as frigid as a steel plate when he finally looked at her. Scarlett was taken aback by the anger reflected there.

  “Wow, are you mad?”

  A shutter fell over his gaze. “I’m nae more mad than ye.”

  “Not crazy. Angry,” she clarified. “Are you angry with me?”

  “Nay.”

  “Are you sure? You seem angry.”

  “I’m no’…”

  32

  “What is this?”

  With a sinking feeling, James turned and faced King James and the half-dozen retainers who followed him, including his father, as they appeared behind him.

  “Your Grace.” He stepped away from Scarlett and bowed low, aware that Sir William was watching them with a frown.

  “Aren’t ye to wed wi’ my goddaughter soon, Hepburn?” King James asked, raking his eyes down Scarlett with a lingering look at her nearly exposed bosom, since she had once again forsook her parlett. “Who is this?”

  “This is Mistress Thomas, Your Grace.”

  The King held out his hand to her and Scarlett took it uncertainly, dropping into a deep, unsteady curtsey. “Your Majesty.”

  “Majesty, eh?” King James chuckled, grinning around at his men. “I like that. I should have all my loyal subjects address me so, shall I?”

  Agreement was murmured among the men but the King only turned back to Scarlett, lifting her chin with one finger and turning her face this way and that as he studied her thoroughly. Too thoroughly for James’s liking. “Why have I not seen you at court before, Mistress Thomas?”

  “She is nae one of importance to ye, Your Grace,” James said before she could speak, squeezing her hand to keep her from contradicting him. Lord only knew what might come out of her mouth. She was the unpredictable sort.