Love in the Time of a Highland Laird (A Laird for All Time Book 3)

by Angeline Fortin

  She shook her head and tried to look away but he wouldn’t let her, holding her firmly.

  “Ye dinnae think ye deserve love. Nay, dinnae try tae run away. I ken all too well how ye think, lass. What ye dinnae realize… what ye willnae accept is ye already hae it. Ye dinnae hae tae do this thing, risk yer life tae earn it. I love ye already, lass. My heart is yers.”

  It was incomprehensible. There wasn’t a thought beyond denial running through her head as she stared up at him blankly.

  “Ye think I lie?” he asked perceptively. “That I make it up tae keep ye from going? Can ye nae see in yerself what I see in ye? A beauty of heart? A brilliant mind? Ye stole my heart from the beginning, lass. Ye give of yerself so fully. Did ye ne’er think anything would e’er be given back?”

  “I don’t know…” God, he scored her heart with his words. Never had she heard anything so soul-wrenching. But here? Now? Turning her head, she stared down the street. If only…

  Damn, if only they were alone. A handful of his men were waiting not far down the street. Far enough away to be out of earshot but not so far they had any real privacy.

  “We don’t have time to do this right now.”

  She pushed on his chest but he took her by the shoulders and held her tight.

  “What? Nae time for me tae tell ye I love ye? Nae time tae hear the same from yer lips?” He gave her a little shake. “Do ye hae nae love for me, lass?”

  God, he couldn’t be doing this right now! His words had flooded her to the edge of her limits. If he continued to press her, she’d end up bawling all over him, clinging to him in desperation and begging him never to leave her.

  She’d never had a man tell her he loved her. Lay down his heart like that. Certainly not in a way that skyrocketed past every far-flung fantasy she’d ever had or any narrative she’d ever read.

  Couldn’t he see she just didn’t know how to respond to something like that? How to deal with her heart aching so painfully in her chest it must have cracked open inside of her and spilled out? Couldn’t he see it leaking out in her tears?

  Her throat was so painfully clogged with emotion she could hardly breathe. Her chest burning. Her head reeling…

  “Good God, Keir, is she about to faint?”

  Chapter 35

  Mathilde stepped out of the inn pulling on her gloves, studying Al’s… aye, near-faint, with an expression bordering on amusement.

  “Go away, Mathilde,” he barked, sweeping Al off her feet and into his arms. Brushing past his cousin, he carried her into the inn.

  “We don’t have time for this!”

  Ignoring his cousin, he made his way toward the stairs with his curvaceous bundle.

  “Keir, stop,” she whispered, regaining some tension in her body. “Stop.”

  “Ye’re ill.”

  “I’m overwhelmed,” she murmured so quietly he barely heard her. “Please stop.”

  He didn’t but he did veer into one of the private rooms off the tap room and close the door.

  “Will you put me down?”

  “Nay.”

  Her soft chuckle tickled his ear. A moment later, her arms wound around his neck and she nestled her cheek against his chest with a sigh.

  “You sure do know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

  It sounded quite complimentary but he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her comment. “I dinnae mean tae overwhelm ye, lass. I only meant tae speak of what is in my heart ‘ere ye put yerself in harm’s way.”

  She leaned back in his arms and eyed him seriously. “To keep me from putting myself in harm’s way, you mean.” Her wide gray eyes narrowed. “You said that to keep me from going.”

  Unwilling to let her go, he sat in one of the chairs by the table, keeping her in his lap. “I will admit I hope tae talk ye oot of taking part in our ooting, but I dinnae say what I did merely tae convince ye.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I dinnae want tae go tae my death wi’oot saying it aloud.”

  Uncomfortable now, perhaps the heat of the moment had passed. She was staring at him so oddly, he might have thought he’d grown another limb. He lifted her off his lap and stood.

  Pacing the small room, he felt a hint of uncertainty. True, he thought he knew her well already despite their short affair. Could he have been wrong all along? Perhaps she did not reciprocate his feelings with the same depth. Or perhaps, not at all? He knew she was fascinated by him, attracted to him. Was he some novelty to her? A man beyond her time?

  Keir ran his hands through his hair, fisting his fingers around the wild locks. Tugging as if he might be able to draw the answers from his head. Or restore his confidence. He’d never been so impotent in all his days.

  Och, what this wee lass had done to him. “Mayhap, I dinnae want tae go tae my death wi’oot hearing the words from yer lips. Alas, I cannae force from yer lips what ye dinnae feel, can I?”

  Deafening silence. Then…

  “Oh, my God, is that what you think?” Her high-pitched disbelief rang from the rafters of the small room. In a heartbeat, she was out of her chair, her hands wrapped around his arm, tugging until he looked down at her. Gone was the panic darkening her eyes. They shined like silver coins. “Do you really think…? Can you possibly be so…? Are men idiots in every century, or is it just me?”

  “I dinnae ken what ye…”

  He could say no more as she dragged him down and stole his words with her kiss. Hot, open-mouthed. Fervid. She’d never approached the task with such… enthusiasm.

  “Does this mean?”

  “Shut up for a minute.”

  * * *

  The minute spun into many but Al couldn’t stop herself. It had taken awhile, probably too long, but she finally realized he meant it. It wasn’t just words spouted off to coerce her into doing what he wanted. Drivel to get his own way.

  He meant it, heart and soul.

  And her brawny, burly, gorgeous… brilliant Highland laird was stupid enough to think she wasn’t in love with him?

  What a topsy-turvy past she was living in!

  Draping her arms around his neck, she lifted herself against him, wrapping her leg around his thigh. He’d recovered from his surprise and was hungrily kissing her back, plunging his tongue past her lips to parry hotly with her own. Desire heated her flesh, the humidity rose. Panting against his mouth, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, drawing on it until she felt the quiver of his chest and his arms banded so tightly around her waist, her breath was again taken away.

  Tilting his head, he took his turn sucking on her top lip then the bottom. Running his tongue along her lips before kissing her roughly. When he pulled away, she was left breathing hard, dizzy. Panting.

  He held her snugly to him until she could feel every hard plane, every bulge, every ripple she pressed against. Lifting her, he turned, backing her to the wall with a thud that stole her breath even more. Gasping, she threw back her head. The raspy burn of his whiskers trailed down her neck along with his lips. She cried out as his teeth nipped the curve of her shoulder. In pain. In wanton craving, she wrapped her legs around his hips. His huge erection was throbbing, burning through the layers between them.

  “Keir!’ she cried out, desperation igniting every pore of her body.

  “Aye, mo ghrá,” he growled in his deep brogue and fumbled at the buttons of his trousers.

  “God, I like kilts so much better than pants,” she breathed, loving the heave of his chest and shoulders as he silently laughed.

  Then the laughter was gone. He drove into her, slamming her against the wall, their cries of passion and joy intermingling.

  A fist banged on the door. “Children, there’s a rescue waiting to be had,” Mathilde called. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Aye, we do,” Keir whispered, grinning down at her with love in his eyes. He kissed her answering smile away and began to move.

  With a sniff, Mathilde turned away from the door. “If the rest
of the night is this explosive, we’ll be assured of our success.”

  Chapter 36

  “You fret too much.”

  “And you’re surprisingly calm for a woman who just got groped by a complete stranger, Tildy,” Al muttered under her breath while Mathilde just laughed.

  “You think that was groping?” she scoffed. “My cousin must not be doing a respectable job of it. Och, Al lass, I should think you’d be far more relaxed now that you…”

  Her wicked grin had Al blushing even more than she had been when she and Keir had left the inn to find his men, Artair, and Mathilde waiting on them, each with a knowing smirk on their faces.

  Well, except Artair.

  She’d never been so embarrassed in her life, but she wouldn’t have traded it for the world. She was loved. Thoroughly completely. Heart and soul.

  She’d felt like she could conquer the world.

  Unfortunately, that feel-good moment had only lasted until Keir was out of sight, parting from them at the edge of the city. He called orders to the men, directing them this way, and disappearing into the darkness.

  It was like her light had gone out with him. Her confidence leeching away. She was so strong with him but reverted to her old inhibited self the second she was apart from him.

  It had pained her to leave him and she knew from the hard pressure of his hand around hers before he’d determinedly let her go, he felt the same.

  It wasn’t until they were some blocks away, she realized she hadn’t told him. At least in so many words. The temptation was strong to say ‘screw the mission’ and run back to him and assure him she felt for him every ounce of the love he so eloquently described and more.

  No chance with someone as headstrong as Mathilde tugging her along.

  “You should come to court someday if you want to know what it truly feels like to be groped. Why, I could tell you some stories about King George that would make you blanch. There was this one time…”

  Mathilde carried on with her atrocious stories of having hands thrust down her bodice and up her skirts in the dark staircases and back halls of Windsor Castle, as they wound their way through the dark streets of Edinburgh with only the light of a single lantern to guide them. Al cringed for womankind, and desperately missed for just a instant, a world where a woman could walk in safety.

  Well, at least in a palace.

  She doubted the Queen put up with bullshit like that in Buckingham.

  The walk wasn’t a long one but there were miraculously no direct through streets in the handful of city blocks they needed to cover. They were forced to turn this way and that. Thank God for Mathilde’s company and lead. She would have never found her way through the maze on her own.

  Would have chickened out long before they reached their destination.

  Cutting through a dark alley, they found themselves on Canongate Road. What Al knew as the Royal Mile.

  Mathilde covertly pointed to the prison. As Keir said, it was a fortress. Four stories with more than a half-dozen gables tenting up from the slanted roof. In the center, a circular turret arose from the central block. An arched opening hollowed it out at the bottom.

  “That’s where the door is. It’s sheltered from the street. No one should see you once you’re in there.”

  The problem was, there were several people on the street, despite the late hour. Two red-coated men patrolling together near the western corner of the building. Another flirting with a woman across from them. Just a block away, Cumberland’s platoon thankfully hidden from sight beyond the Canongate Church.

  As she stood there worrying her earlobe, Al’s eyes darted up and down the street. She was losing her nerve despite overwhelming moral cause. She didn’t know if she could summon the courage to get the job done.

  Then she saw him. Keir, farther down the street, leaning against a building across from the gaol as if he had nothing better to do.

  Of all the ballsy…

  “Go distract those two down there,” she whispered to Mathilde.

  “How?”

  “Flirt. Swish your skirts.” Al rolled her eyes. “I’d bet you know exactly how to befuddle a male mind or two. Get to it.”

  With a saucy grin, Mathilde took off, sauntering straight down the middle of the street. Swishing her skirts as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She walked right by the pair of guards, even caught the eye of the other man as she passed. And kept going. The three men couldn’t look away.

  Heartened, Al crept down the street keeping to the shadows until she was directly across from the prison door. Taking a deep, bracing breath and a page from Mathilde’s book, she strolled casually across the street. Hoping she wasn’t attracting the same attention as Mathilde, but she hadn’t wanted to catch anyone’s eye with a sudden movement of her lantern either.

  Safely in the shadow of the door, she drew the battery/bomb from her basket and began to unwrap it. The lock itself was a broad metal plate across the right-center portion of the door. That was it. Nothing but a notched out keyhole to upset the clean aesthetic.

  Luckily, the keyhole itself was so large, she should be able to wedge the battery right into it. To her pleasure, it fit. Tightly enough she needn’t worry about wiring it in or about it slipping out. Close enough to the mechanism, the heat of the blast should crack the bolt without trouble, allowing the door to be pushed open by Keir’s Highland men waiting to storm the building.

  Unwrapping the two wires from the wax paper, she made sure to keep them far apart and she stretched the wire down to the ground. With the straw she included in the basket, she made a cushion on top of one knife and laid the second diagonally across from it.

  That was it.

  Removing the stub of her candle from the lantern, she held it near the straw but hesitated in lighting it. Thoughts of the butterfly effect staying her hand. Everything she’d ever heard or read about time travel said any change to the past could have disastrous effects on the future. Surely she hadn’t made much of a ripple so far, but this was big. A game changer. She was about to change history by setting the people inside this prison free.

  Or was she?

  This wasn’t her history. The days ahead weren’t her future. It was a different reality and by lighting this straw she’d only be creating another.

  Accidents happen for a reason.

  Keir had said. That funky little man, Donnel, had said it.

  Maybe this was the reason. Casting her lot, hoping fate truly did have a plan, she lit the straw. Making sure it was burning steadily and wouldn’t go out, she blew out the candle and darted away from the building.

  Dashing into the shadows on the other side of the street, she saw Keir inching along, coming closer. Though she longed to have him with her with every fiber of her being, she waved him back. He sank into the shadows out of sight.

  Across the street, the little flame flared like a beacon then flickered. And died.

  Any minute now.

  She waited. Nothing.

  Another armed soldier rounded the corner on the east end of the prison beyond Keir’s hiding place. He was coming closer and there was no way to warn him without alerting the patrolman.

  Damn, why hadn’t the battery exploded yet?

  Still nothing.

  The knives must have shifted or something. She chewed her lip. It had to be that or the battery hadn’t taken enough of a charge from the Leyden Jar to short circuit at all.

  Another glance down the street told her the soldier was almost straight across from Keir now. Surely, he would spot him any second. Their chance might be blown even if the battery wasn’t.

  Her confidence built again. For Keir, she needed to remain strong and get this thing done. Sucking in a breath, she waited for the guard to turn away and ran across the street into the archway once more.

  Damn, the straw hadn’t burned through! To hell with it. Snatching up the two wires, she twisted them together above the dangling knives, wincing at the static snap zipping throu
gh her.

  “Shit that hurts,” she muttered under her breath.

  She didn’t run immediately but waited to make sure it worked. How far away was the soldier? Did she dare peek around the corner?

  Desperate, she glanced back at the bomb.

  With a sigh of relief, she saw the rubber casing around the battery begin to swell with the gasses heating within. In just a few seconds…

  Shhh-foomp!

  Chapter 37

  The explosion hadn’t been at all as he thought. Not the boom of a musket or the blast of a cannon. More a hiss followed by a bang that might have been a door slamming.

  No one paid it any mind. Not the soldier passing by. Not his men.

  No, it wasn’t the blast that snared Keir’s attention, it was Al’s cry of pain. Not even knowing what it was, the sound had yanked him like invisible chains from his hiding place. She was crouching near the archway cradling her arm. Heedless of how he might be exposing himself, he ran to her side and dropped to his knees.

  “Are ye hurt, mo ghrá?”

  “No, I’m fine. It was just a bit of plastic that hit me when it blew.” Twisting her arm around gently, he saw a charred hole in her sleeve, burned straight through to the angry wound on her upper arm. “I had to pull the plastic off. It stuck to me.” Her thumb and forefinger were blistering already. “You know, I think it actually hit me in the same spot as the knife. Nice, only one scar, huh?”

  Foolish lass. He wanted to berate her for being near the explosive when it went off. For being here at all.

  “Let me get ye oot of here.”

  “No, you have to—Watch out!”

  Whipping around, he found a burly, red-coated soldier looming over them, the bayonet extending from the end of his long musket wavering dangerously close.

  “Oi! Who are ye? What are ye doing here abouts?”

  He hadn’t heard the blast, or at least identified it for what it was, Keir realized. Dashing a glance at the prison door obscured by the dark, he saw there was no visible damage showing. The guard hadn’t any idea… yet, what they were about.