Taken

by Angeline Fortin

  Here was the A-List superstar of the time. Everyone was looking at him. None of them were looking at her. Any curiosity the castle’s inhabitants had felt about her in the preceding days was gone and she savored the novelty of having not a single set of eyes upon her. Scarlett didn’t begrudge him the attention in the least.

  Well, perhaps one but she didn’t mind that single admiring gaze today at all.

  “Are we going to meet him?” she asked Laird.

  “Nay, no’ today.” His eyes dimmed. “Is it something ye were hoping for?”

  Scarlett shrugged. “No, not really. Just excited. There’s just something about getting all dressed up, you know? I’ve always loved that part of it.”

  “It?” he asked curiously but Scarlett just shook her head.

  “Who are all these people?”

  “Retainers of the King, his traveling companions and counsel,” Laird told her. “My father, Sir William, is at the King’s side.”

  She would have realized it the moment she had seen Sir William even if Laird hadn’t said a word. It was like a glimpse of what Laird would look like in the years to come. Unlike Lady Ishbel who was aging poorly, Sir William for all his fifty years was still a vital, striking man.

  Perhaps she could see now why he managed to have so many illegitimate children. Women probably had a hard time keeping their hands off of him. Except Ishbel, who managed somehow to give the impression that she was avoiding him even as she stood right by his side. Instead, she was fawning over the King who seemed not to notice as he gave all of his attention to a gorgeous, dark-eyed woman on his other side.

  “Is that the Queen?”

  “The Queen remains at Linlithgow I heard,” Laird told her.

  “Then who is that?”

  Laird only took her arm and steered her after the throng of people who followed the King’s party into the dining hall. More tables had been added as the crowd present for supper far exceeded that at dinner but the King and the other noble visitors paraded immediately to the high table along with the Hepburns. The benches below began to fill.

  “Come share a trencher with me, Scarlett,” Aileen invited, capturing her hand and tugging her toward seats just below the high table.

  Lady Ishbel caught her eye then glanced down at the jewels around Scarlett’s neck. Her eyes burned with green flames. Scarlett could almost envision the green fog gathering around Lady Ishbel, all she lacked was a raven on her shoulder to make the picture complete.

  “Sorry, Aileen, I think it would be better if I sat down here.”

  With the little people. Scarlett had heard of seating by rank and would never have thought they took it so seriously but at the moment she was glad they did. The high table was the last place she wanted to be.

  “Can I sit with you then?” Aileen asked in a small voice. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

  A glance at the high table told Scarlett that Lady Ishbel was again occupied with the King and unlikely to take a headcount of her children, so Scarlett nodded her agreement as Laird found them a place far along one of the long benches, scooting down to make room for her young friend. A richly robed man seated near King James made a lengthy, solemn blessing over the food. In Latin, Scarlett thought. When he finished at last, the conversation picked up once more, filling the cavernous room with an overwhelming din.

  A young gentleman on Aileen’s other side would share a trencher with her, leaving Scarlett to share with Laird.

  “Thank you,” she said when he poured her a goblet of wine.

  “Bread?” he asked, in a low husky voice. “I ken it’s yer favorite.”

  “How did you know that?”

  A shrug answered her. He thoughtfully served her salmon and tattie scones along with a thick slice of bread but kept the other meats on the far side of the trencher. While she wasn’t a vegetarian, strictly speaking, she tended to avoid most red meats because of their fat content. She was surprised Laird had taken note.

  “Who’s that next to the King?”

  “That’s the King’s mistress, Janet Kennedy,” Aileen told her when Laird again declined to answer. “She’s why the Queen isn’t here.”

  “Sweeting, ye shouldnae ken such things,” Laird scolded, frowning at her over Scarlett’s head.

  “I know more than you think I might, Laird!” She poked her tongue out at him surprising Scarlett with her sudden spunk.

  Laird only grimaced. “Then ye shouldnae speak of them.”

  “Is it true?” Scarlett asked him and continued when he nodded shortly, “Then let her be. She not hurting anyone if it’s common knowledge.”

  The two women shared a grin before Aileen continued, lowering her voice. “She is by far his most enduring mistress to date. They’ve three children together already though it is rumored that the King is not the only one who enjoys her favors.”

  Laird groaned, shaking his head. “Sweeting,” he released a long-suffering sigh.

  “Now, that sounds like pure speculation,” Scarlett chided gently. “Rumors can hurt if they were spread with malicious intent.” Believe me, I know. “Tell me about the others up there. Who are they?”

  Farther along the table were three handsome boys in their late teens and early twenties who bore the Hepburn stamp clearly.

  “Those are my other brothers, Alexander, Arthur and Adam who just returned with Father. That one over there,” she poked a finger out quickly, “is our cousin Adam, the Earl of Bothwell, his wife, Lady Agnes. Did you know she is a bastard as well? Her father is the Earl of Buchan. No, it’s true! How did you say? Common knowledge. Over there is our uncle, Sir Adam of Craggis; our uncle, George who is the Abbott of Arbath and the King’s Lord High Treasurer; our aunt, Margaret and her husband, the Earl of Glencairn and over there is… ”

  The list went on, impossibly including more Margarets, Patricks and Adams than any one family should have. Aunts, uncles, cousins. The Hepburn family needed a different baby name book. There was no chance of remembering one Margaret from the next.

  Scarlett nodded as the list concluded with a rundown of the noble earls of Angus, Huntly and Home that were also present with their wives. “And that other man? The one speaking to Rhys?”

  Aileen looked suddenly downcast. “That is Robert Sutherland. He is my betrothed.”

  Scarlett nearly choked on her tattie and reached for her wine. Catching Laird’s eye, she cast him a quizzical look but he only nodded grimly. The man had to have been thirty years older than Aileen. A paunchy, balding and humorless looking man. “That’s your fiancé?”

  Aileen nodded miserably. “We are to be married by Michaelmas. He is the Earl of Sutherland. Mother says I should be happy to be a countess. That I will outrank her one day.”

  “Are you?”

  “I shall be his third wife,” Aileen explained without answering the question. “He has a son already to carry on his title one day.” She looked up again, quickly glancing away with a blush and Scarlett followed her gaze to a nice looking, ginger-haired boy of about twenty sitting across the U from them.

  “That’s his son?”

  “Yes, that’s Dickie. I mean, Lord Richard.”

  Aileen had seemed to have lost her appetite and Scarlett felt bad for unknowingly bringing up what was obviously a sore subject. How horrible to have to marry a man so much older than herself when she was obviously infatuated with the man’s son. Clearly, he felt the same. How tragically Oedipal.

  Wasn’t there something someone could do?

  Probably not. It was a pretty messed up family dynamic.

  It broke her heart to think of it. Scarlett hated to know that the girl had such a dismal future awaiting her.

  “Don’t worry, Aileen. I’m sure it will all work out in the end,” Scarlett said, patting the girl’s hand. “You never know what the future will bring.”

  “I don’t think there is anything that can change this. I doubt the future will bring me the love I desire.”

  Scarlett looked
up at Laird. He was as solemn as usual but there was that new, incessant heat in his eyes.

  “Perhaps a bit of magic might pick you up and drop you into another place and time,” she said. “I’ve heard it can happen.”

  “Like it did with Dorothy?” Aileen asked, perking up enough for a twinkle to appear in her bright blue eyes and a smile to deepen her dimples.

  Like it did with me.

  A small group of minstrels armed with two flutes, a lute, a psaltery and a Scottish hurdy-gurdy played in the great hall after the meal. One song after another. Spritely tunes that set Scarlett’s toe tapping. Her cheeks were pink with delight as she smiled up at him. James thought he’d never seen a sight more becoming.

  The music soon transitioned to a statelier tune and King James set his wine aside and rose from the monstrous wooden chair that had been set upon a raised dais for him at the end of the room. Holding out his hand to Janet Kennedy, he led her to the center of the room. Other couples joined them and began to weave an intricate pattern across the floor.

  For Scarlett, it was enchanting and lovely to watch but to her it didn’t look like any sort of dancing she was familiar with. It was more like a promenade of careful steps to the front, side and rear.

  “Would ye care to dance, my lady?” Rhys asked.

  “Oh I would love to, but…” I don’t know any of your dances. It was on the tip of her tongue but Scarlett bit it back. She’d had too fine a day to risk rousing the dragon once again. “Thank you, but no. I’d rather just watch, if that’s all right?”

  Too bad really, she would have loved to dance. With Laird especially, though he hadn’t asked. He was so graceful in every way; surely he would be a joy on the dance floor.

  Perhaps in the days to come she could ask Rhys to teach her some dances or offer to teach them some of hers. Scarlett stifled a laugh, struck by the hilarity of showing them all the Dougie, how to do the Wobble, or worse, how to Twerk. If she could keep a straight face, perhaps they’d all join in. How ludicrous. She’d probably be laughed off the dance floor!

  “Mayhap we can find some wine to refill our drinks then?” Rhys offered.

  “That would be lovely.”

  “I’ll escort her,” Laird cut in.

  Rhys looked set to argue but Scarlett only shook her head. Thanking him again, she let Laird lead her away.

  “Ye ken nothing of our dances, do ye?” he asked quietly as they strolled around the perimeter of the hall.

  Scarlett briefly considered a lie but shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Silence fell heavily. A new dance had begun. Patrick and Aleizia had joined the dancers and Rhys led a beaming Aileen on to the floor as well.

  “How is that possible?”

  It was the same thing he had said each time she told him something like that. She wished she could tell him as she knew it frustrated him deeply. “I’m not from around here. You must realize that by now.”

  “The Lindsay raid…”

  “I think you know very well that I’m not the Lindsay’s daughter, sister or even a distant cousin,” she said, quietly. “I can’t tell you how I ended up in your castle, Laird. I don’t really know myself.”

  “Who are ye, lass?” he asked quietly. “Ye come here wi’ yer nonsensical speech and yer peculiar walk…”

  “What’s wrong with the way I walk?” she asked, interrupting him.

  Laird shrugged. “’Tis like an untutored youth wi’ little restraint. Always rushing this way and that. Aye, ‘tis clear enough that yer no’ from this place but where are ye from then? What are ye hiding? Or hiding from? I hae seen fear in yer eyes. Mayhap I can help ye.”

  Oh, if only he could.

  “I’m sorry, Laird. I can’t but I am no threat to you. I promise.” Most of it was half-truths but that last, at least, was true enough. They came to a small alcove off the hall just as the music changed its rhythm again. A soft, haunting ballad played sweetly on the flute that seemed to sing to her very soul. It was romantic, stirring.

  It also provided her an excuse to change the subject before it progressed farther than she could safely negotiate. Before Laird had time to pelt her with another round of questions, Scarlett took him by the hand and smiled up at him. “Will you dance with me?”

  “Ye just admitted ye dinnae ken our dances.”

  “No, but I could show you one of mine, if you like,” she said, tugging him into the alcove and out of sight from the rest of the room. “It’s called a waltz.” Taking his right arm, she placed his hand at her waist.

  “Ye think to distract me?” he grumbled.

  “Maybe. Now, put your hand here and give me your other hand.” She held her right hand up for him to hold.

  “Ye jest.”

  “Not at all.” She grinned up at him, enjoying his astonishment when she put her hand on his shoulder. “Now hold me closer.”

  “Perhaps we should retire to yer room for this,” he murmured, his breath teasing against her cheek as he tightened his embrace. “’Tis no dance to be sure.”

  Scarlett laughed. “No, it is a dance. Not too tight. There! Now, we move like this.” She guided him through the simple one-two-three motion until he got the hang of it. “That’s it. You’ve got it.”

  Slowly but with growing confidence, Laird moved her around the small room. He pulled her closer and closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest and his growing arousal was pressed against her belly. His pale eyes held hers steadily as they moved together, filled with dark promises for the night to come.

  “Like this?”

  Her body sighed and her heart fluttered. “Yes, just like that.”

  Growing desire clouded around them until they were nearly lost without more than touch between them. Laird bent his head to nuzzle the hollow below her ear, inhaling her sensual scent.

  “What is this?”

  Scarlett looked up, gulping in a deep breath at that all too familiar face. At her side, Laird stiffened and withdrew to an arm’s length.

  “May I introduce my father, Sir William Hepburn, Lord High Chamberlain,” Laird said, his voice tight. Angry? “Father, this is Mistress Thomas.”

  Sir William offered a short bow and Scarlett dipped a curtsey as she had seen some of the other ladies do. If nothing else, she was a good enough actress to blend in. “How do you do?”

  “Verra well,” he said in a chilly voice then speared Laird with his flint-like gaze. “My wife tells me that my sons found ye at Dunskirk during a Lindsay raid yet they welcome the clanswoman of my enemy as a guest in my castle.”

  “Father…”

  Sir William cut him off with a look that whisked away any familiarity he shared with his son. While Laird had shot her looks containing heat of anger and passion, nothing in his eyes had ever been so cold. An Azkaban dementor couldn’t have produced such a sudden chill! “I would have words wi’ ye, James. In private.”

  Laird stiffened beside her. She felt more than saw his curt nod. What an awkward moment. Hardly like she would have imagined meeting anyone’s parents.

  “My apologies, Father,” Rhys said quietly, coming up behind Sir William. “The King would hae a word wi’ ye before he retires. Ye as well, I’m afraid,” he directed this to Laird. So it hadn’t been just a rescue attempt then.

  Sir William cast around one last sour glance before he turned on his heel and left them. Laird looked down at Scarlett but his gaze, so warm and open all evening, was shuttered and closed. “I maun apologize for my father’s rudeness, Scarlett. There are other issues at play ye dinnae understand.”

  Explain them to me, she wanted to say. Scarlett had wondered at Lady Ishbel’s malice but his father’s coldness was little better. She wanted to know the reasons behind it but this was not the time.

  “You shouldn’t keep the King waiting. I hear monarchs hate that.”

  Just a hint of humor flashed in his eyes before it dulled once more. “Indeed they do.”

  “Dinnae worry, Laird,” Rhys sa
id jauntily. “I shall see Scarlett to her rooms.”

  “Safely to her rooms,” Laird corrected but with a nod, departed.

  Scarlett’s eyes followed him until he was lost in the crowd before she turned back to Rhys. To her surprise, his gaze was troubled.

  “What is it?”

  “I worry for ye, my dear.”

  “For me?” she asked. “You should be worried for him. My parents may not have been the best in the world but at least they had some warmth. They cared about me.”

  “I cannae excuse my mother, but our father favors Laird,” Rhys said.

  “If that’s an example of his favor, I’d hate to see what his disapproval looks like.”

  Rhys only shook his head. “It might no’ show, but I think our father genuinely regrets that Laird isnae his legitimate son, his heir.”

  Scarlett scoffed at that. If Sir William cared so much for Laird, he would have acknowledged him as his heir if it were true and not just admit as much in a drunken stupor.

  “They are actually quite similar beings, ye see.”

  “I doubt that.” Comparing the two men was like equating the icy hell of Hoth to the raging fires of Modor.

  “Nay, lass. Look at Laird. He can be as imperfect as he pleases, doing what he likes. He is laird of himself, if nothing else. Yet even wi’out the position in name to do so, he commands everyone he meets. Just like our father. Including our father in many ways,” Rhys said with a laugh. “We all love him, myself included.”

  “Yet you constantly goad him just to rile him up.”

  Rhys shrugged. “How else am I to show my love?”

  22

  “I wish I were going with you, Scarlett.”

  Scarlett caught her wistful expression and hugged Aileen tightly, whispering in her ear. “I wish you were, too. Aleizia will be so busy with Patrick, I will have only Laird and Rhys for company along the way.”

  As they parted, a smile brightened Aileen’s vivid blue eyes. “What a torturous labor for you. Perhaps I shan’t envy you at all! Promise you’ll write me and let me know how my brothers fare? They are horrible correspondents, all.”