Taken

by Angeline Fortin

  “I will but don’t worry over them, okay? We will all see you soon.”

  A shadow passed across the girl’s eyes. “I wish that you might be able to promise me that.”

  “I can,” Rhys assured her, leading his mount along behind him as he came to her side. “Ye well ken that I am too arrogant to die. Hae I no’ said so before?”

  “A hundred times!” Aileen flung herself into her brother’s arms and squeezed him. “I shall hold you to it this time.”

  “Ye hae my promise as well, Sweeting.”

  Laird appeared behind them and braced himself as his sister turned and hugged him fiercely too.

  Over Aileen’s head, Laird’s silvery eyes met hers. Once again he wore his worn and faded kilt and linen shirt without even a vest or doublet to subdue the impact of his broad chest. She much preferred him like this rather than in the finery of the previous night. His savage magnetism was undeniable.

  She hadn’t seen him since he’d left her the previous night, but this morning a buxom young woman named Maris had appeared at her door and introduced herself as Scarlett’s new maid and companion. Her duty, Maris informed her, was to see that Scarlett was ready to travel and to accompany her for propriety’s sake. While picking out a half-dozen dresses for Scarlett to take along with her, Aleizia had explained why Scarlett required a chaperone as a young, unmarried woman traveling among the soldiers.

  It was an amusing concept since Scarlett had been kidnapped forcibly and traveled alone with a dozen Hepburn clansmen without any one of them worrying for her reputation. She didn’t see much of a point in starting now but Maris was insistent and helpful in carrying along the heavy valise Aleizia had packed for her. Now it and Maris were safely aboard a small wooden cart being pulled by another of Laird’s horses. Along with it, Aiden, Laird’s squire was loading Laird’s clothing, arms, shields and chain mail along with his tent and supplies that would see them through the journey.

  The squire was now waiting, holding Laird’s horse patiently but Scarlett was sure it would be awhile before Laird would be able to peel himself away from Aileen. The King, who was already mounted and moving among the thousand or more men who had been camped overnight outside Crichton’s walls, probably couldn’t have rushed him.

  Scarlett’s heart ached for them all. Even Lady Ishbel, bless her heart. For all her glacial stares and scathing insults, all the men of her household were going off to war. Not that she seemed troubled by her husband’s departure, but Lady Ishbel had almost had a tear in her eye when saying her goodbyes to her five sons. Especially Rhys.

  Scarlett had never had to send someone off to war before. The uncertainty of the days to come without cell phones, emails and Skype to send frequent assurances would be harrowing for the women left behind.

  But not all were being left behind. Aleizia refused to be parted from Patrick. Lady Agnes, the young Countess of Bothwell, was also accompanying her husband, as was the Countess of Glencairn, Laird’s aunt. In fact, there were many women of all ranks coming along, children as well. Something Scarlett was having a hard time comprehending. Historically speaking, she’d always had the impression that men marched off to war alone, even during transport to the battlefield itself.

  “Dinnae cry, wee lassie.” Laird was down on his knees now before Aileen, smoothing back her hair with a tender hand as he spoke to her softly. Words of caring, affection and cocky assurance until he coaxed a smile from her. He grinned then, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

  Something deep within Scarlett stirred at the sight.

  It occurred to her then that she had never known what a real man was.

  Oh, she knew guys who went to the gym to bulk up. She knew geeks, stars, soldiers and gentlemen but never all that combined in one man. Laird was everything – fierce, strong, chivalrous, protective and caring of his women.

  His women. Those who belonged to him, even if they weren’t directly related.

  Like her.

  Scarlett knew that there was some feminist part of her that should be offended on behalf of them all. Though it was a more modern ideal, she had been raised to believe that she was as good as any man. That she could do anything a man could. That she could be anything.

  In the process, women in her time had lost the femininity of centuries past.

  Damn, even decades past.

  When women expected to be taken care of because they were the weaker sex. Not that they were weak. She could see that now. Under all the frippery and fawning, she had seen incredible strength in the women who were waving their men off to war that morning. To endure what they did, to face loss of husbands, brothers, sons and daughters to war and disease every day.

  Without complaint, they took on what looked to Scarlett might be an often ugly life and tried to see and be the beauty in it.

  Her whole job since finishing her movies had been to look fantastic on magazine covers and in person. Even at the grocery store. Heaven help her if she were caught on film without makeup and designer clothes. Sometimes that was hard enough with an assistant and a personal trainer to keep her ready at all times for shoots, sets and days on a plane. Living out of a suitcase for weeks on end.

  That was it.

  There were no real worries in her life, no horrors to be faced.

  Or course, her life didn’t have an ounce of the intrigue and ambition these women had despite her celebrity status. According to Aleizia, the ladies of the upper classes wanted nothing more than to one up each other with the best marriage, best castle. Having friendships – Scarlett used that term loosely – with anyone who could promote their social standing.

  From one perspective, the lives of the peasants seemed more enviable. They worked hard, yes, but for the most part just wanted to love, eat and be happy.

  One was Hollywood. The other an average American life.

  Perhaps their times weren’t so different after all.

  Laird turned to Scarlett. His eyes were turbulent, yet resolved as he lifted easily up into her saddle. Gathering up the reins, he adjusted her hands around them until she was holding them properly. “She’s docile enough for ye, I promise. Just hold on and she’ll follow along wi’out a fuss.”

  “You okay?” she asked softly, clasping his hand.

  “Aye.” His calloused thumb stroked over her knuckles before he bent his head, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I maun apologize again for last night. My father can be a difficult and autocratic man.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Bear wi’ me, lass. ‘Tis all that I ask.”

  It was a bizarre statement but before she could ask him about it, Laird strode to his horse, pulling a length of plaid from his saddlebags. Returning, he held it out to her. “’Twill rain soon. Wrap it around yerself. The wool will shed the water.”

  Scarlett nodded but he turned away again, moving toward his horse, finding the stirrup and mounting smoothly. Lifting his hand, he waved goodbye to his sister one last time before kicking his horse into motion. Shoulders set and stiff, he rode away without sparing her another glance.

  What was that all about?

  A moment later, Rhys rode up beside her, slapping her horse on the rump. It lurched forward reluctantly. “How are ye faring this morn, dear Scarlett?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Well, I am back on a horse.” Scarlett gestured to the animal as if Rhys weren’t perfectly aware of her position. “Again.”

  “Och, did ye get more riding in last night then?”

  A blush blossomed hotly on her cheeks at his innuendo. “You do have a dirty mind, Rhys.”

  “Aye, but by yer own word, I ask all the best questions.” He flashed her a wink.

  They had given her a side-saddle this time and she wasn’t sure if it were a good thing. It might have been more practical given the long skirts of her brown linen riding habit but she didn’t feel any more stable in the saddle than she had before. On the bright side, she didn’t feel any
less stable either and maybe her thighs wouldn’t ache so badly this time since they wouldn’t be spread wide all day to accommodate the huge beast between them.

  No, but they might ache pleasantly enough if you let another huge beast between them, her inner devil teased. Ugh, this was getting out of hand.

  “Is it a long ride today?” she asked, hoping to change the subject and divert her thoughts. “I’ve never heard of this Ellenfort.”

  “Ellemford,” he corrected. “Ellemford Haugh. It’s the traditional muster point in the area. ‘Tis just over a score of miles southeast of us. We should be there early this afternoon,” Rhys said as if about seven hours, by her quick calculation, was little more than a jaunt in the park. With twenty cannons being pulled at the head of their procession, she could see why their progress would be even slower than before. Plus, many in the cavalcade were walking as well, some pulling small carts behind them.

  It was going to be another one of those days.

  Scarlett wasn’t certain that she could handle another full day in the saddle. The last one she’d spent there had been hard enough.

  Yes, but Laird must have held you in his arms for a good portion of it, her inner devil reminded.

  Because I was his prisoner.

  The devil smirked. You don’t seem like much of a prisoner any more.

  23

  “Where are we this time, Rhys?” she asked as they stopped to make camp three days later along the banks of a river called the Blackadder Water. The area seemed familiar to her though Scarlett couldn’t pinpoint why.

  “Do ye no’ recognize the place, my dear?” he asked curiously as he unsaddled his horse while his squire, Willem, emptied a small horse cart of his tent and belongings. Aiden and Maris were taking care of setting up Scarlett’s tent, neither one appreciated her interference, leaving her at loose ends. “Ye should, since it is where we found ye just a sennight past.”

  “We’re back at Dunskirk?”

  “Merely passing by, dear Scarlett.”

  Interest pricked. “Do you mind if I go look around a bit?”

  “Hoping to see Laird?”

  No, she’d given up that hope days ago. Scarlett hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Laird since they’d left Crichton. His abrupt abandonment after such a focused seduction was confusing. Whatever he wanted her to bear with, she assumed it had something to do with his continued absence. She hoped that it was something in his private talks with Sir William or the King that prompted him to avoid her company and not just regret over their brief but passionate interludes.

  “If ye’ll wait, I’ll escort ye,” he said. “Or ye can take Maris.”

  Maris paused in her work but Scarlett shrugged off the option. No doubt her maid was again itching to run off with a burly Scotsman or two as she did each afternoon after seeing Scarlett settled in. She wasn’t sorry to see Maris go, as the woman wasn’t much of a companion by Scarlett’s definition of the word.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  Maris turned back to her work, no doubt pleased with Scarlett’s decision.

  “Don’t get lost,” Rhys warned.

  “I won’t and I promise I won’t run off either.”

  “I wisnae worried aboot that.”

  Having conquered the maze of tents, Scarlett strode off in strides as long as the skirts of her blue flax gown would allow. Heading west where Rhys pointed, she enjoyed the burn of her thighs and calves after another long day in the saddle. At least she could walk on her own this time, Scarlett realized. She must be getting used to it.

  The skies above were thick with clouds but clear on the horizon. The descending sun swept across the rolling hills far to the west, awakening the shadows between and glowing off the treetops of the woodland park nestled between the encampment and the castle. Through the trees, she could make out just a hint of Dunskirk’s easterly elevation silhouetted against the ball of light. Bright beams speared around the tower, casting their rays on the large pond at the center of the woodlands and bouncing off the placid surface like a mirror.

  Scarlett shaded her eyes as she plunged into the trees, finding in the lacy shadows beyond her first hint of the familiar since arriving in this time. With a smile, Scarlett stroked the leather soles of her shoes over the mossy stones of a recognizable arched footbridge. Trickling streams below called out to her like an old friend. Moss covered rocks rolled out a welcoming carpet and the hanging branches of the trees waved hello.

  Once upon a time, she’d spent days on end within this fairy-tale landscape. It was untouched. Unchanged. Beautiful and savage just as she remembered.

  Through the trees, the reflection of the sun off the pond sparkled like diamonds. Long beams of light angled through the canopy of leaves. Meandering slowly, Scarlett skimmed her fingertips along the tree trunks as she circled this way around one, that way around the other. Reaching the shoreline of the pond, she spotted the tiny island where the mini castle tower of her time had once sat. Now it was missing. The realization saddened her but missing Laird made her almost as melancholy.

  Much as she tried not to dwell on implications of her continued stay in the sixteenth century, Scarlett tried not to dwell on his continued absence either.

  She’d become something of an abandoned lover.

  Was he regretting their love play? Or regretting having her come along?

  Both?

  Part of her wanted to find him and ask, rather than dwelling on the worst-case scenario, but the crowds within the encampments were too vast to even consider such a futile search.

  Thousands of men, women and children from the Brough Muir muster, which had marched out of Edinburgh, combined with those gathering from Midlothian at Ellemford. Pages, squires, wives, and children. People to care for them all. To feed them and clean up after them.

  The military encampments were a marvel to Scarlett, whose idea of camping was far removed from the ever-expanding spectacle around her.

  Ellemford Haugh – the ‘haugh’ meaning only a meadow near a river, Rhys told her – on the banks of the Whiteadder Water, became a city of tents that first night. Big ones, small ones. Flamboyant and humble. Tents of all colors set in long avenues and cross streets like it was a metropolis unto itself.

  Her tent – Rhys had been very clear on that point – was modestly sized with red and white stripes. Laird’s squire, Aiden had pulled a large feather mattress from the cart for her to sleep on as well as the small table and chairs for her comfort.

  Not far away from hers were two large tents of red and yellow bearing the Hepburn coat of arms. One Rhys was sharing with his father and brothers. The other was for Patrick and Aleizia. Theirs had been fully furnished with all the comforts of home. Scarlett could only imagine how lavish King James’ was.

  Or Laird’s.

  Rhys had made no mention of where Laird planned to sleep.

  Rhys had taken her on a tour of the Ellemford encampment the previous night after supping with Patrick and Aleizia. Everywhere the Scottish accents of Highland and Lowland blended as men prepared for battle, sharpening swords and knives. Stringing bows and mending chainmail. All through their walk, her eyes strayed left and right, wondering where Laird might be but she never caught sight of him among the growing throng.

  Today, when they had left Ellemford and moved southward, she wouldn’t have imagined they were stopping near Dunskirk. Scarlett was glad for it though. The idyllic tranquility of the place was a long lost friend, soaking into her and washing away the moment of melancholy.

  Skirting the shore of the pond, Scarlett made her way to the postern gate of Dunskirk and slipped inside. The halls were dark with shadows but she knew her way well enough and the keep was but a fraction of the size she remembered. Working her way through and up the second floor of the pele tower, she took note of what it was. What it could, no, would someday be.

  Near the center of the great room, she found the spot she’d been in when she’d traveled through time. She circled the room, pl
aying the moment over and over in her head once more. And the questions came again. How? Why? Would she ever know?

  It was also the spot where she’d first encountered Laird. Amongst all the confusion and chaos, he’d brought an element of excitement into her life. Anticipation that had long been lacking in her days. She couldn’t find it in herself in that moment to regret the unexpected journey.

  Not that she wanted it to last, of course.

  So much was waiting for her back home.

  Her mind blanked but Scarlett shook the unnerving moment away. Of course, there would be a thousands moments to look forward to even if she couldn’t enumerate them now.

  Bracing her palms against the casing of the narrow window, she leaned out inhaling deeply as she looked back over the path she’d taken to the castle and the encampment in the distance.

  She loved this place, missed it terribly in the years since the filming for The Puppet War wrapped up. There’d never been another place in the world where she’d felt such peace. Of course it was half the castle it used to be, or would be, but the spirit of it was still there. Now it was Laird’s. Scarlett wondered if he adored it as much as she did.

  She hoped so.

  Footsteps shuffled through hall below and Scarlett pushed away from the window, climbing the winding staircase to the top of the tower to avoid discovery. Though she had told Cormac that she was afraid of heights, her phobia was only mildly pathetic rather than neurotic. Besides the parapet walk was wide and the view remarkable. From up here, she could clearly see the layout of the castle within the curtain walls. In her time, there were four towers like the one she was in and two flanking towers breaking up the enclosed walls that connected them. Now there was just the single, mammoth pele tower and a small keep within the open walls surrounding the bailey. Everything else was gone.

  Again. How? Why?

  She was still pondering the question when a rough, burly brogue spoke close by. “Lovely day to be in Scotland, isn’t it, Miss Thomas?”