Taken

by Angeline Fortin

Sir William stepped to the King’s side. “Your Grace, my son claims to hae found the woman upon countering a Lindsay raid of his keep at Dunskirk.”

  “A Lindsay raid?” King James tsked sternly. “Hmmm. Is she one of yours, Lindsay?”

  John Lindsay, Earl of Crawford stepped forward. James held his breath but the Lindsay only shook his head. “Nay, Your Grace. I dinnae ken the lass.”

  The King nodded speculatively, looking Scarlett over once more as if she were a prime mare at auction. She stiffened at James’ side, clearly uncomfortable with his perusal but to his relief, she retained enough good sense not to rebuke the King. “Mayhap, I should take her under my wing, as it were. See her safely back to her clansmen myself. It is my duty to see to my subjects welfare after all.”

  Aye, James knew how the King was thinking of protecting her. It seemed Janet Kennedy might finally have some competition for the royal affections after a decade in his bed. He bristled at the thought and Scarlett’s hand tightened in his. “Nay, Your Grace.”

  He felt more than heard her exhale in relief but James was well aware that the matter was far from settled.

  The King speared him with a sharp look. “Nay? Are ye daring to deny my will, James Hepburn?”

  The retainers behind him all stilled and Scarlett was once again radiating tension, though he dared not look at her, even to cast assurances. Sir William was also glaring at James with a dark warning written in his eyes but James couldn’t bear the thought of Scarlett becoming a royal plaything. He wouldn’t allow it, King or not. “That is no’ my intention, Your Grace. I only meant to say that Mistress Thomas is in no need of any protection beyond my own.”

  “I believe that would be for me to decide,” the monarch said. It was a command without words. If King James wanted Scarlett even if it was only for a night, it would not be James’ word that gainsaid him. Scarlett’s might but James couldn’t take the chance that her wishes on the matter would be taken into consideration. To his knowledge, no woman had ever denied the King but his lass was a contrary thing.

  “Nay, Your Grace,” he repeated more firmly, a decision made even as the words passed his lips. “She is mine by handfast. I will gi’ her all the protection she needs.”

  Sir William stepped forward, his eyes dark with anger but James only leveled him a look of the same. “’Tis done, Father.”

  “’Twill be undone.”

  “Nay, it willnae,” he said decisively. “I am hers and she is mine.”

  The two men stood, meeting eye to eye. The tension was palpable.

  “Ye’ve no’ asked my permission,” King James said.

  “Nay, but I ask yer blessing, Your Grace.”

  The King stared at him long and hard and James tensed, waiting.

  “Verra well,” he relented and the tension eased.

  “Thank ye, Uncle,” James said quietly as he bowed low before the King. “I am in yer debt.”

  “Then I shall expect repayment.”

  James nodded as the King and his retainers turned away, continuing their tour through the encampment. Sir William lingered behind, clearly angry as his gaze shifted between his son and Scarlett, who was now clinging to James’ arm. “Leave the lass and come along, son. Now. We need to discuss this.”

  “I will join ye at my leisure, Father,” James replied evenly, shaking his head. “But there will be no’ discussion. I’m nae bairn but a man and a laird in my own right. I will do as I please.”

  “Ye would dare disregard yer father’s demands?”

  Pressure seized him, banding about his chest, but James couldn’t, wouldn’t relent now. “Aye, as I just countermanded a King, I believe I can do the same for my sire. As I said, I will join ye shortly.”

  Leaving his father speechless and fuming, James grasped Scarlett by the elbow and guided her into his tent. Thankfully, Sir William did not follow.

  I am hers and she is mine.

  Scarlett couldn’t deny the thrill those words brought her. The promise, the commitment in them.

  Nor could she deny the panic.

  “Handfast?”

  “’Tis like marriage wi’out a priest. A promise to wed,” he explained. “’Tis as good as a vow in Scotland.”

  But they weren’t in Scotland and no promises had really been made. Scarlett took a deep, calming breath. “You just lied to your king. And your father.”

  “I would hae lied to the Saint Peter himself to keep ye out of my uncle’s lecherous hands,” Laird said, his hands fisting at his sides. “Sparing ye would be worth any sacrifice.”

  “Why?” she asked, trying to ignore how her pulse raced at his words.

  He frowned down at her. “Would ye rather hae been his next mistress? Are ye like all the others longing for a higher position in life?”

  “I never asked for the position I’m in right now.”

  He lifted a brow at her pert response. “Blast it, Scarlett, this is nae laughing matter. Did ye no’ see how he was looking at ye?”

  “Rather like you look at me, I think,” Scarlett said tartly though inside she was awash with awe at the truth of what he had done. Laird had stood up to a reigning monarch for her! In a time like this, something like that might have been enough to get him thrown into the dungeon and put on the rack. Kings did hate to be contradicted.

  “Ye need a hand taken to yer backside, lass.”

  “Ha, I wouldn’t even try it. And while I appreciate you going to so much trouble to save me from your King, you didn’t need to go to such lengths. Do you think he could have forced me to do something I didn’t want to do? I can take care of myself, remember?” she reminded boldly.

  “Ye wouldnae dare to strike the King,” Laird said in surprise, his hand flexing at the memory of how able she was. “’Twould be treason.” Suicide, really.

  “How can it be treason? He’s not my king.”

  Curiosity flared in his eyes, but he only shook his head ruefully. “Och, lass, it dinnae matter. He has all the power.”

  “Not over me,” she insisted staunchly.

  “’Ye need to clear these delusions of grandeur from yer mind.” Laird kissed her forehead and turned her toward the mattress with a swat on her behind to hasten her along. “As much as I would like to stay, I maun go.”

  “To your father?”

  There were questions in her eyes. Doubts. Laird sought to reassure her. “Dinnae fash yerself, lass. I swear I will let nae harm come to ye. On my honor and life.”

  “You sound like you care.”

  “I would take on King James’ entire army for ye,” he confessed tersely.

  Good answer.

  “Then why were you so angry with me before?”

  “Are we back to that? I told ye I wisnae angry,” he growled. The anger, which had faded with the King’s departure, once again flamed in his eyes at the reminder. She should have left well enough alone but a part of her needed an explanation.

  “Okay, let’s choose another word then. How about enraged? Furious?”

  “I take it back, I maun be mad indeed to tolerate yer vexing natter. Cease, lass.”

  Scarlett shook her head. “I will when you tell me what’s bugging you. I haven’t seen you in more than a week. What did I do?” Nothing. “Is it because I didn’t write you?” Still nothing. “Geez, you’re not still mad because I got drunk with Rhys, are you?”

  His back stiffened even more. She was getting closer. Not that this guessing game was how she wanted to pass the time after being parted from him for more than a week.

  “You weren’t around, you know?” she said defensively. “I could have just sat alone in my tent without a bit of company. If Rhys hadn’t come by…” Her eyes widened. “It’s Rhys, isn’t it?”

  “Let it be, lass.”

  “Like you are?” she taunted. “You cannot be mad that your brother…”

  A choked snort died in his throat, interrupting her.

  “Oh, my God!” Her eyes widened as the truth hit her. “Are
you jealous?”

  A low growl this time but it was answer enough. Scarlett shook her head, biting back a grin. “Laird, you cannot seriously be jealous of Rhys, can you?”

  “Ye spend all yer time wi’ him,” he grumbled under his breath, scowling even more. He was none too pleased by his confession.

  “I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Laird. I told you before, I like him but that’s it. Besides, I spend a lot time with your sister, too. Are you jealous of her?”

  Another short snort but the glower was back in his eyes. No, it was just Rhys. Why?

  “I warned ye aboot him, did I no’?”

  Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Sure, but I can’t think you really meant it.”

  “Why would I no’? He might verra well take advantage.”

  Scarlett lifted a brow at that. “Seriously? I mean, come on.”

  “I cannae fathom how ye would so easily dismiss me.”

  “Oh, my God! Laird, he’s gay!”

  Laird scowled again with a shrug before turning his back. “Aye, he is at that. I cannae deny it. Clearly, that must be why ye prefer his company to my own.”

  Scarlett shook her head, rejecting what she saw only as Laird being obtuse. “That’s not what I meant. Rhys is homo…”

  Scarlett bit off the word with a frown, thinking about what she was about to say and the implications it might have for her newfound friend. This wasn’t the twenty-first century where a growing percentage of the population didn’t give a fig whether someone was gay or straight. Before that acceptance and acknowledgement, there had been widespread prejudice. Before that… Scarlett gnawed at her lip. Before that it had been not just a moral issue but a criminal one as well.

  “Rhys is what?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

  Unsure of where the matter stood during this time in history, she was hesitant to say anything that might cause problems for Rhys. Or worse, cost him his freedom or even his life. She doubted the LGBT had any presence in medieval Scotland. Scarlett shook her head again. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “’Tis always ‘nothing’ wi’ ye,” he muttered, turning away once more and Scarlett knew that on some level she had wounded him once again by denying him the truth.

  Would it really hurt in this case? Laird was Rhys’ brother and friend. Surely he would understand. Surely he knew?

  “Laird, I like Rhys very much but he… uh, prefers the company of men.”

  “Aye, but ye prefer his company. Ye gi’ him yer smiles, yer laughter. Yer kiss.”

  How could he not know? Scarlett had known by that first morning after her abduction but either Laird was being thickheaded or Rhys had proven himself to be a finer actor than she could ever dream of being. “Laird, look at me,” she said, laying a hand on his steely arm and waiting until he turned to her at last. “My passion, my desire is all for you. There is no need for you to worry over my friendship with Rhys. I promise you, he is only just that. I spend time with him because he seeks my company.”

  He didn’t look at all mollified by her assurance.

  Aye, it was jealousy plain and simple that ate at him, James admitted, if only to himself. Those smiles Scarlett cast upon his brother, that laughter and warmth. Her constant natter streaming into his ears.

  Scarlett was right.

  It was ridiculous to be jealous of his brother, but even so James was. He might have her passion but Rhys had her friendship.

  Strange he had never desired such a thing from a woman, but now…

  Aye, he begrudged them all. He wanted the hours with her by his side. Wanted her supple body straining against him once more. Their passion was incredible but there was much more to his captive beyond her appetites, beyond the questions. And there were many.

  There was so much more.

  What a conundrum she was. Caring of his sisters, of people she’d never met. Full of love to give yet she was afraid of it. As if she didn’t trust in it being returned. By him or anyone.

  “And his company alone loosens yer tongue? He kens everything aboot ye.”

  To his chagrin, Scarlett nodded. “It’s amazing really, talking to him is like being at the therapist’s office.” The word was unfamiliar and she must have realized it, trying a different comparison. “It’s like being in a confessional, Laird. He just drags it all out of me.”

  Aye, he understood that one all too well even if he didn’t appreciate the honesty of her admission. “And how does he do that?”

  “He asks.” James was surprised by her simple answer and Scarlett flushed with embarrassment. “It’s stupid, I know. For so long people have just assumed so much about me. Rhys asks. It opens a floodgate. You could ask, too, if you wanted to.”

  “I hae asked ye questions,” he reminded. “Questions ye’ve refrained from answering.”

  “Well, we don’t seem to have a whole lot of luck with long conversation, do we?” The words were as provocative as they were bitter. She didn’t sound like she appreciated the fact any more than he did.

  Still, a slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Nay, we don’t.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “Yers, naturally.” Amusement lightened his spirits at her mock outrage but when he spoke, his brogue was heavy with the feelings weighing upon him. “’Tis indeed yer fault, lass, as I cannae be near ye wi’ out wanting ye, wanting to touch ye. ‘Tis unbearable.”

  “Is that why you eavesdrop on my conversations with Rhys? I know you do.”

  James only shrugged. He had said more than he intended, but still she pressed him further. “Or is it because you’re still trying to figure out whether I’m a spy or not? To find out if I lied to you?”

  “Aye,” he said unapologetically, clearly surprising her with his direct answer. Especially since it wasn’t the one she was expecting and dreading. James lifted her chin, forcing her golden eyes to meet his gaze. “But also to learn more aboot ye. Scarlett Thomas. I want to ken everything aboot ye.”

  Only mildly appeased, Scarlett shrugged aloofly. “You want to talk? Fine. Let’s talk then. Tell me, do you read much, Laird?”

  “When I am fortunate enough to borrow a book. I recently read Le Morte d’Arthur by the Sassenach, Thomas Malory.”

  Scarlett nodded. It was the go-to source on Arthurian legend for almost all the years between his and hers. “Yes, I’ve read it. I thought it was…”

  James dragged her into his arms. His lips covered hers cutting off her words.

  “I dinnae want to talk, lass. No’ now.”

  “Good, neither do I.”

  33

  Laird made love to her more tenderly than he had before. The urgency was still there to overwhelm her and Scarlett was still wary of the power he wielded over her, but something had shifted between them.

  Scarlett cuddled against his broad chest with his powerful arms wrapped snuggly around her. Occasionally he would nuzzle the back of her neck or inhale her scent but while his hands might roam every now and then, they were finally talking.

  “I don’t think I’ve had a real friend since I was in grade school.”

  “I dinnae think I’ve e’er had one a’tall.”

  “Yes, you have,” she said. “You do. For all his teasing, Rhys cares for you deeply as does Patrick. I think you know that and you’re lucky to have them.”

  Laird grunted noncommittally. “Be ye feel ye had none?”

  “No, as a child, they’d frown down at me for my parent’s scandals or want what they might gain by a slim connection them. It was even worse when I became famous myself. I couldn’t trust anyone’s motives. Rhys has none beyond rousing your jealousy, I think. He truly cares for me. He gets me.”

  “Gets ye?”

  “He understands me but he doesn’t at all assume he knows me.” Well, except for that one very flawed assumption. “I hope you won’t feel the need to take that away from me.”

  The tent was quiet for a long moment before Laird released a deep si
gh. “I willnae part ye, but I think I ken ye as well.”

  In the biblical sense, maybe, Scarlett thought. Or as friends with benefits.

  “Why did ye no’ like being an actress?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

  Scarlett tilted her head to look at him. “How do you know I didn’t?”

  “I told ye. Rhys isnae the only one who understands ye,” he said softly. “Come, tell me more about yer life on the stage. Why did ye no’ enjoy it?”

  “It wasn’t the acting itself I didn’t like. It was the fame. I never wanted it,” Scarlett admitted, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Not like some people do. I was actually an introvert growing up. Do you know that word?”

  After a pause, she felt him shake his head. “Latin root? Intro would be inward…?”

  “Shy, awkward around people. Happy with my own company,” she explained. “Plus, I was not very pretty growing up. Thin and gangly.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Scarlett smiled. “Aren’t you the one who called me a bag of bones?”

  Laird’s lips brushed the top of her head. “I ne’er meant it. I wanted ye from the verra start.”

  The dichotomy of her feelings when he said things like that was annoyingly contradictory. Triumph. Trepidation. It was easiest just to push it all aside. “Anyway, I was extremely awkward, especially with other people. On top of that, I was a huge geek.”

  “A geek?” Laird tested the word with a frown. “Such an unsavory word.”

  Scarlett grinned at that. “Ahh, but better than being a nerd. It’s an important distinction. I was just a blissful fangirl.”

  “Fan girl? I thought ye were an actor?”

  “Someday I’ll explain all that to you. The point is I was happy as I could be far away from all the hoopla surrounding my parents. It was magnificent to hide from the world, fly beneath the public radar, you know?” she asked, then promptly shook her head. “No, of course, you don’t.”

  “Then why did ye do it?”

  “My parents,” she hesitated, not wanting to confuse him further with talk of a future he couldn’t understand, but the truth of it was yearning to get out. To voice what she had never dared to say aloud before lest she find it printed in some gossip blog the next day. “Roles, good paying ones, were getting harder for them to find.” Scarlett laughed inwardly at that. What a delicate way of interpreting the past. Truth was her mother hadn’t wanted to admit that she just wasn’t the screen siren she once was. She refused to play anyone’s mother. “Times were getting tough when my dad landed a bit part in this new movie franch… uh, production,” she continued. “It was being developed from a young adult paranormal book series about a group of teenagers in a post-apocalyptic world who escape the destruction of London and gather at an old castle to fight the invaders taking over the world.”