It also shone of the dark hair of the man kneeling there, his head bent in prayer. Tears began to roll down her cheeks again, this time in thanks, as she looked heavenward. She was back!
Though she hadn’t made a sound, Laird’s shoulders stiffened and squared. He lifted his head and cocked it to the side. His hands tightened on the railing before him as he pushed himself to his feet and then finally he turned. His silvery eyes piercing her with wonder and joy. Shining with the glint of tears reflecting off of them.
Her own vision blurred and a tear splashed against her cheek. Scarlett dashed it away as he rushed to her, dropping to his knees before her.
“I felt ye. I couldnae hope… Ahh, mo chroí!” Laird wrapped his shaking arms around her hips as he rested his cheek against her belly. Scarlett combed her fingers through his hair, too overcome to speak.
“Ne’er leave me again. Ne’er,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her belly. Scarlett fell into his arms, burying her face in his neck as the their tears of joy streamed together.
“I won’t. I won’t! Never again.”
The promise was sealed in a kiss.
EPILOGUE
December 1518
Dunskirk, Scotland
“Are ye certain ye should be reading that to our bairn?” Laird asked, brushing his lips across his wife’s forehead as she cradled their toddler daughter in her lap. A lap that wasn’t given too much space as her belly was already well-rounded with their next child.
“Absolutely,” Scarlett said firmly, her amber gaze warm with love and contentment as she smiled up at him. “We love it, don’t we, Hermione?” She dropped a kiss on their daughter’s auburn curls and the two shared a satisfied nod.
He was outnumbered.
With a grin, Laird tucked his Hepburn plaid more tightly around his two ladies and moved to throw another log on the fire. The winter was a cold one this year. The wind was whistling through the stone walls of Dunskirk.
Five years had passed since the Battle at Flodden. Since their bloody defeat at the hands of the English. As Scarlett’s brochure had said, King James had died on the field along with most of the nobles of the land, including his father, two of his young brothers and several uncles. Even more cousins. Dozens of titles in the Highlands and Borders transferred to young boys, bairns or in several cases laid dormant until the next heir could be born.
He’d been very lucky to survive, to have been able to save Rhys’ life, who had in turn saved Patrick’s during the retreat. All because one young woman had been sent to save him.
The years since then had changed his Scarlett. She’d put on weight though she was still slender and willowy. Her auburn hair had grown past her shoulders in long, winding curls though she preferred to leave it down or wear it in a ‘ponytail’ rather than sporting the popular fashions of the times.
She was a fish out of water, Scarlett would often say. She would never truly be able to blend in completely. It wasn’t her way. These were not her times. Laird wouldn’t have wanted her to. It was her unique character that captured his heart from the beginning.
Laird felt the rigid scarring that scored his palm and the fingers of his right hand. A reminder of the loss he’d felt when she’d disappeared. He would never forget that or the torture he endured in those long weeks when he thought he’d lost her forever. He’d worked at Dunskirk from before dawn until long after the sun had set just so he might find sleep from exhaustion. Laird would never take her presence in his life for granted.
It continually humbled him utterly that Scarlett would give up the advantages of her time to be with him. That she would choose to live outside of her element simply to share the remainder of her life by his side. Still, it was his hope that she would never find regret in staying with him that had prevailed rather than her fear that he might regret her doing so.
He would never regret a moment of his life spent with her.
“Leave her be, Laird.” Aleizia protested, rocking her own babe near the fireplace. Her third thus far in just five years. “I want to hear the rest of the tale.”
Patrick nodded his agreement. “I maun agree wi’ my wife, Laird. Dinnae spoil it for us all.”
“Here, here,” Rhys said, emptying his cup of whiskey and pouring another cup for Willem for a change, who was seated by his side.
“You should all just have her teach you to read the words,” Aileen laughed, sitting close to her young husband, Dickie Sutherland, in a cozy, upholstered loveseat of Scarlett’s design. “Then you’d be able to read them for yourself as I already have a dozen times over.”
“You only have time to read them, Aileen, because you haven’t a child of your own yet to occupy your time,” Aleizia protested.
No, she didn’t, but only because Laird and Patrick – who welcomed Laird’s counsel, given by the promise he had made Scarlett – had delayed her wedding day until she was of a more mature age to wed. Scarlett had lobbied for eighteen but they’d settled on sixteen. The couple had been wed only a year. “Soon, my sister, soon!” Aileen grinned and blushed as her husband heartily kissed her in front of them all.
Five years had brought laughter and love to Dunskirk and even to Crichton during the visits Laird and Scarlett made there on their way to court each winter. Though not this one, not with the birth of his next child looming. The summers they spent at Dunskirk, building on the castle from the hundreds of sketches Scarlett made, adding the mini castle on the island out in the pond and a vegetable garden behind the castle. Raising a family together.
It had been five years so far of peace and bliss with Scarlett at his side. Laird had never seen hide nor hair of auld Donell again in all that time. If he had he would have felt compelled to shake his hand. Bluidy hell. He’d probably kiss the auld bastard for delivering his Scarlett back to him.
His sisters would probably thank him for sending along Scarlett’s small library as well. The box that had arrived at Dunskirk with her had contained books. The complete works of Jane Austen, James Joyce, William Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, the Scotsman Robert Louis Stevenson, and J.K. Rowling among others.
Scarlett was reading aloud from one of Ms. Rowling’s works, The Half-Blood Prince, to them that night. Laird had heard the story a dozen times before but never tired of it, neither did Scarlett. He supposed he was a bit of a ‘fanboy’ and a ‘geek’ as well. It was one of the many things they had in common.
She’d brought some other small items back with her as well including medicines such as aspirin and antibiotic cream but as Scarlett said, she was mostly willing to let Fate take its course. As it was Fate and auld Donell that had brought them together, they figured that it knew what was best for them.
“Laird, how aboot some more whiskey over here to warm us on this cold night?” Rhys called.
“Get it yerself,” he said and with a laugh, his brother pushed out his chair and ambled over to the sideboard, uncorking another bottle of Laird’s Achenmeade whiskey.
“Hae ye noticed that ye ne’er seen to mind anyone calling ye Laird anymore, brother?” Rhys asked under his breath.
Laird looked around the room. There was love everywhere around him. His family. His child. His wife. How could he mind the name she spoke with such love? “Nay, I dinnae.”
“I’ll hae to think of something else to call ye then,” Rhys said with a smile.
“Best of luck to you, my brother.”
“Och, no, no, no.” Donell shook his head worriedly, looking in on the comfortable scene from the hallway as he passed by. “No, this is wrong. All wrong! I dinnae bring her here for this.”
After all he had made them suffer, he couldn’t let it end the way he saw the future unfolding. They didn’t deserve it. But what to do? What to do?
He needed help. Help from someone who would understand. Someone who wouldn’t rail and panic, wasting time when none was available.
A grin creased the old man deeply wrinkled face as the idea struck. Aha! That was just the ticket.
/> Time and space slipped. A different castle surrounded him, one lit by soft gaslights far beyond the innovation of the sixteenth century.
“What are you doing here?” Emmy MacLean neé MacKenzie, the Countess of Stratheclyde, cried out as she rounded the corner of Duart Castle and ran right into the small but energetic form of man she would have been happy enough never to lay eyes on again. “Don’t you dare take me away again. I warned you before, Donell, I will take you out.”
Beside her, her husband tensed. His massive form bunching with coiled tension as his hands fisted at his sides. Ready to fight for her as always.
“Och, dinnae get yer panties in a twist, lassie. I need yer help,” Donell said quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when the lass caught her man’s arm. Sparing him from certain harm.
“Hold on, Connor,” Emmy said softly. “Let’s hear him out.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I hope you enjoyed Taken and all the quirky, fangirl references I put into it. It’s my own streak of geek coming out. And the tiny reference at the end to my time travel romance A Laird for All Time. Perhaps there might be more to tell from Donell, Scarlett, Laird, Emmy and Connor one day.
If you’re interested in seeing the bits and pieces of fashion and history that inspired this tale, you can find it all on my Pinterest board dedicated to this book at http://www.pinterest.com/angelinefortin1/taken-a-laird-for-all-time-novel/.
Recently I was working on my family tree and found a strong connection to the Borders of Scotland. My ancestor was listed again and again as Laird Densmore of Achenmeade. Achenmeade no longer exists, though family lore places it in the borderlands area near Peebles. The name Laird confused me though being used as a first name and I discovered that it was sometimes used as a first name even back then, given to a family of importance or status. Then I discovered it wasn’t a given name in my case but an actual title. I have a Laird in my family tree! I knew it, but I still loved it as a first name and used it in that fashion in this book.
My Dunskirk castle is the one fictional setting of this book. I wanted a location closer to the border than reality and history could provide, but it is based quite closely on the very real, medieval Duns Castle not far north of there. Today, Duns is a hotel that I would dearly love to visit one day. Most of the other castles I reference are nothing but ruins today. Crichton, Etal and Norham, though they are open to visitors. Ford Castle still stands but as I mention, looks nothing today as it once did. Wark doesn’t exist any longer though archeologists are currently digging at the site.
Probably my biggest fabrication is the fact that the Hepburns and the Lindsay clans were enemies when in fact, the opposite is true. They were allied clans but I did want to have that connection – not only because the name of Lindsay might be mistaken for a woman’s name as it had in the beginning – but because, Lord Lindsay did advise James IV to withdraw before Flodden. I like that touch of reality.
Also unbelievably true, the Earl of Angus, Bell the Cat, did blame La Motte, the French emissary, for leading King James into war. The King responded with the quote, ‘Angus, if yer afraid, go home.’
He did.
What is not real is the stories of The Puppet War, though I hope they might be one day soon should I turn my attention to Young Adult Fiction. The names of the books, Ventriloquist, Marionette and Broken Strings, their author, the characters, the Puppeteers fandom and the plot are all born from the imagination of my daughter, Carley, who may someday be a fine author herself. She certainly has the imagination for it.
As for the Battle of Flodden:
James IV did write to Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon informing them of his intent to invade the country. As odd as it sounds, it is the truth. I also followed the progress of the Scottish army closely those absolute details are still left to theory and conjecture. Though he traveled directly there without a brief layover at Crichton Castle, King James IV did lead his troops out of Ellemford Haugh with twenty cannon, and rumor had it, a ring given to him by Anne of Brittany on his finger. The nuns at the Coldstream Priory noted their crossing over the River Tweed at Coldstream on August 22, 1513. The details I have given regarding the taking of Norham in a five day siege is accurate to the historical documents I researched as is the taking of Ford Castle. The King’s brief affair with Lady Heron was also speculated on and offered as a viable theory for the Scots delay in the area.
By the time sunset on Flodden Field on September 9, 1513, around 10,000 Scottish soldiers (and as I mentioned, at least one member of every noble family in Scotland) lay dead on Flodden Field along with about 2000 to 3000 Englishmen. The English forces also attacked the remains of the Scottish camp and burnt it, killing as many men, women and children there as they did on the battlefield.
The Scottish forces retreated but it was the bloodiest defeat the country had ever seen. The last war they would fight for more than thirty years and the last time any reigning monarch would die on the field of battle.
I could write a book about the Battle of Flodden alone but there are already many, some which I have used to resources in making the details of the Scottish progress into England and the timeline of their activities as accurate as possible. But like any work of fiction, I have strayed from the truth a time or two to suit my storyline. I hope all is forgiven there.
If you are interested in reading more about the battle, you can get a nice overview at http://www.flodden1513.com/index.php/site/single_panel/the_battle_of_flodden.
And in case you caught it and wondered, the term ‘your majesty’ was not used at the time. Though the usage cannot be precisely pinned down, there is one theory that Charles V of Spain was the first to use it following his election as Holy Roman Emperor in 1519. Francis I and Henry VII would adopt it afterward.
I would love to hear your thoughts any time. You can email me at [email protected] or visit my website https//www.angelinefortin.com. You can also follow me on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, Tumblr, LinkdIn or my Pinterest page.
Thanks for reading!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Angeline Fortin is the author of historical and time-travel romance offering her readers a fun, sexy and often touching tales of romance.
Her first release in May of 2011, the Highland time travel novel A Laird for All Time, has steadily ranked in Amazon's Top 100 in Time Travel for the past three years with more than 80 five-star reviews so far.
A Question of Trust, the first of her Victorian historical romance series Questions for a Highlander, was released later that year and quickly followed by series additions A Question of Trust and A Question of Lust. The series primarily follows the siblings of the MacKintosh clan. Ten brothers and their lone sister who end up looking for love in all the right places.
While the series continues on with familiar characters well known to those who have read the entire series, each single title is also a stand-alone tale of highland romance.
With a degree in US History from UNLV and having previously worked as a historical interpreter at Colonial Williamsburg, Angeline brings her love of history and Great Britain to the forefront in settings such as Victorian London and Edinburgh.
As a former military wife, Angeline has lived from the west coast to the east, from the north and to the south and uses those experiences along with her favorite places to tie into her time travel novels as well.
Angeline is a native Minnesotan who recently relocated back to the land of her birth and braved the worst winter recorded since before she initially moved away. She lives in Apple Valley outside the Twin Cities with her husband, two children and three dogs.
She is a wine enthusiast, DIY addict (much to her husband's chagrin) and sports fanatic who roots for the Twins and Vikings faithfully through their highs and lows.
Most of all she loves what she does everyday - writing. She does it for you the reader, to bring a smile or a tear and loves to hear from her fans.
ALSO BY ANGELINE FORTIN
Time Travel
Romances:
A Laird for All Time
Nothing But Time
My Heart’s in the Highlands
A Time & Place for Every Laird
The Questions for a Highlander series:
A Question of Love
A Question of Trust
A Question of Lust
The Perfect Question
A Question for Harry
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
Epilogue
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY ANGELINE FORTIN
Taken Page 32
