Scarlett nodded numbly, still stunned by the sudden turn of events. “You know, I haven’t heard anyone say okay like that in a long time. I rather miss modern speech sometimes.”
“Now you’re just getting loopy,” Emmy teased, though there was a fresh level of stress in her inflection. “Of course, some studies have shown pregnancy causes the brain to shrink, so…” Her shoulder lifted as she trailed off.
“Really? That would explain a lot.” A bizarre, misdirected hope shot through Scarlett. So trivial in the face of her more urgent situation.
“Might be true. Who knows? I haven’t read a new medical journal i—”
Scarlett didn’t hear the rest. Her frantic gaze found Laird, who as if feeling her eyes upon him, turned immediately. The laughter dancing in his sparkling silver eyes slipped away, the light color dimming immediately.
“What is it, mo chroí?” He rushed to her side, slipping a strong arm around her waist. Without waiting for an answer, he turned a vicious glare on Donell. “What have ye done, ye puny lout?”
“It’s too soon, Laird.” Fear tightened Scarlett’s throat. She leaned against him, taking comfort in his solid strength. All the times he’d been there for her, supported her, she’d never needed his strength more. God, her baby was going to die. “The baby’s too early.”
“I ken ‘tis so, mo chroí,” he crooned softly, mournfully in her ear, but his following demand of Donell held no kindness as he growled, “Explain yerself, auld man, before I tear ye to shreds. What hae ye done to her?”
“Och, nothing, lad. No’ a thing.” Donell held up his hands; in defense or surrender, Scarlett wasn’t sure. As it had been years since she’d seen such a fierce scowl on Laird’s face, he was smart to do either. “I saw this. ‘Tis why I brought Emmy to ye. To help.”
“Help who?” Emmy jumped in. “I hope you didn’t bring me here expecting miracles.”
Emmy
Emmy regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. Scarlett gaped in horror at the unprofessional exclamation. Being put in the unexpected position of savior had thrown Emmy for a loop.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Scarlett. Maybe I should have a moment with Donell while Laird makes you comfortable?”
“No, whatever you have to say, I want to hear it.”
She wanted to ignore Scarlett’s shaky demand. A mother in labor was never in the best state of mind to hear bad news. The Scarlett Thomas of her time had always seemed so bold and cool when faced with pressure in the form of a frenzied fan base and merciless paparazzi.
This Scarlett, though, with her light Scottish accent and aura of mellowed contentment seemed more fragile, as soft as the fur trimming her gown. Emmy didn’t want to be the bearer of ill tidings. Not in a time and place where there was no qualified medical support system.
Childbirth alone she could handle, but premature labor presented a whole different array of difficulties. She wondered if Scarlett had been here long enough to understand some things were just beyond the advancement of the time. One successful birth might lead her to expect another without incident.
“Are you certain you’re early, Scarlett?” Emmy asked. “You couldn’t have made any miscalculation?”
“I’m positive. Take it from the person who’s been through this entire pregnancy, it’s definitely early.”
“You could be wrong. It’s okay, people make mistakes all the time.”
“Unless there’s a new way to do math I don’t know about.” Scarlett shook her head insistently. “Laird was at Crichton for over a month last summer and there’s no chance I’m weeks over due. I’m four weeks early at best.”
Well, shit.
In her best obstetrician manner, Emmy presented the candid facts. “I will do everything I can, Scarlett. The birth itself, however, may not be our greatest challenge. Depending on how premature, your baby may need medical attention I’m not specialized in. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Scarlett’s face fell and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, but Emmy could see she understood what was at stake. “What are our options?”
“In a perfect world, we’d have a neonatologist on hand to care for the baby.”
“And in an imperfect one?” A sheen of tears glazed the former actress’s eyes, but there was no denial in them. Even a casual observer in the future learned enough about preemies from television shows to know there were risks.
A clench of her own belly stabbed at Emmy with remorse. “We do what we can. I wish I could make guarantees, but I can’t.”
Laird obviously wasn’t as clear on the matter. “What do ye mean? Ye’re the doctor, are ye no’?”
“I am, but my specialty is—”
Scarlett touched Emmy’s hand and shook her head in a don’t-even-try manner.
“I’m sorry,” Emmy choked out. Her heart ached for Scarlett but burned with regret for her own inadequacies.
“What do yer mean ye’re sorry, lass?” Donell barked out. “I brought ye here to help.”
“And I plan to,” Emmy snapped back. She’d forgotten how annoyingly obtuse the old fart could be. “I will do what I can, but some things are just out of my hands. Unless you’ve another doctor on the line you can snatch up for us and bring back?”
Donell downed the rest of his Scotch in one swallow and returned to the sideboard to refill his cup with shaking hands. She’d never seen the old man fret so. He paced to the fireplace and back again, every nerve in his body fraught with tension any fool could see.
Scarlett was clearly no fool. “What is it, Donell?” she demanded, sharp enough to sense his distress even amidst her own worries.
Donell looked back at her, his usually mischievous countenance fallen into deep, haggard lines of genuine worry. “’Tis naught for ye to worry over, lass.”
“No, really, spill,” Scarlett commanded. Emmy had been wrong, there was nothing soft about Scarlett Thomas but her appearance. “I appreciate you feeling bad and all, but I seem to remember when you sent me back here we had a long talk about letting fate take its course. Do you remember?”
“Mostly fate, ye said, if I remember correctly,” he countered.
“True enough,” she conceded. “But what is it about this particular moment that made you show back up? Why not when Aleizia’s youngest and Willem died from influenza after Christmas? Or when Aileen miscarried while she was ill?”
Donell flicked his fingers through the air as he tended to when he didn’t like a line of questioning and turned back to Emmy. “Ye maun save the child, lass.”
“I get that I must and I get that I want to, Donell, but if she’s too early, you’re going to need a doctor—”
“Ye’re a doctor.”
“A suitable one, Donell.” Her tone was ripe with exasperation. “Preemies have all sorts of issues we can’t predict and we certainly can’t care for here.”
“Is it premature?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Ye’re the doctor,” he repeated.
“Yes, and what are you exactly?”
“We dinnae ha’ time for this, lass.”
“No, we don’t.” Emmy rubbed her face wearily.
Turning, she paced toward the fireplace, warmth building around her. The room was a massive one, impossible to fully heat even with the near bonfire burning there. The heavy tapestries on the walls and curtains covering the shuttered windows kept the worst of the winter cold out, but some filtered in nevertheless. Just as dread seeped into her.
She curled her fingers around the carved wooden back of the loveseat Scarlett had been sitting in. An overstuffed, upholstered piece atypical to this time. As she was. As Scarlett was for all her adaptation.
Scarlett. Scarlett Freaking Thomas. She left behind fame and fortune for this. For what? To lose her baby because Emmy lacked the skill to save them both? The thought chafed. There must be something more.
Emmy mentally scrambled for options, but there
were few to be had. She had her medical bag, that was it. While well stocked with twenty-first century gadgets, nothing in it would do an ounce of good for a baby with underdeveloped lungs and a weak immune system.
Lifting her head, she found Donell wringing his wrinkled hands, staring at her.
“Tell me what we maun do, lass.”
“Assuming Scarlett is correct and she’s a month premature, I’d say what we need is a hospital.”
“Ha! Good luck with that,” Scarlett panted, a palm pressed lightly to her side. Emmy guessed a mild contraction was in the works.
Frowning, she hurried to Scarlett’s side and checked her pulse. “Slow, deep breaths. I know you’re afraid, but panicking won’t help.”
A huff of laughter accompanied Scarlett’s next panting breath. “Right back at you, sister.”
Scarlett
Scarlett doubted Emmy even realized how freaked out she appeared. All the competency that had charged their initial conversation had fled with the thought of a premature birth. Not the labor and delivery itself but the care of the infant. A shaft of sorrow tore through her. Emmy was right, they didn’t have the technology here.
“My baby’s going to die, isn’t it?”
“Yer bairn maun survive, lass,” Donell insisted.
“I agree whole-heartedly.” Scarlett shared a frown with Emmy, remembering what she’d said about Donell’s projects. “Why does it matter to you so much?”
The old man bit his tongue and shook his head. “Save the bairn, lass,” he directed this to Emmy, jabbing a finger at her.
“I’m telling you, I can’t guarantee anything in these conditions. We need a hospital. A modern hospital.”
Donell shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Staring up at the ceiling as if considering his options, he nodded. “Verra well.”
“No!” Laird and Connor both echoed Scarlett’s panicked protest.
Emmy yelled, “Wait!”
Laird pushed Scarlett behind him as if his physical presence could stop Donell from whatever he meant to do by being there. She curled against his back, hugging him around the waist just in case. Truly unnerved now, she expected to be torn from him again before they could so much as blink.
“Ground rules! Ground rules!” Emmy shouted, holding her hand palm out to Donell to futilely forestall any action he chose to take.
Connor was at Emmy’s side in a heartbeat, slipping an arm around her waist. Scarlett knew his alarm was the same as her own. They’d all been at the whim of this man at one time or another. They all feared what he might do to them again. While she appreciated the call for ground rules, it amused Scarlett that Emmy thought she had any control at all here.
Still, Donell waited patiently as if she possessed the power to sway him. Scarlett inhaled shakily in tandem with Laird.
“No one goes anywhere until we figure out the best course of action,” Emmy commanded desperately.
“Agreed.”
A collective sigh filled the room. A spark of hope ignited within Scarlett.
“So, in a perfect world, I’d like us at my hospital directly after I left,” Emmy negotiated. “It’ll give us the best chance at immediate service and I’ll be able to stay with her without question.”
“Unfortunately ‘tis no’ a perfect world,” Donell replied. “I cannae take ye back to yer time, only to hers.”
Emmy huffed as if exasperated. “It’s the same thing.”
“Nay, we cannae go back any earlier than when the lass left Dunskirk. I cannae risk changing anyone’s fate.”
“Now you’re just talking nonsense. All you’ve done is change our fate.”
“For good reason.”
“Which is?” Scarlett queried again, easing around to Laird’s side.
Donell ignored her question, reverting to the matter at hand. “If we go back to Emmy’s time, we risk changing yer future,” he explained and turned back to Emmy. “She maun be at Dunskirk as she was before. Taking her back before that moment could alter her movements beyond then and prevent her travel here.”
“And I don’t want that,” Scarlett quickly added. She wrapped her arms around her husband’s bicep and clung to him. “I must get to Laird.”
“Aye, ye maun,” her husband agreed gruffly, kissing the top of her head. He held her tight against his side as if Donell might smite her right there. “What are yer other options?”
The frustration on Emmy’s face was nearing toxicity. “I can’t be of any help where I’m not medically licensed.”
Scarlett adamantly shook her head. “I will not risk my future here with Laird.”
“Then I can be of no help at all.”
“Yes, you can,” Scarlett assured her newfound ally. “We can call you my private physician, right? You can be there with me to make sure they do the proper thing. Without any medical records, they’ll waste time with questions I can’t answer. I need someone who knows what’s really going on. A friendly face.”
“Fine, if we can’t go to my time then we go to hers,” Emmy told Donell flatly. “We get a private hospital someplace where they might bend the rules a little. Like Switzerland or something.”
“That isnae how it works, ye barmy mare!” Donell threw his hands in the air, his annoyance as evident as the doctor’s as she launched her own salvo.
“You know, I’m getting damn tired of hearing you say that.” Emmy stood nose-to-nose with the old man, glaring down at him from her superior height. For all her feminine Victorian clothing and elaborate hairdo, she was a menacing sight. “How does it work exactly?”
“I’m no’ a bluidy god, lass,” he shot back.
“You’ve sure been acting like one, haven’t you?” Emmy snapped. “Otherwise, I don’t think we ever clarified exactly what you are.”
“Emmy—”
“No!” She shook off Connor’s hand and jabbed a finger at Donell. “Mr. Wizard here has been playing with us, all of us, all this time, without ever once providing answers to our questions in return. And I damn well want some.”
“Lass, we dinnae have time for this,” Donell repeated.
“Yes, and I’m sure when we do, you won’t be around.”
There was a peculiar desperation in Emmy’s voice that shook Scarlett to the core. She understood where such anxiety came from, though. None of them knew Donell’s ultimate agenda. If there even was one. What he might do to them. Take away from them. The uncertainty of it all was enough to rattle even the strongest personality.
And Emmy’s was pretty damn strong.
For the hundredth time, Scarlett wondered who or what Donell really was. When she’d first met him at Dunskirk Castle in 2013, she’d thought him nothing more than a jolly, elfish old man with weathered features offset by a merry smile and twinkling eyes. When she’d met him again in 1513 wearing an ancient tartan and tam, he’d given the impression of a clichéd Scotsman. Never aging. Never changing. If he wasn’t a god, or the wizard some whispered of, what was he? What did he want from them?
“Emmy.” Connor’s tone was more gentle this time. She snuggled into his arms as if taking a moment’s comfort before turning back to argue the logistics of the matter with Donell some more.
“Where then?”
“This location. In her time,” Donell proposed flatly.
“That’s the best you can do? Not even closer to a hospital?”
For a moment, Scarlett wished Emmy would push Donell even harder. Then she sighed. “Please don’t fight, Emmy. I’ve managed quite well without being bickered over these past years. I have no desire to start again.”
Emmy was more cynical. “You think he can drop you back where you left off looking like that”—she gestured to encompass Scarlett’s condition—“and no one is going to question the changes? You know how the paparazzi can be. You’ll have the fight of your life the moment you step foot back there and you know it.”
Scarlett winced. Damn, she knew everything Emmy said was true. She’
d be trending on every form of social media in less than five minutes of setting foot back in her own time. “I don’t care. Let them fight among themselves trying to figure me out.”
Laird tensed beside her. Her protective knight. “I willnae let ye go into a fight wi’out protection.”
“It won’t be that kind of fight,” she assured him, but the very thought of facing cameras and crowds again exhausted her. She sagged against Laird. Without a word, he swept her into his arms and strode toward the stairs to their bedchamber.
Connor whispered something in Emmy’s ear and followed them. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Many thanks, but nae.” Laird glanced back over his shoulder at the other man. “Yer Emmy can be a bit headstrong. How do ye put up wi’ a lass like that?”
“I like a lass who pushes back.” Connor’s grin was filled with satisfaction.
Scarlett rolled her eyes. Laird often maintained he liked her for the same reason but there was no comparison between her and Emmy.
She wondered, though, did Emmy’s own husband not see it? That the outward bitchiness was nothing but a façade for the fear beneath? Not fear for her own fate but for those elements beyond her control?
Having lived most of her life among the sort, Scarlett could spot a control freak from a thousand paces. And unless she missed her guess, Emmy was as big of one as they came. The woman could give a few actresses Scarlett knew a run for their money. Here in this time and place, she’d have zero control over the outcome of anything much less the birth of a child.
Then to put her up against Donell who took control as if he owned it?
The entire situation must scare her more than it did Scarlett.
Scarlett
“So, what do you think of this plan?” Laird asked, as he carefully set Scarlett on her feet next to their bed.
He held her steady as she reached under her outer skirt and untied her multiple layers of wet woolen petticoats. Once she let them drop, he lifted her onto their feather bed as though she were an invalid. He tried to cover her up but she pushed the quilts away, unwilling to be bound when her deepest instinct was to run.
A Laird to Hold Page 3