With a nod more to himself than the young man, Rhys took a seat in one of the many chairs along the perimeter of the pool, determined to wait for Hugh before entering the questionable waters.
The fellow watched him a moment more, then dove cleanly into the water. When he surfaced, he swam down the length of the pool before ducking into a turn and heading back again. Rhys watched as he did this repeatedly. Fine form. He fought to let his thoughts go no further.
A few other early risers trickled in to the enclosed swimming area. They exchanged nods or wishes for a good morn pleasantly. One entered the large pool, lingering near the steps. The other two moved on to the hotter waters of the smaller pool.
The fellow swam on.
Finally, he stopped at the near end of the pool and stood, running his hands over his face to shed the extra water. Turning, he looked to where Rhys sat close by as though surprised to still find him there. Still watching.
“Aren’t you going to come in?”
“Nay, I dinnae think I hae confidence enough in the waters.”
The chap smiled, his head tilted to the side again as if trying to figure Rhys out. “Maybe a smart move.” He heaved himself out of the water and stood at the edge, water sluicing down his lean, muscled body. His shorts clinging.
This time Rhys couldn’t hide his appreciation. Yet again the man didn’t seem to mind. “I’ve never heard a brogue as thick as yours before, mate,” he told Rhys. “Where are you from?”
“South of here,” he answered vaguely.
“Oh, are you staying in Edinburgh long then?”
“A fortnight more perhaps.”
“A fortnight?” Amusement lifted his lips. “An old-fashioned term.”
Irony worked its way up and out with a chuckle. “I suppose ye could say I’m an old-fashioned mon.”
“Really? That’s too bad.”
Rhys watched as he gathered up his towel and vigorously dried his head and upper body. “Is it? Why?”
The fellow shrugged. “A chap too old-fashioned would most likely take umbrage in an invitation to join me for breakfast.”
Agog with astonishment, Rhys was sure he looked a fool. Gads, had Scarlett been correct? “Ye dinnae e’en ken my name, lad.”
“No I don’t, but that’s easy enough to fix. Name’s Jack. Jack Prescott.” He held out his hand and Rhys shook it as he stood.
“Si—” Rhys squashed the habitual rhythm of adding his title. No longer Sir Rhys of Crichton in this place. Just… “Rhys Hepburn.”
“A pleasure. Would you care to meet in the restaurant in, say, thirty minutes?”
“Make it twenty.”
Jack smiled all the way to his bonny hazel eyes. “Twenty it is then.”
They left the pool area together, parting ways in the lobby.
* * *
Neither of them noticed the older man in a suit and tie, seated in one of the chairs with a newspaper but not reading it. His gaze tracked them, then Rhys as he strode to the elevators. A scowl burrowed deep vertical lines between his brows.
The connections he’d hoped for hadn’t yet been made. To play his hand, he needed to know who all the players were. What roles they took in the grand scheme.
He was getting nowhere. Patience had never been his strong suit. The time approached to take action. If he were wrong in his assumptions, what was one more life sacrificed for the greater good?
For his revenge.
He started to rise but dropped down again when Hugh and Connor strode into the hotel. Lifting the newssheet high, he buried himself in it until they were gone.
Laird
A few days later
“Are ye sure ye dinnae want to come wi’ us, Laird?”
His brother repeated the same question for the third time in the past ten minutes, but Laird shook his head yet again. He’d seen all the culture of the twenty-first century he cared to with just a single drive about town.
Ever.
No longer was it the Edinburgh he knew, despite the presence of some buildings leftover from his time. To his mind, it was little more than a madhouse. Constant noise, rushing about and boorish discourtesy the likes of which he’d never seen. Which said much about the people and little about the so-called “advances” of the time.
While he appreciated the readiness of a full-flavored ale or fine whiskey, and a hearty meal, the only thing Laird had truly enjoyed here was the room in the hotel Hugh introduced him to as the gym. It might not have provided the same sport as swordplay with his men-at arms, but taking his fists to a heavy punching bag was just as satisfactory. It allowed him to sweat away his excess energy after a day of relative inactivity, his aggression toward the fools of this time and his worries over the safety and future of his young family.
Hugh, too, admitted he’d found solace in boxing the sand-filled bag when he’d first arrived in this time. Together they’d partaken in the exercise. Laird found pleasure in getting to know his descendant. Bonding, Scarlett called it. They’d spent many a morning in the gym before Laird left for the hospital with Scarlett, or in the evenings after they returned.
Following a day of beeps, honks, and strident voices, he’d much rather do that or spend an evening wrapped around his wife than partaking in the social activities Rhys enjoyed.
And his brother knew Laird’s feelings well enough to realize the futility in requesting his presence. Rhys merely goaded him as was his wont.
“I’ll spend the day at the hospital as usual,” he finally answered.
Rhys rolled his eyes with such dramatic flair the young man lounging on the sofa of their hotel suite chuckled. “He clearly doesn’t want to come along, Rhys. Why make him?”
Jack Prescott had been introduced to them over dinner four days past. Laird found him to be pleasant enough, jocular. Full of probing questions but entertaining company, so Laird could see why his brother favored him. But for a man nearing thirty years, this Jack fellow had a lack of maturity expected of most men his age in Laird’s time. Not that Jack had displayed any irresponsibility or wasn’t a decent sort, but he lacked the gravitas the men from their time usually exhibited.
But then, Jack had probably never fought for his own survival on a battlefield. Seen the blood of his clansmen soak the ground beneath his feet. Perhaps that was what he and so many others Laird had met since coming here lacked. A sense of their own mortality. Such intimate knowledge with death aged a man. Gave him a greater appreciation of life.
“We’re going to tour Edinburgh Castle today,” Rhys told him. “Ye should come, brother. Get out into the city and stretch yer legs after so many days at the hospital. Surely Scarlett would agree. Think of how amusing it will be.”
Laird did laugh at the thought. “Why would I need a tour of the castle when I’d wager I kent it better than most these days? I could show them a thing or two.”
Including the many hidden passages and secret rooms within, he thought to himself.
“How would you know better?” Jack asked with interest. “Have you been there many times before, mate?”
“Och, lad.” Laird chuckled as he moved to the window and pointed up at the castle to the north. “My sire filled my mother’s belly wi’ me in that far tower there.”
Jack looked impressed. “Did they get caught? Arrested?”
They’d been caught all right, Laird thought. Too late to make his birth a legitimate one though. His father had already wed Rhys’s mother and was with child herself before Laird had been born. His father’s legitimate heir, Patrick, was but a few months younger than he.
“Nay but I spent most of my life wi’in those walls.”
Rhys coughed, reminding him of who he was talking to, but Laird shrugged. His revelation spilled no secrets.
“Your mother worked there?”
Laird took the excuse. “Aye. Now ye ken why I dinnae need to go on a tour.”
Jack appeared intrigued. “No, but you could probably give us one. If you cared to come along.”<
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Laird turned down the offer with a firm shake of his head. “Nay, as I said, I will stand guard o’er my wife and children.”
“I still can’t believe you’re married to Scarlett Thomas,” Jack said with a broad grin. “I would love to know how you snuck it past everyone. Talk about clandestine!”
Laird took no offence at the lad’s forward manner. It was just his way. At once familiar and awestruck. Laird had become used to such behavior in Rhys’s new friend and in many others over the past weeks. His bonny wife captivated all. The arrogance she’d displayed when they’d first met was perhaps the only thing that made more sense since their arrival here.
“Ready to go?” Scarlett called as she came out of the attached bedchamber with Hermione chasing at her ankles.
Laird’s breath caught at the sight of his wife. She radiated serenity. And sensuality. Her long auburn hair hung down her back in loose curls. She wore a long sweater of heathered purple cashmere and boots that came up to her knees. His eyes lingered with appreciation on the expanse of thigh between the two, encased in indecently tight leggings. For all the years she’d been with him, Scarlett had continued to exercise daily in the yoga technique. Those deliciously toned legs of hers were any man’s dream. Even so, he’d never get used to seeing them displayed thusly.
“Laird?”
Reluctantly he lifted his gaze to hers. Her amber eyes danced with humor but a trace of banked desire burned there as well. She came to him, slipping her arms around his waist until her breasts pressed against his chest. As she snugged against him, the plump mounds shifted from side to side.
Och, the lass was purposefully rousing his lust!
“My poor Laird. Can you bear to wait a few more weeks?” She teased her tongue along the edge of his earlobe, making the answer all too clear. His roaring blood denied the idea vehemently.
“I’ve ne’er been a patient man,” he murmured close to her ear. “The days cannae pass quickly enough.” He longed to touch her, arouse until she was as randy as he, but they had an avid audience to stay his hand. “I’ve a mind to test out what ye said aboot the possibilities of showers before we leave this place.”
“Mmm, I can’t wait.” She nipped at his earlobe before stepping away, jumping with a squeal when he lightly smacked her luscious bottom on the way. “Enough, I want to get there before they run those blood tests this morning.”
“Aye then,” Laird answered, snatching his daughter up and tossing her into the air. She squealed with delight as she reached up and touched the ceiling.
“Again. Again,” she insisted the moment her feet touched the ground, and because it pleased him so to make her laugh, Laird did it again. His wee daughter was dressed much like her mother this day. Every day appearing more and more as Scarlett’s mini me. An absurd term but it suited his bonny lasses.
“We could take her with us today if you like,” Jack proposed unexpectedly. He glanced first at Scarlett then Laird before smiling up at Rhys. “We should, aye?”
Rhys looked surprised but delighted by the offer. He did enjoy his niece but Laird knew many men didn’t feel the same. “Ye wouldn’t mind?” Rhys pressed.
“Not at all,” Jack answered. “I’d be right chuffed. Besides, they’ve enough on their plate already and a hospital is no place for an active toddler.”
Scarlett laughed at that. “And neither is a castle tour. I overheard your plans. She’d be a handful. There or anywhere else you’re likely to go.”
“There’s a science museum called Dynamic Earth here in town I bet she’d enjoy,” Jack persisted. “I confess I’ve always wanted to go when I’m here on business but never had a young enough companion to validate the visit.”
“What is a science museum?”
Laird was grateful Rhys asked the question for him, for the combination of the two terms intrigued him.
Jack laughed again as if Rhys were a never-ending source of delight. “Have I told you how adorable it is when you ask questions like that?”
“A science museum has interactive exhibits about all sorts of scientific theories,” Scarlett explained. “You might really enjoy it. Maybe learn a thing or two.”
She phrased this lightly enough to sound teasing to their guest but Laird knew his wife well enough to know she was serious as well.
“They’ve got a movie at the IMAX called the Deep Time Machine,” Jack added.
“They’ve a time machine?” Laird cursed himself for voicing the question aloud.
Jack fell into another bout of hilarity. “You chaps are really quite amusing. It’s priceless. No, it’s 3D film on a large screen that immerses you into the experience. Supposed to be like watching the evolution of the earth from its birth to the separation of Pangaea through the ice age and all that. Could be interesting.”
Rhys and Laird both looked to Scarlett to gauge whether this made any sense to her. Her nod was discreet but her tenor when she spoke again were once again light. “I don’t think Hermione’s ready for IMAX yet. It may frighten and confuse her, but the rest could be a fun time. If you take her through it slowly and don’t overwhelm her.”
Rhys took the warning with a nod, knowing it wasn’t just Hermione’s sensibilities Scarlett was cautioning them about. He was smart enough to know it applied to him as well. “We’ll go through the museum together, Hermione and I. As if it’s the first time for us both.”
Laird chuckled inwardly at his words. They were all becoming rather practiced at talking in this absurd code around other people. Disguising the truth with backhanded statements and innuendo.
“Aye, lassie?” Rhys crouched down in front of his niece. “Do ye want to come wi’ Uncle Rhys today and hae a spot of fun?”
“Aye!” Hermione flung her arms around his neck, clinging as he stood and lifted her off her feet. She giggled as she dangled there like a pendulum, before he caught her and lifted her onto his shoulders.
“That’s that, then.” Jack smiled as he stood. “I’ll take right good care of them both.”
“Ye’d better,” Laird grumbled under his breath, not bothering to cushion the threat with so much as a smile when the lad looked at him with some alarm.
Scarlett caught Laird’s arm and grabbed up her purse as she tugged him toward the door. “I can come pick her up if you need me to since I’ve got my own rental car. Otherwise, just keep in touch, please? You have th—you have your phone?”
Laird touched his pocket as Rhys did the same. Scarlett had insisted on making them carry these devices she called burner phones to allow them constant communication with one another and Emmy and Connor who’d gotten them as well. Hugh and Claire possessed their own already. So far, Laird had refused to use his though Rhys had been more game to try it. At first. Alas, neither one of them had found much reason to appreciate the device that Laird deemed the devil’s work.
Oddly enough, Scarlett had agreed with his assessment without explaining why. Nonetheless, she’d insisted they keep them for emergencies. Like his daughter running willy-nilly about Edinburgh in a strange time and with a strange man.
“Ye’d best keep a watchful eye upon my daughter, brother. Send word each hour…” Rhys lifted a brow. “Verra well, every two hours via this text that all is well.”
Jack was laughing again. “You two chaps are so comical. Sometimes I feel you must be having a laugh at me.”
Laird snorted as he and Scarlett left the room. At least someone found all this amusing.
He did not.
Claire
The next afternoon
“That was fun. I haven’t been shopping in a long time.”
“You should’ve bought something for yourself,” Claire told Emmy as she held open the door of their hotel suite for their reluctant pack mules.
Hugh and Connor entered laden with bags and packages, dropping them on the coffee table. Hugh flexed his bloodless fingers and cast a look of misery at his wife.
Claire laughed and slapped him on the arm. “Oh,
it’s not like you didn’t get anything out of it.”
“The joy of watching my bride react passionately about something other than myself?” he teased, perhaps only half in jest.
They had shopped with verve and passion, it was true. More maternity clothes for her. Now that she was entering her second trimester, normal clothes were getting a little snug and Claire had lent most of the ones she had to Scarlett. They’d also gotten a few items for the baby from the little boutique they’d passed. Claire didn’t have many girlfriends in Scotland to share the shopping trips with yet, so Hugh had been stuck with the job so far. He was a good sport but his enthusiasm levels weren’t effusive enough for true enjoyment.
Emmy had said much the same. She had a sister-in-law and several relatives living at Duart Castle with her and Connor, but while she liked them and even loved her sister-in-law, Dory, her position as countess had made being girly girlfriends with them difficult. As Emmy put it, they weren’t the sort you’d go out with for tequila shots.
Nor was there much opportunity for shopping excursions on the Isle of Mull in 1896.
“It’s not like I can take anything back with me,” Emmy sighed with a shrug. “I do appreciate you lending me your phone and ear buds though. We have such similar taste in music.”
“You mean we like everything?”
They shared a laugh. Like they’d known one another for years instead of just a couple of weeks. Claire would be sad to see her new friend go.
Emmy dug through the bags until she found the one from the pharmacy. Withdrawing a package of bandages and some antiseptic, she waved to her husband. “Let me see it.”
“I told ye, lass, ‘tis just a wee scratch.” Connor scowled at her and stood his ground.
“Your wee scratch has bled through a box of tissues already,” she shot back. “Let me see it.”
Dragging his feet, but clearly unable to deny Emmy any desire she expressed—weeks out with the couple had proven that to Claire—he went to her side and held out his arm. From palm to elbow, his skin was torn in a dozen or more shallow gashes of varying size. Road rash didn’t quite cut it.
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