“Yes, but I told you we were going to a night club?” Jack eyed Rhys up and down with pursed lips. “That’s what you want to wear?”
“Is this no’ suitable for dancing?”
Jack was wearing a tailored paisley dress shirt with a black velvet jacket and jeans. While he looked rather dashing, his colorful garb was not so drastically different from what Rhys had chosen.
“You are not wearing a sweater,” Jack protested. “You’ll die of heat stroke in five minutes. Let me see what else you have to wear.”
“In my room?”
“Why do you say it like that? My room? I’ve been up there before.”
But not while they were alone. The attraction between them was building. Progressing, but given all that had happened in Rhys’s life and his plans for the future—namely those in the past far, far away from Jack Prescott—Rhys wasn’t sure he should or could let their pleasantly casual relationship evolve into something more physical.
And he was even less certain if they went to his room he’d be able to stop it. He had no intention of becoming attached to anything so impermanent.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve a T-shirt beneath the sweater.”
“Rhys?”
There was a wealth of questions contained in the word but Rhys wasn’t about to answer any of them. For all his outer jocund swagger, he’d learned caution the hard way early in life. He downed the rest of his beer. “Are ye ready to go?”
Jack looked worried but nodded. “I am if you are.”
“Then let us go.”
Scarlett
The next evening
“Everything still looking all right with the baby, Willa?”
The neonatal nurse pursed her lips and shook her head at Scarlett with a hint of a smile. “When are you going to name this child, Ms. Thomas, so we can stop calling her baby Hepburn?”
“That seems to be the question of the hour. Perhaps we’ll just name her Baby and solve the problem,” Scarlett teased back.
Perhaps she should’ve countered by asking when the nursing staff would stop addressing her as Ms. Thomas and begin using her married name. She’d gotten on friendly terms with the nursing staff over the past couple of weeks. They’d all managed to move beyond her fame and treat her like a real person, a rare and wonderful occurrence she appreciated dearly. But she was still a celebrity to them and they must have assumed Scarlett wouldn’t forsake the name that had brought her to fame.
“Tell that hot husband of yours to think of something better if you won’t,” Willa shot back. “Poor child needs a real name.”
“We’ll work on it,” Scarlett assured her.
Laird was waiting patiently in the hall, rocking from foot to foot. Relaxed but ever diligent. Willa was spot on with her assessment. He was hot. A tempestuous volcano with a molten core. The bright French blue of his dress shirt somehow turned his normally gray eyes the same shade. The tailored cut hugged his shoulders and skimmed him down his broad chest to his narrow waist. With one hand in the pocket of his jeans and the other hooked on the collar of the charcoal woolen jacket tossed over his shoulder, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a photo shoot for GQ. Deliciously sexy.
And she got to be the one who took him home each night.
“Ms. Thomas?”
“Hmm…what?” Scarlett blinked and turned back to Willa. “Did you say something?”
Willa chuckled. “I was just answering your question, but you keep looking all you like.”
A flush warmed her cheeks. “What were you saying?”
“Just that the baby’s fine. Doing just fine. She’s growing like a weed.” Willa rocked the infant against her broad bosom and smiled down at her. “A few days more and you’ll be taking her home.”
“From your lips to God’s ears, Willa.”
A few more long, excruciating days and she could take her family back home. Away from the nightmare of the twenty-first century. Away from the crowds and the reporters who still stalked her day and night. Despite Tyrone’s efforts to whip them back, he couldn’t tame the beasts.
Back to the peace and quiet of Dunskirk. To the cold castle, the stinky stables and garderobes she’d never belittle again. So help her, she’d even wear one of those ridiculous headdresses and shut up about it.
“Any other troubles?” Scarlett asked. “No more reporters have gotten in?”
“Not since the one a couple of weeks ago. Security has stepped up nicely.”
“Great,” she said. “In that case, I thought I might leave a little earlier than normal tonight, if you think that’s okay? My friends have offered to watch Hermione and I want to surprise my husband with a little date night.”
A wide smile filled with pleasure stretched Willa’s lips. “Absolutely. If I had a husband like yours, every night would be date night.”
Scarlett’s smile was genuine. “Most of them are. Until lately, at least. I think we could use a night away from the hospital.”
“Of course you could! Where are you going?”
“Oh, I have a surprise in mind for him he’ll never forget.”
Laird
“What is this place?”
With a grin, Scarlett took Laird’s hand and tugged him down the inclined aisle between the rows of tightly crowded seats. Hesitantly, he went along as she couldn’t budge him an inch unless he allowed it. This night, it was his pleasure to bend to her will.
There hadn’t been a smile this playful to cross her lips in some time. Though he knew her humor would somehow be at his expense, Laird was happy to let her bedevil him in whatever manner she chose if it meant bringing her a moment of enjoyment.
“Come, Laird, you know a theater when you see one.”
Indeed, there was a curtain crossing the elevated stage at the bottom of the aisle. However, the many rows of seating were new to him when compared to the theaters he knew. The only seats in those were located in the raised boxes situated around the perimeter of the audience. The pit area where all these seats were in the center here were meant as standing room in the past.
“We’re here to see a performance, then?” he asked, taking in the hundreds of empty seats. “Where are all the other patrons?”
“This show is for an audience of two,” she informed him. “Where would you like to sit?”
“Ye choose,” he suggested, not only because he was a gentleman but also because he had no reference to make an informed choice on the matter. “There is to be nae other audience?”
Scarlett shook her head, the light in her eyes dimmed a notch. “I rented the whole theater for a private screening. I’ve done it before. As much as I love movies, I don’t really get much of a chance to enjoy them when there’s a lot of people.”
“Because of yer fame?”
Laird didn’t need to see her nod to know the truth of it. Once upon a time, he’d mocked her for proclaiming herself a celebrity. Even after he knew her well and the tale of her life before him, he’d failed to understand what being famous meant. Experiencing it at her side, with his own two eyes, had been a revelation.
An unpleasant one.
People clamored for her attention, forcing themselves upon Scarlett if she didn’t welcome them with haste. Her mother and agent pestered her repeatedly to coerce her into interviews and interactions she didn’t want. Her freedom was sacrificed for it.
Coming and going from the hospital each day had become a trial for her. A daily gauntlet to be run. Regardless of what entrance they chose, someone always managed to mark her appearance and pressure her for a statement. Her innate kindness didn’t allow her to return the reporters’ insolence in kind. Nor could she deny an autograph begged from her. She hadn’t the luxury of his size or knack of glowering just so to frighten them away.
To his mind, it was a horrendous existence. He couldn’t understand how she’d once described her former life to him with such a blasé attitude. How she lived it now with a patient smile ever on her lips.
“Yer pos
ition in this time hinders yer freedom.”
“Kind of like being a countess five hundred years in the past?” she jested. “Always being watched? Criticized for my flaws? Gossiped about? It’s just like being home.”
“But ye love it there.”
“I love you there.”
Laird was silent for a few moments while Scarlett shuffled them down a row of seats until they were at the center of the floor.
“’Twas my impression ye were happy at Dunskirk,” he observed softly. “Are ye truly happy wi’ the choice ye made, mo chroí? Begging Donell to return ye to me?”
Scarlett’s brow furrowed at his tone. She knew him well enough to know his brogue was never so unintelligible and husky like that unless he was either lost in the throes of passion or upset about something. It certainly wasn’t the former at this moment. “You know I am.”
“But only because of my presence?”
Her frown deepened. “You know I’ve never fit in completely there. But I belong with you, Laird. You know I believe that. Do you think any of this has changed my conviction?”
The question was wrought with tension. But then, she’d been tense in the car when they’d left the hospital tonight. Though the men her agent had hired to secure the hospital and suppress the reporters had done a reasonable job of it, many still lingered in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. Nothing she did satisfied them.
Or her mother who’d visited them at the hospital again today. Still more interested in Scarlett’s stardom than her grandchildren. This time with her reporter in tow, giving Scarlett no avenue for escape. She’d given a brief statement, stating that she’d married—but not to Grayson—and yes, had a baby. Scarlett had staunchly refused to answer any other questions despite her mother’s protests and had gotten another lecture about fame and fortune for it.
Her troubled relationship with Olivia only served to stress Scarlett more.
Laird might have liked to drive from there to the theater so she might relax instead of strangling the steering wheel with her white-knuckle grip, but he hadn’t the skill as yet to navigate the vehicle at fast enough speed to evade the paparazzi who often trailed their escape. And he had no more desire than she to reveal the name of their hotel lest the crowd stalk them there. If so, their incessant presence would never end.
Even now, she claimed they were just people doing their jobs. Yet each picture of Hermione or the baby that flashed on a TV screen rubbed salt on the festering wound of her mounting anxiety.
Aye, he knew she was as anxious as he to return home.
“Nay,” he finally answered, entwining their fingers. “This place has me oot of sorts. Just assure me ye’ll be as glad as I to put this time behind us and go home.”
“I will be. Because I love you, our children, and our life together. I will be,” she vowed with truth enough in her eyes to appease him, but a hint of mischief entered them again as she added, “After this, of course. You’re going to love this, even if it’s the one thing about this time you love.”
Her relaxed demeanor since they entered the theater gave him joy enough to compensate for whatever futuristic torture she meant to ply him with.
He was sorry to have cast a shadow over her enjoyment.
Even if it was at his expense.
“What are we aboot, lass?” he repeated, once they were settled at the center of the many seats. “A play?”
“No.” She grinned then shifted her eyes to smile more politely at the young woman coming down the aisle. “Thank you so much for bringing this down for us, Janice.”
“No problem at all, Miss Thomas. I’ll just go get it started for you, if you’re ready?”
“We are. Thank you again.”
The woman was the same one who’d let them in the front doors. The theater manager, Scarlett had told him. She carried with her a tray bearing two tall bags, two paper cups and a few small crinkly packages similar to those Laird had gotten from the vending machines at the hospital.
“Popcorn.” Scarlett handed him one of the bags after the attendant left them. “Soda. And candy. Everything to make this perfect for you.”
“And what is this exactly?”
“A movie,” she told him brightly, watching his face for his reaction.
He’d gotten rather adept over his lifetime at hiding his emotions from everyone. His father, stepmother, brothers, sisters, men-at-arms, but Laird had never been very good at it with her. Nor had he succeeded with this attempt. Scarlett’s lips twitched with suppressed amusement over his thinly veiled dismay. She’d told him about films often, especially in those early days of their marriage when she’d been eager to tell him about the future and he’d been as keen to hear it.
Over the years, she’d mentioned her past less and less. Laird dug through his memory in attempt to recall all she’d told him about movies. Something to do with moving pictures.
But before he could, the lights dimmed turning the theater to pitch blackness. “What the bluidy…?”
Then there was a beam of light and the curtains parted. Images, like from the television but enormous beyond belief filled the wall, music built louder and louder until Laird couldn’t hear himself think. Beside him, Scarlett smiled still but her gaze had shifted from him to the moving pictures.
Then words appeared and Laird soon smiled as well.
Just a little.
Inwardly, of course, because two could play her game.
Scarlett
“Did you love it?” Scarlett inundated him the moment the screen went black.
“I dinnae hate it,” was all he would give her.
“Oh come on! I saw you smile. You loved it.”
“I liked the popcorn, but no’ the soda. The chocolate nuggets were acceptable.”
Since they’d lost several minutes at the beginning of the movie as she explained the awesomeness of what he was eating to him, Scarlett knew acceptable was a gross understatement.
“The movie, however, had its share of disappointments. It wisnae precisely like the story ye’ve read,” he argued, eating the final handful of popcorn. “Vital portions of the tale were missing.”
“To put each line and action from a book that length into a movie is impossible,” she justified. “Things have to change, otherwise it would be way too long. Come on, tell me you loved it.”
“I love ye,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing his lips to hers. He tasted of salt and chocolate.
Sweet yet savory, Scarlett could have gobbled him up and planned to as soon as he confessed. “It’s Harry Potter, Laird. Tell me you loved it.”
“I’d be a fool no’ to,” he allowed. “Once I became accustomed to faces ten-feet tall, that is. I’ll admit, Harry was exactly as I’d pictured him.”
Of the books she’d brought to the past with her, from Austen to Bronte to Rowling, Laird had always liked the Harry Potter series the best. Despite his skepticism when it came to the reality of magic. Seeing his face light up with the special effects on the screen had been as satisfying to Scarlett as seeing The Sorcerer’s Stone on the big screen once again.
She wished they had time here for Laird to see them all and perhaps binge watch Doctor Who while they were here. The newest Doctor was being announced soon, and she couldn’t help being curious. But conversely, she was glad their time here was coming to an end.
Sixteenth century Scotland had never been as appealing as it was after eighteen days of being hounded by the press. Her mindset at this moment was remarkably similar to the funk she’d been in before Donell had sent her back there the very first time. Searching for an escape from all the B.S.
“Why did ye no’ bring Hermione wi’ us to see it as well?” Laird asked as they stood and made their way up the inclined aisle toward the door.
“She’s only three. The ogre would frighten her.” Scarlett tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and grinned up at him. “Besides, it wouldn’t be a romantic date night if we had a toddler
along, would it?”
“Date night?”
“A night out as a couple. Just you and me. Dinner…of sorts, and a movie.” Her free hand slipped down and caressed his hard butt. “You know, date night?”
Laird paused and smiled down at her. “Aye, I ken romance.”
He bent his head and kissed her. The soft brush of his lips against hers had Scarlett wishing she was a few more weeks beyond childbirth, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t satisfy each other in different ways. They’d gotten pretty damn good at it after Hermione was born.
She whispered the suggestion against his lips, the proposition barely spoken before his mouth was devouring hers with untapped hunger. His tongue swept between her lips to parry with hers. His arms banded tight around her, lifting her off the ground. Then he swung her about, dipping her low over his arm.
Scarlett’s lusty sigh turned to a yelp when a loud crack split the silence, echoing through the theater.
“Laird!”
Yanking his shoulders, she dropped to the floor, forcing him to join her just as another shot rang out. The wall behind them splintered.
“Someone is shooting at us!” she rasped out.
Laird nodded, he’d heard the ominous sound before when she’d shot a bullet through the roof of his tent so long ago. Again when she’d saved his life on the battlefield at Flodden. He’d sworn it was a sound he’d never forget.
Now, his silver eyes were deadly serious and diligent as he pressed her down to the floor and shielded her with his massive body. Scarlett could hardly care about the germs and residual soda and popcorn embedded in the grotesquely colorful carpet when their lives were in danger.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered, then took her hand as they crept up the aisle.
Laird paused at each row to peer between them, before tugging her across each gap. A few rows up, he paused to listen. Scarlett couldn’t tell if he heard anything but she didn’t.
A Laird to Hold Page 15