A Laird to Hold

by Angeline Fortin

  Not a step. Not a shuffle.

  Scarlett scrambled for a solution. Janice had been the only one working the theater tonight to ensure her privacy. If the manager hadn’t come running when the shots rang out, it either meant she wouldn’t or couldn’t. Scarlett shuddered at the thought of the kindly woman being hurt.

  She could call 911. Scarlett reached for her phone in her purse and dialed the number before she realized the American emergency number wouldn’t work. Damn, what was the number in Scotland? She’d filmed in the country for years for crying out loud, surely she should know it. Nothing. Shit, either she’d never known or was too terrified to remember.

  Laird tugged on her arm and inched them up another row, crouching low behind the seats.

  “Is he gone?” she whispered, but Laird shushed her and shook his head.

  He pointed up the aisle, indicating they hadn’t reached the threat as yet.

  Desperate, Scarlett dialed Tyrone’s number, cursing more graphically when it went straight to voicemail.

  “What I wouldnae gi’ for my sword.”

  “A sword? Ha, I’d rather have a—oh, shit!”

  Maybe? Scarlett ripped open her voluminous purse and dug through the strata. Past her wallet and sunglasses. Past the keys and tubes of lipstick. Compacted receipts, a notebook. Pens.

  Ugh! Too many years had passed for her to remember clearly. She’d been on the battlefield of Flodden. Saving Laird with a single shot to a man in a red uniform. Again and again she’d fired as they ran. What had she done with it?

  Thrown it?

  No, her fingers curled around the barrel of the Smith & Wesson Bodyguard .380 Tyrone had given to her so long ago. The pistol she’d taken with her to the past.

  And thankfully, she’d brought the pistol home with her again.

  A bullet whizzed overhead and they dove forward to the next row.

  Frantically, she checked the magazine. Two bullets. That was it. Not even one in the chamber. Grimly, Scarlett jacked one into the chamber and looked up at Laird looming over her.

  “No’ much better than a sword at this point then?”

  He kept his body positioned between her and some madman apparently determined to take a life or two. Laird meant to be the one who took the bullet if it came at them.

  To give his life for hers.

  She couldn’t have that happen.

  “Not much. But it will have to do.”

  Laird grimaced, his intent expression telling her he was working through their options. They didn’t have many that wouldn’t expose them.

  “Can ye run, lass?”

  Scarlett wrinkled her nose. “Maybe.”

  Another bullet zipped by over the tops of the seats. Whoever was out there was trying to flush them out.

  “Definitely not fast enough,” she added.

  “Get ready to make that wee thing explode then,” he ordered and caught her around the waist.

  In a flash, he was on his feet and racing up the aisle with her in his arms. Gunfire sounded again and again. Scarlett shot over his shoulder at the figure crouched behind the seats in the opposite row. Shot again, and then they were through the doors.

  Laird obviously didn’t plan on stopping at the lobby, but Scarlett noticed Janice slumped on the floor near the refreshment counter. She kicked free of his hold and ran to her.

  “We dinnae hae time for this, lass.”

  “Then pick her up and let’s go!”

  With years of familiarity with her stubborn streak and no time to argue, he did just that. The glass door shattered the moment they were through it, but they managed to get to the car without hearing another shot.

  Either the would-be killer had run out of bullets or realized shooting into a crowded city street wasn’t the smartest move.

  Scarlett started the car and sped away with Laird and Janice in the back seat.

  “Is she…all right?” She couldn’t bear to ask if the woman was alive.

  “Aye,” he assured her. “She’s got a knot on her head.”

  “Let’s get her to the hospital. Then call the authorities.”

  “Mayhap she can identify who did this.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  In the rearview mirror, Scarlett saw Laird wince and whipped her head around to stare at him in horror. “Did you get hit? Did you?”

  “Just a scratch, lass. Keep driving.”

  “I’m going to kill whoever did this.”

  “Aye, and ye’re going to kill us if ye dinnae pay attention to the road.”

  Blood pounded in Scarlett’s ears all the way to the infirmary. Who? Who? She’d gotten plenty of death threats over the years but never imagined anyone following through on them.

  An hour later, Laird’s nick across his bicep had been patched. Just a scratch, in truth. It hadn’t even needed to be stitched. Thank God for small favors.

  Unfortunately, when Janice awoke, she told them she hadn’t seen who hit her. So the threat, whoever it was, was still unidentified. Still out there.

  Scarlett called Tyrone again, leaving him a terse message to double the private security he’d hired for the hospital. If she could’ve gotten Laird a bodyguard without offending him, she would have.

  But at least she had extra ammunition for the handgun now. With only a handful more than five hundred privately owned handguns in the whole of Scotland, buying more bullets would have been difficult. Fortunately her agent-cum-bodyguard, in insisting she carry a weapon, also brought additional ammo and magazines for her among his own arsenal when he’d entered the country with her. All permitted and legal. Since he hadn’t left the country amid the media chaos surrounding her two disappearances, he still had it all with him.

  Now, she was armed, dangerous and extremely pissed off. The bastard better pray she didn’t find out who he was.

  No one hurt Laird and got away with it. She’d killed for him before and she’d do it again.

  Damn, the next few days couldn’t pass quickly enough.

  * * *

  The car sped away from the theater and was down to the corner before the man jumped through the shattered door. The temptation was strong to fire after them, however the distance was too great for his handgun.

  As the width of the theater had been for accuracy. He cursed himself for being so rash as to take the first shot from so far away. Waiting for the infernal movie to end and the lights to come up had tried his patience and he’d gotten sloppy.

  Even so he thought he’d winged the burly Scotsman. He hoped so. Hoped he bled out to a painful death. Not that his death would count for anything more than a moment’s satisfaction.

  Nevertheless, punishing him for fathering Scarlett Thomas’s children was necessary. The next step would be removing his progeny from the picture.

  The time for subtlety was at an end.

  Laird

  The rush of water falling from the spout of the shower had become a peaceful melody to Laird over the past weeks. The gentle spray soothed, relaxed. In releasing his tensions and worries, it may have also made him lax in recognizing the dangers in this world.

  This night had served as an abysmal reminder that his diligence must never falter. Death was never more than a few heartbeats away when one let their guard down.

  Closer when one lacked the ability to combat a speeding bullet fired from a distance. Being so ineffectual in the defense of his most cherished love rankled deeply.

  Laird looked in on Hermione, asleep in her bed, then returned to the open bathroom door. Through the steam and foggy glass, he watched the shadowy silhouette of his wife in the shower. Scarlett claimed she needed to shower to wash away the stink and grime of the theater floor, but she stood under the water with her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders hunched. The threat at the theater had traumatized her more than she would admit.

  Laird freely confessed it had shaken him to the core.

  More than once since arriving in this Godforsaken land, he’d felt unsettled by
the unknown dangers but they were nothing compared to this. When Scarlett might have been taken from him permanently.

  The time to leave this horrendous place couldn’t come quickly enough. Even before all this. Now a new urgency had taken root in his gut.

  No doubt there were benefits to this place. Plentiful food. Heating throughout entire buildings without a fire. Ease of tasks that took a dozen men to perform in his time. Entertainment of all sorts just minutes away by car or by pressing a button on a remote. Information and communication available at the touch of a screen that still boggled the mind.

  But somewhere in the five hundred years between his time and this one, many here seemed to have forgotten the simple joy of living. Of being alive and savoring every moment allowed to them. Aye, there was work to be done in his time just as there was here, but here even the enjoyment to be found in taking a meal together seemed to be lost. Eyes were attached to all sorts of those bluidy screens day and night, until the value of conversation and human contact had been lost.

  Certainly the span of a life could be extended here. The medical advances bordered on the miraculous. But what benefit was there in a long life if one failed to truly grasp the gift of time?

  Laird’s life had been in peril many times over the course of his thirty-two years. Not just on the battlefield at Flodden where he’d been destined to die but for Scarlett’s intervention, but during the dozens of border skirmishes and clan wars that had tested his mettle from the time he was a young knight.

  He’d spilled his blood to feed Scotland’s soil and shed that of many other men at the same time. Most men he’d met in this time had no idea how such sacrifice for king and clan weighed on a man. Some couldn’t until they’d taken a life themselves.

  To an extent, Hugh understood, having fought in a battle called Culloden. Even Connor, as braw and brave as he was, could comprehend some of the value of life having briefly lost that which was most important to him.

  He pitied those who failed to fully embrace all they had.

  A wee tad of that pity was turned inward this night. Aye, he loved Scarlett. Treasured every moment of the five years they’d had together thus far, but mayhap somewhere along the line, he’d become as complacent as the ignorant fools of this time. He’d become comfortable during that span of good health and prosperity, heedless of the reminder of how quickly all he cherished could be taken from him.

  Of all the battles he’d fought, none had matched the deep-seated fear he’d felt this night. Laird looked down at the ridged scar crossing his palm. A reminder of the savage heartbreak he’d felt when Scarlett had once been swept away from him, but this…knowing that all stood between her and certain death was his ability to protect her? Laird had never doubted his strength and ability more than he had in that moment. Knowing he was no match for a bullet speeding toward her, lest he put himself between the two.

  Never had Laird appreciated life more than he did now.

  Never again would he forget just how fragile it all was.

  Tugging off his clothes, Laird stepped into the shower intent on reminding his wife of the same. How precious life was. How precious she was to him.

  The hot water drummed away the dreadful chill as he pulled Scarlett into his embrace. Her body was stiff at first, then trembling as she slipped her arms around his waist and melted against him.

  “All is well, mo ghrá,” he whispered, his brogue thick. Laird stroked her back and arms, as if he might cleanse any remaining distress. “Tá tú sábháilte. Ní mór liom a ligean do dhuine ar bith a ghortú.”

  The words, promising her safety and guaranteeing no one would ever hurt her, were pledged as a more solemn vow than any he’d ever given. To her or anyone. Including his king.

  Smoothing back her wet hair, he brushed his lips to her temple. “Ah, mo chara. Mo chailíní.”

  Laird kissed her wet cheek then Scarlett lifted her head and their mouths meshed. Tongues tangled. He wasn’t content to linger there, however. Nipping her chin, he raked his teeth down her neck. Her head fell back to grant him full access to the feast of her lovely body. Blood roaring through his veins, Laird moved to her shoulder and on to her breasts.

  Cupping the slick, full globes in his palms, he worshipped them tenderly. Licking and nuzzling her sensitive nipples before dropping to his knees before her. Water sluiced over them as he caressed her still rounded belly and a jolt of poignant sentiment shook him.

  Life.

  His hands slid down her hips, holding her there as he paid homage, then his mouth descended further. He parted her legs and Scarlett’s fingers curled in his wet hair. “Laird?”

  “Shh, mo chroí, trust me.”

  Her grip eased but tightened again a moment later as his mouth sought and unerringly found her most sensitive spot.

  “Laird!”

  A shudder rocked her and her knees gave way. Laird caught her delicious bottom in his hands and held her steady as he gently teased and circled her silken flesh with his tongue. The taste of her a sumptuous feast after a long fast. His appetite for her was insatiable. His rigid cock pulsed with carnal hunger with each elated cry he wrung from her.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God! Laird!”

  Scarlett threw back her head in rapture, her nails digging into his shoulders and a growl of animalistic satisfaction rumbled from deep within Laird as she came against his mouth. Pulsing against his lips. As hot and wet as the water cascading over them.

  Replete, she sagged against him. Laird lifted her dripping body and carried her to their bedchamber. Tumbling her onto the bed, he then stretched out along her, relishing her soft pants as she caught her breath.

  “That was…”

  “Aye?”

  “Very bad of you,” Scarlett sighed. Her eyes were closed, wet hair tangled about her shoulders and chest heaving with each breath as she pressed a hand to her diaphragm. Laird couldn’t think of a more rewarding sight. “Incredible, but bad. We’re not supposed to do anything yet.”

  “Did I hurt ye?”

  “God, no.”

  His mollified chuckle had her opening her eyes and turning to him. “You think that’s amusing?”

  “Nay, it merely pleases me to please my wife.”

  A wicked smile lifted her pouting lips. “Oh? Well did you know it pleases your wife to please you as well?”

  Scarlett rose to her knees and straddled his hips, his still raging member pulsating between her thighs. With one finger, she circled the throbbing tip. His body tensed, his cock twitching of its own will under the erotic caress. He longed to make love to her in truth, but knew he was too large to possess her until she was fully healed.

  “Ye cannae, lass.”

  “Shh, trust me,” she threw his words back at him.

  Leaning over him, she kissed his lips and moved downward. Replicating the path he’d taken with her. Down and down further while Laird’s heart pounded with rapacious anticipation. He threw a forearm over his eyes, willing her on.

  Hot lips trailed over his chest. Teeth nipped at his stomach and down to his navel. Her capable hands followed, gliding over his ribs and down to his hips until her thumbs grazed him lightly. A harsh groan escaped him as her tongue marked a slow, southerly path. Every muscle he possessed was coiled with expectation.

  It’d been so long. Too long. His body begged for release.

  Then she stopped and a howl of frustration passed his lips before he could bite it back. Lifting his head, Laird found her watching him. Her lips hovering over the head of his cock. She lifted a brow, the wee she-devil. Taunting him with the warm caress of her breath. Her eyes lit not only with mirth but with the flames of desire, too.

  Her body craved his as much as Laird longed to throw her down and bury himself to the hilt within her, but they couldn’t have that…yet.

  He must be satisfied with what Scarlett could give him. If she would give it, the bonny witch.

  Her wicked smile widened as if she could read his thoughts. Shaking her head
from side to side, she let her long damp locks brush across him, teasing him. With a groan, Laird slammed his head back against the pillow and threaded his finger through her hair. Pushing it back from her face and God help him, urging her down.

  Her huff of laughter stroked him again, but it was immediately followed by her hot, wet tongue licking his cock from base to tip. A harsh oath passed his lips as he arched up. Her tongue circled the head of his member and lust racked his body. Then, finally, she took him into her mouth. Down, down. Exaltation raged within him and when her lips withdrew with delicious friction, Laird couldn’t deny the jubilant release that tore through him. Ravaging him as he spent himself between her honey lips.

  A pleased hum vibrated through Scarlett’s body as she crawled up him, pausing to lick his navel along the way.

  With a growl, Laird caught her around the waist and turned her beneath him. He kissed the hollow between her breasts then rested his head against her bosom.

  “Ah, mo chroí, conas adhairim dom.”

  Professing his adoration couldn’t begin to define the depths of his love for her. They were mere words. None could fully express all he felt.

  My world.

  Unbidden the knowledge that he might have lost her tonight struck him again and he hugged her tight against him. Her heart beat steadily, reassuringly.

  “Ba mhaith liom mo shaol a thabhairt duitsa,” he whispered, his brogue heavy with feeling.

  Scarlett lifted her head. Her bonny amber eyes were soft and pleading. “Please don’t promise such a thing. I’d never have you risk your life for me.”

  “What would mine be worth wi’oot ye in it, lass?” He lifted himself on an elbow to gaze down at her. He toyed with a strand of her hair. “My world is worth naught wi’oot ye in it. My heart isnae whole if yers isnae beating.”

  A sheen of tears glazed her eyes. Her fingertips grazed along his bearded jaw. “Can’t you see I feel the same? I couldn’t bear to lose you either. It could have happened tonight! What would I do without you?”

  She buried her face against his chest, her arms so tight around him she could have taken his breath from him if her admission hadn’t already. In her own way, Scarlett was as strong as he. Strong of will and character. But his strength and hers were bound to the other.