Taken: A Laird for All Time Novel (Volume 2) Read online

  DEDICATION

  For my dear friends, far and near,

  who provide support and encouragement

  day in and day out.

  I couldn’t do this without you

  “People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect,

  but *actually* from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint –

  it's more like a big ball of

  wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff.”

  ~ Steven Moffat, Doctor Who

  1

  August 15, 2013

  In the Scottish Borders

  Give’em what they want.

  It had been her father’s mantra from the moment fame descended upon her. Which was, in fact, about the same time that what she wanted ceased to matter.

  “Miss Thomas! Miss Thomas! Over here!”

  Scarlett turned and flashed a practiced smile for the photographer. Putting on a pleasant public face when one was burdened by jet lag was an acting skill Scarlett Thomas had yet to fully master, but the crowd seemed pleased enough by her performance.

  “Miss Thomas, how does it feel to be back at Dunskirk Castle?” one of the reporters asked as her agent-cum-bodyguard, Tyrone Halliday, ushered her through the throng with a firm hand at the small of her back.

  Scarlett considered the looming façade of the medieval castle of Dunskirk, which sat nestled in the lazy roll of the Cheviot Hills of the Scottish Borders not far from England’s northern border. Light and shadow marked the six turreted corner towers punctuating the many angles of the curtain walls. Two soaring towers stood like sentinels at the center of the castle, flanking the entrance. The jutting spires drew her eyes upward fifty feet – just as they always had – to the decorative stonework of the crenellations, merlons and machicolations. Fancy words she had learned from an architectural historian that merely named the parts and pieces of the castle fascia that covered the original parapets and more functional battlements beneath.

  While Aubroch Castle, the fictional setting of the blockbuster Puppet War movies, was written as a dark, gloomy place, Scarlett had been pleased when the location scouts chose this fairy tale location for the final setting. Life within those castle walls had felt more like home than Hollywood ever could throughout the more than five years of filming three movies.

  Like Dunskirk/Aubroch, Scarlett often felt she was all gloss and glamour on the outside with so much more veiled beneath the surface. Something, she now feared, might never be seen again.

  “It’s wonderful,” she answered honestly before adding her required publicity blurb when Tyrone’s fingers pressed into her back. “I’m happy to be back to mark this momentous occasion.”

  “There’s been rumors Anatolio might be considering another sequel,” one of the reporters shouted over the crowd, thrusting his mike at her. “Would you be willing to make another Puppet War movie?”

  The young adult fantasy series by Marco Anatolio with its three installments, Marionette, Ventriloquist and finally Broken Strings, had been literary bestsellers topping the charts for years. The movie rights had been bought a month after the first book’s release and at fifteen, Scarlett had been cast as the brilliant but nerdy, Finley Adams, launching her into instant stardom. That had been nine years ago and still she would always be Finley Adams to many.

  “I am always open to new projects.” Scarlett smiled tightly and moved on.

  Flashing another smile, echoed by her agent’s, they worked their way up the crowd. The castle door seemed to shrink into the distance as if she was working away from it rather than toward it, but Scarlett forged on, ignoring the reporters. Instead she focused on the fans who lined the cordoned-off avenue, signing autographs and taking selfies with them as she progressed.

  “Rowdy crowd here today,” Tyrone muttered, blocking off the press of the crowd with one massive arm. “Better watch it. That one might not give your hand back.”

  “Don’t be mean,” Scarlett murmured under her breath. “They’re just excited. I seem to recall a bit of the same from you when you first met my mother.”

  “We’ve been over this,” he said with a grimace at the reminder. “I did not fall at her feet. I tripped over the edge of the rug.”

  Scarlett had to grin at that. Her mother, Olivia Harrington, star of screens big and small, seemed to have many frayed carpets surrounding her person at all times. Assuming what Tyrone claimed was true, of course.

  Gently tugging her hand free from her overly enthusiastic fan, Scarlett moved slowly onward toward the canopied platform set up just outside the castle’s outer stockade. They were a rowdy bunch, Scarlett acknowledged, but she didn’t mind. These were her people. She understood them, appreciated them. Probably because she had once been just like them. Scarlett smiled inwardly. Once? She still was. A geek. A fangirl. She understood them better than she had ever gotten anyone in Hollywood.

  Like Potterheads, Tributes, and Tolkienites, The Puppet War fan base, aptly labeled Puppeteers, was one of the biggest fandoms on the planet. Even years after the last movie, Broken Strings, and having never made another movie, Scarlett and her costars were still followed and obsessed over. They all made frequent public appearances at conventions like ComicCon and WizardCon and were constantly targeted by the paparazzi.

  “I love your dress, Miss Thomas,” one of her fans gushed as Scarlett signed an autograph. Scarlett smiled her thanks. The August day was surprisingly warm and she’d donned a floor-length white cotton maxi dress with an Empire waist and tiny spaghetti straps to offset the heat. Tyrone had insisted she add a jacket for the formality of the occasion, so she’d donned a teal cropped denim jacket. To promote her signature Bohemian style, she wore several long, brown leather necklaces and bangles with silver charms and medallions as well as brown leather gladiator sandals. Cross-wise over her shoulder she carried her favorite Stella McCartney Falabella tote.

  “And your hair, Miss Thomas,” another gushed. “I love it!”

  “Do you really?” she asked, running a hand over her newly-shorn pixie cut. “I’ve heard it reported that I may have lost my identity in cutting it.” Scarlett cast an arch look at her agent, who had agreed with the assessment. She had indeed been known for her long, wavy hair. It was part of the reason she’d cut it so dramatically.

  “We do!” her fans assured her and Scarlett cast them all a very genuine smile.

  “Thank you so much. You’re all just wonderful.”

  They beamed but another reporter pushed his way through then, ruining the most pleasant moment of her day thus far. She recognized him as one of the sleazy London tabloid reporters who’d had nothing better to do for years other than haunting Dunskirk Castle during taping. “Miss Thomas, what about the rumors regarding a secret romance with your Puppet War co-star, Grayson Lukas? Are they true?”

  Aren’t they always? Scarlett thought bitterly as the crowd held their collective breath waiting for a response, though she refrained from voicing the sour comeback knowing they would only ignore the sarcasm and interpret the words as verbal confirmation of the rumors. The worst thing about fame was that assumption that they all knew her. Knew what she wanted and what she thought.

  How she longed for the days before all this had come about, when she had lived her own life or even felt as though she had one. When she hadn’t been a star but just a girl who wanted the same thing all the girls wanted.

  “Mr. Lukas.” The reporter shifted direction when Scarlett didn’t answer and she cringed realizing that her former co-star was just a few steps behind her. “What do you have to say to the rumors? Are they true?”

  “Aren’t they always?” Grayson’s in
tonation of her thoughts was far more kindly presented as he slung a casual arm over her shoulder and gave them all a roguish wink.

  Scarlett might have been much like Finley Adams in personality and temperament, but Grayson Lukas completely embodied his character, Flynn Jackson. A more cocksure, vain, cavalier idiot had never walked the earth. In her opinion, he personified the living, breathing proof that every high in life came with a downside.

  Once, just once, during the filming of the second movie in the trilogy, Ventriloquist, Scarlett had made the mistake of going with Grayson to an awards show, sharing the red carpet with him. Tyrone had imagined it to be a brilliant publicity stunt and he had been right. The media, the paparazzi had latched on to the idea of Finley and Flynn. The nerd and the jock who fought their feelings and were then torn apart in the books and movies, finally together in real life. Rumor, tabloids, Photoshopped pictures. The press had created a relationship for them that wasn’t any more factual than the fictional one.

  Grayson had thought it should be. It helped them both, he insisted. Kept the spotlight on them. A spotlight Scarlett had been trying to step out of for the past four years.

  “Gi’ us a kiss!” one of the Scottish tabloid reporters shouted.

  They think I actually like this fool! Her lips parted of their own accord, as if she might voice the thought but Grayson took advantage of her moment of silence, bending her back over his arm and taking the kiss the crowd wanted before she could protest. The onlookers went wild and Scarlett knew it would be all over social media the next day.

  Back on her feet, Scarlett steadied herself and resisted the urge to swipe the back of her hand across her lips while Grayson waved to their fans.

  Turning on her heel, she stalked away while Tyrone rushed to keep up with her. “What an idiot,” she hissed from the corner of her mouth. “I can’t believe anyone would think I’m in love with that.”

  “Appearances, Scarlett.”

  “I’ll tell you what you can do with your appearances, Tyrone.”

  Reaching the platform, Scarlett determinedly pasted her public smile back on and greeted the Director of Commerce and Tourism from Historic Scotland, the historic preservation society that maintained the castle, and the president of the Scottish Borders Council. “Good afternoon, Miss Thomas. Welcome to Dunskirk Castle! Again, of course. We’re so glad that you could be with us today to mark this occasion.”

  The occasion was the full restoration of Dunskirk Castle and its transference from private property to a national historical site and public museum.

  “I’m honored to have been asked.” Scarlett smiled at the effusive welcome and shook hands with the others who gathered around; castle staff, government officials, and the director of exhibit operations, Darin Coleridge, who was in charge of the afternoon’s festivities.

  More hesitantly they greeted Tyrone, who was a harmless as a teddy bear but intimidated effortlessly since he was built like an ox, bald-headed and in possession of a neatly trimmed goatee that Scarlett suspected he maintained solely for its menacing addition to his already sinister persona.

  Grayson followed her up on stage while Scarlett turned away to greet two of their other Puppet War co-stars who were also attending the ceremony. “Hayden, how are you?” she asked as they brushed air kisses and hugged lightly. “Michael.” A more sincere hug. Hayden Walsh and Michael Ford had portrayed Nora Bankman and Christian Cameron in the series, the muscle as it were, in the storyline. Scarlett had gotten on with Michael especially well.

  The four of them sank down into a row of chairs set behind the podium. Grayson managed a seat right next to her, but Scarlett studiously ignored him and gave her attention to Coleridge as he stepped up to make his opening remarks.

  The photographers in the crowd kept their attention on her and Grayson, snapping away and leaving Scarlett with little choice but to force a brittle smile to her lips.

  “…and, of course, we have to thank the director and producers of The Puppet War for bringing worldwide attention to Dunskirk by choosing it as the setting for their movies but it is the four young people who are with us today to whom we owe our greatest thanks. Their tireless efforts in promoting Dunskirk and raising the funds to open this museum today will never be forgotten. Now, I heard that Miss Thomas only recently gave a commencement address at Vanderbilt University when she graduated there this spring, magna cum laude with a degree in English literature. I thought I might take advantage of her recent practice and asked her say a few words today. She graciously accepted…so, please welcome, if you will, Scarlett Thomas.”

  Applause swept through the crowd as Scarlett stood once more, swinging her cross-body tote forward and fishing inside for her speech. At the podium, she adjusted the microphone height.

  “Thank you, Mr. Coleridge. Your request for a few words is far kinder than what my professors required of me during my recent finals and for that I thank you.” She nodded to the director and focused on the crowd before her, ignoring the mocking eyes boring into her back. “Many of you gathered here today know this place only as the living representation of Aubroch Castle, a piece of The Puppet War come to life, but Dunskirk Castle has its own story to tell, one far more profound than fiction. I’m very glad to be back here today as we celebrate its place in the history of the Scottish Borderlands.”

  “I am no historian as my professors can attest.” Scarlett paused as light laughter sprinkled through the crowd, ignoring Grayson’s scoff behind her. “No, it’s true. Deep down I’m just a fangirl like many of you. Before I first came to Dunskirk, the only castle I ever dreamed of visiting was Hogwarts. Now, knowing each nook and cranny of this dear old thing as I do, I know that Dunskirk will stand a far greater test of time than any book could. Than any movie might dare. I hope you will all keep that in mind as you walk through these halls today.”

  With a few more short sentences, Scarlett finished and smiled as the crowds applauded. Turning, she shook Coleridge’s hand once more and accepted his thanks but before she could return to her seat, Grayson sneered. “Always a nerd, Scarlett.”

  Irritation roiled through her. “Bite me, Grayson.”

  “Always.”

  Unable to sit next to him a moment longer, Scarlett slipped discreetly down the steps and headed for the castle entrance as Coleridge introduced the next speaker.

  “Scarlett,” Tyrone whispered urgently, rushing to her side. “Come on, the fans love it, the two of you.”

  Shaking off his hand before he could grasp her arm, Scarlett kept walking. “But I don’t. You know I don’t.”

  She didn’t have to ask why Tyrone was in favor of promoting a match – even a fabricated one – between her and Grayson. She already knew. Tyrone was close friends with Grayson’s agent, close enough to take a favor and give one when necessary. Though Grayson Lukas was known around the world for his part in The Puppet War, new roles had been slow in coming and Grayson’s Hollywood tastes couldn’t survive without either an opportune casting or more opportune publicity.

  “I don’t know why I haven’t fired you yet.”

  “Because your mother hired me.”

  “Because you slept with her.”

  Tyrone just grimaced. “Come back out here. Smile and wave. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “How about you go away and hope I don’t shoot either you or Grayson with this stupid pistol you make me carry around?” Scarlett patted the small lump weighing down the bottom of her tote. She’d made her agent angry but couldn’t find it in herself to care. The changes she planned on making in the days and weeks to come would no doubt be far more upsetting than her refusal to sit next to her former co-star. Though she’d already told him, he would understand the seriousness of her intentions soon. “I’m going inside. Go say whatever you want, but I’m not coming back out until he’s gone.”

  “Scarlett! Damn it, come back here!”

  Scarlett kept walking. She’d lived at the whims of others too long to heed his call. To be a
t her parent’s beck and call another moment. This was her time and she meant to seize it.

  2

  Once inside the castle doors, the noise of the crowd faded into a mausoleum-like oppression. The thick walls had that effect but the dank, darkness she remembered from the years she’d spent filming in the castle was washed away by the museum quality lighting and dehumidifiers that had been brought in. Today the stone walls were awash with soft light, the great hall now a cordoned-off maze of red velvet ropes leading to a modern desk of light birch standing below a large sign bearing prices for admission.

  “Miss Thomas!” A man of later years standing behind the desk straightened as she approached. Despite his neat white shirt and dark slacks, he had an unkempt appearance and rather looked like the house-elf, Dobby, from the Harry Potter movies without the elfish ears. This man’s were big enough still, and he had layers of wrinkles folded deeply into his skin. He seemed almost as old as the fortress itself but there was merriment in his twinkling blue eyes and vibrancy in his demeanor that would probably carry him a few centuries more, she thought whimsically.

  “Good afternoon,” she greeted him as she approached the desk, skirting around the barriers.

  “We werenae expecting ye inside yet, but welcome to Dunskirk, lass. Er, welcome back, I should say. Would ye care to take a turn through the exhibits?” he added in a thick brogue, gesturing to the far end of the hall where a sign reading ‘Enter Here’ was posted. “I imagine ye could use a bit of time fer yerself. Away from all the fuss.”

  It was like he was reading her mind. Scarlett wanted nothing more than to escape the people waiting for her outside. No, that wasn’t exactly right. Really she wanted nothing more than to escape her life in general. The life that wasn’t her own. A life overpopulated with unwanted attention and hateful humans.

  “I ken what ye mean, I’d wager ye’ve a hard go of it.”

  “Huh? What?” Had she said that out loud? Scarlett groaned. It wasn’t like her to make a slip like that in public where any random spectator might hear and misinterpret her words, passing them off – out of context, of course – on social media. If word got out that she was planning a life without them, the circus would be unimaginable. “I meant…”