A Laird to Hold Read online

  Connor’s warm hand splayed comfortingly at the small of her back and he bent his head to hers. “Ye’ve really been working on yer propensity to swear, lass. I’m proud of ye, but I think in this instance the moment calls for a sound profanity.”

  His protective proximity and humor eased some of her shock. “No, I think I’m good for the moment.”

  His chuckle brushed her cheek. “I may no’ be though. This is…”

  “I know, right? Maybe now you’ll think back upon my arrival in your time with a little more sympathy.” She tucked her hands into the crook of his arm for added warmth. “At least you knew it was coming…well, at least you knew it was possible.”

  “Aye, I wisnae considering probable, however.”

  “Aye, aye, ‘tis a bluidy marvel,” Donell groused, and with an impatient wave of his hand, strode forward through the open gates of the smaller curtain wall. The front door they’d been about to enter no longer existed wherever—or whenever they currently were. “We dinnae hae all day.”

  “I wonder how you can say things like that,” Emmy mumbled to his back as they followed. “It seems to me you have all the time in the world.”

  “It disnae work that way, lass.”

  Emmy arched a wry brow. “How does it work then? I’ve always been curious.”

  The old man flicked his hand, the motion ripe with irritation. “I cannae just pick people up and move them aboot.”

  “I thought that’s exactly what you did.”

  “Through time but no’ space.”

  Emmy frowned. “Not space? Of course you do.”

  Donell merely flicked his wrist again and pounded insistently on the door of the low keep as they reached it.

  “So, about the space thing…”

  Emmy might have persisted in her questioning, but the door was answered by a man who would make any rational woman’s mind blank for a minute or two. Even one as insanely and passionately in love as she. She was only human after all.

  “Wow.”

  The low expletive earned her a suspicious scowl from Connor. Not that Emmy saw it, only sensed it. Still, she couldn’t look away. Not just yet.

  This man was massive, bigger in every direction than even her brawny, bulging spouse. His tawny brown hair was a little lengthy for her taste, however, the short beard accentuating every plane of his angular, dazzling face more than compensated. Piercing silver eyes studied them.

  But his kilt was what snagged her full attention. The full regalia, blue and yellow tartan over a partially unbuttoned black velvet jacket with a linen shirt unlaced at the collar to reveal a tantalizing expanse of bronzed chest. For all the elegance, he was magnificently untamed.

  “You know,” she murmured under her breath, close to Connor’s ear. “You haven’t worn your kilt in a long, long time.”

  “And?”

  The kilted man’s penetrating gaze had gone first to Connor. Gauging a possible threat, no doubt, he then turned to Emmy, his fierce expression softening a fraction.

  The man’s stare moved then to Donell. A mixture of reactions chased each other across his face. Delight fell to suspicion then concern. He shifted, glancing over his shoulder, and Emmy finally tore her eyes away to glance up at her husband with an alluring smile.

  “I think you should.”

  The corner of Connor’s mouth quirked. “Should I?”

  “Oh, believe me, I think we’d both get a lot out o—”

  Emmy gasped as a young woman in a fur-trimmed, deep blue gown joined the man at the door. An all too familiar looking woman with lively brown eyes and auburn hair, but not one she’d ever expected to meet. Certainly not under these circumstances. “Ho-ly fu…fud…fudg—geez, I’ll just say it. Holy fuck. You’re Scarlett Thomas, aren’t you?”

  Scarlett

  Dunskirk Castle

  Achenmeade, Scotland

  March 1519

  Scarlett blinked and blinked again. It’d been an eternity since she’d heard her name articulated in such a way. A combination of awe and anticipation in the two words she’d only experienced what seemed a lifetime ago. Before destiny had taken her away from a life of fame and fortune and given her a far more preferable one filled with love and laughter.

  Since such effusiveness was the last thing she’d expected when she’d followed Laird to the door, she supposed her gaping mouth and wide eyes were an equal match to those sported by the tall elegant blonde gawking at her.

  “Who are ye?” Laird demanded, his usually smooth brogue roughened with distrust. “What are ye doing here, Donell?”

  Her attention shifted by his question, Scarlett glanced from the woman to the tall, ruggedly handsome man beside her, and settled her focus on the timeless old Scotsman lingering to the side. A wild array of emotions battled for supremacy. She and Laird had often spoken of Auld Donell and what they’d do if he ever returned to Dunskirk. Options ranged from hugs and thanks for bringing them together to fleeing his presence. Or in Laird’s case, running him through with his claymore.

  Given the tangible tension radiating from her husband at the moment, Scarlett wagered he was leaning toward the latter.

  “Donell.”

  “Lass.”

  Scarlett studied him up and down. From the tips of his booted feet, up his trousers and coat to the top of his balding pate as he yanked off his herringbone newsboy and wrung the cap in his hands.

  “New tailor?” she asked, for his garb certainly wasn’t the typical Lowland dress she’d seen him in before. Or even the modern suit he’d worn the first time they’d met here at Dunskirk…five hundred years in the future.

  Another glance over Donell’s companions pinpointed a more accurate time frame for her, for there was no mistaking the style despite the warm outerwear that covered their clothes.

  “Late Victorian?” Scarlett questioned of the woman who still watched her with wide green eyes.

  She blinked then smiled engagingly. “You know your history. Yes, of late.”

  “And before that?” Scarlett pressed, eyeing the still silent Donell apprehensively. “If you know who I am, or rather was, that era couldn’t be your origination point.”

  “No, it’s not. But do you mind if we come in before I explain? It’s rather cold out here.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Please.” Scarlett nudged her husband, who stood legs braced and arms crossed over his broad chest, glowering at Donell. “Laird? Are we going to let them in? Or no?”

  Laird’s jaw clenched and unclenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “I dinnae ken. Do ye mean to bring any harm upon us, Donell? Upon my family?”

  Donell’s elfin face scrunched up. His already ruddy countenance darkened shades more up to the tips of his pointy ears. “Such mistrust. I brought ye nothing but happiness before, aye?”

  “After a fashion,” Laird conceded. “And now?”

  “I’ve but brought someone to help deliver your bairn.”

  “You’re the one?” the blonde blurted out, her eyes dropping down. “Oh, holy sh…moly.”

  Scarlett rested her hand on her distended belly with a smile then turned to Donell. “Kind of you, but I’m not due for quite some time. Oh, come in! We can at least offer you a hot drink.” She nudged Laird’s immovable shoulder. When that proved ineffective, she took his hand and gave it an insistent tug. “Let them in.”

  Laird gripped her hand in warning, then relaxed and stepped to the side. “Verra well, but if anything goes awry…”

  “I know. I know.” Scarlett shook her head in amusement as they led their guests through to the great room, where a roaring fire awaited in the massive fireplace dominating the end of the hall.

  Waving a servant over, she helped her guests shed their outer layers and handed the garments to the maid. “Please send a messenger to Lord and Lady Tarly with a request to reschedule dinner.”

  The servant bobbed a courtesy and dashed away.

  “Did we interrupt your dinner plans?”

  Her visit
or’s query held a measure of regret but Scarlett discharged the remorse immediately. “It’s fine. I don’t like them much anyway. And so much for courtesy, I didn’t even get your names yet.”

  “This is the Earl and Countess of Strathclyde,” Donell interjected before anyone could speak.

  Laird looked like he’d rather pick the old man up by his scruff and shake him than afford them any hospitality. The other man, so huge and as yet silent, seemed just as wary. Shell-shocked, but protective of his wife, his chocolate brown eyes watchful. He was ready for a fight. Scarlett, used to protective men in this time, liked him immediately.

  The woman bit her lip with a more tolerant amusement for the old man than anyone else had yet to display, and Scarlett felt an inkling of liking for her as well.

  She thrust out her hand. “I’m Scarlett.”

  “Emmy. I’m a big fan. Or was. Or is it will be?” She shook hands with strength and confidence. “I can never figure out the proper wording.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I loved you in Ventriloquist especially, though I’ll admit I wasn’t around by the time Broken Strings was released. I would’ve loved to have seen the series finale.” As if realizing she was gushing, Emmy gestured to the man beside her. “My husband, Connor.”

  Scarlett extended her hand to him as well, rather than dropping into a proper curtsey. He took it without pause and expressed his pleasure at meeting her. For all his reined distrust, Emmy had clearly educated him on the ways of modern women.

  “This is my husband, Laird.” She gave a light slap to his shoulder until with a grunt, he shook hands with their guests. A broad grin twitched her lips, but Scarlett couldn’t fully suppress it. Watching the two men size each other up was like watching the meeting of the bulls. “My apologies. I’m afraid you’ve thrown us for a bit of a loop.”

  “Ye’re no’ the only ones.” Connor gazed around the room, intelligent eyes absorbing each detail. “As my wife once so quaintly put it, when are we?”

  “The year of our Lord fifteen hundred and nineteen,” Laird supplied the date. “But I beg ye, dinnae reciprocate in kind. I dare say I’m no’ quite ready for any such knowledge just yet.”

  “Do ye hae a wee dram of yer homegrown whiskey aboot, lass?” Donell asked abruptly.

  Scarlett rolled her eyes but nodded. “I imagine you could all use a stiff drink…or two. Honestly, I could as well, but…” She patted her stomach.

  Laird poured large drams of his finest Achenmeade Scotch into a foursome of silver goblets and passed them around to everyone but her with a shrug of apology. She didn’t take offence. She still had the glass of fresh milk she’d been working on when their unexpected guests arrived waiting for her by the fire.

  “I don’t suppose many women in this…er, time know much about consuming alcohol during pregnancy?” Emmy probed with interest in her eyes.

  Ah, Scarlett realized. It was she and not Connor who Donell had brought to help. She couldn’t wait to see what Laird thought of a female doctor. If he hadn’t yet braced himself to hear what year they’d come from, he wouldn’t appreciate anything more either.

  “I’ve tried to educate,” was all she said and added a shrug. “It hasn’t taken yet. So, are you a midwife then?”

  Connor snorted into his cup then burst out laughing. The light humor softened his rugged features. “My apologies. Inside joke.”

  “I’m an OB/GYN,” Emmy explained pleasantly enough though there was a hint of tightness in the words. “Johns Hopkins.”

  Scarlett bit back a smile. An inside joke for Connor, but undoubtedly not so amusing to Emmy. She was sure the lives of Victorian woman were not so removed from medieval. No doubt she’d caused quite a stir being a real doctor.

  Their visitor wasn’t the only one to nearly spit out his drink. Laird, too, gasped and coughed. “Ye mean ye’re the doctor Donell brought us?” He jerked a thumb at Connor. “No’ him?”

  With a soft laugh, Scarlett leaned her head against Laird’s shoulder and patted his arm. “Oh, my dear, sweet chauvinist, haven’t we talked about all this many times before?”

  Laird shook his head, but a shadow of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Aye, we hae and after all this time, I’ve managed to accept the concept of gender equality.”

  She glanced up at him skeptically and he grunted.

  “Wi’ ye, at least. Aye?”

  “Aye, with me, at least.” She turned back to the others. “Well, I, for one, am glad to hear of your excellent education. This delivery may go a bit easier than the last where I had to explain the concept of sterilization to the midwife attending me.”

  “The last time?” Emmy asked.

  “We have a daughter, Hermione. She’s having her dinner, but should be down soon.”

  “Excellent Scotch,” Connor praised.

  “We distill it here at Dunskirk,” Laird responded, his voice a tad less stilted than before as his stony chill finally slipped away.

  Scarlett took in the people around her. The men, at least Laird and Connor, were beginning to warm up to each other—that is, they were actually speaking beyond grunts. Connor had chosen an excellent topic to break the ice in complimenting Laird’s whisky. Though Donell still had his nose buried deep in his cup. She turned and waved for Emmy to follow her to a grouping of furniture close to the fireplace. “I’m sorry, standing is exhausting these days.”

  “I understand completely.”

  They sat across from each other while Emmy held her hands out to the fire. “Old castles, huh? I haven’t been warm in months, I swear.”

  Scarlett smiled but it soon slipped away. She picked up her cup of lukewarm milk and took a sip. “I don’t understand why Donell would bring you so soon. Seems like a lot of trouble. I’ve a month to go. At least.”

  “So long?” Emmy assessed her as if she could see into her belly. “I’m happy to help, of course, but if Donell thought I’d be waiting around for a month… How sure are you?”

  “Well, as sure as I can be. I’m just working backward, which seemed to work accurately the first time around.”

  Emmy was all doctor now. Scarlett could see the transformation in her eyes. “And there were no issues with your first pregnancy?”

  “Other than being utterly terrified by the lack of technology the entire time?” Scarlett laughed softly and a bit harder when Emmy winced. “None of your own yet?”

  “Not yet. It’s a nerve-wrecking thought, I’ll admit. Though I’ve been assured it will all end up fine in the end.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “My grandson.”

  The very idea made Scarlett sigh. “Oh, how sweet. I wish I had such reassurance.”

  “You have Donell in your corner.”

  Both brows shot up of their own will. “As I said, I wish I had such reassurance.”

  The quip made Emmy laugh, her green eyes alight with amusement once more. “You don’t know what to make of him either?”

  “How can I when he never stays around long enough to ask?”

  “Yet he’s been here forever, right?”

  “Right.”

  They shared a knowing look.

  “Listen, Scarlett…” Emmy’s voice dropped to a low whisper, low enough the men wouldn’t hear. “Donell said something outside that’s bothering me. I was saying something along the lines of how we’re his little projects…”

  “Yes.” She’d often felt like one.

  “He said…well, he said you were the project.”

  Scarlett frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m not sure.” Emmy cast a sidelong glance at Donell. “I would like to examine you, though, if you’re comfortable with it. I don’t want to alarm you, but Donell seemed to think you’d need more help with this delivery than might be available in this…well, time.”

  Panic chased away the last traces of amusement or even confusion. Scarlett’s hands fell reflexively to her stomach once more. “Is there
something wrong with my baby?”

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It could be something as simple as a breech or the need for a cesarean. Both of which I’ve done beyond the twenty-first century, if knowing eases your mind at all.”

  “You think that’s all?” Scarlett asked hopefully, but wasn’t hedging her bets.

  For all Donell liked to stick his nose into people’s business, it wasn’t like him to be intentionally helpful when the situation didn’t suit him. Otherwise he would’ve sent Emmy for “assistance” the first time around. Or helped save one of the countless lives lost over the years. Not just babies or children, but some closer to home, including Rhys’s lover, Willem, who’d recently died of a fever.

  Was she to be next?

  “Seriously, don’t stress it.” Emmy laid a comforting hand on her arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle or I wouldn’t be here, right?”

  “Right.”

  Emmy patted her arm again. Her uncertainty must have been evident. “I’ve never lost a baby. Even under conditions worse than this.”

  In the face of the doctor’s calm, steady reassurance, a measure of Scarlett’s worry melted away. It was comforting to know there was someone around who knew more about modern childbirth than she did for a change. “Good to know.”

  “Still, you’ve got a point. A month does seem a rather prolonged prep time.”

  Scarlett’s eyes widened with distress. “Um, Emmy, I don’t think it’ll be a month.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I think my water just broke.” The admission was barely a whisper, choked by shock. A tremor worked its way out from the core of her chest, radiating through her body.

  Emmy glared at Donell across the room. “That old fart. He knew and said nothing. I oughta—”

  “Perhaps berating him can wait?”

  Scarlett’s wince drew Emmy’s attention. She hopped to her feet but quickly dropped down to her knees next to Scarlett. “Are you in pain? Contractions?”

  “No, not really. Just uncomfortable all of the sudden.”

  With calm efficiency, Emmy hauled Scarlett to her feet. “No problem. Just breathe. Let’s get you to your bed so I can do a quick examination, okay?”