Taken by Angeline Fortin (great books of all time TXT) 📗

“Aye, well she dinnae ken ye well, does she?”

“Nay, she dinnae.”

James looked back over his shoulder at his captive who was testing the bounds of the ropes at her wrists.  His clever men had tied them to a torch sconce on the tower wall, allowing her little room for movement.  “What do ye think of her, brother?”

Rhys turned to look as well, his expression filled with speculation.  “Clearly she’s a lady.  Despite her lack of proper speech, clothing… and hair.”  James lifted a brow and nodded.  Aye, there was that.  “She’s soft as a pampered bairn’s bottom.  I’d lay wager she’s nae before spent a day at labor or in the sun a’tall.  She’s more clever than most ladies, as well, me thinks.”

James nodded again.  Aye, there was no doubt about that.  Despite the madness of her words, he could fairly see the wheels spinning in the lass’s head with each word she spoke.  Puzzling her way out of her predicament much as he was considering the mystery she presented.

He knew not who she was or who her people were.  She denied the Lindsay name.  ‘Struth that was about all he had garnered from her odd speech.  Nor could he determine her reason or purpose in walking about the castle unsuitably clothed as she was… or why she was at Dunskirk at all.  A raid was no place for a woman.

That she hadn’t yet been quelled by his stare or fainted at his feet under his admittedly rough treatment of her person troubled him.

And she had put him on his knees as well!

“She nigh tore the thumb from my hand,” he admitted, absently pressing his thumb downward as she had.  How had she known how to cause such astonishing pain by holding him thusly? He, a seasoned warrior, had no idea how to induce such agony in such a simple fashion.

“Bloodied yer nose as well,” his brother said with a grin and James swiped at his nose impatiently.  Rhys went on.  “She had skill enough to free herself from my hold, too.  Where does a well-bred lass learn such a thing?  For what purpose?”

“I dinnae ken nor do I ken what she thought to do next.  If she had loosened her hold, I would hae killed her wi’ my bare hands.”  Still as they watched their captive from across the yard, James felt a grudging respect for the lass.  He’d not admit it aloud but she had bested him handily.  “Me thinks she is no’ from Scotland a’tall,” he said.  “I dinnae ken her speech.  Her accent is most odd.  France?  Even Spain, mayhap?”

“Mayhap.  Why would ye think that?”

“She says she knows the Queen.”

“Margaret?” Rhys raised his brows in surprise.  “One of her ladies?  And I thought I knew them all.”

“Nay, no’ Margaret,” James corrected with a grimace.  “Catherine.  The bluidy queen regent of England.”

Rhys whistled and looked over his shoulder at their hostage once more with fresh interest.  “’Struth, ye think?”

“I cannae say,” James admitted, hating to admit his lack of certainty.  “Nor do a know what to do wi’ her.”

“I say we cart her back to Father,” Rhys suggested.  “If he cannae find out who she is, Mother will surely know.”

James sneered at the recommendation.  “I am my own laird.  This problem is my own.”

“Lindsay is our sworn rival.  If she is theirs, ‘tis a problem for the whole clan,” Rhys reasoned.  “If she is a Sassenach, ‘tis a problem for our king.  If she is simply mad….  Is she?”

“Why dinnae ye go find out?” James grumbled.  “Yer the bluidy nice one.”

With her hands tied in front of her and bound to the iron sconce, Scarlett couldn’t get to her bag which now hanging down her back despite several attempts to swing it forward.  She could reach her dress pocket for her phone, however, and was surprised that they hadn’t thought to take it from her right away.

Scarlett quickly dialed Tyrone’s number and pressed send, holding the phone as furtively to her ear as she could manage. Nothing but silence.  Not a ring or even his voicemail.  That was odd, since her agent never turned off his phone.  He even left it on when he was in bed with a woman, which was how Scarlett had so inopportunely found out about his fling with her mother.

Thinking to redial and try again, Scarlett glanced down at her screen and noticed that there was no service.  Not even one bar.  Damn!  Of all the times to have no coverage.

Noticing that the men set to guard her were watching her strangely, Scarlett slipped the phone back into her pocket.  On an afterthought, she powered down the phone as well.  If she were to try again later on, she didn’t want to have drained her battery down as it would when constantly searching for a signal.

That baffling Laird guy who had attacked her in the castle was yelling out orders to the other men who hurried here and there, bringing out horses and loading them down with a collection of arms and shields like those she had seen in the exhibit.  Watching them, realization dawned.  Was that it then?  Were they just a bunch of thieves?

Where was everyone then, she wondered once more?  Surely someone had heard the raucous even from the other side of the castle?  Or had they been somehow subdued?

“Are ye well, lady?”

Shading her eyes against the setting sun, Scarlett narrowed her gaze on the brother as he approached.  Rhys, the Laird guy had called him.  “Yes, thank you, but I’d be so much better if y’all would just let me go.”

“I’m afraid I cannae do that,” he said with mock sorrow to match her light sarcasm.  “Even though I am the nice one.  I thank ye for that compliment, by the by.”

Scarlett shrugged, drawing his eye to the bindings on her wrists as the rope attaching her to the sconce swayed.  “Being told you’re the