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

pee,” she said bluntly, not about to assure him again and again that she wasn’t going to run.  “If you can’t provide a room with a door, I at least want a tree with a nice, fat trunk to hide behind.”

It might have been humor but more likely irritation that flashed in his eyes before Laird turned and impatiently strode toward a small stand of beech trees farther upstream.  Scarlett limped along behind him, continuing past him when he stopped.  Determined to leave all eyes behind at least for a few moments.

“No' too far.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes heavenward at the warning and signaled him off with a wave of her arm, fighting off the urge to lift a more specific finger.  He probably wouldn’t understand the meaning anyway and Scarlett wasn’t generally one for outward gestures of profanity.  One never knew when the paparazzi might be around just in time to capture the moment.

Like the moment Scarlett Thomas was forced to pee in the woods like a bear.  Thank God they couldn’t see her now.

Digging into her bag, Scarlett searched for her packet of travel tissues and paused when her fingers touched the cool metal barrel of the handgun.  Should she use it to get away?  Now was her chance with only Laird nearby.  But no, the larger problem remained.  Where would she go if she freed herself?

Where could she go?

“Hurry on now, lass,” Laird called.  “We’ve things to do.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” Scarlett muttered under her breath as she reemerged from the trees and made for the shore of the nearby stream.

“Lass,” he barked.

“Go on if you’re in such a rush,” she snapped back and knelt beside the water to wash her hands before splashing some more on her face and the back of her neck.  She felt as grimy as a rodeo bronc rider just thrown from his horse and was about as sore as she imagined one might be.  Cupping her hands, she drank the clear sweet water thirstily.

“Lass…”  A big hand enclosed around her upper arm and Scarlett’s frustration burst into temper.

“Come on!” she yelled at him, standing to face him as she jerked her arm away.  “What is the freakin’ rush?  Can’t a girl go to the bathroom and get a drink of water around here in peace?  What is so pressing out here in the hills that it just can’t wait?”

Laird lifted a brow and looked down.  Scarlett followed his gaze to the bloated leather bag he was holding out to her.  It looked like… “Oh.”

“To quench yer thirst.”

“Uh, thank you.”  A flush warmed her cheeks.  “Sorry.  I’ve just had a really bad day so far, you know?  I don’t normally lose my temper like that.”

“Hae a drink then.”

“What is it?  Water?”  Probably not, from what she had read.  What did they drink in medieval Scotland?  “Ale?”

“Aqua vitae.  Made by our local friar.”

That didn’t ring any bells and Scarlett looked at him blankly.

“Whiskey,” he clarified, the word rolling off his tongue in a brogue thick with appreciation.  “However Rhys is likely to hae wine, if ye prefer it.”

“I appreciate the offer but I’m not much of a drinker.”  Scarlett eyed the canteen dubiously.  It was kind of like the swearing.  Never knowing who might be watching had made her rather straight-laced.

“Try it,” he urged, holding it out again.  “I promise ye, ‘twill carry yer woes away.”

“That’s highly unlikely.”  But Scarlett considered the bag once more.  Being woe-free sounded pretty damn good right then.   “Oh, what the hell.  If it will numb the madness of be carried through ti… the wilderness, I’ll give it a try.”  Taking the bag, she lifted it to her lips and took a good long drink.  Dragging in a deep breath, Scarlett shuddered as the burn of alcohol hit her gut and radiated through her.  “Wow.  I mean, wow.”  Through watery eyes, she saw Laird’s pale eyes twinkling with humor though his expression was as solemn as ever.  He reached for the bag, but Scarlett turned her shoulder to him and lifted it to her lips once more before handing it back.  “What a nightmare that stuff is.”

“And yet, already yer far more amiable.”

Scarlett bit back a snort.  “Ha, if that’s how that stuff works, you should drink up.”

The corner of Laird’s mouth kicked up in a boyish grin that softened the severe scowl that he had been wearing since she first met him.  His white teeth stood in stark contrast to his tanned skin and that short, scruffy beard.  If he had been attractive before, that touch of humor made him devastatingly gorgeous.

Holy Handsomeness Batman!  He was just plain hot.

His gaze never left hers as he tipped up the bag.  The muscles in his neck strained and shifted as he took a short swallow but Scarlett shook her head.  “No, keep drinking.  I think it’ll take way more than that to make you more ‘amiable’.”

His eyes glittered with humor but he upended the bag again.

8

 

Back at camp, Laird left her by the campfire and disappeared into the woods.  One of his men, turning meat on a spit over the flames, offered to fix her a plate but Scarlett wasn’t hungry.  Even if she had been, the hard bread and inconsistently charred yet bloody meat the men were eating would have only turned her stomach.

Instead she cradled the skin of whiskey close as if the warm bag and its contents offered all the comfort and security of her childhood Teddy bear.

Scarlett snorted at the thought and took another long pull from the bag.  How appalling.  There was nothing quite as pathetic as wallowing in self-pity.  She grinned crookedly.  Ha!  It was a good thing then that she was choosing to indulge in the pleasant buzz of alcohol instead.  No doubt she would be horribly hung over the next day but even with as much of a ‘nightmare’ the whiskey was, her life was fast becoming a bigger one.  She had no idea how she had gotten herself into this