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

between his brows as Laird took a deep breath and looked away, lifting himself further before rising to his feet to tower above her.  He should have looked absurd standing there in nothing but his long linen shirt and thickly knit stockings, but with the front of his shirt untied and skewed, baring his broad chest, and his bulging thighs on display below the hem, Scarlett was certain any girl in the world wouldn’t have a thought beyond wishing they were gone as well.

“I assure ye it wisnae ye I was thinking of, lass.”

“Of course not,” she shot back, offended again much as she had been the previous night by his gruff, dismissive words.  “No more than I was thinking of you.”

He shot her a brief inscrutable look before snatching up his plaid from the ground.

A flash of light caught Scarlett’s attention as it was pulled away.  On the ground lay a long sword, a Claymore sheathed in a stiff leather casing.  The beaming rays of the rising sun winked off three gleaming stones punctuating the ends of the pommel and cross guard of the hilt as if to say ‘Hey there, girl, don’t I know you?’.

Her throat tightened around a soundless gasp and any lingering desire that warmed her body crystallized into icy dread.

Yes, she did know that sword.

“Oh my God!  Where did you get that?”

Still in full-on frown mode, Laird only pulled on his boots before picking up his belt and buckling it around his plaid.  Turning his back, he began to pleat the plaid into folds beneath it.

“Laird! Where did you get this?”

Scrambling to her feet, Scarlett tried to lift the weapon but it was even heavier than she remembered and the sheathed tip remained on the ground.  Laird took it from her with a shrug, slinging the scabbard over his shoulder so that the sword hung down his back.  “I always sleep wi’ it wi’in arms’ length.  For my own protection.  I dinnae require such protection from a wee lass like ye, if that was yer thought.”

Turning, Laird began kicking his men awake, commanding them to arise so they might be off.  Scarlett ran after him, stepping over male bodies grumbling with displeasure.

“It wasn’t.  But where did you get it?”  She might not have killed him in his sleep but she was mighty tempted to do so now if he didn’t give her an answer.  Scarlett caught his arm insistently, forcing him to stop and look at her.  “Where did you get it?  Did you steal it?  From the castle?”

Laird turned on her.  A menacing scowl darkened his expression, his eyes flaring with anger.  “Ye dare impugn my honor?”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at his machismo, Scarlett shook her head.  “No, of course not.  It’s just…”  Uncertainty and apprehension stalled her words.  “Damn it, Laird, please tell me where you got it!”

“It was a gift.”

“A gift?  From who?” Scarlett pressed, feeling almost frantic now to learn where he had gotten it.  The first link she’d discovered between his time and hers.  Unfortunately, it was like pulling teeth from an angry grizzly to get a word from him that morning.  He wouldn’t even stand still.  She felt like a fool trotting after him.  “Laird, please!  Can I just look at it?”

He glanced over his shoulder, lifting that dubious brow she had seen so much of the previous day.  “Oh please.  I’m not going to stab you.”

In a whisper of a moment, Laird unsheathed the sword and leveled it at her so quickly, Scarlett jumped back in surprised.  Just as quickly, he flipped the blade so that the hilt was extended toward her.  Her hand trembled slightly but then so did her shallow breaths as Scarlett skimmed her fingertips across the smooth amber stones at the hilt.

It was just like the one she had seen displayed in the gallery at Dunskirk Castle though it was not at all tarnished but shiny and new.  Scarlett recalled the flare of light that had blinded her when she touched it.  The shocking heat and the thin slice of her skin.  She ran her fingertips along the blade again, hoping for a miracle, but nothing happened.

Her heart sank.

“A gift?”

From who?  An ancient, mystical being who had endowed it with magical powers?  A wizard?  Oh!  Maybe it was a portkey!  No, that couldn’t be it.  Portkeys didn’t send people through time.

Neither did they exist.  Scarlett knew that Ms. Rowling’s wizarding world and all the magic created in it weren’t real beyond the hearts of her devoted fans, but it would explain a lot.

“The king,” Laird answered gruffly.   “The auld king.  My grandfather.  He granted me his name, this sword, and my title and lands the day I was born.”

A king?  That was it?  Scarlett was disappointed as Laird slid the weapon back it its scabbard and turned away.  Disappointed that there wasn’t something more informative for her to work with.

Still, somehow that sword had to be the key to her arrival in this place.  It could also be the key back home.

Which meant that Laird was the key.

Suddenly being stuck to his side was right where Scarlett was meant to be.  She just had to find a way to stay close.

The memory of him pressed hard against her backside heated her blood once again.

Close, yes, but not too close.

“Break yer fast in haste, lads,” Laird barked as he strode away. “I would reach Crichton before the sun sets this day.”

“Good morn to ye, Scarlett,” Rhys greeted her as she returned to the camp from her short trip upstream.

Scarlett grunted with a curl of her lip, which only made him smile more widely.  That Rhys was a perverse sadist, she decided crabbily.  And a morning person to boot.

After retrieving her bag and walking not more than a few steps from the camp, the effects of the previous day had caught up with her all too quickly.  Her bottom and thighs ached after a day on horseback.  Her back and