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

him.  Wanting nothing more than to cross that hall and take the lass for his own.  To feel that lithe body against his once more.

He’d known the moment they were alone in the room that he should get out of there before something untoward happened.  The luscious scent of her, sweet yet spicy, had wafted about him the whole of the day and he had been reluctant to leave her.  Despite the effect she had on him.

It was baffling to be so put off by a woman’s manner and still want her so.  Why?  James didn’t like her.  She didn’t like him.  But there was something about her that provoked him, something that challenged him.   It was similar to the taste of a battle stirring, the anticipation of meeting one’s opponent face to face on the field of battle.  But it wasn’t a sword of iron he wished to be armed with.  Such unseemly thoughts had distracted him through matins and even lingered upon his return to the great hall.

Bah. Responsibility and duty awaited him.  A true battle where life and limb would be at stake.  He didn’t have time for such nonsense when he should be focused on the matter at hand.  Even if war were not looming, he would do best to avoid her, treat her like the genteel captive she was until he could ascertain her identity and discover her true purpose for being at Dunskirk.

“Good morn, Laird,” Rhys called sunnily, joining James at the table in the great hall where James and Patrick had spent the morning pouring over the King’s declaration. Men and messengers had come and gone as the hours passed.  There was much to consider and more to do before they left Crichton.

“Don’t call me that,” James muttered by rote and glanced down at his brother’s rumpled kilt and linen, unchanged since their journey.   “Yer in annoying good cheer this morn.  I dinnae see ye at matins this morn nor were ye aboot when I broke my fast.  Where did ye rest yer head last night that it kept ye from yer porridge and ale?”

Rhys laughed, slapping James on the shoulder as he slouched down in one of the two massive chairs at the head of the table.  “In a far more restful place than ye apparently.  How is our captive this morning?”

James scowled at the implication.  “I wouldnae ken as I hae yet to see her since last night.  Nor does she confide in me.  She doesnae even like me, in truth.”

“I wouldnae take it personally.  No one likes ye, Laird.”

That had James scowling even more for his brother’s words were not entirely untrue.  He knew well enough that there were few in residence at Crichton who cared for his presence.  If not for his father’s favor, he would not even be welcome there as Lady Ishbel openly scorned him when he was present as she had for the score and seven years of his life.  Her unwavering malice was the reason he spent so little time at Crichton, even though his own tower was only partially habitable.

Of late, he’d done little more than travel the countryside or stay at Court until Rhys had brought word of the Lindsay’s raid on Dunskirk.  Such forays weren’t unusual between feuding clans on the border but James had welcomed the distraction from his tedium.  Even if the result was an even larger – if not more sightly – one.

“What are we to do wi’ the lass now, Laird?”

James frowned.  “What do ye mean?”

“Mother dinnae ken who she is.  I wouldnae thought it possible,” Rhys said.  “I would hae sworn she kent every marriageable female in the whole bluidy country.  We dinnae ken who she is a’tall, and ‘truth, wi’ a battle brewing in the days ahead, I dinnae believe ransoming her now to be an option.”

The same concern had niggled at the back of his mind all morning.

What was he to do with Scarlett now?  When now so much more was on the line?  Send her back to her people?  He didn’t even know who they were.

“What are ye suggesting?  That we set her free?

Rhys shook his head.  “Nay, we dinnae yet ken if she spies for England.  Recall her claim of friendship to the queen.  Wi’ this change of events, any suspicion maun be taken seriously.”

“If she is a spy, she’s done a piss poor job of it,” James said, recalling Scarlett’s words at Dunskirk.  “Do ye think her so senseless that she would admit her association wi’ the Queen if she were?  Ye said yerself, she is a clever one.”

“So ye dinnae think her a spy?”

“Nay, she asked me last night where we meant to invade England,” James told him.  “As clever as she is, I believe she would be better a better spy than to ask straight out if she were planning to betray us.”

Rhys laughed heartily at that.  “True enough.  She made nae effort to fit in, to talk or act as a lowlander.  Also, what intelligence did she hope to find at Dunskirk or from us?  There are far superior opportunities for a spy.”

“It makes little sense.”

“Little aboot her does.”

James couldn’t disagree with that.

“Unless she kent the King would be coming here,” Rhys said, thinking aloud.  “Perhaps she has been sent to assassinate him.”

A moment of silence, then Rhys laughed while a smile found its way to James’ lips.  “Nay, she is no murderer.”

“But she is hiding something.  I cannae deny it.  She willnae speak true but there is something…” James paused, shaking his head but the answer did not immediately come to him.  “She is frightened.  No’ of us. I dinnae ken exactly but it is there.”

“What do ye propose to do wi’ her then?”

James shrugged.  “Soon the truth will out as it always does.  We will keep her close at hand to deter her from trading in secrets if that is her intent.”

“Close at hand, eh?  How close exactly?”

“As close as a prisoner maun be kept.  Now