A Laird to Hold by Angeline Fortin (best feel good books .txt) 📗

whispered. “I dinnae ken I’ll be able to sleep at all wi’oot ye by me side.”

Scarlett knew she wouldn’t be able to fully rest either but didn’t confess to it. Laird needed this time to move freely whether either of them liked it or not. “Maybe I’ll come tomorrow night. For a short while.”

Laird sealed the promise with a hard kiss that radiated all the way down to her toes. Then brushed his lips across their little bairn’s head.

“Take Hermione,” she told him. “She needs to expel some energy, too. She’s about to burst. Like father, like daughter.”

He nodded then gathered the sleeping toddler in his arms. With her draped against one shoulder, he picked up his sheath and sword with the other hand. Amid a chorus of goodbyes, he gave one last regretful smile before he followed the others to the door.

“Be careful out there,” Scarlett called after him.

He paused and grinned at her in that roguish manner that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

“I’m always careful.”

“I humbly disagree.” She couldn’t help but smile though. “But try, will you?”

Laird smiled once more but made no promises. When he was gone, silence fell without the peaceful descent she’d anticipated. Instead of the alone time she’d thought she needed to relax her, the quiet grew oppressive. Someone had thought to turn off the TV so the only sounds were her deep breaths mixing with the baby’s and the muted traffic both outside and in the halls. That, and her endless analysis of everything that could possibly go wrong echoing through her mind.

She tried to mediate. Breathing in and out slowly, trying to focus only on that alone, but the negative oppression wouldn’t leave her. For a long while she sat motionless expecting something to happen. She didn’t know what had her so antsy, but Scarlett felt in her bones something was waiting on the horizon.

Good or bad, she wasn’t sure.

Though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t, Scarlett pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed Tyrone’s number. Better safe than sorry.

* * *

They left the hospital in mixed pairs to slip unnoticed around the  group of reporters still lingering in the reception area. Once reassembled outside, Hugh led the way to his car, lamenting the absence of something called a car seat for Hermione. But then, they’d all hardly fit if they had one. As it was, it would be a cramped ride to the hotel in Old Town Edinburgh south of the castle.

They piled into the SUV.

A man sat in a car nearby, curious how the group left the hospital in greater numbers than when they’d arrived. Who were the newcomers? What did their presence mean? Why were they at the hospital at all?

He tapped a finger against the barrel of the gun lying across his lap as he considered his options.

Act now or learn more?

Picking up the pistol, he aimed it out the open driver’s side window. First at one man in the group, then another. Then one of the women. His finger itched to pull the trigger as he imagined the headlines once the truth was out.

Small reward for what he’d suffered.

He squinted down the barrel then paused. Trading the gun for his binoculars, he zoomed in on them. And the child with them.

In the short time it took him to mull over the elasticity of his moral fabric, the SUV left the parking lot. With a curse, he turned the ignition intent on following them, then looked back at the hospital. It took only a moment to decide there was a much better way to find out what he needed to know.

Hugh

Hugh led the way into the Kirkyard Hotel. His guests followed in varying stages of wonder. While he purposefully chose a hotel housed in an older building, the seventeenth century structure was still more modern than fifty percent of them were accustomed to. The old-world décor more in tune with Connor and Emmy’s time.

Still, the dark paneled walls and heavy furnishings weren’t as shocking to Laird and Rhys as the evening wear displayed by some of the ladies lingering in the lobby, waiting for tables at one of the restaurants. Great expanses of bare feminine legs weren’t something they’d had a chance to encounter at the hospital.

At the front desk, he gathered up keys for the extra rooms he’d reserved. The electronic key cards would no doubt raise a dozen questions. Hugh chuckled at the thought, remembering how incessantly inquisitive he had been when he’d first roamed Claire’s compact townhouse in Spokane.

What is this? What is that? Why? Why? Why?

He still did the same thing sometimes, when he came across something new. He’d studied hard to acclimate to this time, to fit in, but surprises still came his way. Laird, Rhys, and Connor had displayed none of the same curiosity in Hugh’s presence, as yet. Not about the car he drove or the more modern buildings they’d passed. Not one of them had played with the controls for the windows.

Either they had more self-control than he, or Scarlett and Emmy had done a thorough job of preparing them for the future.

Hugh wished he’d had any preparation at all. Hearing how they’d met and married their spouses had been a revelation to him. Not at all like his experience. He had to wonder why.

“There you are, Mr. Urquhart.” The front desk clerk handed him the keys with a smile. “The rooms are all connected as you requested.”

“My thanks.”

“Oh and I have a message for you.”

“A message?” He looked to Claire. They hadn’t told anyone where they’d be.

He unfolded it and read the short missive with a frown.

“Who’s it from?” his wife asked curiously.

“My publisher,” he answered.