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

His upcoming novel reminiscing his many conversations with David Hume, Frederick the Great and François-Marie Arouet, known by most in this time by his nom de plume, Voltaire, as a work of fiction was set to be released in the spring. His publisher had been hounding him as if the event were happening the following week. “I’ll return his call down here while all of ye head to the rooms and get settled.”

He dealt out the key cards and watched them head to the elevators. A part of him would regret witnessing their reactions when the doors closed. His first encounter with a lift had been horrifying.

With a sigh, he turned on his heel and headed not for the public phones but to one of the hotel bars called The Whisky Room. A more apt place to meet his visitor, Hugh couldn’t imagine. The sight of the old man at the end of the bar hunched over a tankard of ale was one he’d seen a dozen times or more. Three hundred years before.

Donell pushed back his cap when Hugh took the barstool next to him. His ruddy face wrinkled. Little tufts of gray hair stood out over his pointy ears, but his eyes were like those of a child. Lively and impish. “Ye got my message then.”

“Aye, though I’m curious why ye asked me to come alone.”

The elfin old sot took a long pull on his ale before answering. He did seem to get some perverse pleasure out of making people wait. “I wanted to hae a chat wi’ ye wi’oot the others’ ceaseless badgering. I truly dinnae expect ye here, ye ken?”

“But now that I am, perhaps ye can explain to me why my story is such a far cry from the others.”

“Aye, I suppose I should hae done it long ago. ‘Tis one of my greatest regrets.”

Still, rather than giving Hugh the satisfaction of producing an immediate explanation, Donell buried his nose in his tankard once more. Exasperated, Hugh lifted a finger to draw the bartender’s attention and ordered his favorite rye shaken neat.

It wasn’t until he’d taken his first sip that Donell came up for air, dragging the back of his hand across his lips with a lusty sigh.

“Well?”

“Well it ‘twould be easiest to blame yer wife, to be sure.”

“Sorcha? How would she be to blame?”

“Getting her to come aboot took longer than I anticipated,” Donell confessed, then ordered a refill on his ale.

“Come aboot to what?”

“Yer Claire’s no’ the sort of lass ye can just drop the perfect man in front of and expect her to gi’ in to the throes of love, ye ken? No’ in the state she was in at the time,” the old man explained.

The state she was in at the time they met held no mystery for Hugh even as ambiguous as the description was. When he’d first met her, she’d been in full mourning for her first husband. Closed off completely from any sort of romantic relationship or even a physical one. Though she’d come around eventually, he had no doubt if he’d tried to pick her up in a bar like this one in the beginning, she would have dismissed him without a second look.

“Aye, ye see it?” Donell stared at him over the brim of his mug, blue eyes light with humor. “Ye always were a clever lad. And she a stubborn lass. She needed a reason to risk her heart once more. A cause.”

Aye, and he’d made an excellent one. His soft-hearted lass couldn’t bear the sight of him caged like a beast. While she hadn’t been the one to free him, she’d been there to save his life and help him find freedom.

“I regret it took so long to see ye free after I arranged for yer—er, shall we say extraction—from yer own time.”

“Ye dropped that portal in front of me then?” Hugh pressed. “Did ye hae a hand in building the time portal Dr. Fielding was working on?”

Donell rocked his open hand from side to side. “’Tis a gray area. What I cannae do on my own, I can provide a nudge of inspiration to accomplish what needs to be done. I befriended one of the scientists, a bonny wee lass named Al, much as I had yer Claire. I slipped Al a few hints here and there to help them along.”

“Ye put a wicked weapon in the hands of an immoral man.”

“For a short time, aye. Though it ne’er truly worked properly for them. Only when I’d fiddle wi’ it when I needed it,” Donell told him. “Should gi’ ye comfort to know it’s been destroyed. Regrettably all the research to rebuild it is gone as well and the lass who’d come up with the key component nae longer there to help them.”

“The blonde lass who was there in the lab when I first came through? She’s the one?”

“Good guess, lad. Ye always were a bright one.”

“What happened to her?” Hugh probed. “Was she part of yer plan too?”

“Nay, regrettably accidents do happen. In this case, for the best.” He chuckled into his cup again. “I gave Al the option of coming back, but she refused. Seems she’s content wi’ making yer cousin a happy man.”

“Keir? She married Keir?” Shock riddled with humor had a bubble of laughter bursting forth. “He’s a rogue of the first order. Are ye saying he’s been hooked?”

“Fell in love, lad,” Donell corrected. “Tumbled, more like. Seems she makes the burden of bearing the dukedom more tolerable.”

The idea stunned Hugh, but pleased him nevertheless. He’d missed his cousin terribly these last months, worried for him and his future as Duke of Ross. Keir had never wanted the title, hounding Hugh again and again to produce an heir of his own.

“He is contented then?”

“Aye.”

“And my sisters?”