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

No gentlewoman of his acquaintance, not even his Queen, was all those things.  Not even his sisters who, while intelligent, could hardly read, or write beyond their own signature.  Scarlett was completely unlike any woman he had ever come across.  Few stations in life educated women so well.  Few vocations.  Bitter bile burned at the back of his throat. “If she is for the church…”

“Then ye maun hae something new to confess at matins tomorrow,” Rhys said with a grin as he clucked his tongue lightly.  “Lusting after a nun, Laird?  There maun be some sort of sin against that.”

“She isnae a nun,” James felt compelled to say, even knowing that the slightest argument would do little more than confirm his growing attraction to the lass.

“Save it for the confessional, brother.”

“Why do ye insist on bedeviling me?”

“I take a great deal of joy from it, actually.”

“I thank ye for an entertaining evening, my dear Scarlett,” Rhys said, lifting her hand to his lips.  “Yer by far the most diverting captive I hae ever taken.”

“Have there been so many?” Scarlett teased, quenching her thirst with a large swallow of wine, wishing it were water instead.

“More than ye would imagine, I’d wager.”

Her lips twitched.  “My, my, Rhys, you didn’t strike me as the bondage sort.”

His wicked grey eyes narrowed as if he were gauging her meaning and the corner of his mouth tilted up attractively.  “Is that an offer?”

Scarlett laughed at that, lifting her cup in silent salute.  Before she could summon a witty retort however, a curious warmth glided over her and without looking, she knew Laird was behind her.

“Yer in good humor.”

Already flushed with exertion, Scarlett’s cheeks warmed even more under the banked desire in his eyes.  “I had more fun than I thought I would.  Perhaps I should turn my efforts to the stage.”

It was true.  Though she doubted that the grand design for her time traveling adventure – assuming there was a reason to this madness at all – was to provide endless entertainment in medieval Scotland.  If it were, Scarlett wouldn’t be the one to throw a monkey wrench into the cosmic design, at least when it came to a performance that was as distracting for her as it was diverting for them.

“I thought ye already had.”

“A more intimate venue,” she amended, not wanting to get into the different avenues for actors in her time.

“Aye, intimate,” Rhys drawled in a suggestive brogue.  “I was just telling Scarlett how interested we are in what more she might offer.”

More of what she had to offer?

That roguish question – Laird’s, not Rhys’ – was back like a wrecking ball, shattering Scarlett’s composure to bits.  Though not a single smile had graced Laird’s lips during her performance, she’d been all too aware that he had watched her intently.  Her nerves had been thrumming like the steady rhythm of a Tardis all night, though she was professional enough to disguise her jumpiness.

Was he flirting with her?  Was he serious?  She wished she knew.

Laird’s brow furrowed tightly as he leveled a dark scowl on his brother.  “Yer no’ as amusing as ye think ye are, brother.”

Rhys cast her a wink.  “Aye, I am.  ‘Tis getting late.  Can I escort ye to yer rooms, my dear?”

“Than –”

“I will see to her,” Laird grumbled and turned away as if he expected her to follow.  Scarlett waited until he turned back impatiently.

“If it’s a choice between being escorted and seen to, I’d rather have the escort.”

Rhys chuckled but Laird only sighed impatiently and offered her his arm.  Scarlett slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, immediately second-guessing her testy command.  Already shaken by his proximity, touching him made her all the more conscious of his raw masculinity.  Through his fine linen shirt, she could feel the heat of his flesh and the bulge of his bicep beneath her fingers.  Against the back of her hand, the brush of his torso caressed with every step.

“I’d like to thank ye for being so kind to Aileen,” he said as they climbed the stairs.  “She’s had little to find joy in of late.”

“That’s no problem.  She’s a sweet girl.”

“Aye, she is.”  Laird fell silent once more but Scarlett wasn’t surprised.  He wasn’t much for conversation.  It was more of a shock when he spoke again.  “The usual entertainment at Crichton is a bard Lady Ishbel retains.  She’s determined to get her penny’s worth from him.  Having heard him but once, I dinnae believe that is going to happen.”

Scarlett’s jaw sagged.  Was he making a joke?  Stoic, serious Laird trying to be funny?  “Glad I could help then.  I suppose it’s a good thing Lady Ishbel didn’t join us for dinner.”

“She was abed wi’ a sick headache,” he told her as they stopped at Scarlett’s chamber door.  “Remarkably, they come upon her each time I visit.”

Another joke, as self-depreciating as it was.  She wavered, wondering at the change in him.  Perhaps, maybe Laird was just a wee bit likeable after all.  “An amazing coincidence.”

With just the light of a single sconce in the hall, the stillness felt more intimate than uncomfortable.  Still, she couldn’t look at him.  “Well, goodnight.”

“Scarlett.”  His hand covered hers as she reached for the door latch. “Ye should be wary of Rhys.  He has a reputation among the ladies at court.”

Scarlett snorted skeptically.  “Oh, I doubt that.”

She looked up and up again past his powerful chest, noticing again just how huge he was.  Just how delicate he made her feel.  How feminine.  How the flames licking at his steely eyes radiated toward her.

“I don’t think that will be a problem.”  Instead of the sarcasm she had intended, the words emerged breathlessly.

Laird’s warning was laughable.  It would be more appropriate to warn her of the danger Laird himself posed to her.  Rhys was more handsome than any man had the right to be but he couldn’t rouse her desires the way Laird could