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

“Listen, mate, they’re just good, decent people. A little out of touch, maybe. Old-fashioned like they’ve been living in a vacuum or some—”

“How old-fashioned?” his client interrupted. “Explain.”

Jack frowned. “I don’t know exactly. The way they talk, some of the terms they use. Like they’re out of a Shakespearean play or something. Listen, mate, I don’t know what you expected to find, but there’s nothing else I can give you other than to confirm that all the headlines are true.”

The headlines of all the gossip rags had spelled it out in bold black letters for weeks. Thomas’s secret marriage. Secret love child. Secret life. He hadn’t learned much more than that. Not really, other than to discover what kind and lovely people they all were. And he wasn’t about to share those intimate moments he’d witnessed. Not with this arse.

“I want more, dammit!”

“Then you’ll have to find someone else to get it for you.” Jack pushed a fat envelope down the bar toward him. “I’ve decided not to take your case.”

It pained him to say it. This had been his big chance as a private investigator. A high-profile case dealing with one of the most famous people on the face of God’s green earth.

But the moment that handsome ginger had looked at him, all Jack’s good intentions had become better, more decent ones.

Oh, he’d tried to work the commission professionally. Hefty bread and honey were involved, after all. More quid than he’d seen all year were stuffed in that envelope. Unfortunately, he’d come to care for Rhys and the others more than a stack of pound notes.

And far, far more than he liked his client. Information about them most assuredly wouldn’t be used for a noble purpose by a tosser like him.

“You already took it.” The man shoved the envelope back.

Jack smoothly pushed it away again without a twinge of regret. “Then I’m un-taking it. I like Rhys.” Too much, which was part of the issue here. “I’ll not spy on him anymore. Not for you or all the money in the world.”

“You’ll regret this, you son of a bitch.”

“I doubt it. Cheers.” The final word conveyed a wealth of meaning far removed from a fond farewell.

The man stormed away and watching him go, Jack spotted Rhys approaching. The two men passed one another, Jack’s former employer glowering and Rhys wearing a more inquisitive look before he joined Jack at the bar.

Rhys

“Who was that?”

Rhys glanced down at Jack as he slid onto the barstool adjacent to him and signaled to the bartender, who was on the verge of becoming a dear friend after all the visits he’d paid for a beer and a bump of his favorite Scotch.

“A client of mine,” Jack admitted, looking not at him but into his beer.

“American was he?” The question couldn’t be denied, though it wasn’t the greatest of those on his mind. Merely the most polite. He’d heard the man’s final, feral pledge to Jack, but didn’t want to press for an explanation. “I could tell by the accent.”

“Aye, American and a thoroughly distasteful one at that.”

“I’ve recently heard recounting of another confrontation between an American and a Scotsman. It seems the Americans are well aware of the impression we hae of them, but some feel rather terribly about it.”

Jack finally laughed. “Do they?”

Rhys shrugged with a grin, but was pleased he’d set his friend’s troubles aside for the time being. “There may hae been some degree of sarcasm involved.”

“I imagine so.”

“They’re no’ a bad lot, for the most part,” Rhys went on offhandedly. “Granted, my experience wi’ them is somewhat limited but Scarlett is beyond charming. Claire and Emmy are also delightful.”

Jack opened and closed his mouth several times then finally said only, “That they are. Kind, too. Scarlett clearly cares about you, but then she’s your sister-in-law.”

“She’s my best friend,” Rhys corrected in earnest. “’Tis what she calls us. ‘Tis more than a familial bond that connects us. She would do anything for me and I would lay down my life for hers.”

Jack started to say something, then chuckled ruefully. “I was just going to say what an old-fashioned line that was, but I forgot who I was talking to.”

“I doubt I could change who I am,” Rhys told him. “I was raised to protect and defend those I love. God help anyone who does them harm.”

Jack fell silent for a long moment, staring into his ale. Rhys wondered if he imagined the little shudder that shook his shoulders. “Are you saying you’d kill for them? For her?”

“An odd sentiment in this…er, era, but aye,” Rhys agreed. “I’ve pledged my life to protect hers.”

“Who talks like that?” Jack shook his head. “Never mind. Again, I should know better by this point. I guess I didn’t realize you were so close.”

Rhys could tell his declaration troubled his new friend, but couldn’t take them back. To his mind, there were not enough people willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of another. If it were a passé sentiment, he was content with that.

However, he was sorry if he’d unduly upset Jack. “My apologies if the ferocity of my words upsets ye. Alas I can believe nae other way. She’s been my dearest companion other than my brother since Will—”

He hadn’t meant to mention it and tried to stop himself but Jack’s interest was already piqued.

“Will?”

“Willem,” Rhys intoned the name solemnly. His beer and whiskey arrived, but instead of sipping the ale, he took a large swig of the other with a wince. “He was my…friend for quite a long time.”

“I see,” Jack said and Rhys rather thought he did. “For how long?”

“Close to six years.”

Jack whistled under his breath. “That’s a long