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

horses.  Along with it, Aiden, Laird’s squire was loading Laird’s clothing, arms, shields and chain mail along with his tent and supplies that would see them through the journey.

The squire was now waiting, holding Laird’s horse patiently but Scarlett was sure it would be awhile before Laird would be able to peel himself away from Aileen.  The King, who was already mounted and moving among the thousand or more men who had been camped overnight outside Crichton’s walls, probably couldn’t have rushed him.

Scarlett’s heart ached for them all.  Even Lady Ishbel, bless her heart.  For all her glacial stares and scathing insults, all the men of her household were going off to war.  Not that she seemed troubled by her husband’s departure, but Lady Ishbel had almost had a tear in her eye when saying her goodbyes to her five sons.  Especially Rhys.

Scarlett had never had to send someone off to war before.  The uncertainty of the days to come without cell phones, emails and Skype to send frequent assurances would be harrowing for the women left behind.

But not all were being left behind.  Aleizia refused to be parted from Patrick.  Lady Agnes, the young Countess of Bothwell, was also accompanying her husband, as was the Countess of Glencairn, Laird’s aunt.  In fact, there were many women of all ranks coming along, children as well.  Something Scarlett was having a hard time comprehending.  Historically speaking, she’d always had the impression that men marched off to war alone, even during transport to the battlefield itself.

“Dinnae cry, wee lassie.”  Laird was down on his knees now before Aileen, smoothing back her hair with a tender hand as he spoke to her softly.  Words of caring, affection and cocky assurance until he coaxed a smile from her.  He grinned then, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Something deep within Scarlett stirred at the sight.

It occurred to her then that she had never known what a real man was.

Oh, she knew guys who went to the gym to bulk up.  She knew geeks, stars, soldiers and gentlemen but never all that combined in one man.  Laird was everything – fierce, strong, chivalrous, protective and caring of his women.

His women.  Those who belonged to him, even if they weren’t directly related.

Like her.

Scarlett knew that there was some feminist part of her that should be offended on behalf of them all.  Though it was a more modern ideal, she had been raised to believe that she was as good as any man.  That she could do anything a man could.  That she could be anything.

In the process, women in her time had lost the femininity of centuries past.

Damn, even decades past.

When women expected to be taken care of because they were the weaker sex.  Not that they were weak.  She could see that now.  Under all the frippery and fawning, she had seen incredible strength in the women who were waving their men off to war that morning.  To endure what they did, to face loss of husbands, brothers, sons and daughters to war and disease every day.

Without complaint, they took on what looked to Scarlett might be an often ugly life and tried to see and be the beauty in it.

Her whole job since finishing her movies had been to look fantastic on magazine covers and in person.  Even at the grocery store.  Heaven help her if she were caught on film without makeup and designer clothes.  Sometimes that was hard enough with an assistant and a personal trainer to keep her ready at all times for shoots, sets and days on a plane.  Living out of a suitcase for weeks on end.

That was it.

There were no real worries in her life, no horrors to be faced.

Or course, her life didn’t have an ounce of the intrigue and ambition these women had despite her celebrity status.  According to Aleizia, the ladies of the upper classes wanted nothing more than to one up each other with the best marriage, best castle.  Having friendships – Scarlett used that term loosely – with anyone who could promote their social standing.

From one perspective, the lives of the peasants seemed more enviable.  They worked hard, yes, but for the most part just wanted to love, eat and be happy.

One was Hollywood.  The other an average American life.

Perhaps their times weren’t so different after all.

Laird turned to Scarlett.  His eyes were turbulent, yet resolved as he lifted easily up into her saddle.  Gathering up the reins, he adjusted her hands around them until she was holding them properly.  “She’s docile enough for ye, I promise.  Just hold on and she’ll follow along wi’out a fuss.”

“You okay?” she asked softly, clasping his hand.

“Aye.”  His calloused thumb stroked over her knuckles before he bent his head, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.  “I maun apologize again for last night. My father can be a difficult and autocratic man.”

“I noticed.”

“Bear wi’ me, lass.  ‘Tis all that I ask.”

It was a bizarre statement but before she could ask him about it, Laird strode to his horse, pulling a length of plaid from his saddlebags.  Returning, he held it out to her.  “’Twill rain soon.  Wrap it around yerself.  The wool will shed the water.”

Scarlett nodded but he turned away again, moving toward his horse, finding the stirrup and mounting smoothly.  Lifting his hand, he waved goodbye to his sister one last time before kicking his horse into motion.  Shoulders set and stiff, he rode away without sparing her another glance.

What was that all about?

A moment later, Rhys rode up beside her, slapping her horse on the rump.  It lurched forward reluctantly. “How are ye faring this morn, dear Scarlett?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine?”

“Well, I am back on a horse.”  Scarlett gestured to the animal as if Rhys weren’t perfectly aware of her position.  “Again.”

“Och, did ye get more riding in last night then?”

A blush blossomed hotly on her cheeks at his innuendo.  “You do have a dirty mind, Rhys.”

“Aye, but by yer own word, I