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

glanced back at Donell. “Let me guess, ‘twas nae mere rock that shattered my windshield last month? Nor simple blow outs wi’ my tires?”

“He wanted it to look like an accident, so I wouldnae catch on ‘til it was too late,” Donell confirmed his theory.

Claire cried out and hurried to her husband’s side, and into his arms. “You are never driving again.”

“He wouldn’t need to,” Connor spoke up, his expression grim as he crossed his arms over his chest. “The car that nearly hit him the other day was nae accident, was it?”

“Oh, God!” Emmy slapped her hands over her mouth as the implication of everything that was going on hit her. “He’ll kill them all if he has the chance, won’t he?”

“I fear so,” Donell agreed.

“Why?” Emmy demanded. “Why is this so important to him?”

“The whys dinnae matter, lass.”

She begged to differ.

He interjected before she could protest. “Regardless, the time has come to send ye all home. Straightaway.”

“No!” Scarlett protested. “I will not go without my baby. Don’t even try to make me.”

“When then?” he scowled. “It maun be soon, lass.”

“Two days.”

“Och, ye could all be dead by then!” He threw up his arms. “Why do I e’en try?”

“Why do you?” Emmy pounced then. “Why is it all so important to you? The baby lived so Hugh could be born. We get that, but why?”

“So I could come here,” Hugh replied. “So I could come to this time and meet my Sorcha. I couldnae figure it oot at first, but I hae now. ”

“Ye always were a canny lad,” Donell nodded in approval. “I kent I made a good choice wi’ ye.”

“What?” Emmy wasn’t the only one to raise such a question. Similar ones echoed around her demanding an explanation.

But Donell had already moved on. “If Scarlett willnae leave, I can assume Laird willnae either, but we can get ye home, lass.” He turned to Emmy. “Ye and yer husband.”

“Why? Why do we matter?”

Rhys started laughing then, his hilarity in the moment grossly out of place. Emmy eyed him as he slapped his knee and threw back his head.

“What’s so funny?”

“Can ye no’ guess it?” Rhys looked around at the open puzzlement on all their faces. Glancing at Scarlett, he winked roguishly. “Och, ye might hae thought me the nice one, but ‘twould seem I’m the clever one as well.” His gaze shifted to Donell and he winked again. “What a convoluted game ye play, auld man. Pray, I ne’er find myself on yer game board.”

Then Connor caught on while the rest of them remained mystified. “Och, I cannae believe it, but then I suppose I can.” He hesitantly stepped a few paces away from Emmy more decisively went to Claire. He bent and brushed a kiss to her cheek. “I guess it makes sense why we took to ye, trusted ye so readily, aye?”

Claire pressed trembling fingers to her lips. “Oh my God, really?” She turned wide eyes on Donell. “Really?”

“One of my best kept secrets,” he confirmed. “And I’d like to keep it that way. Things will only get worse for ye if Jameson figures it oot.”

Only then did Emmy get it.

“Are you saying she’s my…she’s our…?” She covered her mouth again, mumbling through her fingers. “Holy…holy shit.”

“More than acceptable at this point, my love,” Connor told her.

She stared at Claire with the benumbed shock of one who’s just had the rug ripped out from beneath them. And so she had. In a million years, she never would have guessed it, but Connor had a point, she’d bonded with Claire from the beginning. Now she knew why.

“My great-great…oh, I cannot bother counting.”

Emmy raced to her new friend’s side and hugged her fiercely. Their refrain of oh my God, oh my, God sang in a soft duet that brought smiles to everyone’s faces despite the cloud hanging over all their heads.

“Now ye see why ye maun return to yer own time wi’ haste,” Donell grumbled, breaking up the party. “Ye’ll need to be making bairns of yer own.”

“Which one?” Emmy inquired, pulling away at last but keeping Claire’s hand in hers. She did some quick math in her head. “Not Connor the Fourth’s grandchild, obviously. Claire would have recognized the name straight away if it were.”

“No’ that it matters but Claire is descended from yer daughter,” Donell told them. “She weds an Englishman…”

“Gads, another American?” Rhys quipped. “My condolences.”

Donell rolled his eyes. “Her daughter wed an American and so forth. Satisfied? Can we be off?”

“Nay.” Connor planted his feet and glowered down at the old man. It was a look Emmy hadn’t seen in some time. Probably not since the day she’d been dropped into the past. Anger, suspicion. Protectiveness. “I’ll no’ be going anywhere until I ken Claire is safe from this madman. Until they’re all safe.”

“I’ll second that,” Emmy concurred, slipping her free hand into his to form a unified front. “We’re staying.”

Her husband smiled down at her, his rich chocolaty eyes flooded with love. “Aye, we are. Though it pleases me to nae end ye’ll eventually return home wi’ me of yer own free will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I’ll admit I had some uncertainty whether ye’d make the choice twice after seeing how well ye fit in this time.”

Indignation burst in Emmy’s chest. “Of all the…! I’d make the same choice a thousand times over even if this place fit like a damn glove, Connor MacLean. Which it wouldn’t without you in it, FYI! How could you even think…? Oh. My. God. You are the mos—”

Hauling her against him, Connor thwarted her reprimand in the most effective way possible. Covering her mouth with his in a hard, intoxicating kiss, he bent her back over his arm until all thought was