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

a reigning monarch for her!  In a time like this, something like that might have been enough to get him thrown into the dungeon and put on the rack.  Kings did hate to be contradicted.

“Ye need a hand taken to yer backside, lass.”

“Ha, I wouldn’t even try it. And while I appreciate you going to so much trouble to save me from your King, you didn’t need to go to such lengths.  Do you think he could have forced me to do something I didn’t want to do?  I can take care of myself, remember?” she reminded boldly.

“Ye wouldnae dare to strike the King,” Laird said in surprise, his hand flexing at the memory of how able she was.  “’Twould be treason.”  Suicide, really.

“How can it be treason?  He’s not my king.”

Curiosity flared in his eyes, but he only shook his head ruefully.  “Och, lass, it dinnae matter.  He has all the power.”

“Not over me,” she insisted staunchly.

“’Ye need to clear these delusions of grandeur from yer mind.”  Laird kissed her forehead and turned her toward the mattress with a swat on her behind to hasten her along.  “As much as I would like to stay, I maun go.”

“To your father?”

There were questions in her eyes.  Doubts.  Laird sought to reassure her.  “Dinnae fash yerself, lass. I swear I will let nae harm come to ye.  On my honor and life.”

“You sound like you care.”

“I would take on King James’ entire army for ye,” he confessed tersely.

Good answer.

“Then why were you so angry with me before?”

“Are we back to that?  I told ye I wisnae angry,” he growled.  The anger, which had faded with the King’s departure, once again flamed in his eyes at the reminder.  She should have left well enough alone but a part of her needed an explanation.

“Okay, let’s choose another word then.  How about enraged?  Furious?”

“I take it back, I maun be mad indeed to tolerate yer vexing natter.  Cease, lass.”

Scarlett shook her head.  “I will when you tell me what’s bugging you.  I haven’t seen you in more than a week. What did I do?”  Nothing.  “Is it because I didn’t write you?”  Still nothing.  “Geez, you’re not still mad because I got drunk with Rhys, are you?”

His back stiffened even more.  She was getting closer.  Not that this guessing game was how she wanted to pass the time after being parted from him for more than a week.

“You weren’t around, you know?” she said defensively.  “I could have just sat alone in my tent without a bit of company.  If Rhys hadn’t come by…”  Her eyes widened.  “It’s Rhys, isn’t it?”

“Let it be, lass.”

“Like you are?” she taunted.  “You cannot be mad that your brother…”

A choked snort died in his throat, interrupting her.

“Oh, my God!”  Her eyes widened as the truth hit her.  “Are you jealous?”

A low growl this time but it was answer enough.  Scarlett shook her head, biting back a grin.  “Laird, you cannot seriously be jealous of Rhys, can you?”

“Ye spend all yer time wi’ him,” he grumbled under his breath, scowling even more.  He was none too pleased by his confession.

“I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Laird.  I told you before, I like him but that’s it.  Besides, I spend a lot time with your sister, too.  Are you jealous of her?”

Another short snort but the glower was back in his eyes.  No, it was just Rhys.  Why?

“I warned ye aboot him, did I no’?”

Scarlett rolled her eyes.  “Sure, but I can’t think you really meant it.”

“Why would I no’?  He might verra well take advantage.”

Scarlett lifted a brow at that.  “Seriously?  I mean, come on.”

“I cannae fathom how ye would so easily dismiss me.”

“Oh, my God!  Laird, he’s gay!”

Laird scowled again with a shrug before turning his back.  “Aye, he is at that.  I cannae deny it.  Clearly, that must be why ye prefer his company to my own.”

Scarlett shook her head, rejecting what she saw only as Laird being obtuse.  “That’s not what I meant.  Rhys is homo…”

Scarlett bit off the word with a frown, thinking about what she was about to say and the implications it might have for her newfound friend.  This wasn’t the twenty-first century where a growing percentage of the population didn’t give a fig whether someone was gay or straight.  Before that acceptance and acknowledgement, there had been widespread prejudice.  Before that…  Scarlett gnawed at her lip.  Before that it had been not just a moral issue but a criminal one as well.

“Rhys is what?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

Unsure of where the matter stood during this time in history, she was hesitant to say anything that might cause problems for Rhys.  Or worse, cost him his freedom or even his life.  She doubted the LGBT had any presence in medieval Scotland.  Scarlett shook her head again.  “Nothing.  Never mind.”

“’Tis always ‘nothing’ wi’ ye,” he muttered, turning away once more and Scarlett knew that on some level she had wounded him once again by denying him the truth.

Would it really hurt in this case?  Laird was Rhys’ brother and friend.  Surely he would understand.  Surely he knew?

“Laird, I like Rhys very much but he… uh, prefers the company of men.”

“Aye, but ye prefer his company.  Ye gi’ him yer smiles, yer laughter.  Yer kiss.”

How could he not know?  Scarlett had known by that first morning after her abduction but either Laird was being thickheaded or Rhys had proven himself to be a finer actor than she could ever dream of being.  “Laird, look at me,” she said, laying a hand on his steely arm and waiting until he turned to her at last.  “My passion, my desire is all for you.  There is no need for you to worry over my friendship with Rhys.  I promise you, he is only just that.  I spend time with him because he seeks my company.”

He didn’t look at all mollified by her assurance.

Aye, it was jealousy plain and