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

“Ye can try.”

37

Thus far yoga, which had done much to calm her nerves in the past, wasn’t working.  As she did each morning now, Scarlett stood before the open window flap in the tent bathed in a bright ray of light as the dawn arrived, poised in the Tree position.  A slow inhale did nothing to relax her mind, nor did the exhale.  Her clothing might be to blame.  Without proper workout wear, she’d had to make do with her own cotton panties and a thin, short camisole of sorts that didn’t offer much in the way of elasticity.

But she didn’t have her own gear here, did she?  Whose fault was that?

Donell’s?  How had he done it?  Why?  What had he thought to accomplish in bringing her here?

The questions tumbled over themselves.

The encampment was practically deserted that morning.  All of the troops had moved into position on the ridge above Flodden Field to await the English who were on their way for the battle.

Tomorrow.

Would she even see Laird before then?  He hadn’t been back to their tent since he stormed out after her revelation more than two days before.  She’d seen Rhys, talked over the upcoming predicament and Rhys’ idea that she speak directly with the king, to sacrifice herself on the altar of his bed, if necessary, to gain his ear.  With little hope of getting through to Laird, she had done as Rhys asked and walked to Ford Castle hoping to speak to King James directly, but despite hours of waiting, hadn’t been able to get past the first tier of his security.

Upon her return to camp, a pale-faced Rhys had been almost glad for her failure, apologizing for coercing her into such a dissolute situation.  Scarlett was inwardly relieved as well but frustrated nevertheless by her failure to gain the king’s ear.

And by Laird’s continued absence.

What if she didn’t get to see him again?  What if he went off to battle and died before she could hold him once more?  Panic bubbled within her at the thought.

Stop it, focus on the distance.

Relax.

Even from a distance, the mass of men assembled on that ridge with their cannon, waiting for death to come to them was surreal.  More a step back in time than anything she had experienced so far.  Witnessing first-hand those medieval concepts of how a war should be fought.

Where was Laird?  She hadn’t had a single message from him.  What did that mean?  Did it mean anything at all?

No, don’t go there.

Scarlett closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, focusing her energies on her body.  She eased into Warrior II, feeling the stretch of her muscles.  Both feet on the floor, one knee bent in a sideward lunge, she reached her arms out to the sides, holding on to her control, in this at least.  Where she had some.  Exhale.  Good.

Inhale.  Better.

Opening her eyes, she stretched slowly into a modified side angle, stretching one arm over her head as she leaned to the side.

Yes, much better.

Straightening her legs and arms once more, she slowly transitioned into the Triangle, bending to the side and touching her fingertips to her toe.  Exhale.  Much, much better.

Downward Facing Dog.  Scarlett felt her blood rushing to her head, drowning out the last of her chaotic thoughts.  Tranquility.  Finally.

Laird.

Unfortunately, her peace of mind – so ruthlessly focused on to achieve – was short-lived as his named popped into her mind again.  Had the truth gotten her anywhere at all?  Had she changed anything?  What madness had consumed her that she thought she had the power to change history?  To fix one thing when she screwed up so much?  History was too big for one person to affect.

In exchange she had only lost precious days with Laird.

One leg lifted skyward.  Half Downward Dog.

Her mind galloped once more.  But she wanted to change history.  At least that one thing.

She didn’t want him to die.

A shudder ran through her but Scarlett pushed the thought away and lowered her leg until she was again in Downward Facing Dog position.

Laird.

What would happen to her when he was gone, as he surely would be?  Would staying in the sixteenth century alone and homeless be her punishment for thinking that she had the power to make change?  That just once she deserved something good – truly good for her – to happen in her life?

And what she had found in this time was good.  She had found friendship.  In Rhys and even Laird.  Sisterhood that she’d always lacked in Aleizia and Aileen.  People to care about.  People to live for.

Laird.

She had always wanted to be desired for something more than her fame, even if it was only for her body.

Would that ye might be my wife in truth.

Was that what he wanted?  Did he truly care?  Would she ever know?

Ugh, even if there was something more to it, did she want it?  If sex was all Laird wanted from her, she might be content with that and not wish for more if only she could manage to save his life.  It wouldn’t do either of them any good to hope for more when she finally made her way back home.

When?  It was starting to seem more like an ‘if’ to her.

With a groan, she straightened her body as she sank to the floor in a smooth motion and swooped forward into the Cobra position.

“What in hell are ye aboot, lass?”

It was as if he had known she was thinking about him and just magically appeared.  Scarlett didn’t even bother to look at the door but only hung her head between her arms.  Whatever peace she might have briefly found fled as her heart rate accelerated. At just the sound of his voice.  Already she felt more alive, wired with anticipation.

Every fiber in her being begged her to race across the room and fling herself into his arms.

She might have if she knew where