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

had read the brochure to him in its entirety since he’d labored through the unfamiliar print.  She, too, knew more than she had before. More than she wanted or needed to know.

Still, he would fight.

Rhys caught her eye as he passed.  Scarlett hoped it wouldn’t be the last time she saw that roguish wink.  Then all the younger Hepburn sons.  Patrick limping by with Aleizia on his arm.

Scarlett followed them out at Laird’s gentle prodding.

“I hope yer happy wi’ yerself,” a deep voice hissed in her ear and she looked up into Sir William’s glowering face.  She had been so wrong.  He looked nothing like Laird who might scowl for all he was worth but never conveyed a quarter of the malice this man managed so easily.  “Ye’ve bewitched my son and ruined his life.  He will hae nothing now.”

“Didn’t you do that yourself when you denied him his birthright?” she asked and his eyes widened in surprise.  But not confusion.  “Wow, it’s true, isn’t it?  How could you do that to him?”

“Sometimes connection and power are more important than what the heart wants,” Sir William said through clenched teeth.  “My son has forgotten that for the moment but he will remember soon enough.”

Scarlett shook her head.  No, if history had its way, he wouldn’t.  But even if he survived, Laird wasn’t like his father.

“Scarlett, come,” Laird said softly, not bothering to meet his father’s eyes.  “I disnae matter any longer.”

No, it probably didn’t.  Not anymore.

Making her heartfelt goodbyes to Rhys and Patrick, and promising to see Aleizia the next morning, Scarlett fell in at Laird’s side for the long walk back to the tent.

Stars stood out like beacons against the dark night sky.  Scarlett had never seen so many, so clearly.  She felt like she and Laird were utterly alone together in the cosmos.  Wrapped in the length of plaid he had given her weeks before.  It was like being wrapped up in him.

It was a flawless moment there with his arm around her shoulders as they walked through the night, his hard body so solid and alive next to hers, his lips grazing her temple.

She would never forget it.

“Will ye go back, do ye think?” he asked quietly.  “When it’s over?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.  “Maybe.”  If she could find Donell and figure out if this whole trip was meant for anything more than the destruction of her heart.

“I would miss ye if ye were to go.”

Would he even be around to miss her?  Perhaps.  Knowing what he knew now, conceivably he would be more careful and find his way to safety.

“I would miss you, too.”  A tight ache built in her chest.  Oh, God, she’d miss him for the rest of her life either way.

“Mayhap ye could stay.”

“I’m not sure I have a choice either way.”

“Ye could stay.  Be my wife,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear.

Scarlett bit her lip, feeling tears burning at her eyes and thickening in her throat.  “My greatest fear is that you would always regret it.”

“My greatest hope is that you would no’.”

The tears fell then, splashing on her cheeks.  Scarlett dashed them away quickly with the back of her hand, wishing she could banish the ache in her heart as easily.  Drawing in a deep breath, she tossed her head.  “I told you I’m no good at relationships,” she said briskly.  “I couldn’t give you what you’re looking for.”

It was true, she told herself insistently.  What he would demand from her was too consuming.  She would lose herself too easily.

The thought frightened her.

Almost as much as losing him.

“I would ne’er ask ye to be anything other than what ye are.  And my darling lass, yer exactly what I’m looking for.”

Laird pulled her to a halt in front of their tent, tilting back her head so that she would be forced to look into his eyes but she closed hers, not wanting him to see the tears still shining there.  His thumb brushed at the corner of her eye, catching a tear.  “Ah, mo chroí, I’ve ne’er met a lass so stubborn as ye.  Ye’ll admit to nothing, will ye?  What hurt ye so that ye must guard yer every feeling?”  His soft lips kissed at the corner of her eye and then the other, tasting her tears.  “Look at me, Scarlett lass.  I’ve kent all along that ye were hiding something from me.  But dinnae hide from this.  Do ye no’ ken what mo chroí means?”

“I told you I don’t speak Gaelic,” she said, sniffing softly.

“It means ‘my heart’.  Ye hold it in yer hands already.”  His brogue was deep, thick with emotion.  “Is breá liom tú, mo Scarlett.  Bhfuil tú m’aman.  Is mise, agus beidh go lá.  I love ye, my Scarlett.  Ye possess my soul.  ‘Tis yers and fore’er will be.” 

He possessed her lips in a tender kiss, his massive arms binding her around the waist and lifting her against his chest. He didn’t give her time for words but Scarlett wasn’t sure what she would have said in any case.  She was too overwhelmed by his confession and those heart touching words.

Pushing her into the tent, Laird worked the laces on her blue dress until he freed her from her clothing and lifted her in his arms.  Laying her back on the mattress, he undressed quickly and stretched out next to her.  Scarlett savored the feeling of his solid mass pressed against her, memorizing every muscle, every plane.  The sensation of his skin against hers.  His hair teasing her sensitive flesh, his calloused palm stroking her hip.  Longing washed over her, not just for the passion he could wring from her body but for the yearning he could squeeze from her heart.

She didn’t want this to end.  Ever.

He kissed her again with painstaking tenderness, his lips grazing across her cheek, jaw, nose and forehead as if he were trying to memorize her every feature.  His fingers followed, glided lightly behind.  Then leading the way, down