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

Could she?  Scarlett had no idea.  She didn’t even want to try.  She just wanted to curl up in Laird’s plaid cry until she hadn’t a tear left to shed.

“Hey, don’t I know you?  Aren’t you that actress who went missing some time ago?” he asked.  “Wot are you doing all dressed up like that?  Filming a new movie?”

“Something like that,” she mumbled noncommittally.

The phone in her hand sounded a series of pings, then again and again.  Forty-six voicemails.  One hundred and twelve texts.  Almost all were from Tyrone, though a few were from her parents.

Flipping through her contacts, Scarlett dialed for help.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Yes, well, welcome home.

Scarlett hung up on Tyrone.  Ignoring the buzzing of her phone when he called her back straightaway.  She would answer his messages later but not now.  Not when she too devastated by what had happened to her to even draw a steady breath.

There were things she needed to do and she would do them on her own.

Right now, there was somewhere else she desperately needed to be.

“Sir, can you help me, please?  I need to get to Dunskirk Castle.  Can you take me?  I know it’s a long way…”

“Ain’t but a fifteen minute drive or some such, miss,” the man said gruffly.  “Are ye sure that’s where ye want to go?  Do ye need the police?”

Scarlett looked up into his concerned brown eyes.  “No, thank you, everything I need is at Dunskirk.”

Laird.  Donell!  That old curmudgeon better be there.

A month later

“Good morning, Miss Thomas.  We’re pleased to have you back again.”  The clerk at the Dunskirk admissions desk welcomed her back just as she had every morning the new museum was open for the past month.  “Nothing yet, I’m sorry to say.”

Nothing yet, meaning there was no sign of Donell.  Again.  Just as there hadn’t been since the day she returned to her time.  She had looked everywhere for him but to no avail.  Just as she had in the past, Scarlett felt an undeniable conviction that she wouldn’t see him again until he pleased him to make an appearance.

Unlike last time, she wasn’t certain if that were ever going to happen.

He had gotten what he wanted from her.

Scarlett sighed.  “Can I just go back then?”

The clerk nodded.  Scarlett gave her points for being so professional.  No doubt she was harboring a raging curiosity for the reasons behind Scarlett’s daily visits.  What could a world famous celebrity want with an ancient Scotsman?  Why would she come to Dunskirk each day to wait for him, wrapped in a ragged old tartan?

Still, the clerk had never uttered a word.  Never asked.  Just remained serene and unquestioning as if she knew Scarlett’s sanity was depending on it.

Perhaps it was.

“Just let me stamp your pass.”

With a nod, Scarlett drew her monthly pass from her purse and the girl found a blank spot on the oft-stamped card to make another mark.  Winding her way through the exhibits, Scarlett found the spot where Laird’s sword had once been displayed.  His bejeweled Claymore no longer stood there.  She had that much to be thankful for, staring at the short bill that sat in place of the claymore.  The bladed weapon was about two feet in length but Scarlett had no idea whose it was.

Nor did she have much information about what had become of Laird.  He hadn’t died at Flodden, that much she did know.  He hadn’t left his sword on the field to be found.  There wasn’t much else she could discover about him beyond that, though she’d spent much of her time lately researching Dunskirk and its former owner.  Information on the early owners of the property was spotty at best.  She knew he’d continued to serve at court sporadically until James V had been old enough to hold his own.  He’d been made Earl of Achenmeade for his service but there’d never been another earl by that time.  According to all sources, it had died with him.  Whether it was because he never married or not, Scarlett didn’t know.

She only hoped he’d returned to Dunskirk and began to live his dream, building on his tower to begin the expansion that would lead to this one day.

She hoped he was happy.  Oh, so happy with his life.

If only she knew!  If Laird were happy, that would be enough for her.

She could let it go.

But without knowing…

Movement stirred behind her and out of the corner of her eye, she saw an elderly but spry figure slip out of the tower door.  Her heart began to pound and she followed but couldn’t catch sight of him again.  Down the stairs she went and through the halls, past a cordoned-off area and around another corner.

A pair of heavily carved doors with stained glass panels stood ajar and Scarlett went through them.  She knew well enough from her time filming there that they led to the chapel.  Donell wasn’t within but a single candle sat burning at the altar.  Another flickered in one of the alcoves off to the side, the light dancing off an amorphous object she was decidedly unfamiliar with.  Intrigued, she decided to take a look.  Her boots scuffed along the stone floor, breaking the reverent silence.

Her gasp when she saw the carved marble tomb there was like a shout, bouncing off the stone walls.   In all her years at Dunskirk, it had never been there before but she recognized the sculpted figure laying on top all too well.

It was Laird.

Scarlett fell to her knees beside it, tracing her fingers over his attractively hewn features, his nose and clean-shaven jaw.  Then over the words carved into the side of the tomb:

James Stewart Patrick Hepburn

1st Earl of Achenmeade.

Laird of Achenmeade.

Born May 2nd in the year of Our Lord 1486

Died October 10 in the year of Our Lord 1552

He awaits Ye still

  A tear splashed on the marble, setting the gray marbling out