A Laird to Hold Angeline Fortin (most important books of all time .TXT) 📖

Rhys took the warning with a nod, knowing it wasn’t just Hermione’s sensibilities Scarlett was cautioning them about. He was smart enough to know it applied to him as well. “We’ll go through the museum together, Hermione and I. As if it’s the first time for us both.”

Laird chuckled inwardly at his words. They were all becoming rather practiced at talking in this absurd code around other people. Disguising the truth with backhanded statements and innuendo.

“Aye, lassie?” Rhys crouched down in front of his niece. “Do ye want to come wi’ Uncle Rhys today and hae a spot of fun?”

“Aye!” Hermione flung her arms around his neck, clinging as he stood and lifted her off her feet. She giggled as she dangled there like a pendulum, before he caught her and lifted her onto his shoulders.

“That’s that, then.” Jack smiled as he stood. “I’ll take right good care of them both.”

“Ye’d better,” Laird grumbled under his breath, not bothering to cushion the threat with so much as a smile when the lad looked at him with some alarm.

Scarlett caught Laird’s arm and grabbed up her purse as she tugged him toward the door. “I can come pick her up if you need me to since I’ve got my own rental car. Otherwise, just keep in touch, please? You have th—you have your phone?”

Laird touched his pocket as Rhys did the same. Scarlett had insisted on making them carry these devices she called burner phones to allow them constant communication with one another and Emmy and Connor who’d gotten them as well. Hugh and Claire possessed their own already. So far, Laird had refused to use his though Rhys had been more game to try it. At first. Alas, neither one of them had found much reason to appreciate the device that Laird deemed the devil’s work.

Oddly enough, Scarlett had agreed with his assessment without explaining why. Nonetheless, she’d insisted they keep them for emergencies. Like his daughter running willy-nilly about Edinburgh in a strange time and with a strange man.

“Ye’d best keep a watchful eye upon my daughter, brother. Send word each hour…” Rhys lifted a brow. “Verra well, every two hours via this text that all is well.”

Jack was laughing again. “You two chaps are so comical. Sometimes I feel you must be having a laugh at me.”

Laird snorted as he and Scarlett left the room. At least someone found all this amusing.

He did not.

Claire

The next afternoon

“That was fun. I haven’t been shopping in a long time.”

“You should’ve bought something for yourself,” Claire told Emmy as she held open the door of their hotel suite for their reluctant pack mules.

Hugh and Connor entered laden with bags and packages, dropping them on the coffee table. Hugh flexed his bloodless fingers and cast a look of misery at his wife.

Claire laughed and slapped him on the arm. “Oh, it’s not like you didn’t get anything out of it.”

“The joy of watching my bride react passionately about something other than myself?” he teased, perhaps only half in jest.

They had shopped with verve and passion, it was true. More maternity clothes for her. Now that she was entering her second trimester, normal clothes were getting a little snug and Claire had lent most of the ones she had to Scarlett. They’d also gotten a few items for the baby from the little boutique they’d passed. Claire didn’t have many girlfriends in Scotland to share the shopping trips with yet, so Hugh had been stuck with the job so far. He was a good sport but his enthusiasm levels weren’t effusive enough for true enjoyment.

Emmy had said much the same. She had a sister-in-law and several relatives living at Duart Castle with her and Connor, but while she liked them and even loved her sister-in-law, Dory, her position as countess had made being girly girlfriends with them difficult. As Emmy put it, they weren’t the sort you’d go out with for tequila shots.

Nor was there much opportunity for shopping excursions on the Isle of Mull in 1896.

“It’s not like I can take anything back with me,” Emmy sighed with a shrug. “I do appreciate you lending me your phone and ear buds though. We have such similar taste in music.”

“You mean we like everything?”

They shared a laugh. Like they’d known one another for years instead of just a couple of weeks. Claire would be sad to see her new friend go.

Emmy dug through the bags until she found the one from the pharmacy. Withdrawing a package of bandages and some antiseptic, she waved to her husband. “Let me see it.”

“I told ye, lass, ‘tis just a wee scratch.” Connor scowled at her and stood his ground.

“Your wee scratch has bled through a box of tissues already,” she shot back. “Let me see it.”

Dragging his feet, but clearly unable to deny Emmy any desire she expressed—weeks out with the couple had proven that to Claire—he went to her side and held out his arm. From palm to elbow, his skin was torn in a dozen or more shallow gashes of varying size. Road rash didn’t quite cut it.

The sight made Claire a little queasy. This was no skinned elbow from a mere fall, however, but from an action that might’ve saved her husband’s life.

She flashed back to the car blindly speeding down the road while they were crossing the street—in the crosswalk where they belonged! Ugh, the memory turned her stomach even more. If Connor hadn’t spotted the speeding vehicle and pushed her and Emmy back before tackling Hugh in the other direction, her husband would’ve had his legs taken out from under him. Tossed to the side of the road like so much garbage.

Tears,