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

The soaring spires, gone. The massive center hall, gone. The ornate crenellations of the curtain wall diminished in height until they were shorter but far more battle-ready proportions. A few seconds later all that remained within the confines of the wall were the keep and one stocky tower to the west.

Gone was the sunny day, too. The sky crowded with clouds until it was a tumultuous gray overhead, rain threatening. Or perhaps snow, given the sudden chill.

A shuddering inhale shook her from head to toe. “Holy sh…shite buckets,” she exhaled with a visible breath.

Connor’s warm hand splayed comfortingly at the small of her back and he bent his head to hers. “Ye’ve really been working on yer propensity to swear, lass. I’m proud of ye, but I think in this instance the moment calls for a sound profanity.”

His protective proximity and humor eased some of her shock. “No, I think I’m good for the moment.”

His chuckle brushed her cheek. “I may no’ be though. This is…”

“I know, right? Maybe now you’ll think back upon my arrival in your time with a little more sympathy.” She tucked her hands into the crook of his arm for added warmth. “At least you knew it was coming…well, at least you knew it was possible.”

“Aye, I wisnae considering probable, however.”

“Aye, aye, ‘tis a bluidy marvel,” Donell groused, and with an impatient wave of his hand, strode forward through the open gates of the smaller curtain wall. The front door they’d been about to enter no longer existed wherever—or whenever they currently were. “We dinnae hae all day.”

“I wonder how you can say things like that,” Emmy mumbled to his back as they followed. “It seems to me you have all the time in the world.”

“It disnae work that way, lass.”

Emmy arched a wry brow. “How does it work then? I’ve always been curious.”

The old man flicked his hand, the motion ripe with irritation. “I cannae just pick people up and move them aboot.”

“I thought that’s exactly what you did.”

“Through time but no’ space.”

Emmy frowned. “Not space? Of course you do.”

Donell merely flicked his wrist again and pounded insistently on the door of the low keep as they reached it.

“So, about the space thing…”

Emmy might have persisted in her questioning, but the door was answered by a man who would make any rational woman’s mind blank for a minute or two. Even one as insanely and passionately in love as she. She was only human after all.

“Wow.”

The low expletive earned her a suspicious scowl from Connor. Not that Emmy saw it, only sensed it. Still, she couldn’t look away. Not just yet.

This man was massive, bigger in every direction than even her brawny, bulging spouse. His tawny brown hair was a little lengthy for her taste, however, the short beard accentuating every plane of his angular, dazzling face more than compensated. Piercing silver eyes studied them.

But his kilt was what snagged her full attention. The full regalia, blue and yellow tartan over a partially unbuttoned black velvet jacket with a linen shirt unlaced at the collar to reveal a tantalizing expanse of bronzed chest. For all the elegance, he was magnificently untamed.

“You know,” she murmured under her breath, close to Connor’s ear. “You haven’t worn your kilt in a long, long time.”

“And?”

The kilted man’s penetrating gaze had gone first to Connor. Gauging a possible threat, no doubt, he then turned to Emmy, his fierce expression softening a fraction.

The man’s stare moved then to Donell. A mixture of reactions chased each other across his face. Delight fell to suspicion then concern. He shifted, glancing over his shoulder, and Emmy finally tore her eyes away to glance up at her husband with an alluring smile.

“I think you should.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth quirked. “Should I?”

“Oh, believe me, I think we’d both get a lot out o—”

Emmy gasped as a young woman in a fur-trimmed, deep blue gown joined the man at the door. An all too familiar looking woman with lively brown eyes and auburn hair, but not one she’d ever expected to meet. Certainly not under these circumstances. “Ho-ly fu…fud…fudg—geez, I’ll just say it. Holy fuck. You’re Scarlett Thomas, aren’t you?”

Scarlett

 

Dunskirk Castle

Achenmeade, Scotland

March 1519

Scarlett blinked and blinked again. It’d been an eternity since she’d heard her name articulated in such a way. A combination of awe and anticipation in the two words she’d only experienced what seemed a lifetime ago. Before destiny had taken her away from a life of fame and fortune and given her a far more preferable one filled with love and laughter.

Since such effusiveness was the last thing she’d expected when she’d followed Laird to the door, she supposed her gaping mouth and wide eyes were an equal match to those sported by the tall elegant blonde gawking at her.

“Who are ye?” Laird demanded, his usually smooth brogue roughened with distrust. “What are ye doing here, Donell?”

Her attention shifted by his question, Scarlett glanced from the woman to the tall, ruggedly handsome man beside her, and settled her focus on the timeless old Scotsman lingering to the side. A wild array of emotions battled for supremacy. She and Laird had often spoken of Auld Donell and what they’d do if he ever returned to Dunskirk. Options ranged from hugs and thanks for bringing them together to fleeing his presence. Or in Laird’s case, running him through with his claymore.

Given the tangible tension radiating from her husband at the moment, Scarlett wagered he was leaning toward the latter.

“Donell.”

“Lass.”

Scarlett studied him up and down. From the tips of his booted feet, up his trousers and coat to the top of his balding pate as he yanked off his