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

lobby, but Scarlett noticed Janice slumped on the floor near the refreshment counter. She kicked free of his hold and ran to her.

“We dinnae hae time for this, lass.”

“Then pick her up and let’s go!”

With years of familiarity with her stubborn streak and no time to argue, he did just that. The glass door shattered the moment they were through it, but they managed to get to the car without hearing another shot.

Either the would-be killer had run out of bullets or realized shooting into a crowded city street wasn’t the smartest move.

Scarlett started the car and sped away with Laird and Janice in the back seat.

“Is she…all right?” She couldn’t bear to ask if the woman was alive.

“Aye,” he assured her. “She’s got a knot on her head.”

“Let’s get her to the hospital. Then call the authorities.”

“Mayhap she can identify who did this.”

“God, I hope so.”

In the rearview mirror, Scarlett saw Laird wince and whipped her head around to stare at him in horror. “Did you get hit? Did you?”

“Just a scratch, lass. Keep driving.”

“I’m going to kill whoever did this.”

“Aye, and ye’re going to kill us if ye dinnae pay attention to the road.”

Blood pounded in Scarlett’s ears all the way to the infirmary. Who? Who? She’d gotten plenty of death threats over the years but never imagined anyone following through on them.

An hour later, Laird’s nick across his bicep had been patched. Just a scratch, in truth. It hadn’t even needed to be stitched. Thank God for small favors.

Unfortunately, when Janice awoke, she told them she hadn’t seen who hit her. So the threat, whoever it was, was still unidentified. Still out there.

Scarlett called Tyrone again, leaving him a terse message to double the private security he’d hired for the hospital. If she could’ve gotten Laird a bodyguard without offending him, she would have.

But at least she had extra ammunition for the handgun now. With only a handful more than five hundred privately owned handguns in the whole of Scotland, buying more bullets would have been difficult. Fortunately her agent-cum-bodyguard, in insisting she carry a weapon, also brought additional ammo and magazines for her among his own arsenal when he’d entered the country with her. All permitted and legal. Since he hadn’t left the country amid the media chaos surrounding her two disappearances, he still had it all with him.

Now, she was armed, dangerous and extremely pissed off. The bastard better pray she didn’t find out who he was.

No one hurt Laird and got away with it. She’d killed for him before and she’d do it again.

Damn, the next few days couldn’t pass quickly enough.

* * *

The car sped away from the theater and was down to the corner before the man jumped through the shattered door. The temptation was strong to fire after them, however the distance was too great for his handgun.

As the width of the theater had been for accuracy. He cursed himself for being so rash as to take the first shot from so far away. Waiting for the infernal movie to end and the lights to come up had tried his patience and he’d gotten sloppy.

Even so he thought he’d winged the burly Scotsman. He hoped so. Hoped he bled out to a painful death. Not that his death would count for anything more than a moment’s satisfaction.

Nevertheless, punishing him for fathering Scarlett Thomas’s children was necessary. The next step would be removing his progeny from the picture.

The time for subtlety was at an end.

Laird

The rush of water falling from the spout of the shower had become a peaceful melody to Laird over the past weeks. The gentle spray soothed, relaxed. In releasing his tensions and worries, it may have also made him lax in recognizing the dangers in this world.

This night had served as an abysmal reminder that his diligence must never falter. Death was never more than a few heartbeats away when one let their guard down.

Closer when one lacked the ability to combat a speeding bullet fired from a distance. Being so ineffectual in the defense of his most cherished love rankled deeply.

Laird looked in on Hermione, asleep in her bed, then returned to the open bathroom door. Through the steam and foggy glass, he watched the shadowy silhouette of his wife in the shower. Scarlett claimed she needed to shower to wash away the stink and grime of the theater floor, but she stood under the water with her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders hunched. The threat at the theater had traumatized her more than she would admit.

Laird freely confessed it had shaken him to the core.

More than once since arriving in this Godforsaken land, he’d felt unsettled by the unknown dangers but they were nothing compared to this. When Scarlett might have been taken from him permanently.

The time to leave this horrendous place couldn’t come quickly enough. Even before all this. Now a new urgency had taken root in his gut.

No doubt there were benefits to this place. Plentiful food. Heating throughout entire buildings without a fire. Ease of tasks that took a dozen men to perform in his time. Entertainment of all sorts just minutes away by car or by pressing a button on a remote. Information and communication available at the touch of a screen that still boggled the mind.

But somewhere in the five hundred years between his time and this one, many here seemed to have forgotten the simple joy of living. Of being alive and savoring every moment allowed to them. Aye, there was work to be done in his time just as there was here, but here even the enjoyment to be found in taking a meal together seemed to be