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

stumble back against the wall. “Away wi’ ye, ye traitorous arse. Ne’er darken my door again or I will finish what was begun here.”

“Rhys!”

There was protest and heartbreak in that single word. Rhys steeled himself against it. Against the anguish scoring his heart in turn. He’d trusted too readily. He’d never forgive himself for it.

He turned his back and dabbed at the blood trickling down his bare chest. The sutures had torn from his efforts. So much more than that seemed frayed however.

“Leave while ye can still walk from this place, lad,” Laird told Jack, violence barely contained evident in his strained tone. “Rhys is no’ the only threat to ye here.”

“Please—”

“Leave!” Rhys shouted, spinning on his heel. “If ye value yer life.”

The onlookers gasped collectively. No doubt they’d never seen the potential for murder at such close quarters before. There’d be a dozen witnesses to condemn Rhys should he be provoked further.

“Damn it,” Jack persisted. “I tried to help. I told him you were all leaving soon. I hoped it would dissuade him from his continuing this pursuit.”

Rhys’s hands curled into fists. “Ye only stirred the hornet’s nest, lad. Go ‘ere ye do any more harm to us.”

“No! I can help,” Jack protested. “Please let me make this up to you.”

“Ye cannae.”

“But I know where he is!”

 

Laird

“The Edinburgh Royal Infirmary is on lockdown following reports of an active shooter on site. News crews and family members surround the hospital this afternoon awaiting news of their loved ones.”

The news reporter on the television screen stood in front of the hospital. In the background of the camera angle, dozens of people huddled behind the police barrier. As many news vans and emergency vehicles with flashing lights filled out the scene. Jameson would be a fool to show his face here again.

Which meant they’d have to take the fight to him.

The newscaster went on, “Early reports have it there is at least one dead, several more injured in the attack. No motive is known at this time. Nor is there news yet of actress Scarlett Thomas who was in the facility at the time of the attack or whether the shooter has been apprehended.”

“He hisnae,” Laird grumbled. “Nor is he likely to be if they dinnae let us oot of here soon.”

“Hae patience,” Hugh said from his hospital bed. He’d been admitted for observation following his surgery, but hoped to be released soon. His stay provided them a private place to meet and discuss their plans. “The lockdown will end as soon as they clear everyone inside of wrongdoing, then they will turn their attentions elsewhere.”

Claire watched the news report without the same impatience as the rest of them. “Why don’t you just tell the authorities you know where Jameson is? Let them take care of him?”

They all cast varying levels of malevolence upon Jack Prescott who sat in the corner. His expression spoke of regret, however Laird wasn’t prepared to forgive the lad for his part in all this. Unknowing or not. Ignorance was no excuse. They kept him close though, not wanting the police to know where to find Jameson before they could get to him. This was Laird’s fight and he meant to see it through.

“Claire has a point,” Emmy agreed. “Why not let the police get him? He’ll get life in prison for what he’s done.”

“Aye, but he’d still hae his life,” Laird contended. “A mon such as he deserves a harsher sentence.”

“But you would also have your lives,” Emmy maintained. “I saw more blood today than I can ever remember. I don’t want to see more from any of you. Scarlett? Come on, help me out.”

Scarlett was ensconced in the only chair in the room with both their children in her arms. She’d hardly let them go since the attack. Her eyes were still rimmed in red from crying, but anger simmered deep within, Laird wagered. Emmy would get no support from his wife.

After the losses of the day, she surely wanted blood as much as he.

“Hae ye been able to wrest any information from that infernal machine yet?” Laird asked Claire, who was Googling—whatever that was—the location of the address Jack had given them.

“I’m working on it,” she retorted. “Although a part of me says not to.”

Hugh cast her a stern look. “If ye dinnae, I will. I agree wi’ Laird. We need to finish this once and for all. I wager Connor would concur.”

Connor had been locked out of the hospital and waited outside for the moment he could rejoin them. Once he did, they would do as Hugh said and finish this.

Finish it man to man. On equal footing. There would be no bairn to shield Jameson this time. Fury boiled up in Laird again at the thought of his daughter’s life hanging upon the whim of a madman. Her fears had taken hours to soothe. For that alone, Jameson would suffer.

At Laird’s hands.

“We maun hae a plan in place,” Laird told them. “I will be the one to go after him. If more harm is to be done, I willnae risk yer lives when ye still have a role to play.”

“How can you be so cavalier?” Scarlett roused from her dazed state. “Acting as if your life doesn’t matter anymore? It does. We need you.”

“Nae one else’s life can be put at risk, lass,” he argued. “I told ye before, my hand has already been played. It maun be me.”

“I hae nae role in this,” Rhys objected. “I will go wi’ ye. Dinnae e’en think to argue wi’ me. Ye may be my brother but ye’re nae my master.”

The thought of Rhys being harmed left a sore