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

Rhys shook his head. “Nay, I told ye, I’m coming wi’ ye. Hugh and Claire can watch o’er the bairns.”

“But who will care for them if we dinnae make it back?” Laird clasped his brother’s shoulder and looked upon him with solemn eyes. “Who will see them safely home and raise them? There is nae one I trust more wi’ the task than ye, brother.”

Rhys cursed a blue streak but who could argue with a plea like that?

Emmy could only hope when the sun set on the day, he wouldn’t need to honor the pledge.

Rhys pulled out his dagger and held it out to his brother. “This blade has drawn that bastard’s blood once this day. Promise me ye’ll see that it drips wi’ it ‘ere this is over.”

“Aye, Rhys. I swear it.”

Jameson

Frustrated, Jameson threw his pistol across his motel room before the door slammed shut behind him. It landed with a soft plunk on the bed. A long, vile string of curses followed to break the silence before he went to retrieve it.

Looking down the barrel in disgust, he replayed the hour before in his mind. Reviewed his failure until rage writhed like a pit of snakes in his gut. His sights must have been off for him to miss his mark so often. Skill versus panic had nothing to do with it. He was a superior marksman when distance and conditions were optimal. Firing while at a full run wasn’t easy, but he’d drawn blood and plenty of it. Two of his targets were injured.

The condition of the man who’d taken the bullet meant for Scarlett Thomas was inconsequential. As was her life. Yes, he’d like to take her down. The broader the scope of his revenge, the happier he’d be. However, her death or survival was trivial in the greater scheme of things.

It was the savages whose lives needed to be terminated. The anomalies in time. Urquhart and the actress’s lover were his primary targets, along with the two children. Regardless of what Urquhart thought, he wasn’t convinced which child had spawned him. Best to take out both than risk further failure.

However, his supposition that one of those two children regenerated down to Urquhart might also be erroneous. He needed to take out the actress’s lover in case another child was yet to come.

Given what he knew, he didn’t think so, but all his bases needed to be covered at this point.

He wasn’t entirely sure who the other two barbarians were, but if they were among Donell’s playthings from the past, they would have to die too. He needed to develop another strategy to get to them. They would be on guard from this moment. The police would try to thwart him, as well.

Jameson caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the chest of drawers when he turned. That wild bitch had scratched him deep. Peering closer, he lifted his chin and dabbed at the blood crusting on his jaw. Damn that knife-wielding savage! He would pay, too, no matter what role he had in all this.

There was a jagged tear at the shoulder of his suit jacket where the shot fired by the security guard had snagged him. Well, that guy had been repaid in kind.

Donell, that old bastard. All of this was his fault.

If he’d known all that awaited him, Jameson wouldn’t have tried to make Urquhart’s death look like an accident and done away with him months ago. In retrospect, he should have done the same back in the beginning. He may have, if his attempts to recapture his prisoner hadn’t been foiled by the incessant oversight of his INSCOM counterpart on Mark-Davis’s original time travel program.

Agent Nichols had paid for his interference. Jameson hoped he was enjoying his “retirement.” From life.

Soon the rest of them would join him and the future…his future would be set to rights.

Then Donell—when he saw all his work crumbling around and knew he’d failed—would be the one to pay.

White light blinded him for a moment and Jameson knew he was no longer alone. He refused to look up.

“Come to gloat, old man?”

Donell

“Ye were once a better man than this, Phillip.”

“Is that all you’ve come to say?” Jameson sneered. Donell moved into his peripheral. He turned away to his gun bag and reloaded his magazines with more bullets. “Not to beg me to spare lives? To stop? I’ve nearly managed to undo all your work.”

“Ye’re no’ even close.” Donell glanced around the cramped room with its cheap furnishings and stained carpets. Jameson had been living like an animal. Acting like one. It saddened him to see it all come to this when they’d once been so close. “’Twill go on despite what ye’ve done this day.”

Jameson visibly bristled but otherwise carried on with his task. “Then why are you here?”

“To warn ye. They’re coming for ye, lad.” Donell kept his tone even and calm. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the chest of drawers across from the foot of the bed. “I willnae try to stop them. No’ after all ye’ve done.”

“So, what then? You’ve come to watch?” the man taunted him. “See how many I take down before they take me?”

“It willnae matter what ye do, lad. I will see it undone. As I hae many times before,” Donell reminded him. “I will reset the timeline as many times as it takes. Ye willnae win in the end.”

“Then I’ll die in the attempt.” Still