Taken by Angeline Fortin (ebook reader with android os TXT) 📕

another lie, he thought, studying her again from head to toe. The Russians were a hardy stock, incapable, he would have thought, of producing a child so delicate of form and face as Scarlett.  She was otherworldly, as though she might disappear into an evening mist.

It made a man long to grasp her, like capturing the gossamer wings of a butterfly before it was gone forever.  She had a fragility that was innocently alluring.  He felt compelled to protect her.  Even when he thought her his enemy.

But at the same time…

James shifted uncomfortably on the bench, willing away the tautness that again pained his groin.  For all her charms, he could not let his defenses waver.

She was still his prisoner.  Still hiding much.  Too much about her didn’t add up.  He’d never known a moment sixty years past when being from Russia might get a man ostracized for being so.  It made no sense, but then little of what she said did.  She was indeed a mystery, one that was becoming more intriguing with each moment.  How was it possible that she could not recall how she had arrived at Dunskirk?  It wasn’t, and truth be known, there was really no chance her mother acted on the stage.  Despite her tales, it simply wasn’t done.

Quite likely that everything she was saying was a lie.

“And are ye a thespian as well then?”

“I was,” she said shortly.

James could feel the tension return to her posture, her withdrawal as she dropped the fish and pushed the trencher toward Rhys.  Clearly, it was not a subject she cared for, it was easy to tell.  Another falsehood?

“I would imagine players in the theater make for fine liars.”

“You might think so but we’re really terrible at keeping…”

Scarlett let the rest her words slip away as a young girl came skipping into the room.  She was a pretty, plump girl with apple cheeks and blond hair peeking from beneath her headdress.  Bright smiles wreathed her face when she spotted Laird at the table.

“Laird!  Patrick told me you were home.”

The girl threw herself in his arms as he rose from the table, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek.

“Hullo, Plumpy,” he said softly, returning the embrace affectionately.

Too affectionately.  Scarlett felt an unfamiliar curl of tension stir sickly in her gut. “I thought you said nobody liked you here?” she murmured under her breath and saw Laird’s lips twitch in response.

The girl stepped back and smiled warmly at Scarlett.  She recognized the sort.  This girl never met a stranger.  “Hello.”

“Aleizia, this is Mistress Scarlett Thomas,” Rhys introduced her.

“Just Scarlett, please,” Scarlett corrected, holding out a hand as she rose from her chair.

The girl looked at her hand curiously before setting her fingers delicately on the edge of Scarlett’s and bobbing a curtsey.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mis… er, Scarlett.  I am Aleizia Hepburn of Crichton.”

In itself, the introduction was unhelpful in providing Scarlett with anything more than a name. Who was she?  A sister?  A sister-in-law?  Something more to Laird?  There was true affection there.  In that tender hug.   She was awfully young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, but what did Scarlett know?  They used to marry relatively young in the middle ages.  “Nice to meet you, Aleizia.  What a beautiful name you have.  Very unusual.”

“Thank you,” she answered with a broad grin.  “I can’t wait to hear about what brought you to Crichton.”

“No’ now, Plumpy,” Laird said with a groan.

“That’s all right.  I don’t mind.”  Scarlett insisted as she didn’t object to any open, honest company that kept her from the solitude of her chamber and certainly wouldn’t have minded asking a multitude of questions of a person with few filters.  “After the testosterone of the past couple of days, I wouldn’t mind a some feminine company.”

Aleizia blinked perplexedly before smiling once more.  “That sounds lovely.  We can talk of fashion and the court.” She stepped back and looked Scarlett over thoughtfully.  “Where did you ever find such a gown?  It is a simply horrid!  With the King arriving soon…”

“Plumpy!”

“I knew it!”  Scarlett slanted an accusing glance upon Laird then glanced over Aleizia’s gown.  Simply cut but lovely in a way the one she wore could never dream of.  Yes, she definitely needed a wardrobe intervention.

And an escape from Laird’s probing gaze.

“Why don’t ye take Scarlett to yer rooms and help her find something a bit more flattering, Aleizia?” Rhys suggested.  “Any lass should be fully armed when meeting the King.  Who knows, she might catch his eye.”

“Rhys,” Laird barked out.  “I cannae think that Scarlett would hae much interest in becoming the King’s next mistress.”

“Absolutely not,” Scarlett agreed, but a more palatable option niggled at her brain.

“Come with me,” the girl said cheerfully, grasping Scarlett’s hands with an exuberant squeeze as she tugged her away from the table.  “’Twill be such a pleasant way to while away a rainy day.”

James watched them go then turned to his brother with a dark scowl.  “What mischief are ye aboot, Rhys?”

Rhys waggled his booted feet from side to side as he popped a bite of salmon into his mouth with a cheeky grin.  “I dinnae ken yer meaning, brother.  Did I say something wrong?”

“She isnae yer concern.  Stay out of it.”

“Stay out of what?” Rhys said innocently, though his eyes were dancing.

With a grunt, James turned on his heel and stalked away.  Sod it all!  He couldn’t have Rhys thinking that he was softening toward the lass.  Or attracted to her.  What hell could such a trickster make of James’ life?

15

 

“Aleizia, I’m sure I have no need for so many fancy gowns.  Surely just one or two simple ones will do,” Scarlett protested as Aleizia piled more and more gowns on the bed.  Clothes that weren’t even her own.

Having decided that she was too petite and plump for Scarlett to fit into her own gowns, Aleizia had taken it upon herself to raid the wardrobe of young Aileen Hepburn instead.  With auburn hair and