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

They had given her a side-saddle this time and she wasn’t sure if it were a good thing.  It might have been more practical given the long skirts of her brown linen riding habit but she didn’t feel any more stable in the saddle than she had before.  On the bright side, she didn’t feel any less stable either and maybe her thighs wouldn’t ache so badly this time since they wouldn’t be spread wide all day to accommodate the huge beast between them.

No, but they might ache pleasantly enough if you let another huge beast between them, her inner devil teased.  Ugh, this was getting out of hand.

“Is it a long ride today?” she asked, hoping to change the subject and divert her thoughts.  “I’ve never heard of this Ellenfort.”

“Ellemford,” he corrected.  “Ellemford Haugh.  It’s the traditional muster point in the area.  ‘Tis just over a score of miles southeast of us.  We should be there early this afternoon,” Rhys said as if about seven hours, by her quick calculation, was little more than a jaunt in the park. With twenty cannons being pulled at the head of their procession, she could see why their progress would be even slower than before.  Plus, many in the cavalcade were walking as well, some pulling small carts behind them.

It was going to be another one of those days.

Scarlett wasn’t certain that she could handle another full day in the saddle.  The last one she’d spent there had been hard enough.

Yes, but Laird must have held you in his arms for a good portion of it, her inner devil reminded.

Because I was his prisoner.

The devil smirked.  You don’t seem like much of a prisoner any more.

23

“Where are we this time, Rhys?” she asked as they stopped to make camp three days later along the banks of a river called the Blackadder Water.  The area seemed familiar to her though Scarlett couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Do ye no’ recognize the place, my dear?” he asked curiously as he unsaddled his horse while his squire, Willem, emptied a small horse cart of his tent and belongings.  Aiden and Maris were taking care of setting up Scarlett’s tent, neither one appreciated her interference, leaving her at loose ends.  “Ye should, since it is where we found ye just a sennight past.”

“We’re back at Dunskirk?”

“Merely passing by, dear Scarlett.”

Interest pricked.  “Do you mind if I go look around a bit?”

“Hoping to see Laird?”

No, she’d given up that hope days ago. Scarlett hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Laird since they’d left Crichton.  His abrupt abandonment after such a focused seduction was confusing.  Whatever he wanted her to bear with, she assumed it had something to do with his continued absence.   She hoped that it was something in his private talks with Sir William or the King that prompted him to avoid her company and not just regret over their brief but passionate interludes.

“If ye’ll wait, I’ll escort ye,” he said.  “Or ye can take Maris.”

Maris paused in her work but Scarlett shrugged off the option.  No doubt her maid was again itching to run off with a burly Scotsman or two as she did each afternoon after seeing Scarlett settled in.  She wasn’t sorry to see Maris go, as the woman wasn’t much of a companion by Scarlett’s definition of the word.

“That’s not necessary.”

Maris turned back to her work, no doubt pleased with Scarlett’s decision.

“Don’t get lost,” Rhys warned.

“I won’t and I promise I won’t run off either.”

“I wisnae worried aboot that.”

Having conquered the maze of tents, Scarlett strode off in strides as long as the skirts of her blue flax gown would allow.  Heading west where Rhys pointed, she enjoyed the burn of her thighs and calves after another long day in the saddle.  At least she could walk on her own this time, Scarlett realized.  She must be getting used to it.

The skies above were thick with clouds but clear on the horizon.  The descending sun swept across the rolling hills far to the west, awakening the shadows between and glowing off the treetops of the woodland park nestled between the encampment and the castle.  Through the trees, she could make out just a hint of Dunskirk’s easterly elevation silhouetted against the ball of light.  Bright beams speared around the tower, casting their rays on the large pond at the center of the woodlands and bouncing off the placid surface like a mirror.

Scarlett shaded her eyes as she plunged into the trees, finding in the lacy shadows beyond her first hint of the familiar since arriving in this time.  With a smile, Scarlett stroked the leather soles of her shoes over the mossy stones of a recognizable arched footbridge.  Trickling streams below called out to her like an old friend.  Moss covered rocks rolled out a welcoming carpet and the hanging branches of the trees waved hello.

Once upon a time, she’d spent days on end within this fairy-tale landscape.  It was untouched.  Unchanged.  Beautiful and savage just as she remembered.

Through the trees, the reflection of the sun off the pond sparkled like diamonds.  Long beams of light angled through the canopy of leaves.  Meandering slowly, Scarlett skimmed her fingertips along the tree trunks as she circled this way around one, that way around the other.  Reaching the shoreline of the pond, she spotted the tiny island where the mini castle tower of her time had once sat.  Now it was missing. The realization saddened her but missing Laird made her almost as melancholy.

Much as she tried not to dwell on implications of her continued stay in the sixteenth century, Scarlett tried not to dwell on his continued absence either.

She’d become something of an abandoned lover.

Was he regretting their love play?  Or regretting having her come along?

Both?

Part of her wanted to find him and ask, rather than dwelling on the worst-case scenario, but the crowds within the encampments were too vast to even consider such a