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

in a maze of shelves with thousands of books full of wasteful margins?  And pictures!  Good thing there were no illustrations to explain.  “Uh, my director bought it for me.”

“No’ yer father?”

No, the only book her father had ever bought her was about how to make it big in Hollywood.  “No.”

“Yer director maun be verra wealthy to gi’ away such treasure.”

What would he say if she told him that she owned hundreds of books?  Keel over in shock?  Die laughing?  That was more like it.  “Yes, books are a treasure. Would you like to read it?”

“Nay.  To my shame, I cannae do so easily.”

Laird handed the book back to his now curious brother who opened the book and scanned a page with a frown.  “Some of the words are most oddly spelled.  Others unfamiliar.”

Having seen the difference between the old English spellings and sentence structure as compared to relatively modern writing, she wasn’t surprised.

“Will ye read from it, Scarlett?” Aleizia asked.  “Twould be a most pleasant way to pass the journey.”

“I can, though I’m not sure the men will like it,” she told her as she flipped through the pages.  “It’s just a silly story about love and marriage.  Things that matter to a woman.”

“Ye think it matters naught to a man?” Laird asked.  “Ye think we dinnae wish to find comfort in the arms of our wives if we can?”

“Given what I’ve heard,” Scarlett pointedly cast a sidelong glance at Rhys, “I guess I hadn’t gotten the impression that many of the men around here particularly cared whose bed they found comfort in.  You seem to do as you please regardless of your marriage vows given the number of illegitimate offspring running around Scotland.  No offense.”

“None taken.”  Laird stroked his chin thoughtfully, scratching his short beard along his jaw.  “Many more men would be faithful to their wives, I think, given the choice and the chance.”

“Infidelity is always a choice,” she pointed out.

“I was referring to the wife,” he said.  “Given the choice of a wife. A marriage bed can be a cold, unwelcome place for a man to rest his head, much less warm his body.  A man fortunate enough to love where he lies is a happy man, and me thinks, more often a faithful one.”

“Would you be such a man?”

His eyes were bright as polished silver when they met hers. “I could be given a chance.”

“A chance to do what?”

“Och, enough already,” Rhys groaned, rolling his eyes.  “Get on wi’ it!”

“Hey!” Scarlett pinned him with a fierce frown.  “We’re talking here.”  Lord knew it was a rare enough occurrence.  She wanted to savor the moment.

“My apologies for my discourtesy.”

“Thank you.” She started to turn back to Laird but Rhys wasn’t to be denied.

“Och, lass, would ye no’ just read the bluidy book already?”

Scarlett shook her head, but Laird only grinned.  His eyes promising to continue the conversation later.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” she said wryly and opened the book to the first page.  “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.  However –’”

Rhys burst out in laughter but more to her surprise, Laird did as well. “What is it?”

“Nothing, lass.  There is much truth in those words indeed, though I cannae recall that has yet been universally acknowledged.” Rhys chuckled again.  “’Tis an amusing thought.”

“Read on,” Laird nodded with a wink.  “I begin to like this tale already.”

Scarlett’s lips twitched but she looked down and continued, “‘However, little known of the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of someone or other of their daughters.’”

Laird’s shoulders shook again and with a smile, Scarlett did indeed read on.

27

 

“I have to say, as far as invasions go, I’m pretty underwhelmed,” Scarlett told Rhys that night when he joined her at the dinner table Aiden had set before the small campfire outside her tent.

Laird estimated that between seventy and a hundred thousand men, women and children now comprised the supply train that had funneled over a narrow bridge crossing the River Tweed into England that afternoon.  Even if they hadn’t announced they were mounting an invasion, the English would have to have been idiots not to see it coming, assuming they had any sort of spy network at all.  Scarlett was fairly certain they did.

“Underwhelmed?” he asked, pouring her another glass of wine.  “What do ye mean?”

Scarlett shrugged.  “I guess I just thought it would seem more invasive somehow.”

Rhys chuckled.  “The time will come, my dear.  On the morrow, we will take Wark Castle.  While that willnae provide the action ye feel lacking, from there we will move on in a fashion that will hopefully meet wi’ yer expectations.”

“No, if this is all the violence you’re expecting, I’m fine with that.  I like an invasion where no one gets hurt.”  Scarlett twirled her wine around the bowl of her goblet.  “I worry for you all.”

“I’ve said before, I’m too arrogant to die.”

His conceit was incredible, she thought, pursing her lips.  “No one is.”

“Speaking of worries,” he segued as she set her cup aside and absentmindedly began picking her way through a piece of bread.  “Tell me, dear Scar, hae ye nae family who might be worrying over yer absence?”

“None nearby.”  Ha, what an understatement!

“We’ve undeniably established that yer nae nun but hae ye nae husband?”

“No.”

“Yet ye maun be nearly a score of years in age?” Rhys asked, pushing a plate of food her way.  Scarlett absently picked up a piece of some sort of poultry and nibbled at it.

“I’m twenty-four,” she corrected and was rewarded with a look of surprise.

“Truly?” he said, diverted from his interrogation.  “I would hae thought ye much younger.  I ne’er would hae guessed we were of an age.”

Astonishment of her own coursed through Scarlett.  Of an age?  Rhys