“We’ll see aboot that when we get ye back to Crichton.”
Another distraction. One she leapt upon. “Yes, Crichton. That other guy mentioned it. What is it?”
“My family home at Crichton Castle,” he told her. “Aboot forty miles north of here. We should arrive there tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow eve…?” It was Scarlett’s turn for an upward brow launch. Now that was a diverting thought, albeit an unpleasant one. “But if it’s only forty miles… Wait, do you mean this is as fast as we’re going to go?”
“We make good time, lady.”
Scarlett closed her eyes, stifling the urge the shake her head. He had no idea what ‘good time’ might really equate to. Then again, he managed to look rather comfortable in the saddle. She wasn’t.
“What I meant was, am I going to ride like this the whole time?” She spread her fingers open, gesturing to the rope that bound her wrists. The idea of spending the remainder of that day along with a large portion of the next like that was almost as overwhelming as discovering that she’d somehow landed herself in a different century. “Will you untie my hands?” she whispered rather pathetically. So much for her stellar portrayal of calm. “I promise you, I won’t run.”
Rhys lifted a skeptical brow. She wished he would stop doing that. Watching it go up and down was rather like watching a carousel go by and just as nauseating. “My brother would hae my head if ye were harmed or if ye were to escape.”
Scarlett looked at the big Scot who was now heading their procession. They might be brothers but the two men couldn’t be more different. Rhys was humorous, lighthearted and just a wee bit cynical while that Laird guy was… well, so not. Both men were handsome beyond reckoning but Rhys, with his leaner features, tamed hair and tidy clothing, seemed so much more polished. The other one simply radiated savagery. “What’s with him anyway? What’s his story?”
“James? He’s naught but my bastard brother.”
“Bastard? That’s rather rude,” Scarlett scolded, eyeing him askance. “What does he call you? His asshole brother?”
“Ye think I cast insult upon him?” Rhys asked after working his way through her words. “While he is somewhat of a bastard in character as well, I was merely referring to his birth.”
“His birth?”
“He’s illegitimate, no’ to put too fine a point on it,” Rhys explained. “My father’s bastard son by the auld King’s bastard daughter. Doubly a bastard, ye see?”
“I think you’re a pretty big bastard for caring one way or another. It’s not his fault, you know.”
His light eyes shone with an inquisitive light. “Yer a curious lass.”
Scarlett bit back a dry laugh. “More than you know. If his name is James, why do you keep calling him Laird?”
“Well for one thing, it is his title.”
“His title?” Scarlett repeated, hating that she was so dumbly parroting every word they said. She’d thought Laird was his actual name. Like the famous surfer, Laird Hamilton.
“James is Laird of Achenmeade,” Rhys explained. “The auld King gave him the title before he died.”
“A laird is like a lord, right?”
“Ye are a curious lass, aren’t ye?” he repeated. “Aye, he’s the lord even if over nae one more than himself. He has a tower, lands and a title but nae people as yet. What is a laird wi’ nae people?”
Scarlett hoped Rhys wasn’t expecting an actual answer to that question since she had no idea of the answer. Just one more thing on the list. “What was the second thing? You said ‘for one thing, it’s his title’. Was there another reason?”
Rhys grinned. “Aye, because it drives my brother mad, lass. And what better reason is there than that among siblings?”
“I really wouldn’t know,” she told him, eyeing their leader once more.
Though his back was to her, she was taken by his ease and grace in the saddle. Not to mention by his size. Beneath the length of plaid trailing down his back, his shoulders were massive under the tautly stretched, ecru shirt, V-ing sharply down to his narrow, belted waist. The massive thighs exposed below the hem of his kilt were bigger around than her waist. He was more innately masculine than any man she had ever met and James, proper and regal, just didn’t seem to suit him at all.
Laird, on the other hand… rough, Scottish and manly fit him much better. She had never seen anyone like him, not in Hollywood or beyond. Any woman would feel a thrill just looking at him. Any woman would feel the urge to… Scarlett put an end to that line of thought before it took root. Sure, any woman might be tempted… if he weren’t such a huge dick, that is.
“Lass, I maun warn ye,” he began; almost as if he knew the direction her thoughts had taken.
“Will you please at least untie my hands?” Scarlett cut in, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks. “I promise you, I will not try to escape.”
He considered the request for several long moments before pulling a long dagger from his belt and slicing through the ropes that bound her. With a sigh of relief, Scarlett massaged her wrists as the life rushed back into them. Briefly she considered going for the gun in her bag but decided it wouldn’t do her much good to hurt these people. She might have enough bullets to take them down but she wasn’t skilled enough to do it before one of them stopped her.
Besides, quite frankly, she didn’t want to be dead or even alone right now in this unfamiliar time. “Thank you,” she said, passing him back his handkerchief.
“Ye might wi’hold yer gratitude, lass,” he said, taking it and slipping the knife away once more. “Cormac will continue to hold yer reins in case ye get any ideas about fleeing.”
“Well, then I thank you even more,” Scarlett said dryly. “Since, I have no idea
