A Laird to Hold, Angeline Fortin [top 10 non fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

already leeching away. His hands cold, muscles weakening.

Never would he see Scarlett again. Hold his true love in his arms knowing his life was complete. He would die without knowing Scarlett’s fate, what would become of her and his daughters. He mourned for them, his beloveds.

Darkness washed over him but just before oblivion took hold, Laird thought he heard Scarlett scream his name.

Scarlett

A split second after Scarlett fell beneath the curtain of white, it cleared. She was still at the open motel room door. However, the scene currently before her was nothing like the one she’d left. Bodies lay everywhere. Emmy huddled on the far side of the bed. Donell, Jameson. Blood all over. Laird standing over them.

How had that happened?

Then Laird sank to his knees, keeled over holding his chest.

“Laird!” With a horrified cry, she sprinted to his side.

She took his hand, holding it tight. There was so much blood. Everywhere. “What have you done?” she screamed at Donell.

“Lass, ye’re alive,” Laird croaked. His hand tightened around hers. “Thank God. I dinnae ken where Donell had sent ye. I was afraid…” A groan of pain choked whatever he meant to say and Scarlett checked him over, unsure what to do. So much blood. Panic reverberated through her. “Mo chroí…I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no, no. Laird…please, just hold on!”

What should she do?

“Emmy,” she cried. “Emmy, help me!”

A sob as heartbroken as any she’d ever heard was her only answer. No other sound but Emmy’s weeping. Each sniffle followed by a low keening, “No-o-o.”

“Emmy?” Scarlett twisted around and saw Connor sprawled on the floor next to Emmy. His chest as bloody as Laird’s. His body just as still.

Dread clawed at her throat. She turned back to Laird and patted his cheek. “Laird. Laird! Come on. Open your eyes.”

His eyelids fluttered then stilled. “Mo chroí…”

“No. Don’t do this. Come on,” she begged, her voice breaking until the last word was almost inaudible.

With one last long, slow exhale, his breath escaped him.

Scarlett stared dumbfounded at his chest. Waiting for it to rise again. To move.

It didn’t.

“Laird?” she whispered desperately. She clutched his lifeless hand, then harder. Folded his fingers around hers, urging them to curl of their own will.

But they did not.

“Don’t do this. Please. Laird?”

His name caught in her throat. Denial churned in her belly. This was not supposed to happen. Laird was supposed to be sixty-six when he died. His tombstone at Dunskirk had marked the date. Thirty-three more years, she was due. Time enough to love for a lifetime. To hold him for a lifetime.

To make it enough for her.

But there would never be enough time with him, she realized. No matter what she’d told Donell. How naïve she’d been! Five years…ten…fifty. No amount of time would be long enough for all the love she had to give him.

She needed an eternity. Now, she’d never have it. Never be able to pour out all the love she carried for him.

Scarlett clasped his unresponsive hand again and pressed her lips to his fingers. Still warm with life, but fading. Desolation thrust the numbness inside her aside, letting the pain rush in.

“No, Laird. No,” she whimpered pitifully. This couldn’t be real. “No. Please, please, please.”

Tears started to flow and she buried her face against his shoulder with a desperate prayer on her lips. There was no steady heartbeat to comfort her. No strong arms to hold her.

“Oh God, no.” A shudder racked her shoulders.

He was gone.

Crushing misery gripped Scarlett’s heart like a vise until anguish erupted from the break. Agony spread through her chest, hot as fire to steal her breath. A forlorn sob built up inside of her and surfaced with raw emotion. Another slashed her soul.

No. No.

“Lai-ai-aird!” The lingering lament hung in the air.

“Lass…Lass.”

Lifting her head, Scarlett almost expected to find Jameson pointing a gun at her again. For the second time in as many minutes, Scarlett waited for death to take her. This time she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t be a blessing.

“Lass…” Donell’s rasp reached her at last. “Help me. Reach it.”

He was trying to dig into his pocket but was too weak. Numb, Scarlett did help him, retrieving a smooth, white oval object. No bigger than a flattened egg.

“Gi’ it to me, lass.” She put it in his hand. He ran his thumb over it and a series of blue lights appeared. “Step back.”

She dropped back on her heels. A heartbeat later, he vanished.

She didn’t care where he’d gone this time.

Couldn’t.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Scarlett collapsed across Laird’s motionless body. Her heaving sobs…

And Emmy’s, the only reality left to her.

Scarlett

Scarlett stared at the door, dazed and confused. Her head swam dizzily and she pressed her fingertips to her temple, unsure what was going on. The peal of the Canongate Toll Booth Clock rang out in the distance to mark the hour.

Bong. Dong. Bong. Dong.

Four strikes? Why didn’t that seem accurate?

“Scarlett!”

At the sound of that dear, deep voice, something inside of her snapped. Ecstatic relief she couldn’t identify a reason for. She spun around and saw Laird, Connor and Emmy sprinting toward her. Alive. Well.

Why were they…?

Why wouldn’t they be?

A vague image of bodies and blood came to her mind. Sickening in its detail. Laird still, motionless.

No.

Dead.

Scarlett didn’t know what had happened, but joy flooded her. She flung herself in Laird’s arms, clung to his wide shoulders, massive and so very vital beneath her hands. Alive.

Alive.

He crushed her to him and lifted her off the ground.

“You’re all right,” she murmured against his neck. It didn’t make