Free The Laird by Sandy Blair Page A

since her husband’s death. Since only the most pious--the religiously zealous-—did this, her cursing not only came as a shock, it underscored the level of her distress.
    He wanted to strangle Albany.
    His second wife, unbeknownst to him, had been a religious fanatic and look how that ended? ‘Twas sad, that this woman should also be land rich and coin poor. Otherwise, she might have had the hundred pounds sterling per year needed to keep Albany from marrying her off, and they would have both been spared.
    “Tis sorry I be, lass, but ye be my bride and here ye must remain.”
    “ No. I could lose my home .” She wrung her hands. “I need to get back to the twenty-first century where I belong.”
    He blinked. He couldna possibly have heard her correctly. If he had, she was truly brain-coddled. But no matter, she had to remain at Blackstone if he and his clan were to keep their home.
    They spoke at each other rather than with each other, for what felt like hours.
    Beth finally gave up.
    Now, she simply wanted to hide from his furious perusal. Her eyes felt blood-shot and her nose...she didn’t want to think about. It had the nasty habit of turning scarlet from bridge to tip whenever tears threatened and they’d done more than threaten in the last half-hour. She suspected she looked like a baboon’s ass, which, no doubt, did little to enhance her credibility.
    She stood and walked to the window while Duncan, an obviously unhappy man, tried to digest what she’d told him.
    “Ye be wode, woman, if ye truly believe yerself a spirit.”
    Great. Not only did he have no memory of her, he still didn’t understand. To make matters worse, he had called her wode frequently enough for her to understand he thought her insane. “No, Duncan, I’m not a spirit. I do know—-ken—-I’m flesh and blood.”
    She twisted the ring on her hand. Was she the first wife to wear it or the fourth? Thank heaven she’d found Duncan’s diary and had spoken to him before this nightmare began. If she hadn’t, she’d likely be jumping out the window after enduring his ceaseless ranting and glaring.
    “Duncan, stop.” She held up her hands in defeat. “We’re not getting anywhere. You can’t or won’t help me, and I’m too tired right now to care.” The dull throb at her temples had converted to stabbing needles of pain behind her eyes. Her teeth were even beginning to ache. “I need something to eat.”
    Obviously exasperated, Duncan threw up his hands. When he resumed his thick burred grumbling and huffing at a staccato pace before the fireplace, she walked out the door.
     
    ~#~
     
    “She then turned her back to me and walked out! On me, her laird! ” Parched, Duncan reached for the tankard on the hall table and took a deep swallow of ale. “I tell ye, Angus, this woman isna long for the grave. Had I not already lost three wives, I swear I would have smote her then and there, putting us both out of our miseries.” The utter gall of the wench!
    “My lord?”
    He turned to find Flora at his elbow, grinning like a cat with a mouth full of feathers. “ What? ”
    “Yer lady, sire. She’s not at Vespers. The priest is most anxious. He canna start without her and she canna be found.”
    Duncan clamped down on an oath. “Start without her.”
    “But--”
    “Do as I say!” He waved her away. When she curtsied and slid away looking none to pleased, Duncan cursed.
    Angus grinned. “Now what?”
    Duncan took another swallow and came to his feet. “We find her, then haul her to the chapel, trussed if need be.”
     
    ~#~
     
    When Beth’s capsized launch was discovered bobbing in the harbor, a hue and cry raced through Drasmoor. Women, keening, raced along the beaches and headlands in search of Beth. Men, swearing and praying, ran for their boats and grappling hooks. Tom Silverstein raced to his launch and headed for Blackstone.
    The ride across the harbor felt like the longest of his life though he pushed the throttle to