by Dayna Quince
He forced himself to move, hooking the horse to the cart in stiff movements before climbing up. As they rode the hill to the dairy, nestled near a hill below the castle, the fog retreated and he could see a single rider galloping along the horizon. Then she disappeared into the canyon between two hills, and Lachy willed himself to focus on the dairy and his duty, which was to see it come alive with workers and cattle.
Besides, there was nothing ruined about Primrose Everly. The notion that he’d marry her at the bidding of his uncle galled him. He’d rather stick a hot poker in his eye than do something so heartless.
Lachy’s plan was sound. Jobs would draw his clansman back from the bigger towns, and the village would eventually thrive once more. Ablehill was an ally, not an enemy. And the castle… The castle could stay with the duke. What did any of them need a castle for anyhow? Too big to keep clean, and drafty as a moth-eaten coat. His small cottage was expensive enough to keep warm in the winter, let alone a castle.
He glanced up at the structure, green grass spreading around it like lush carpet. Giant oaks, spruce, beech, and pine trees scattered around it. The sight of it stirred nothing but bitterness inside him. All his father had ever cared about was drinking and hating that damn castle. Lachy smirked. Perhaps that would be his legacy, too.
But he wouldn’t drown himself in it, not like his father had. Lachy hadn’t survived death once just to throw his life away on drink and memories. He would show the clan another way to live, to adapt and thrive, even when one hand was tied behind your back—or in Lachy’s case—with a gimp leg from the war.
He’d learned that anything that came easy in life was false. It was the hard things, the lessons that made you sweat and curse that garnered results and rewards. That’s what his mother had told him when he didn’t want to learn to practice his penmanship as a child, and that bit of wisdom had never led him astray.
Lachy pulled the cart to a halt beside the dairy and unhitched Bethany, leading her into the comfort of the barn and leaving her in a stall with fresh hay. The presence of his mother filled his mind, as if she was there in spirit, bolstering him in some way.
Then the door open behind him, and he turned, expecting to see the blonde-haired vixen that he’d seen on the heath, but instead it was the duke.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Good morning Major Dennehy. I didn’t expect to see anyone about this early—especially given that we haven’t any staff.”
“About that—I was on me way to Aberdeen when the storm made me turn back. I was going to post a flyer in town and pay a call to the few of me clansmen that live there.”
“Good to hear. I had my man of business placing notices in the paper, as well, and he’s already had a few inquiries.”
“That’s promising news,” Lachy replied. “The cattle should be here in just a few days’ time, but hopefully by then we’ll have someone to help me bring them in and get them settled.”
“I have no doubt that will be the case, major.”
The Duke stepped farther into the stable, examining the stalls and latches. Curious, Lachy observed him, a stone of guilt weighing down his stomach. Yesterday he’d taken liberties with this man’s sister. Suddenly he could see himself as the proverbial fox raiding the hen house.
Lachy swore it would never happen again. There was too much at stake here for the people of his village to risk a dalliance with a woman so far above him. His uncle’s idea was absurd. Lachy’s attraction to her was, for lack of a better word, madness. Everything he did lately seemed to border on the edge of insanity, but somehow, he couldn’t seem to stop it. He needed something to anchor him, but there was nothing to hold the anchor. He was still drifting, scrambling for a reason to be here, a reason to stay in this godforsaken village, a reason to wake in the morning.
What purpose would I have if I didn’t save the village?
A startling realization crashed through him. What purpose would I have when I was done with the dairy?
His time in the military had shown him that having a direction in life mattered, and to his angry, youthful mind, there had been no greater purpose than war at the time. Defending his country had been essential.
But now he stood, damaged beyond repair by that war, and fighting for a cause he himself didn’t really believe in. Not completely. His people, and his clansmen, they didn’t want this. And if Lachy was being honest, spending the rest of his life working a dairy was not his chosen dream, either. It was work, yes, good, honest work, but there’d never be anything more, and nothing would ever move him like going to war had. The dairy wasn’t a purpose in life; it was a flailing grasp for stability, something to support a bunch of craggy old men who didn’t want his help. Not like this, anyway.
Lachy refocused on the duke, who’d been chattering on, oblivious to Lachy’s wandering attention. When the duke paused for a moment, Lachy shook himself out of his fractured thoughts.
“I should go to Aberdeen while the weather is still amenable,” he said, the cavernous barn suddenly stifling, the walls closing in on him.
The duke nodded, watching Lachy as he took Bethany from her stall.
“Wouldn’t riding be faster?”
Lachy stilled. “I canna ride, Your Grace, not after me injuries at La Haye Sainte.”
“I see. My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I should return by this afternoon,” Lachy replied, as he led Bethany to the stable door.
“Godspeed, major. I look forward to the arrival of the cattle.”
“I, as well, Your Grace.”
Lachy stepped out into the cool morning, breathing a sigh of relief, but the relief didn’t come for some reason. His chest tightened as he hitched Bethany to the cart and climbed up to the seat. Then he flicked the reins and drove swiftly away from the dairy. This day was shaping up to be a bad one, and he couldn’t figure out exactly why. He’d woke this morning with a clear plan, and somehow, between speaking to his uncle and now, he’d gotten lost.
A piece of paper he hadn’t noticed when he’d sat on the driver’s bench suddenly slipped off, and he caught it before the wind carried it away. He slowed the horse and unfolded the paper. Neat, feminine script paralysed his breathing as he read the note.
Meet me at the willow between the twin hills.
P
He sucked in a breath, his every sense coming alive with anticipation. He shouldn’t do it. He had a plan, and he had a duty to the duke to complete his task and head to Aberdeen. Yet his hands gripped the reins, and his heart pounded. He could feel his blood warming with the delicious heat of desire and rebellion.
It could mean nothing.
His head tried to rein in the rabid response of his body. But the sheer possibility of seeing her, even just speaking with her, was enough to alter his temperature.
“I’ll only be a moment,” he said to himself. “I’ll see what she has to say, and then be on me way to Aberdeen.”
And that will be the end of it.
He drove the cart into the grass and down a gradual slope to a stand of trees. He tied Bethany out of view of the road, and started toward the twin hills. As Lachy climbed the first hill, he remembered thinking as a boy that they resembled a fine pair of breasts, with a steep valley between them, where a shallow creek ran. He’d played there many times, and knew the exact willow she spoke of.
He crested the hill and scanned the steep canyon between them. Her horse stood on the hill across from him, chomping on tufts of grass. Lachy could see her through the shifting leaves of the willow. The babbling brook called to him, inviting him closer to his certain doom. He picked his way down the hill, crossing the stone-step bridge to the other side with ease, and passing through the curtain of leaves into a world that had somehow been built just for the two of them.
It was a simple world. This tree, growing sideways in defiance to the hill and its own weight, sheltered a lone stone bench discolored with peat moss and lichen, the edges worn smoot
h and curved by time.
She sat on the bench, her head tilted down, either oblivious to him, or ignoring him on purpose.
“You came,” she said.
“So I did,” he replied, wondering if she could sense him as acutely as he did her.
She lifted her gaze to him. “Have you been here before?”
“I have,” he said, drawing closer to the bench. “This stone bench was made from the stone of the castle. A piece of the tower collapsed.”
She stroked the bench. “Interesting.”
Lachy’s skin prickled. He wanted those pale delicate hands of hers on him, smoothing his weary brow, her neatly trimmed nails digging through his hair, preferably while she came apart in his arms.
He shook himself, driving the vision from his mind. He’d come here to prevent that very thing from happening.
His uncle’s bitter voice rang in his head: “Wed her, bed her, and by God, get our castle back.”
Lachy intended to do no such thing. He’d done his part, as he’d promised. He’d said he’d try, and he had. He’d written to his man in London to inspect the records of his grandfather’s sale of the castle, and he considered that sufficient effort. Now all he needed to do was put some distance between himself and Prim.
He edged closer, planting his hand on the willow to lean on, and take some of the weight off his bad leg.
“I have much to do today. Why is it you wanted to meet?”
“I…” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I needed to see you.”
Lachy tried to ignore how good those words sounded coming from her lips. He studied her profile. She was a different version of herself than he’d seen a year ago, when she had been all pinned and polished to perfection. The woman before him now had unbound silky ripples of hair down her back, and a dove-gray riding habit with the top buttons undone, as if she hadn’t bothered to finish them.
He tore his gaze away from those taunting buttons and the sliver of a white chemise they had bared to him. He pulled his carnal thoughts together, frowning at his scuffed brown boots and willing his body to behave.
There was nothing of her that he could have. He was a broken soldier, and she was worthy of marrying a prince, jilted or not. No one could look at her and see anything but perfection.
The sinking feeling in his chest was only his disappointed ardor, he told himself. He’d been celibate for far too long.
He jerked to attention as she stood, slipping into the hollow of space between him and the tree, and tilting her face to his.
Far in the recesses of his mind, Lachy knew he should move away from her, but that voice had no chance against his baser self. His feet would not budge, and if his heart had any say in the matter, it patently declared itself a traitor, forging the blood in his veins into molten metal, surging it to parts of him that fought the restraint of his breeches.
He ought to at least have voiced a protest, but then her lips touched his, and his conscience was obliterated and silenced by raw need.
He stilled, the clamoring of his pulse in his ears going quiet, his senses alive with her nearness. Lachy would swear they had entered another world, one of perfect peace. His leg didn’t hurt, his emotions were not at war, and he didn’t have a worry in the world. He had no presence of time, and no other place he needed to be other than here—kissing Primrose Everly.
At some point his arms had come around her, and he had pressed her up against the willow, kissing her back for all the world as if he had every right, as if she had been born to be his.
Chapter 8
Prim could have screamed with jubilation. For the briefest of heart-shattering seconds, she’d thought he would reject her. She’d summoned all her bravery and done the second wildest thing she’d ever done (yesterday’s kiss having been her first).
She’d kissed him without waiting to see if he’d wanted it. She’d simply set her lips to his, her heart pounding, her body yearning to be closer to his. Every sensation still startled her, new and exhilarating in ways she’d never imagined.
He kissed her back now, taking control, pushing her back against the tree as if he, too, felt all the maddening emotions she did. It bolstered her courage, and set her heart ablaze.
Surrendering had never felt so lovely.
Then the wind shifted the tree, and her ears filled with the shush of thousands of tiny leaves singing with movement. His stubbly chin grazed her skin, and the raw caress urged her further into the throes of passion.
How have I lived for so long without this? How did I ever thought a marriage devoid of this could sustain me?
Everything about Lachy made her feel as if she’d been starving, and he was her first meal.
He was her first taste of desire.
There was no going back, only forward. She wouldn’t think about her past any longer, or the future that was so uncertain. She wanted nothing more than to be present now.
She pressed her hand to his chest, and his heart beat against her palm, swift and strong. He tore his mouth away from her and she gasped for breath, her head falling back as the rasp of his tongue swept down her throat and back up again. Then he pulled the lobe of her ear into his mouth, gently scraping his teeth on it as he pulled away. Shivers immediately raced down her spine, and gooseflesh popped up all over her body. The harsh sound of his breath suddenly filled her ears, replacing the quiet symphony of the tree and creek.
“What are we doing here, Prim?”
The sound of her name in his voice, somehow both reverent and annoyed, amused her.
“We’re kissing,” she said. “Don’t ruin it, Lachy. I need you to kiss me, and I need you to show me all the passion I’ve missed.”
“You’re what, all of ten and eight? What is it you think you’ve missed?”
Prim touched her head to his chest, grateful that he still held her. “It seems too much. I don’t understand what I’m feeling, but I don’t want to dissect it. It’s not an experiment, or a test. This is just meant to be done, like breathing.”
“This,” he said, his lips brushing her ear, “is dangerous. You can’t play with fire and not burn.”
“You won’t burn me.”
“Aye, maybe not intentionally, but your family, your reputation—those are things that burn easily.”
“My family loves me no matter what. And my reputation? It’s already in tatters. There is hardly anything worth putting back together, and more importantly, I don’t have a reason to.”
Prim sighed.
“I’m lost, Lachy. I don’t know who I am now. I was on a steady course with Lord Peverel, doing everything I thought I should be doing, only to have it explode all around me. What should I learn from that? I’ll tell you one thing I’ve learned. I don’t want whatever it was I had before, all cold politeness and tepid feelings. Peverel jilting me was a blessing. I see that know.”
He shifted in front of her, adjusting his hold and cocking his head to meet her gaze. “A blessing? And what of your future?”
“I don’t care to focus on that right now. It will come, no matter what I do. I’m free for once, to just be who I am, something I’ve never appreciated until now.”
He swallowed, something shifting in his expression. “Free to be who you are?”
Prim nodded. “At last.”
“And what are you doing with me? Sowing your oats?”
She stiffened. “You think I’m a wanton?”
“I think you’re ignoring common sense.”
“And I think you’re scared, Major Dennehy.”
He straightened, his hands falling from her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve pointed out our differences many times. You use them to push me away. What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m in business with your brother-in-law, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m carrying the weight of me entire village on me back, trying to force them to want to give a damn about their failing lineage. I have a lot at stake, dallying with you.”
Pri
m squinted her eyes at him “Dallying? Is that what this is?”
“Aye.”
He folded his arms, as if barring her from him.
She squared her shoulders. “That’s a lot of burden for one man to bear. You want me. Call it whatever you want—dallying, a tryst, but it’s the truth. I thought I knew what I wanted until I was shown differently by you, Lachy. The truth is, I don’t know what this is. Attraction? Lust? I’d rather not label it. I want to stop thinking and just do. I want to live it and enjoy it without limiting it with doubts and speculation. I thought I was getting married, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted from that marriage, and look where I’m standing now. You’re a soldier, and you have a lot of fight in you, and determination. I see that. But why fight this? Why deny ourselves something so pleasant?”
“It’s not that simple,” he argued.
“I think it is.”
“Then that makes you a naïve fool. We canna just do as we please.”
“I beg to differ, and I’m going to do exactly that. Every afternoon I will come to this spot, and you can meet me here, or not. It’s your choice, Lachy. How many of them have you made purely for pleasure? I can tell you I’ve made far too few, and I aim to remedy that.”
“With me.”
Prim closed the distance between them, her pulse bounding away in her veins. “There is just something about you that sets me on fire, Lachy, and I’ve been cold for far too long. Will you fight me, too, or surrender? I thought you were some wild beast of a Scotsman when I first met you, but you’re not, are you? No. You’re more like a puzzle box, filled with secret compartments under lock and key.”
“What do you want, an affair? A wild entanglement to giggle about with your maid? You called me a beast—well, I’m telling you, I’m no beast, but I’m no gentleman, either. But what are you? Tell me who you are, and convince me you know what you’re about, standing here with me.”
Prim swallowed, his words not quite insulting, but cutting deep all the same, wilting the pleasure of his arms around her. “That’s what I’m trying to discover.”