Claimed by the Laird

by Nicola Cornick

  “Did you?” He could feel her gaze on him, weighing his honesty. The light flickered on the expression in her eyes. For a moment she had looked hopeful, as loving and candid as she had been before, then the shadow of disillusion swept into her eyes and her expression closed again.

  “Thank you for tonight,” she said. “I can manage well enough on my own now.” She swayed, exhaustion and shock clearly taking its toll, and Lucas swept her up into his arms.

  “I’ll carry you back.”

  “Please don’t.” There was an edge to her voice. “I can manage quite well on my own—”

  “Rubbish,” Lucas said roughly. “You almost fainted just now. Lie still.”

  He thought she was going to argue further but she gave a little sigh and turned her face into his neck. He felt her breath on his skin. Their faces were so close; he had to resist the fierce urge to take her mouth with his. He knew how she would taste, and the memory sent a fierce jolt of lust through him. Her eyelashes flickered. He saw the flash of answering heat in her gaze. So she was not immune, then. The knowledge gave Lucas hope.

  He carried her across the swath of grass that separated the ruins from the main building. Eyre was evidently confident; he had set no watch on the castle. Nothing moved in the silent grounds. Behind the shuttered windows, the lights still glowed.

  “How did you get away from the riding officers?” he asked. “It looked as though you were walking on the water.”

  “Oh...” Her lips curved into a smile. “There are ways across the loch, a shingle path just beneath the surface of the water, hidden from sight....”

  “Thank God,” Lucas said. “Even so, you almost drowned.”

  “The water was higher than normal because of the summer rain.” She sounded exhausted now. “Please put me down. I will go to my chamber via the door in the tower so that no one is aware of what has happened tonight.”

  “I’m not leaving you on your own,” Lucas said. He placed her gently on her feet as he bent to retrieve the key to the tower door. “I’m staying with you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Through her exhaustion he could hear the crackle of starchiness in her voice. Lady Christina, daughter of the duke, was standing on her dignity. Except that he was not going to let her, not anymore.

  “We are betrothed,” he said. “We exchanged vows only a couple of hours ago. It is my right to protect you. I am not leaving.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “BETROTHED?”

  Christina was so outraged that she forgot that she was cold, tired, wet and exhausted.

  “I asked you to marry me and you agreed.” Lucas sounded maddeningly reasonable. He had found the key now and was sliding it into the lock. “That constitutes a trothplight under Scots law.”

  “But that was before I knew who you were,” Christina said. “I withdraw my consent.”

  “Then I will sue you for breach of contract.” Lucas held the door open for her with as much courtesy as a gentleman helping her from her carriage at a ball. “We are betrothed. I have the right to protect you.”

  “No, you do not.” Christina could not remember the last time she had felt so infuriated. “Lucas, this is not funny.” She glanced at his face as she passed him in the entrance; he was smiling at her, a smile that reminded her of all the things that had happened in the shadows of the Round House and made her feel very hot and bothered. She was definitely getting a chill.

  “I’m not joking,” Lucas said, the smile dying from his eyes. “I want to marry you, Christina. That has not changed.”

  “You can’t expect me to marry a man who lied to me,” Christina said. “How can I trust you after that?”

  “I did not lie,” Lucas said. He sounded annoyingly matter-of-fact. “I admit that I concealed certain facts from you—”

  “Such as your identity and your reason for being at Kilmory!” Christina burst out.

  “And I am sorry for that,” Lucas said steadily. He turned to close the door behind them and Christina stared in frustration at his broad shoulders. She wanted to slam a fist against them, show him how much he had hurt her. “But nothing I did was intended to harm you.” He turned so suddenly that she caught her breath, almost overpowered by his nearness. “On the contrary,” he said, “I tried to keep the truth from you to protect you. That was a mistake.”

  “I’m glad that you acknowledge it,” Christina said stiffly.

  Lucas spread his hands in a gesture of appeal. “I had to find my brother’s murderer,” he said. “I still have to do it. It is a sacred trust to me. I hope you understand.”

  Christina was getting dizzy going up the spiral stair. Her feet dragged, and despite herself she was grateful for the strength of Lucas’s arm guiding her upward.

  “I suppose I do understand,” she said after a moment. “That is, I understand that you are committed to discovering who took your brother’s life.”

  “And will you help me?” Lucas said directly.

  Christina paused. She had had time to think now and she could see, even through her sense of disillusion and betrayal, that to Lucas it was a matter of honor to achieve justice for Peter. She thought of the joy with which Peter had spoken of his reconciliation with the older brother he had not seen for so long. That brother had been Lucas. It had been Lucas who had received the unendurable news of his death, Lucas whose hopes for a future rebuilding the relationship with his brother had been snuffed out on the track by Kilmory. That knowledge in itself broke her heart. She knew Lucas must be hurting badly.

  “You may stay here at Kilmory until the perpetrator is found,” she said. “Then I want you to go.”

  Lucas stood aside to allow her to precede him into her chamber. He did not argue with her, but his face was dark and cold again, forbidding, determined. She shivered. Yes, he would hunt down his brother’s murderer. He would see justice done.

  “Whom do you suspect?” she said. “You seem convinced that the culprit is here in the village, or perhaps even in the castle. You must have some basis for your suspicions.”

  She saw some emotion flicker in his eyes and had the distinct impression that he was keeping something from her. “I have a few ideas, but nothing definite,” he said, “and I would not wish to accuse an innocent man.”

  Christina let it go. She was too tired to argue anyway, and she did not want further proof that Lucas did not trust her with his secrets.

  “You said that you are half Scottish, half Russian,” she said, remembering. “It’s a ruthless combination.”

  For a moment, humor lit Lucas’s black eyes. “I hope I have the best of both.”

  “Why do you call yourself Lucas Black?” Christina asked. A part of her did not want to talk to Lucas when her feelings toward him were still so raw, but she was curious, too, curious about the man he really was.

  Lucas shrugged. “I use the name Black because I am laird of the Black Strath,” he said. “Strictly speaking, my name is Prince Lucas Orlov, but I do not use the Russian title.”

  Shock robbed Christina of breath for a moment. She wondered how much more there was that she did not know. An entire life story, she supposed. He had given away so little about himself.

  “Laird of the Black Strath,” she said. “That is near Perth, is it not? A Sutherland estate?”

  “My father was Niall Sutherland.” Lucas sounded curt. “He left the Black Strath to me, but I do not go there. I am no laird. I am a businessman with no understanding of the land.”

  “That’s a pity,” Christina said. “Especially for your people.”

  She saw the flicker of something in his face, something of shame or guilt. “I make sure they are well cared for,” he said. “My land agent is good and they lack nothing.” He took a taper from the fire and the lamp burst into light.

  “So the Duchess of Strathspey is your aunt,” Christina said. “I see.” More pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, more pretense. Her heart ached and suddenly she felt very tired. She wished she had not
followed instinct instead of reason. Instinct had betrayed her. It had told her she could trust Lucas; that it was safe to love him. Instinct had been wrong. She had lost again. The foundations she had been building had proved as shifting as sand. She had no intention of giving Lucas a second chance, not when everything she had thought she knew of him had turned out to be a sham.

  “We need to get you out of those wet clothes.” Lucas had stoked the fire to a blaze and was coming back across the room toward her. Her heart bumped against her ribs. She clutched the sodden cloak to her neck in a futile gesture of modesty.

  “I can undress myself,” she said, but her fingers were shaking so much with cold and reaction that they fumbled the ribbons of the cloak.

  “Let me,” Lucas said.

  “No!” She backed away from him. “I don’t want you to see me naked.”

  “I saw you naked about three hours ago,” Lucas said. He took the cloak from her fingers and drew it away from her, spreading it across the back of one of the armchairs. His gaze searched her face. He frowned. “Do you want me to send your maid to you?”

  “I can manage,” Christina said.

  “Then I’ll help you,” Lucas said.

  “I meant that I can manage if you go away now.”

  Lucas smiled. “Someone needs to be with you in case you are taken ill,” he said. “You may well have caught a chill from tonight or inflamed the bullet wound. You could develop a fever.” He turned her gently around and she felt his fingers on the buttons of her gown.

  “No wonder you are so autocratic,” Christina said, shivering as he slid the soaking material from her, “if you are a prince. What rapid social advancement from gardener to nobleman, Mr. Black. Or should I call you Highness now?”

  Lucas laughed. “You may call me whatever you wish.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” Christina said.

  “As I said, I don’t use the title.” Lucas turned her around to face him, his hands warm on the chilled skin of her bare arms. His gaze slid down her body and Christina suddenly realized that the fine material was plastered against her, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. She saw a muscle flicker in his jaw. His gaze came up to hers, fierce and hot, sending a deep pulse of need beating through her. Then he turned abruptly away.

  “You had better take the rest off yourself,” he said shortly. He strode across the room, returning with the robe that Annie had laid out for her by the fire.

  Christina’s fingers shook as she tugged on the stubborn laces of the chemise. Lucas had gone back to the fireside and was adding another log to the grate, his back ostentatiously turned to her.

  “How is it that you are a prince if you are illegitimate?” she asked as she struggled to peel off her chemise and petticoats.

  “My grandfather asked the Czarina Catherine to legitimize me.” Lucas’s tone was level but she wondered how many hurts and humiliations it concealed. “He did it for my mother’s sake. He thought it would make matters better.”

  “And did it?”

  “No.” There was dark humor in his voice now. “It made matters much worse. I was still a bastard by birth and most people would not let me forget it.” He shifted, stretched. “Once I was big enough to fight, though, the taunting stopped soon enough.”

  It would not have been as easy as that, Christina thought. There would have been a hundred snubs and slights, a thousand. Not only to him but also to his mother. Those were the insults that would have proved impossible to ignore.

  Lucas turned his head. His dark gaze snagged with hers and Christina felt her heartbeat increase. She felt so vulnerable beneath that gaze. It felt as though some small, fragile link in the chain had been reforged between them, a bond that frightened her and that she did not want.

  “Get into bed,” Lucas said. “You need to rest.”

  She had wanted him to leave but now, suddenly, she did not want to be alone and she was too tired to question why. She smothered a yawn as she swung her legs under the covers and lay back against the pillows.

  “Tell me about Peter,” she said. “Tell me about your brother.”

  Lucas’s expression softened. He came back to the bed and she felt the mattress sink a little as he sat down beside her. Her eyelids were already closing. Lucas started to tell her about his mother’s marriage to Prince Paul Galitsin, about Peter’s birth, their childhood in the Galitsin Palace, vivid details of his life before the death of his mother had seen him thrown from his stepfather’s house and sent him over a thousand miles across the world to Scotland. His words were soft and mingled with the stroke of his fingers against her cheek or her hair; her head swam with tiredness and the beginnings of fever. She felt hot and thirsty. Lucas brought her a glass of water and held it gently to her lips. Then his voice resumed again, with tales of life on the streets of Edinburgh, and his voice mingled with the sound of the sea and the wind in the pines outside, and she slept.

  She woke some time later, still hot and confused, with dreams and reality merging. She was running through the loch, the water dragging at her skirts, Eyre reaching to grab a handful of the material of her cloak. She felt darkness and panic. She sank like a stone and felt the waters close over her head. She could not see, could not breathe.

  She opened her eyes. The lamp had burned down low and everything was in shadow. For a moment she was confused, then she recognized the familiar contours of the room: the fireplace, the chest of drawers by the window, the high-backed chair over which was draped a shapeless pile of clothes. Relief chased through her that she was safe. Her racing heartbeat slowed and instantly she became aware of other things that the fear had blotted out: the warmth and reassurance of another body beside hers, the strength of the arms that held her.

  Lucas.

  She was so shocked that she tried to sit up. Immediately her head swam and she lay back down, letting the pain ease to a dull ache, allowing Lucas to draw her closer to his side as he murmured something in his sleep and pressed his lips to her hair in a fleeting kiss.

  Her memory came flooding back.

  She felt warmth steal through her as she remembered how Lucas had saved her life, and turning her head slightly, she breathed in the scent of his skin. It felt wonderful, so familiar and yet so exciting. She ran a hand gently over his hair. It felt soft and silky beneath her fingertips. Lucas stirred a little but did not wake. For a moment she thought that her heart would break with such a poignant mixture of love and pain. She had wanted to lie with Lucas like this. Before their quarrel, she had ached to be able to openly share such love and intimacy. Now she did not know what to do, what to think. He had hurt her and misled her, yet her instinct still whispered that he was an honorable man, that everything he had done had been for his brother’s sake, that beneath the lies and the deception she knew him still, knew him in her heart.

  Reason told her that that was sentimental nonsense. She had trusted Lucas and he had broken her heart. She would have been prepared to marry Lucas Ross, and no barriers of status or age or wealth would have stood in her way. She did not know this man, Lucas Black, Prince Lucas Orlov, laird of the Black Strath.

  Lethargy stole through her, weighing her down. She did not know which to believe, head or heart. She lay awake for a while. She wondered if Eyre really did know her identity and if he would come in the morning to see if she was dead or to arrest her for smuggling. She wondered who had betrayed her. Gradually, though, the reassurance of having Lucas beside her and the steady sound of his breathing helped her to relax. She was warm and she was safe. Anything else could wait until the morning.

  * * *

  LUCAS WOKE WITH the distinct impression that something was wrong. There was a rattle of bed curtains and then Annie’s cheerful voice. “Good morning, my lady. I thought you might like your breakfast up here and a bit of peace and quiet to start the day before...” The words ended in a shriek, hastily suppressed. Rolling over in the bed, Lucas saw that the maid was standing staring at him, one hand pressed to her mou
th, the other over her heart in the time-honored gesture of shock. Thank God he still had his clothes on, or her shock would have been larger and so would her scream. And thank God she had already put down the breakfast tray.

  “Ma’am...” Annie said. “Mr. Ross!”

  Lucas heard a sudden, urgent rustle of bedclothes beside him as Christina woke. Her gasp echoed Annie’s. He put out a hand and grabbed her, knowing she was about to bolt.

  “Don’t leave,” he said pleasantly. “It is your room.”

  Christina was staring at him with eyes full of sleep and confusion. She looked soft and tumbled and completely adorable to him, her face pale and her blue eyes huge.

  “What—” she began.

  “Please don’t ask me what I am doing here,” Lucas said. “Unless you have lost your memory.”

  Color came into her face and her gaze snapped awake. She looked like the starchy duke’s daughter now, except that behind the haughty facade he was certain he saw a glimpse of fear. She had been vulnerable the previous night. She had allowed him to help her. Now she was regretting it, but he had no intention of letting her step away from the intimacy between them.

  “How are you?” he said. “Has the fever gone?”

  “I am very well, thank you,” Christina said shortly.

  “Ma’am,” Annie said again, almost beseeching, looking from one of them to the other. “Oh, ma’am!”

  “It’s all right, Annie,” Christina said, reaching for the robe Lucas had passed her the previous night, a practical affair of figured silk. “Mr. Ross is—”

  “Lady Christina’s betrothed,” Lucas finished for her.

  “I was going to say leaving,” Christina said.

  “That isn’t going to solve anything,” Lucas said. He looked into her stormy blue eyes. Again he saw that flicker of vulnerability behind the confusion.