Hannah and the Highlander

by Sabrina York

  And on the topic of his hound … would they sleep with him? Every night?

  Hannah didn’t savor the thought.

  Another question to ask Alexander, no doubt.

  “Please tell Dunnet I wish to speak with him.”

  The factor’s lips moved, but no sound issued forth. Mutely he handed her the letter once more.

  With a snarl Hannah ripped it in half.

  He watched the scraps flutter to the ground, his horror intimating she’d just shredded something akin to the Magna Carta. His throat worked. “I, ah … The laird awaits your…” He trailed off and pointed to the parchment on the ground. “Why did you do that?”

  “I’m tired of letters from him,” Hannah snapped. “I would like to speak to him.”

  Why Fergus blinked, like a bemused owl, was a mystery.

  “People do speak to him.…”

  “Ah … Nae. Not really.”

  “Nae?” She narrowed her eyes. “He’s the laird of the manor. How can he manage business without speaking to his people?”

  Numbly, Fergus bent down and picked up the scraps of paper, holding them out. Apparently, he felt this was answer enough.

  “Oh, bother.” Hannah took the pieces and shoved them in her pocket. Not that she’d read them later. She’d never read another letter from Dunnet again.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed Fergus with a recalcitrant glare. “I willna marry a man with whom I have yet to share a conversation.”

  His lips flapped. “But-but … everything has been arranged.”

  “Then unarrange it. And notify Dunnet we will wed when and only when I decide we shall suit.”

  It was clear her adamant stance was not appreciated. Hannah didn’t care. Dunnet might as well understand from the very start that he was marrying a strong and stubborn woman. One who couldn’t be bullied into doing something she did not wish to do. And she would not be rushed.

  With no remorse Hannah closed the door on the sputtering factor.

  She would be married when she was damn good and ready, and not an instant sooner.

  * * *

  Where was she?

  Please God, let her not have changed her mind. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t.

  Ignoring the impatient and rustling crowd—all of his people had crowded into the small chapel to see him wed—Alexander paced, running a finger around his collar. Why the hell was it so tight?

  He was racked with worry that she would back out or delay the proceedings or—given the expression on her face at the sight of his naked form—run in horror. He could only hope she hadn’t seen the scars on his back.

  He shot a glare at Andrew, who shrugged, and then, for good measure, Alexander glared at Father Pieter, whom he caught taking another nip from his flask.

  If she didn’t arrive soon, the clergyman would be insensate. He was already starting to list to the side.

  Please God, let her hurry.

  Immediately upon dressing in formal kilt—which included his jacket, waistcoat, hose, ghillie brogues, sgian dubh, and formal sporran—he’d rushed downstairs and issued a flurry of orders for the wedding ceremony and the subsequent celebration dinner. When all was in place, he’d sent the note to Hannah notifying her that the time for their wedding was nigh.

  Not that he was anxious to have it done, but he was.

  He had so wanted this day to go smoothly, but from the instant he’d awakened, much later than he’d intended, it had been a disaster. He hoped this wasn’t an omen regarding the success of their marriage.

  But it probably was.

  Fergus had been gone far too long in fetching her; it made his hackles rise. Made sweat pop out on his brow. Made his throat close.

  He had no idea why.

  Perhaps it was because he’d never felt such … was that desperation?

  Odd, that. He’d always stood strong and faced the world alone. Never wanted or needed anyone, aside from Andrew. Now that Alexander’s marriage was imminent, he found his wish to acquire her lands had been supplanted by something deeper. Certainly, he deeply desired her, but beyond that, he found he no longer wanted to stand alone. He craved a partner by his side. He craved her by his side.

  Except, of course, that she wasn’t here.

  He growled at Father Pieter when he pulled out his flask once more. The priest paled and slipped it back into his pocket.

  Alexander was about to spin on his heel and storm to her chambers and demand—demand—she attend her own wedding when Fergus appeared in the doorway with a pained expression on his face.

  Alexander sent him a speaking glare. It said, Where is she? and, to his horror, Fergus shrugged. With a narrow-eyed glance at Andrew, Alexander hastened to the back of the chapel. “Well?” he barked. A trickle of remorse flitted through him at Fergus’ flinch, but it was only a trickle. Alexander was far too nervous to pay it any mind.

  “My lord…” the factor began, and then he stopped to clear his throat.

  Something in Alexander’s gut clenched. That Fergus wasn’t meeting his gaze made his skin go clammy. “Where is she?” he hissed.

  “She, ah … She wishes to speak to you before the wedding.”

  His blood went cold. “Speak to me?” Holy hell.

  Had she changed her mind?

  As he followed Fergus back into the castle, his mind awhirl, a horrifying prospect occurred. Hannah was a delicate flower. A young, innocent girl. She’d arrived at a new home, to marry a man she barely knew—and promptly spotted him buck naked. No doubt that had been a shock.

  No doubt he’d frightened her to death.

  All he needed to do was reassure her, although how he might accomplish that without appearing like a stuttering idiot he didn’t know. But now that she was here, now that he had seen her again, his conviction to have her as his wife had solidified.

  It was not the only thing that had solidified.

  Ever since he’d burst into her room, ever since her gaze had locked on to his cock, he’d been possessed by the memory of that brief kiss they’d shared. It was only natural for him to entertain thoughts of stealing another. To plot said theft.

  Perhaps this was the time.

  Perhaps he could ease her concerns about the earthy aspects of their marriage with actions rather than words.

  He lifted his hand to knock on her door and then realized Fergus was still by his side. Ever since he’d been a boy, the factor had been there for him, his protector. But Alexander didn’t want his protection now. He certainly didn’t want any witnesses if this discussion didn’t go well. He shot the man a frown; he paled, nodded, and backed away.

  Once he was gone from sight, Alexander took a moment to collect his thoughts, steel his spine, and straighten his plaid. Once he was ready, he knocked.

  The door opened immediately, as though she’d been standing there waiting. At the sight of her, his heart stalled and his throat tightened. She had this effect on him each and every time he saw her. God, she was so beautiful.

  Her eyes widened, as though she was surprised to see him, which befuddled him, because she’d asked him to come. Then her gaze raked him. He liked to think that look in her eye was a glimmer of appreciation. “Dunnet,” she said. “You’re … dressed.”

  Aye. Dressed for a wedding. He couldn’t help but notice she was not.

  “Lady … Hannah.” He bowed. “You wanted to … talk?”

  She nodded briskly and opened the door wider, stepping back to allow him to enter. He did so and closed the door behind him. The click was deafening. It was not lost on him that he was in her bedchambers. His gaze flicked to the bed. It was slightly rumpled. That made him feel slightly rumpled as well.

  This was not the time for his passion to rise.

  It did.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, turning away to pace. “I know you are prepared to marry … forthwith.” He had no idea why she emphasized the word as she did. “But before we exchange our vows, I have some things
that I need to say.”

  He nodded, even as relief gushed through him.

  She hadn’t changed her mind.

  And if she had things to say, he should probably stay silent. And listen.

  “You and I need to have an understanding.”

  “An … understanding?”

  “Aye.” His hope was supplanted by a hint of disappointment when she said in a very businesslike tone, “We both know this is a marriage of convenience.”

  His gaze snapped to her face. Ernest though her expression was, it lacked the dreamy, romantic tinge a groom might hope for. In fact, she set her chin and shot him a very unromantic glance.

  A marriage of convenience? A cold, heartless, distant union? Denial howled. Suddenly, to his surprise, he found he wanted something very different. He longed to respond, to cry out his dissent, but his throat locked.

  “There is no reason to pretend this is something other than it is. I agreed to marry you because Dounreay needs your protection and you agreed to marry me for my lands. We are marrying for no other reason. Aye. I understand that. We understand that.”

  Nae. We understood nothing of the sort. There was another reason he was determined to marry her, did she but realize.

  He wanted her.

  “Regardless, Dunnet, my wish is for a peaceful union.”

  Peaceful. Aye. Peaceful was good.

  “I should like for us to work together as a team. In partnership.”

  Aye. He had a partnership in mind.…

  “If I’m going to pledge myself to a man forever, I need to know that he will respect me. That he will honor my wishes. I need to know he will take my counsel into account.” She fixed Alexander with a steady gaze, as though she expected a response. So he nodded.

  She was so beautiful, so earnest. So tantalizing.

  He stepped closer, intent on his target.

  Her eyes widened as he neared. Her hand on his chest stalled his approach and her brow wrinkled. Her gaze flicked to his mouth and her tongue peeped out, wetting her lips, igniting a flame in his belly. With great effort, she ripped her gaze away and frowned at him. “Do you agree to my terms?” she asked.

  He cupped her cheek and angled her head up. Her breath caught. Her features froze as she realized his intent. “Aye,” he said. “Aye.” And then he did what he’d been thinking about for weeks. What he’d been obsessing over all day. He kissed her.

  And it was glorious.

  * * *

  A shiver rippled over Hannah’s skin as Dunnet took her mouth. His taste, his scent, infused her. It was a light kiss, a testing foray, but it sent an unholy thrill through her and left her wanting one thing. More.

  She had wanted this chance to speak with him privately, to receive his assurances that their marriage would be a partnership, to set her mind at rest, and he’d done that. But if she was being truthful … something like this had been on her mind as well, skulking there behind her noble intentions, a roiling hunger. A curiosity. A need.

  She’d kissed him before and he had turned away. She desperately needed to know if, in his heart, he had any passion for her whatsoever.

  He lifted his head—way too soon—and stared down at her. “Hannah…” he murmured.

  Even as she attempted to rein in her disappointment at his withdrawal, his hold on her cheek tightened, his eyes narrowed, and he issued a noise, something gruff and deep, something that sent a lick of exhilaration through her.

  He yanked her closer. The feel of his body against hers, rigid and unyielding, made her head spin. His fingers threaded through her hair and he held her steady as his head descended again. She sucked in a breath, quivering with anticipation.

  And ah. Ah.

  This kiss was different.

  This wasn’t tentative in the slightest. It was a taking. A mad, starved consummation of her mouth with his, a melding of lips and tongue and need.

  This was as wild as the windy squalls off the coast. As tantalizing as the fairy wisps at dusk. As scorching as the forge where razor-sharp steel was tempered and formed.

  And it cut through her like a screaming wind, an enticing magic, a warm blade.

  Scuttles of heat rose in her womb. Rivulets of excitement danced in her veins. His taste filled her senses, her mouth, her soul.

  When he lifted his head, a glimmer danced in his eye. It was the look of a conquering hero, a savage Scotsman, a man whose hunger had been sated but ignited at the same time.

  Oh heavens.

  Exultation whipped through her. Her knees were weak and her body melted.

  Damn her reservations.

  Damn her fears.

  Damn her doubts about whether or not he really wanted her.

  She wanted him. And she would have him.

  It was gratifying to see that he was not unaffected. His breath came heavy and hard and there was a slight tremble in his voice when he spoke. It was one word and one word only, forced out and wreathed in a growl, but it was enough.

  “Mine.”

  * * *

  Alexander stared down at Hannah. Her expression was soft, her lips damp. Need coiled in his belly. He ached for her. Now. But he was aware that all the town and half the clan was gathered below. Waiting for them. As much as he wanted to lay her down on the bed by the window and show her the depth of his passion, he couldn’t.

  Not now. Not until she was truly his.

  He would wait to have her until after the wedding. Tonight. Soon. Anticipation skirled through him. He gestured toward the door.

  She stepped back. Blinked. The dewy expression on her features faded, replaced by something that could have been intransigence.

  Unease riffled at her retreat. Had she not been as befuddled and bewildered by their exchange as he had? Was she not as anxious as he to seal their bond?

  “My lady? The … wedding?”

  Ach. Ah. She frowned at him and crossed her arms. Intransigence indeed.

  “Dunnet, surely you doona expect me to get married in this?” She gestured to her dress with a huff of disgust. He stared at it. It was a dress. Just like every other dress. And it looked charming on her.

  He opened his mouth to respond but didn’t know what to say.

  With a snort she pushed past him into the hall and rapped on the door to her sister’s suite. A delicate blonde with large blue eyes answered. She smiled at Hannah, but when her gaze landed on him her smile widened. “Is it time?” she whispered.

  “Aye.”

  “Nae.”

  He and Hannah responded at the same time. She frowned at him and then hooked arms with her sister and tugged her toward her room. “Come and help me prepare,” she said.

  “P-p-prepare?” Alexander burbled. She looked just fine. In fact, she looked amazing. He took a step to follow her and make his case, but she shut the door in his face.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Andrew’s chuckle rippled down the hall.

  Alexander turned to see his brother leaning against the wall. He gestured at the closed door. “She wanted to change her dress,” he murmured in a bewildered tone.

  Andrew grinned. “Women do that.”

  Alexander’s brow rippled. “But everyone’s waiting.”

  His brother levered off the wall and came to clap him on the shoulder. “It’s her wedding day. No doubt she’s nervous. She wants to look fine.”

  “She looks fine.” She always looked fine. She would look fine wearing nothing.

  Alexander’s mind stalled on that thought.

  “Come along. Give her some time to ready herself.” Andrew led him back toward the stairs. “You’ll be leg shackled soon enough.”

  His brother laughed and Alexander tried to force a smile as they headed back to the chapel, but it was a halfhearted attempt. His bowels were knotted and his muscles clenched. Sweat prickled his brow. All he could think of was the fact that his wedding was nigh … as was the wedding night.

  * * *

  It took her forever to dress, or at least it seeme
d so. Alexander occupied himself by wearing a rut in the stone floor of the chapel. When Auld Duncan creaked to his feet and the plaintive wail of the bagpipes, heralding the bride’s arrival, sounded, Alexander’s heart shot into his throat.

  He whirled. His breath caught. His pulse thrummed.

  She was here.

  And she looked beautiful.

  A murmur went up through the crowd as Hannah and her sister stepped into the chapel.

  Hannah’s hair was caught up in a tantalizing confection of ebony silk and pearls. She wore a dress of emerald green that set off the alabaster tones of her skin. Her décolletage made his mouth water. As custom demanded, she wore a sprig of white heather pinned to her lapel. In her hands, she clutched a bouquet of … were those weeds?

  He ignored this incongruity and flicked his attention to her face.

  Her expression was tight and wreathed with fear, but when her gaze landed on him it softened; her eyes glimmered. He thought she might have sighed.

  Alexander swallowed the knot in his throat and bowed as she approached the altar. As she came to stand at his side, her scent rose to engulf him and his knees locked.

  He straightened his plaid and took his place beside her, nodding to Father Pieter.

  Alexander had prompted the priest on how the ceremony should go—short and sweet—but that was before the flask of whisky. As it was, Pieter had a tendency to be somewhat long-winded. And he was now, babbling on about fealty and ancient vows and God’s plan for man and wife until Alexander had the urge to give him a swift kick.

  He was nervous enough as it was without all this falderal.

  He wanted the vows and nothing more.

  He gave a low growl.

  Pieter halted mid-word, gaping at him with wide eyes. Then Pieter cleared his throat and opened his book.

  Why he needed a book for such a familiar ceremony Alexander had no clue, but Pieter quickly got to the meat of the ceremony and that was all that mattered.

  “Do you, Hannah Dounreay, take Alexander Lochlannach to be your husband, and in the presence of God and before these witnesses, do you promise to be a loving, faithful, and loyal wife, for as long as you both shall live?”

  She hesitated before answering, which gave Alexander cold chills, but when he glanced at her and their eyes met she nodded and murmured, “I will.”