by Sabrina York
“He needs the money, Hannah.”
“For what?”
“He plans to refurbish his family home before he dies.”
Her brow wrinkled. “How much would that cost?”
“You havena seen his family home. It’s practically rubble.”
“Well, for heaven sake, it can hardly cost the price of the entire county. And what do you mean, before he dies?”
“He’s convinced he’s cursed.”
“Oh dear. Is he mad?”
“That was my thought, but he seems rational enough. And, to hear him tell it, every member of his family has died right on cue. He believes he has six months to live.”
“Then we shall have to work quickly.”
Alexander tried not to sigh. She was so hopeful, so certain, so resolute. He hated to dash her optimism. But the truth couldn’t be ignored. “And if that doesna work? If he canna be convinced? What then? When Caithness insists on his answer, and I tell him I willna clear the land, we will have to leave Dunnet.”
“Then we leave.” Her chin firmed. “Together.”
“Where shall we live?” When he was not the baron? When he was no longer the laird? When Lochlannach Castle was no longer his home?
She tipped her head up and stared at him. “It doesna matter.” Her voice was so soft, so calm, so sweet, he almost believed her.
“It does. It matters verra much.”
“Nae, my husband.” She set her palm to his cheek. “As long as we’re together, we will be fine.”
“I willna be a laird.”
“You will always be my laird.”
Silence filled the space between them. It had a weight. A potent presence. A tight ball formed in his chest. It was the most pleasurable ache he’d ever known. He stared down at her as long as he could bear it and then he pulled her into his arms and held her tight. God help him, he loved her, this woman he’d taken to wife. She was his heart, his life, his everything. With her, he was … complete.
“I am so glad I married you, Hannah Dounreay,” he murmured.
Her smile nearly split her face in two. “Hannah Lochlannach,” she responded softly. He loved the pride ringing through those words.
“Aye. Hannah Lochlannach.”
In that respect, she was right.
The castle, the lands, the treasury … none of it meant anything without her.
And with her, he had everything that mattered.
Although a roof over his head and food in his belly would be nice. And maybe a horse.
But he’d worry about that tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“How do I look?” Lana twirled, though it was hardly necessary. She looked stunning from all angles. She wore a baby-blue gown festooned with lace—His Grace should love that—and her hair was piled in a frothy creation that made her look whimsical and delicate.
But then, Lana always looked stunning.
“Perfect, darling.” Hannah sat back and soaked in her sister’s glee. How wonderful it must be not to have any worries at all.
Though she’d tried very hard to appear otherwise before Dunnet, Hannah was a bundle of nerves. This evening was crucial in their campaign to sway Caithness. While Hannah had every confidence that things would go well, there was no certainty that the duke would be amenable to their pleas in the slightest. She hoped she wasn’t being naïve to think that sharing her ideas on how he could make money without clearing the land would make the tiniest difference. But it was all she had.
Beyond that, she was worried for her sister. Hannah didn’t care for the way the duke stared at Lana. As though he wanted to eat her up. With his advent in Dunnet, all Hannah’s overprotective instincts—which had calmed when Andrew had left—bubbled up once more. And the duke was a much greater threat.
She flicked a look at Lana, to which her sister responded with a mock frown. “What is it?” she asked.
“I … ah … What do you think of the duke?”
“He really is verra handsome, isn’t he?”
Hannah’s heart lurched. She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “Aye. He is … handsome.”
Lana laughed. “Why do you say it in that tone?”
“What tone?”
“As though it tastes bad.”
It rather did. She sighed. “He’s a duke. And practically an Englishman.”
“What does that mean?”
Hannah shrugged. She saw a pleat on Lana’s skirt that needed smoothing, so she did. “Just that men like him are used to taking what they want.”
Lana’s snort rounded the room. “Have you yet to meet a man who dinna take what he wanted?”
“You know what I mean. You need to steer clear of him.” And then she added, just to underscore her point, “Alexander tells me he is cursed.”
“He doesna seem cursed … other than his unfortunate choice in clothing.” Lana wrinkled her nose.
“It hardly signifies. I doona like the way he looks at you.”
Lana sighed. “Are we having the rabbit and the flower conversation again?”
“If necessary.”
She sighed again, this time with much more melodrama. “Honestly, Hannah. You doona need to protect me from everything. I’m not a child.”
“I know that, darling. But I canna help worrying. I doona want you to be seduced by the duke.”
“Seduced by him?” Lana chuckled. “Have you seen what he was wearing?”
“It is all the rage in London.”
Lana sniffed. “I sincerely doubt I could be seduced by a man who wears lace.”
“There’s a relief. Still and all, do be careful around him. Lana, he’s a powerful man, and powerful men tend to believe that women were put on this earth as playthings and nothing more.”
“Och, Lachlan’s not like that.”
Hannah blinked. “Darling, who is Lachlan?”
“Why, the duke, of course.”
Lachlan?
Horror crawled up Hannah’s spine. “How … Why…” Oh for heaven sake. “How do you know his given name?”
Lana’s laugh was light and merry. Of course it was. She had no concept of the danger powerful men could pose to an innocent girl with a pretty face. “His mother told me.”
Relief whooshed through Hannah. “His mother?”
“Lileas. She told me he’s a good man at heart.”
Hannah crossed her arms. “Hasn’t she been dead for years?”
Lana gored her sister with a wounded look. “She’s been watching him.”
“Well, Lachlan has given orders for Dunnet to clear the land. And if he refuses, he will be replaced as baron. Most likely, Lachlan has sent the same orders to Papa.”
Lana gaped at her. “He has?”
“Indeed. Do you still think he is a good man at heart?”
Her sister put out a lip. “And you think I could be seduced by a man like that?”
Hannah tried not to wince at her wounded expression. “You did say he was handsome.”
“There is more to a man than a pretty face.”
“Aye.” T’was true. Much more. Hanna blew out a breath. “Well, then next time you speak to Lileas, ask her if she knows how to change his mind.” She meant it as a joke, but Lana’s eyes went a little cloudy and she tipped her head to the side. Her resultant smile, inscrutable as it was, made Hannah rethink such nonsense. Lana did know things. She often had information she couldn’t have gathered on her own. That in itself had convinced Hannah long ago that whatever gift her sister had—even though she didn’t understand it—was real. This prompted her to ask, “Does she? Does she know how to change his mind?”
“She has some ideas.” Lana tapped her lips and surveyed Hannah’s costume. She was wearing her favorite green, the dress she’d been married in, as it was her finest. Obligingly, she held out her arms and gave a little twirl as well.
“What do you think?”
“Charming. But you need something more.”
“More?”
Hannah made her way to her jewelry box in the wardrobe. There wasn’t much in it. She selected the piece that had been her mother’s and held it up before herself, gazing in the glass. “This one?”
Lana wrinkled her nose. “Not that one. Not grand enough for a baroness dining with a duke.”
Hannah tried another, and another, all with the same response.
Her sister studied her for a long moment, then said, “Why do you no’ wear my mother’s necklace?”
“You brought your mother’s necklace?”
Lana put out a lip. “I wore it to your wedding. Did you not even notice?”
Oh dear. “I was rather distracted.”
“Well, I did bring it and it would be perfect with your dress.” Without another word she bustled across the hall to her rooms and brought back the necklace that had been her mother’s. It was a lovely piece hewn of gold on a thick-linked chain. It was intricately carved and had a small stone mounted on the bottom. “Here. This is much better.”
“It is quite nice.”
“Perfect for dinner with the duke.”
It was, indeed, much grander than the others. “Help me put it on.”
She should probably have thought about jewelry before she’d done her hair, but together they managed to get the necklace over her coiffure without too much damage. It fell, a cool and heavy weight against her breasts in the vee of her décolletage.
“Oh, aye,” Lana cooed. “That is perfect.”
“Do you think?” Hannah turned this way and that, observing herself in the glass.
“It is lovely. You are lovely.” The deep voice coming from the doorway made her start. She whirled around.
Her heart swelled as she set eyes on her husband, dressed as he was in his kilt. He was always handsome, but never as handsome as he was like this. Something about the costume made his shoulders seem impossibly broad, his legs sturdier, and his visage more savage. He was terribly striking tonight. She clasped her hands and gazed at him. “Dunnet.”
“You look verra much the laird,” Lana murmured.
“Does he no’? So handsome.”
Was it her imagination, or did he blush? “Not so verra handsome,” he grumbled.
“Verra handsome.” She sauntered to his side and kissed his cheek.
He kissed hers.
Then her lips.
“Ahem. I will meet you downstairs, shall I?” Lana said with a twinkle in her eye. As she headed for the door, she waggled a warning finger. “Doona get distracted.”
Hannah sniffed. Surely there was no call for such a comment.
Oh, but there was. They became very distracted indeed.
They were almost late for dinner.
* * *
Lana was the only one present when Alexander finally led Hannah into the parlor. She stood by the window staring out into the falling shadows. So absorbed was she in the view, she didn’t turn around when they entered the room, for which Alexander was grateful. He paused at the door to give Hannah another quick kiss and tucked a curl behind her ear. Sadly, her hair had become … mussed. But her cheeks were rosy and her lips bee-stung. She looked ravishing.
He certainly wanted to ravish her.
Even though he already had.
It was a damn shame they had guests.
But they did and this dinner was important, so he fixed a credible smile on his face, linked his arms in Hannah’s, and entered the room.
“There you are,” Lana said with a gust when she finally noticed them. “I was beginning to think I would have to have dinner all on my own.”
Hannah flushed charmingly. “Nonsense. We came straightaway.”
Lana nodded, but her mischievous smile showed she knew the truth. “I just feel honored that you remembered at all—” Lana stilled. The smile froze on her face. Her lips parted and her throat worked.
Alexander followed her stunned gaze just as the duke, dressed in the Dunnet-hewn kilt he’d found for him, entered the room. He could understand why the sight had addled Lana’s thoughts. Caithness looked very fine in the deep Sinclair red. It set off his dark hair and striking features. In fact, suddenly, miraculously, he looked like a Scotsman. And a duke to boot.
It was very annoying, then, when Hannah espied him. Her body tensed. Her eyes widened and she murmured, “Oh my.” Alexander tried not to be annoyed at the awe in her tone. Damn. Maybe he shouldn’t have given Caithness the plaid after all. Not if the look of him in it made Hannah gape so. He couldn’t resist the urge to nudge her with his elbow.
She turned to him, her eyes wide. “Oh my,” she repeated.
When he glowered at her she grinned, but when she caught sight of Lana’s dewy-eyed look at the duke her eyes narrowed. She grumbled something beneath her breath and then burst forward with a strident, “Good evening, Your Grace.”
Caithness seemed to find it a challenge to rip his attention from Lana’s face, but at length he did, probably because Hannah thrust her hand at him. He stared at it for a moment before he took it. “I … ah … Good evening, Dunnet. Lady Dunnet.”
When the duke bent over his wife’s hand, his gaze stalled. Alexander couldn’t help but notice it stalled on her cleavage.
Aye, Hannah was in fine form. The dress she wore was stunning; it hugged her curves and highlighted her eyes. But nothing was more alluring than that shadowed crease. That another man was ogling it—with what looked like glint of avarice—made his fists curl.
He had to forcibly open his fingers and remind himself this was his overlord. One did not, as a general rule, plant one’s fist in the face of one’s overlord.
Dougal, on the other hand, he could pummel, and Alexander wanted to, because when the duke’s cousin ambled into the room behind his liege, his gaze locked on Hannah’s bosom as well.
Irritation snaked through Alexander, making the little hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. It took every effort not to growl. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the dinner Hannah had carefully planned.
But he would, if it became necessary.
Though he’d always been a fiercely loyal man, never in his life had he felt this. This sense of belonging in something and to something. This feeling of partnership … and the scorching possessiveness that seemed to come along with it, fist in glove.
Hannah was his. His wife, his love, his.
Other men should never be allowed to ogle her bosom. He would have to remind her of that later. Perhaps a new party dress was in order. One without a plunging neckline.
These thoughts flickered through his head, but he said nothing—certainly punched no one—as they made their way into the dining room for their meal. Hannah and Lana chatted with the duke about, well, whatever it was they were chatting about—Alexander found it difficult to focus on the conversation—and while Caithness seemed to divide his attention politely between the two, more often than it should his focus returned to that which Alexander considered his own.
Not growling was becoming a challenge.
The duke took the place of honor at the head of the table, and because they were a small party and had agreed to suspend formal protocol Hannah sat on his left and Lana on his right. Though it appeared Dougal seemed inclined to take the space next to Hannah, Alexander elbowed him out of the way. With a grumble, he headed over to the other side of the table to sit next to Lana.
Alexander realized his error at once. From that vantage point, both men had an unimpeded view of Hannah’s décolletage, whereas Alexander had to lean forward to enjoy it. Or to glare at them. Whichever proved most necessary at the moment.
Sadly, neither of them noticed his displeasure.
They were far too preoccupied.
In truth, it wasn’t a very plunging neckline. As the conversation swirled around him, Alexander mentally compared the two sisters and decided Lana’s dipped far lower. Though Hannah’s breasts were fuller. That was probably the at
traction.
The necklace she wore only drew attention to the rise and fall of those milky swells. It cradled between them like a golden lance, sending lurid visions through his mind, visions of things a man should like to try when his woman had breasts as splendid as these. Tantalizing explorations …
His rising lust was an annoyance, because it was twined with the knowledge that Caithness and Dougal were likely thinking the same things.
Hannah, of course, was oblivious to the attention. But then, she would be. She was utterly absorbed with painting a picture of Scotland—true Scotland—for their guest. She and Lana shared stories of rollicking fetes and heartbreaking struggles, of ancient traditions and amusing anecdotes from their family history. Their tales were peppered with examples of men, women, and children affected by the Clearances, but it was so subtle, Alexander almost missed it.
When he allowed himself to ignore the too-frequent glances toward her chest, he was surprised to find he discovered much about his wife he didn’t know, and it occurred to him that though they had become very close, they had not had long lazy conversations about their lives and their beliefs and their hopes and dreams. He resolved to rectify that. He wanted to know it all. He wanted to know everything.
The fact that her mother had died giving birth to her surprised him. She made a comment about being a large baby and, though she didn’t say it, he sensed a long-buried wound. She blamed herself.
Her sister Susana’s mother—who married Magnus shortly after Hannah’s birth—died bringing Susana into the world as well. And while Lana’s mother didn’t suffer the same fate with her first child, she did with the second, a babe who followed her quickly into the afterlife. After the loss of this third wife, Magnus never tried again.
Alexander shot a look at Hannah. Though she chatted unconcernedly as she nibbled at her dinner, he had to wonder if the fear haunted her that one day she would be heavy with child and the birthing of it might kill her. His first thought was a swelling tenderness for her. Childbirth was dangerous, but she was strong and sturdy. No doubt she would prove more than worthy of the challenge.
His second thought was sheer terror.