by Sabrina York
Of course, she did remind him of Mairi. That was probably it. And nothing more.
“You have sworn off seduction, haven’t you?”
Andrew glared at his friend, though it was hardly Hamish’s fault that now, so soon after consigning himself to a life of celibacy, he should meet her. “Aye.” Sworn off. Completely. No matter how tempting the swing of her hair night be. No matter how alluring her form, her glower, her scent …
His gut heaved at Hamish’s next question. “So you’re certain you doona intend to seduce the lovely Susana?”
“Nae.” He didn’t intend his response to be so sharp. Or perhaps he did.
“Are you certain?”
“Aye,” he clipped. Nearly a snarl.
“So…” Hamish nudged him again. The look in his eyes was a familiar one. It had never before caused such cold dread to crawl through him. “What do you think? Should I seduce her?”
Andrew set his teeth. He didn’t know why the thought of Hamish and Susana made him feel ill.
His soul screamed Nae! But his reason spoke more stridently. “If you wish,” he muttered, but the moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. Which was ridiculous.
He had no claim on her.
He didn’t want one.
It was inconvenient, the seething desire he had for a prickly warrior princess with arrows that were far too sharp … and barbs to match.
He wasn’t here to seduce a woman. Indeed, he’d vowed to himself to give all that up.
And she was his sister-in-law. Surely that complicated any seduction immeasurably.
But as they made their way through the flower-spattered meadow toward the seaside town of Ciaran Reay, he couldn’t help thinking about it.
He couldn’t help thinking about it a lot.
* * *
Susana fumed as she rode back to the castle, still reeling from her confrontation with Andrew. It was hard to believe he was here, solid, real.
In her life, once more.
And damn. Why could she not eject from her mind the memory of just how solid he was?
The sight of him barreling down that hill, his white-blond hair flowing out behind him, that fierce expression on his too-beautiful face was burned on her mind. Her heart had fluttered, then thudded. And then—when she’d realized he wasn’t some figment of her imagination, but here, really here—it had plummeted.
He was the last person she ever wanted to see.
She’d been a stupid girl when she’d traveled to Perth six years ago to visit her mother’s people. She’d allowed herself to be cozened by dancing dimples and a charming grin. She’d believed the tripe he’d fed her about how she was special and wonderful and the love of his life.
She’d been seduced.
That in itself was humiliating enough.
But then she’d learned it was all lies. That she hadn’t been the only girl the handsome boy had seduced. When she’d been faced with proof, when she’d seen him kissing Kirstie Gunn, she’d been devastated.
Kirstie had bragged about it too. Mocking Susana as a fool for thinking a boy like Andrew would really want her. They’d laughed about it, Kirstie told her. He’d laughed about it.
Unable to bear the heartbreak and the mortification, Susana had left, fled Perth without a word to anyone. She’d come home. Where it was safe. Where men treated her with the respect she commanded. Where no man would ever hurt her again.
She’d spent the intervening years strengthening her spine and carving out a place in this world.
She hardly ever thought about that faithless boy anymore.
And now he was here.
For an indeterminate period of time.
It was a horrifying prospect.
When she reached the stable yard, she ignored her visitors and threw herself from her horse, tossing the reins to Ian. She stormed into the castle and up to her father’s study, filled with rage.
For one thing, Dunnet had already sent a company of men upon his marriage to Hannah. Why did he need to send more? Without warning? And to take over the defenses of Dounreay without so much as a by-your-leave?
Worse than that, he had sent him.
Papa was at his desk, surrounded by work, but he wasn’t working. He was sleeping. His snore rippled through the room.
Susana crossed her arms and tried very hard not to snort. Still she did. Loudly enough to wake him.
He grunted and his lashes fluttered open. When his gaze lit upon her, he smiled widely. She was not mollified. “Susana, darling. Ye’ve returned. Did you find any brigands?”
Any brigands? Hah!
“Papa, did you ask Dunnet to send more men?”
“What?” He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to appear innocent and surprised. Susana wasn’t duped. She saw that flicker of guilt.
“Did you? Did you ask Dunnet to send more men?”
“I sent him a letter telling him about the last attack. About that bastard Keith.”
Susana set her teeth. Och, how she would like to get her hands on Keith. That he’d tried to poison her father—poison him—made her see red. Lucky for him, he’d escaped before she could rain down her wrath upon him.
“Did you ask Dunnet to send more men?”
“I might ha’ mentioned it.”
“Och!” Susana whirled around and paced the room. “Papa, you know we have things well in hand.”
“Do we?”
Her stomach clenched at her father’s words. She was the one in charge of defenses. She couldn’t help but feel as though she’d failed. She’d doubled the men on watch since the last attack and set an investigation in motion searching for other traitors the enemy might have slipped into their ranks.
She’d been appalled to discover they’d been betrayed … by men they’d taken in, given shelter. To learn that Keith and Heckie and Jock for God’s sake were not the braw upstanding men they’d seemed to be, but vipers sent in to undermine their security, galled her.
Worst of all, her father had been attacked. Her father.
He’d very nearly died.
That bitterness rising in the back of her throat was probably not terror.
She could not let it happen again. She could not. And the only way to assure his safety, assure all their safety, was to maintain absolute control. To be on top of every situation, to orchestrate every element.
She finally felt as though she and Keir, her captain of the guard, had devised a system that worked. Everything had been going well. She’d been satisfied with their efforts. That satisfaction was absolutely shattered with the advent of Dunnet’s reinforcements. She was certain it had little to do with him. Any other man, attempting to worm his way in and take control of her dominion, would have annoyed her all the same.
Or perhaps not.
“Susana, lass. Doona look like that.”
“Like what?”
“So distraught. Dunnet’s men will augment our forces, not weaken them.”
“We doona know that.” Andrew had already gotten in the way. Set her investigation back weeks.
“Stafford will know it. He isna a fool. He’ll see our added forces and realize we are nae longer all alone.”
“That isna what I’m worried about.” She tuned and paced the room again. “The men who caused all those problems were not from Dounreay. They were strangers. Men we took in. We placed our trust in them and they betrayed us. The last thing we need right now is more strangers on our land.”
“Dunnet’s men will be trustworthy. They are loyal to their laird.”
Her nape prickled. “Are they?”
“Of course they are.”
Susana froze as Andrew’s deep voice flooded the room. Had he followed her? She whirled and fixed him with a glare. His response was a blasé smile, which made her want to spit nails.
He stepped into the room—uninvited—and thrust out his hand. “Magnus Dounreay? I’m Andrew Lochlannach, Alexander’s brother. He asked me to lead a contingent of men here and take over
the fortifications.”
God, he was large. He nearly filled the room. His heat, his scent, his presence dominated her senses. How aggravating.
It exasperated her when Papa took the offered hand and shook it. When he studied Andrew with far too much curiosity, something snaked through her. It felt like panic. “Andrew. Ah.” Papa glanced at Susana. She set her chin and stared him down. He hardly flinched at all. His lips firmed and he turned back to their guest. “Yes. I see. So … You’re Dunnet’s brother?”
“Aye, my laird.”
“Sent to take over the fortifications?” Papa’s tone, the far-too-curious look he sent Susana, irked her. Tension fizzled between them. She ignored it.
“Aye, my laird. I would love to speak with you about it. To get an idea of the measures you already have in place.”
Susana tried not to bristle. She was in charge of that. She always had been.
“Ye’ll be talking to Susana about that, my boy. Have you met my second daughter?”
Andrew’s expression warmed, and not in a good way. “Aye. I have.”
Papa shot a look at her and chuckled in a manner that caused Andrew to follow his gaze. Perhaps her expression was telling, because the buffoon winced.
“Please, have a seat.” Papa waved at the chair on the far side of his desk.
Anxiety riffled at Susana’s nape, sending a hot tide creeping through her. She didn’t want these two men talking. Not about the defenses of Dounreay. Certainly not about … other things. “Papa. I’m sure … our guest is tired from his journey.” She couldn’t bring herself to call him by his name.
Andrew’s expression could only be described as obnoxious. That it came with a wide grin only provoked her more. “Nonsense. I would love to chat with you … both.” He folded his long body into the chair and nudged the other toward her with a toe. It scraped across the wood floor with a provoking screech. His brow quirked. The challenge in his eyes was blatant.
Though it piqued her to do so, Susana sat. It wouldn’t do to leave these two men alone. If she stayed, she could steer the conversation away from any dangerous waters. She folded her hands in her lap and fixed her attention on her father’s face. He was staring at Andrew with a queer expression, one that made a pulse tick in her left eye.
“So you hail from Dunnet?” Papa asked.
Ah, a simple question. A logical question one might ask a visitor from Dunnet. But Susana sensed the undercurrent, the perturbing thread of import in the query.
“Aye.”
“Have you always lived there?”
Ah, fook! It took some effort, but Susana untangled her locked fingers.
“Aye. Always.”
Papa’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to ask another question and Susana did the same, to redirect the conversation, perhaps, but Andrew spoke before either of them could.
“Although I did attend school in the south for a few years.”
Papa’s expression made her pulse thud. “In the south?”
“Perth, actually.”
Papa’s chuckle reverberated in the room, low and pernicious and—shite—knowing. But he only said, “Perth is quite lovely.” His glance at Susana sent a shiver through her. She reminded herself to relax. And breathe. But she could not. Her nerves were screaming for action.
She stood in a rush that wasn’t reflective of her desperation to separate these two in the slightest. “We really should get our guest and his men situated.”
Andrew leaned lazily back in his chair and folded his fingers over his belly. “I would like to begin assessing the defenses at once. I’m certain there is much that needs to be done.”
“First, we must settle your men.”
Their gazes tangled and Susana did not imagine the challenge she saw in his. It was probably a tactical mistake to meet it with one of her own, but she couldn’t resist. And she could not back down. She couldn’t pretend to be something she was not.
His smile was nothing but a ploy to charm her into submission. This she knew without a doubt. Probably because of the glint in his eye. “Fine,” he said. “And then we can discuss the defenses?”
She fixed her lips into something resembling a smile. “I would be delighted. Please, come with me.” Roiling with apprehension and perhaps a hint of fear, she led Andrew out of Papa’s study, down the stairs, out of the castle, and across the bailey.
Oh, she would situate Andrew Lochlannach and his men.
In the stables.
With the rest of the dogs.
* * *
From her perch atop the mill, Isobel Dounreay MacBean gazed down at her kingdom. It was lovely from up here. The busy castle denizens bustled about in their daily work, utterly unaware she watched their every move. To her right, the town of Ciaran Reay spread out before her; beyond, the sea sparkled in the sunshine. Farms and crofts stretched out for miles in a blanket of green. Though, as the summer continued to warm, it was turning a trifle brown.
She could probably see the whole of the world from this vantage point. She glanced at the turret tower and tapped her lip in contemplation. The view was probably better from there, though.
Regardless, up here she was truly the queen of all she surveyed. She loved the feeling of being high above it all, the teasing gusts of the breeze and the sight of the wheeling gulls in the sky. Mostly, she loved the freedom. There was no one up here to order her about. It was wonderful.
A clatter rose at the castle gates and she turned in that direction and blanched as her mother barreled across the bridge.
Isobel quickly scuttled behind an eave. It wouldn’t do to have Mama see her up here again. The last time there had been quite a scold.
Her grip on the shingles slipped a bit, and she readjusted her bow and found better purchase, and then peered around the eave.
While it didn’t surprise her to see Mama barreling over the bridge—she often barreled—it did surprise Isobel to see her followed by a company of men, all in Highland battle dress and riding impressive destriers. They were men she did not know.
Mama tossed herself from her mount and stormed into the castle. Isobel could tell she was vexed from the way she walked—as though she had someone to scold. Her hands were clenched in fists and her expression was fierce. Isobel had seen that expression often enough.
Mama was often cross.
Siobhan said Mama wouldn’t be so cross if she had a husband, which made no sense to Isobel. But lately she’d been thinking that if Mama had a husband, perhaps she would be distracted. Perhaps she wouldn’t watch Isobel with such an eagle eye.
It would be nice to have more freedom. And come to think of it, it really would be nice to have a father, too. Siobhan had a father who took him hunting and fishing and taught him to ride and fight. Having a father like that would be very fine indeed.
As a result, of late Isobel had been toying with the idea of finding a husband for Mama—though it would have to be someone who suited her as well. The trouble was, Mama was picky and prickly and had turned each man away in no uncertain terms. Aside from that, there were not many eligible men in Reay—and most of those were very old.
How providential that now, new men had arrived.
A gust whipped up and danced her hair around her face and she impatiently pushed it back so she could see. She trained her attention on the largest of the men. Something about him fascinated her. It probably wasn’t the way he sat his horse, or his commanding posture. It probably wasn’t his hair, which flowed around his shoulders in a white-blond fall.
Nae. It was most likely his sword.
It was a splendid sword.
He looked like a knight with that sword. A valiant knight.
He eased from his mount, shared a word and a laugh with one of his men, and then, with a lazy lope, followed Mama into the castle.
Aye, Isobel thought. He was a fine man. Perhaps he would do …
Then her gaze settled on his friend, and her heart stuttered. He was as tall, as broad, as vali
ant as the white knight. He had a sword as well, though it was nowhere near as impressive.
But glory! His hair was a shock of red curls.
Isobel’s lips curled into a grin. Mama had red hair, too.
Clearly that meant only one thing. This man was perfect for her.
With a humming anticipation, she turned and made her way off the roof.
And she hardly slipped at all.
* * *
Susana was annoyed. There was no doubt about it. The swish of her hips as she led him across the bustling bailey was a dead giveaway, that and the dark glowers she shot over her shoulder. But Andrew couldn’t help but be amused. For one thing, she was damn alluring when she was annoyed.
Hell, she was damn alluring altogether. The curve of her waist alone could drive a man insane, much less that silky tumble of hair. He wanted to wrap it in his fist, wind it around his body. A certain part of his body.
At the thought, his cock rose.
It was difficult to remind himself that he’d vowed to eschew seduction. Try as he might, he couldn’t banish the fantasy of stripping those breeks from her lovely body and laying her down in the heather. Visions of that twitching backside—bare before him—danced in his head.
But he’d made a vow. A sacred vow. And as tempting as she was, he would control his baser urges. He could. Probably.
She led him into the stables, past his men—who were unpacking and seeing to their horses—and through the kennels. Though he was perplexed, Andrew followed. He would probably follow anywhere she led. It was a fact that should have scared him to death or at the very least, concerned him. But it didn’t. However, when she started up a staircase at the very end of the long hall, he had to stop her.
She glared at the hand he set on her arm. He tried to ignore the sizzle raging through him at their first touch. It was ridiculous how much that touch affected him. And how much he enjoyed her glare.
He edged closer. “Where are we going?” he asked in a purr.
Judging from her frown, his tone irritated her. He rather enjoyed irritating her, he found.
She ripped her arm away and continued up the stairs. He followed and found himself in a narrow loft that ran the length of the kennels. It was dim and a little dusty. Motes danced on the air. The roof was so low he had to duck his head to miss the rafters.
