by Cathy MacRae
“Alex.”
This time his laugh could not be contained at the pained look she sent him. Placing a palm at the small of her back, he urged her across the yard. Six of his personal guard flanked them at a discreet distance. Hanna peered over her shoulder.
“So many?”
Alex followed her glance, the familiarity of his guard so ingrained, he had scarcely noticed them. “’Tis protocol,” he shrugged. “Inside the walls there are usually two suitably placed to watch my back or guard whatever room I am in. Outside, there are more.” He paused. “Gillian has a guard as well, though she often slips past. Since she doesnae leave the castle walls without escort, she is typically left to Peigi’s watchful eye. Should she leave, she must be guarded.”
He frowned. “She didnae have a guard today.”
Hanna shook her head. “Nay. I am not used to such precautions.”
“She would make an excellent target for ransom. Ye must promise to collect at least two soldiers to guard her should she beguile ye into taking her beyond the walls again.”
“I see the danger. I will do as ye ask.”
Alex held her elbow, lending support over a bit of rocky terrain. Not that he considered her fragile or incapable of comporting herself over the slight obstacle, but because he enjoyed touching her.
He sent a salute to the master shipbuilder who left his work on the Alacrity to join them. He fell into step as they traveled the length of the dock to the smaller ship.
“How goes the refitting?” Alex asked.
The shipmaster gave Hanna a brief bow then turned the talk to details and questions about the Porpoise.
“It doesnae need to be lavish,” Alex reminded him. “Merely accommodating should the king decide to sail with us. Should he wish a personal flagship, I am certain we can entertain the idea at a later date.”
“Then all will be in place next week. Come see for yerself.”
“Excellent. We will need to sail by the end of the sennight to meet with the king.”
The shipmaster beckoned them aboard. Alex assisted Hanna up the steep plank. She slipped her hand from his arm and nodded for him to proceed without her. Alex listened with half an ear to the shipmaster’s comments, his eyes taking in the polished wood and metal gleaming on every inch of the ship. The captain’s quarters had been enlarged and fitted with a bed, desk and chair amid ample space, and draped with heavy fabric to keep the cold air at bay. A second cabin, generally set aside for a guest—should they have a paying customer—had been similarly outfitted. A storeroom had been converted into extra sleeping quarters for soldiers, for the king would have his own, and Alex had every suspicion King Alexander would be eager to test the Porpoise for himself.
“I am well-pleased,” Alex said. “Ye have done as I asked, and in a timely manner. My thanks.”
The shipmaster gave a deep nod of acceptance of the compliments. Duty performed, Alex was instantly diverted.
“I will ensure the foodstuffs and anything else ye need are available.” He spun about, seeking Hanna.
She lingered not far from where he’d left her, her gaze traveling the distant horizon.
“What captures yer thoughts, Hanna?” he asked.
“They came in the night—three black ships lit by lanterns and torches.”
Alex gingerly wrapped his arms about her, feeling the fine shiver that wracked her body. Mayhap he had won her trust. It would take time to conquer her demons.
CHAPTER 15
It wasn’t that Alex was starving, he’d simply never been able to resist the aroma of fresh-baked pasties. And, as laird, it was less likely he’d get his hands slapped for sneaking a hot pie from the cooling table. His belly grumbled as he shucked out of his sweat-stained leine. This morning’s sword practice had been grueling, and he’d lingered amid the well-trained group of much younger men for no other reason than he did not look forward to an afternoon of bookkeeping.
Alex quickly sluiced water over his neck and shoulders and reached for a rough scrap of linen to dry with, deciding to grab a couple of Cook’s prized pies before settling in at his desk. The growing aroma seemed destined to drive him to distraction.
He scrubbed his thick hair and draped the cloth over his shoulders, certain he would require a clean leine before resuming his duties, and hesitant to let the pies cool before he returned to collect one.
“Which would ye prefer first?” The feminine, matter-of-fact voice startled him. Alex slewed his head around, his gaze landing on Hanna’s slim form standing patiently to one side. He feasted a moment on her brow arched over dark green eyes, her mouth not quite lifting into a smile. One of her hands held a folded—and presumably clean—leine, the other, a small platter boasting two steaming pasties.
“Ye have lived here little more than a month, and ye know me so well?” Alex asked, his stomach rumbling at the sight of the pies, though his cock stirred with a different hunger.
“Ye arenae a difficult man to understand, my laird,” Hanna replied, lifting first one hand then the other, asking him to choose. “And your daughter has already made her choice.” With a grin, Alex snagged a pie, managing to devour it in two large bites as he sucked cool air over his teeth to ease the burn of the hot treat.
Patient, Hanna waited until his hands were free, then offered the shirt with a pointed look at his half-dressed state. Alex sucked a bit of escaped fruit from the edge of his palm, then snatched the leine and pulled it over his head, grumbling silently that he would not have asked her to cover herself had the tables been turned. He jerked the hem past his hips, surreptitiously adjusting the fit of his trews.
Grabbing the second pie, he ate it slowly, savoring the flavors as Hanna set the empty platter aside and stepped close to tie the strings at his neck. Her scent drifted to him, challenging the lure of the pasties. He silenced the groan in his chest, fighting the urge to press against her. He wondered briefly what she would do if he hiked up her skirts and backed her against the wall of the keep, her legs about his waist.
With a pat to the bow, she turned to collect her platter.
Disgruntled with the end of his fantasies, he shoved the last of the pasty in his mouth.
“’Ows Gi’lan?” he asked.
Hanna glanced over her shoulder. She then faced him, both hands on the rim of the platter as she held it flat against her skirt.
“She is a charming child,” Hanna said. “Though I wonder if she would benefit from a tutor. Someone who spoke as many languages as she does.” This time one edge of her lips lifted, casting the hint of a smile in her eyes.
Alex swallowed, intrigued by the sight. “Ye appear to be well,” he murmured.
A faint blush tinted her cheeks. “I suppose the correct reply is thank ye, as I will assume that was an honest statement, not a leer and suggestion of behavior I have already declined.”
“St. Andrew’s toenails, lass!” Alex exclaimed, not so much surprised as disgruntled to force his ardor aside once again. “Ye are free to live here without conditions—have I not stated that enough? Though ye are also free to assume I willnae refuse a small kiss of gratitude should ye be so inclined.”
Hanna’s eyebrow lifted. “My inclination is to not rush headlong into something I am not ready for. I am too recently a widow, as ye well know.”
“Tell me of him,” Alex urged, unaccountably jealous of the man who’d commanded Hanna’s body, her loyalty—her touch.
“Why would ye wish to know of him?” Hanna asked, her expression guarded.
“Because it tells me more of ye.”
Hanna stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Torvald and I married to unite two clans by blood,” she said, indulging his curiosity. “He was a good leader and a good father.”
“Was he a good husband?”
Hanna’s gaze narrowed as though unwilling to speak ill of the dead. “He kept food on the table and discipline in our home.”
“Did ye love him, Hanna?”
“I did not dis
like him. He was honorable and clearly loved our children.”
Alex absorbed the dry facts. “Ye already know my wife and I endured a largely loveless marriage. Mayhap we tried too hard in the beginning. Our clans had been bitter enemies and we dared not fail.” Alex sighed. “But the loss of the twins, and our son soon after, ended what tenuous relationship we had. Gillian was born much later and was a bit of a surprise to her ma and me.”
“Still, ye must miss her.”
Alex considered her statement, hearing the slight question in her voice. “She was not a difficult woman, and my marriage could have been far worse. Yet, I feel as though I’ve missed out on something.”
Hanna’s lips parted slightly, as though she wished to say more, then changed her mind.
“My sister’s marriage began as one of convenience,” Alex continued. “But they developed a passion for each other rarely seen. I dinnae remember my own mother—she died when I was a bairn—but everyone always said she and my da loved each other greatly. My da missed out on many years of marriage—but he dinnae miss out on love.”
* * *
Hanna returned to the kitchen, taking her time as she mused over Alex’s statement. Had she missed out on love? Almost certainly she had from her husband, for though he’d been a lusty man, he’d been considerate enough to never force her, and he’d always finished quickly. There had been a few times, howbeit . . . . No, better to not think of such things. Torvald was dead. It was too soon to consider another alliance—certainly not to a Scot! As long as she remained apart from her people, marriage was beyond her reach.
But was love?
Hanna crossed the kitchen, gave the platter a quick rinse and set it aside to dry. Heading out the door to the kennel where she’d left Gillian pestering the kennel master for tricks she could teach Bjarne, she caught sight of Laird MacLean filching another of Cook’s pasties, though he bent forward and kissed the woman’s proffered cheek as she waved a wooden spoon around his head in implied threat. The formalities accomplished, Cook slipped a second pie onto the small plate and shooed him away. His grin lit up the kitchen, as cheerful as any lad, and he bowed before his eyes met hers.
A tingle wafted across Hanna’s skin. He was manly enough to capture any woman’s attention, but she despaired of joining the ranks of unattached ladies angling for more than a glimpse of the MacLean laird.
Foolishness! If she remained at MacLean Castle, there were other available men should she wish to form an attachment. Though she’d seen none to compete with Alex MacLean.
She indulged in his gaze, dark and mysterious, bold and daring. What would his kiss be like? Would his chiseled lips soften against hers? She didn’t imagine they would be hard and impersonal. His casual touch sent tingles flashing across her skin. How would a caress make her feel? Her belly warmed at the thought.
Would he honor any child they might conceive?
Hanna bit her lip pensively. Would she alone bear the responsibility for their actions?
His lips lifted in a smile and he departed, carrying his platter with him—and leaving Hanna to wonder at what he offered.
She sighed. It was too soon. Torvald deserved to be remembered. And yet, had he died of natural causes, she would have been pressured into remarrying quickly to maintain the leadership of the clan. And without family or kin, who was there to council her?
Did she wish to subject herself to the authority of another man, or did she value what little liberty she had? And, if she allowed the baron’s attentions, what would happen to her when Alex MacLean took another wife?
CHAPTER 16
Arbela narrowed her gaze on her brother, puzzlement warring with pleasure at his apparent good humor. He surveyed the crowd in the hall as the people went about their tasks, a faint smile on his face—as if he anticipated something.
“What has ye in such fine spirits?” she asked.
Alex sent her a startled look. “How am I different?”
“Your smiles were sad last I saw ye, Brother,” Arbela replied, giving his hair a teasing ruffle, as though he was a lad. “Ye appear to have shed worries and years since I last saw ye.”
“I wasnae in my best form after Annag’s funeral,” Alex reminded her.
“Nae, even before that ye seemed brittle—almost harsh. I suspected it had much to do with Father’s and young Donal’s deaths and clan responsibilities in addition to the trade ye oversee.” Arbela dropped her voice. “And with a wife who left ye too much on your own. I do not applaud her death, but I am happy to see ye more relaxed.”
A ruckus rose in the back of the hall—shrill barks and girlish laughter amid the clatter of a bench on the stone floor. Arbela cast a quick look toward her brother, expecting a scowl. But the look on his face dropped her jaw. Eyes intent on the people emerging from the disturbance, his hungry smile widened. She whipped her gaze to the back of the room and spied Gillian chattering merrily to a blonde woman at her side as they approached the head table.
The woman was not Gillian’s nurse.
“Has Peigi outlived her usefulness?” she asked. Alex did not answer. Arbela thumped his shoulder for ignoring her and gave Gillian a warm smile as the lass shrieked and bounded around the table to her side.
“How is my favorite niece?” Arbela scooped Gillian into a fierce hug.
The child laughed and returned the hug. “I am yer only niece,” she retorted.
“Can’t ask for better odds than that, then,” Arbela teased.
“What are odds?” Gillian wanted to know.
“Arbela!” Alex warned.
“Could ye introduce me to yer new nurse?” Arbela asked, adroitly changing the subject.
Gillian hopped from her lap and grabbed the woman’s hand, dragging her forward. “This is Hanna,” she said, couching her tone in a formal manner. “Hanna, this is my Auntie Bela, Da’s sister. She lives at Dunfaileas, but she lived here when she was a wee lass like me.”
Hanna’s wary gaze skipped from Gillian to Arbela—and at last to Alex.
“’Tis a pleasure to meet ye,” Arbela replied, puzzling the look Hanna and Alex exchanged.
“The pleasure is mine, my lady,” Hanna answered, returning her attention to the introduction. Though her voice was moderate, her words held a lilt Arbela had heard before.
“Norse?” she asked.
Hanna’s eyes flashed. “Aye.”
Arbela gave her a pleasant smile. “Ye are welcome here.”
Hanna glanced again at Alex. “So I’ve been told.”
“She’s not my nurse,” Gillian interrupted. “She’s my friend. Peigi has been ill, and Hanna is a lot more fun. So is Aadny.”
“Aadny?” Arbela asked, pinning Alex with a look.
“She and Hanna arrived the same day,” he drawled. “Aadny has been like an elder sister to Gillian. Though not so bossy—or nosey.” He returned Arbela’s look with a raised brow.
Arbela favored his quip with a grin then turned to Gillian. “I came to see how much ye and the puppy have grown, and to see that yer da was staying out of trouble. Where is this beast I sent ye?”
“Bjarne!” Gillian called, taking several steps beyond the table as she searched for the dog. “He must have gone outside. There was a cat just inside the door. I ’spect ye heard.”
“Aye. I believe we did,” Arbela said. “Mayhap ye’d best go find him, and I will join ye in a bit.” She nodded to Hanna. “’Twas a pleasure meeting ye. I hope we get a chance to chat before I leave.”
“I look forward to it, my lady,” Hanna replied before excusing herself to chase after Gillian.
Alex’s gaze lingered on the Norsewoman’s form as she strode away.
“So, that is who keeps ye from answering my invitations to visit?”
* * *
Mesmerized by the sway of Hanna’s hips, Alex reluctantly pulled from his trance and gave his attention to Arbela, hoping to deflect her curiosity. Her grin told him she saw far more than he intended.
“Gilli
an is helping Hanna overcome her grief at losing her family,” he said.
Arbela burst out laughing. “Such a sanctimonious tone! Ye are anxious to help her forget her past as well.”
Alex drummed his fingertips on the arm of his chair. “So what if I am? The council has been after me this past year to find a woman of my choice.”
“Aye, and marry her,” Arbela reminded him. “Do ye intend to marry this Norsewoman?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Alex grumbled, vexed to hear his quandary falling from her lips.
“What will the council say?”
“I care not,” he replied, his ire rising.
“Ye should,” Arbela pointed out. “Though ye are the MacLean, they are yer council.”
“They shouldnae worry over who I take to bed,” Alex groused.
“They willnae,” she agreed. “But binding the clan to a woman clearly of Norse descent could put ye and the clan in a precarious position with the king.”
Alex wanted to shout he was perfectly capable of managing his own clan politics, but he knew his sister merely spoke the obvious.
“Do ye not have an appointment with the king in a fortnight’s time?” she pushed.
“What would ye have me do? Ask his blessing on my marriage to a Norsewoman as we plot to wrest the King of Norway’s hold on the Isles?”
Arbela leaned closer, placing a hand over his. “Have ye spoken of yer wishes to Hanna?”
Alex gave a curt nod.
“How did she respond? Does she hold back from marrying ye?”
Alex frowned. Why did it seem Arbela approved the thought Hanna might have strong feelings about marrying a Scot?
“I dinnae ask her to marry me.”
Arbela drew back. “Ye said ye did.”
“Nay. I dinnae ask her to marry me. I asked her to become my mistress.”
Arbela’s chair squealed on the stone floor as she pushed forcefully to her feet. “Come with me.”
Her command, unyielding from years mothering her own brood, left him little choice. He took a final sip from his cup and rose to follow. They entered his solar and Arbela slammed the door behind them.
