He looked at the stunned surprise on Devorguilla’s face now as he pronounced his decision. She was apparently far more eager to reach her daughter than he was. He looked away from the sharp disbelief in her gaze. “It’s starting to snow,” he said peevishly. “There’s no point in pressing on, getting stuck somewhere.”
“Are you certain you wish to marry my daughter, Lord Merridew?” Devorguilla asked as they sat in a private dining room, eating the miserable fare the dour innkeeper insisted was the best he had to offer. Merridew ignored the stew and downed several glasses of whisky instead.
He stared at the countess. In truth, he didn’t want to marry at all. It was simply duty. He wanted Alanna McNabb’s dowry, and an heir, in that order. She herself scarcely mattered.
“I’m content with the arrangements,” he said.
“What’s Alanna’s favorite color?” Lady Eleanor asked, her eyes as sharp as knitting needles. The child—Sorcha—regarded him from the corner of the room.
“What the devil—” He recalled the company and paused. “Why should that matter?”
“Perhaps you wish to give her a Christmas present—or a wedding present. Shouldn’t it be something she likes?”
He raised his chin. “I am giving her a title, my lady. Surely that is enough.”
“My lord, what color are Alanna’s eyes?” the child piped.
“So long as she has two of them, and they both point in the same direction, I don’t care in the least,” he quipped, annoyed.
“Her hair?” This prompt came from Devorguilla.
“Blond,” he said, since Devorguilla was blond.
Eleanor and Devorguilla exchanged a look, their lips pinching like the strings on a miser’s purse. The countess got to her feet. “Come, Sorcha. I think it’s time for bed.” She left the room without so much as a good night.
Lady Eleanor rose as well and leaned on her walking stick for a moment, scanning his face.
“My niece’s eyes are hazel, with flecks of silver and soft brown, my lord. Her hair is dark, with a touch of auburn. Her favorite color is red, like the roses that grow here in the Highlands in summer. She loves books, and she has a romantic heart.”
And just what did any of that have to do with anything? Wilfred wondered. He watched as Eleanor Fraser left without another word. Then he ordered another whisky, just to ward off the sudden chill that filled the room.
Chapter Forty-Four
THE WIND WAS growing stronger, and it was getting dark. Iain followed the faint indents of Alanna’s footsteps in the snow, prayed that new snow would hold off until he found her.
Alanna seemed to have a knack for taking long walks in the wrong direction. There were no farmsteads in this direction, no inns or roads, just moor and hills for miles, until the land dropped into Glen Dorian. From there, if she should reach it, it was barely ten miles to Dundrummie—but that was in good weather, with a fair wind at your back.
Not in deep snow.
He scanned the horizon, looking for a glimpse of her red cloak. It would be easy to wander off track, fall into a gully the way she had before, and this time—
Iain’s heart clenched in his chest. If she still wished to marry her marquess, he could live with that. If she went home to Glenlorne and made her life there, he could accept that, too, but he could not picture the world without Alanna in it.
He loved her. It was why he could never settle for marrying Penelope, or anyone else he didn’t love. In a few short weeks, he’d grown used to the feeling of his breath catching and his heart skipping a beat every time Alanna entered a room.
Craigleith Castle felt different with her in it. She made everyone smile, brought joy and laughter when there might have been tears. Even after the fire, she had done what she could to give everyone a sense of hope. She’d given him hope. He’d begun to picture being an English earl with less dread. He knew that with Alanna by his side as his wife, his countess, there was nothing he couldn’t accomplish. She’d charm all of England once they met her.
The first thing he intended to do when he found her was to shake some sense into her. Then he planned to propose. This time, he was eager to speak the words, even if he wasn’t sure of the answer.
The garron snorted, and Iain looked up. He felt a rush of relief as he saw her red cloak flapping in the wind, her slender body bent against the gale. He frowned.
If she meant to go to Dundrummie, she was going the wrong way.
And just ahead of her, there was a deep ravine, and she was heading toward it. Iain kicked the horse and rode faster.
Chapter Forty-Five
SHE WAS LOST.
Alanna wrapped her cloak against her cheeks, trying to ignore the stinging wind. She was a Highlander, born and bred in hills like these. Perhaps she should have spent more time outdoors, walking with Megan, instead of reading books.
She looked around at the white wilderness. She might get lost for good this time, and Iain would not be there to rescue her. She felt fear bite into her bones, every bit as cold as the wind. She felt regret too. She might have done things differently, been braver. She could have said no when her mother insisted she wed Lord Merridew in Megan’s place. Did Merridew wish she was Megan? She pinched her frozen lips together. Well, she wished he was someone else as well. The match was doomed before it had even begun.
She wanted someone who loved her for herself, just her, someone she loved too.
She wanted Iain.
She felt tears freeze against her cheeks, and she brushed them away impatiently. She should have told Iain that she—
“Told me what?”
Alanna spun. Iain sat on his garron, wrapped in his plaid. She was talking to herself. Hallucinating. Did hallucinations answer back? She blinked. He stayed right where he was, as real as she was, his gray eyes crinkled at the corners, fixed on her.
Her heart soared. He’d come for her.
Then she remembered Penelope, naked, in bed, and her heart dropped like a dead bird. She turned away, kept walking. “This is a private conversation, Iain MacGillivray.”
“Carry on then. I’ll wait. What were you saying?” She heard the crunch of the garron’s hooves in the snow, knew he was following her.
She really was glad to see him. “I was wishing—” Penelope, naked. “Oh, never mind.”
“Let me guess then. Were you wishing it would snow? You have your wish, my lady.”
She looked up, saw the thick fluffy flakes falling.
“It will be a lovely Christmas with all this snow,” he continued. “Craigleith is lovely in the snow. Mind you, it’s lovely in the spring as well, and in the summer. Roses grow up around the kitchen door so thick you can smell them for miles,” he said.
She glanced at him. There was snow on his hair, white on copper, and on his eyelashes, and coating the garron’s shaggy mane. She would remember him this way, not in spring or summer, with roses rambling over the sturdy walls of his castle. She would not be here then.
He dismounted from the horse and came toward her. “Or perhaps you were wishing to be rescued?”
“I felt like a walk. Surely there’s something you should be doing back at Craigleith.” She pointed a finger toward the castle. With Penelope, naked.
He pointed the opposite direction. “It’s that way, Alanna. Over there.”
She gaped, scanned the horizon.
He took her hand in his and swung it to point behind her. “Dundrummie is that way, if you planned to go through Glen Dorian, though it’s impassable with all the snow. If you keep going the way you’re walking, you’ll reach England eventually. Of course, there’s a steep drop not twenty paces in front of you.” She felt her face heat. He was close beside her, blocking the wind. “Were you running away, or running toward something?” he asked.
“Can a person not go out for a walk?”
“Good,” he said. He marched beside her through the snow, and the garron followed. “Did you know that Sandy thought I should keep you when I brought you back the last time?”
“Keep me?” she asked, breathless from trying to outpace him. He kept up effortlessly.
“Aye, in the old Highland way. A hundred years ago, the MacGillivrays were reivers, like most Highlanders. We stole cattle from our neighbors, and they stole them back again, with a few of ours for good measure. We stole our brides too, on occasion. Now, if I’d captured a fine cow, sleek and sweet with soft hazel eyes, I’d keep her.”
Alanna stopped walking to glare at him. “Are you comparing me to a cow?”
“Not at all. I was just considering the situation we find ourselves in. A stray cow, or a stray lass, is fair game, wouldn’t you say?” He smiled at her, and she felt her heart trip over itself, even as indignation rose in her breast. “We’re civilized now, of course, but I do miss the old ways, especially since I met you. You bring out the damnedest emotions in me, lass.”
Before she could reply, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She whooped with surprise, and tried to free herself, but his arm was like an iron band across her bottom. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Claiming you,” he said.
She went still for an instant. “You’re betrothed to Penelope. Is this a new tradition—Scottish harems?”
He laughed. “I love a woman who is well read.” He began walking, and she stared at a world where the sky was down and the ground was up.
“I doubt Penelope would find this amusing.”
“Ah, but Penelope isn’t here.”
Alanna struggled again, to no avail. His grip was like iron. “Of course she isn’t here—she’s back at Craigleith, in your bed.”
“You’re the only woman who’s been in my bed.”
She thumped a fist against his back, felt it bounce off solid muscle. “Put me down at once,” she said, using her very best lady-of-the-manor English. “I will not have a conversation with your—your backside!”
“I don’t think I will,” he said, his tone light. He wasn’t even winded from carrying her. “I like the feel of you in my arms, more than I’ve ever liked anything, in fact. I’ve grown used to you there. And I’m talking to your backside as well, and very much enjoying the view.”
She gasped, felt the breath cut off by his shoulder pressed to her belly. “Where are you taking me?”
“Ewan MacGillivray’s cottage.”
“Why?” she demanded, feeling heat course through her.
“Because it’s nearly dark, and it’s starting to snow. We’ll be safer here tonight.”
She didn’t feel safe. She felt the pull of her own desire. This time she wasn’t unconscious, and being alone in a room with this man made her think of kisses, and love, and—
“Take me back to Craigleith,” she insisted.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Of me?”
“Of myself,” she muttered, but it was muffled in the folds of his plaid.
He kicked open the door of the cottage and carried her inside.
He slid her down the length of his body until she was standing in front of him, dizzy and light-headed. He held her there, his arms around her. She looked up at him, met his eyes.
“There are a few things I wish to set straight,” he said. “First of all, I am not betrothed to Penelope or anyone else. I’ve told her I did not wish to marry her.”
“But I saw—”
“Aye, I know what you saw, or at least what you think you saw. Penelope was trying her best to convince me to propose.”
The warmth of his body spread through her own. “But you didn’t?”
He shook his head. “We wouldn’t suit. I wish her well, of course, and as head of the family I will do all in my power to see she marries well, and is happy, but I love someone else.”
She felt her throat close. “You do?” she squeaked.
“Aye. You see, I was raised to believe there were two kinds of men. The first kind takes care of the ones in his charge, cares for them, puts their needs above his own.”
“And the other kind?” she asked.
“He takes what he wants, and worries about the consequences of his actions later. For twenty-seven years I’ve been the first kind of man, the laird I was raised to be. I’ve done my duty to my clan. I never wanted to be the second kind of man until I met you.”
“Oh.” She lowered her eyes. She had never considered herself the kind of woman that would drive any man off the straight and narrow path of duty and honor.
“Do you understand?” he asked.
“I didn’t mean to—”
He pushed back the hood of her cloak. “I want you, Alana McNabb. You made me realize that a man cannot be one or the other. He must be both, or risk losing everything, and being unhappy to the end of his days. I thought inheriting Purbrick was just another duty, more sacrifice. I can see now that with you beside me, it will be a privilege.” He slid to his knees. “Marry me, Alanna.”
Her breath stopped. Her heart stopped. She put her hands on his shoulders and stared down at him, read hope and love in his eyes, saw her own reflection there. She wanted this, wanted him. More than anything. Or almost.
She thought of the pain, the scandal, the unhappiness she would cause if she dared to say yes, to choose this path instead. And she thought about the joy it would bring her to marry Iain. She shut her eyes. She was not free. She could not promise something new when she had not set aside the old promise, and to do that, she must see Lord Merridew. Surely it had hurt and embarrassed him when Megan had run away, and he had offered her an honorable marriage. She owed him an explanation, if nothing else, in person.
“I’m afraid I might be the first type of person, Iain. I’m not brave or bold.”
His face fell. “Will you still marry your marquess?”
“I don’t know.” Desperation and longing made her bold. She took a breath. “I do know that we have now, Iain, tonight. I can promise you that.”
“And after?” he asked.
She shook her head and slowly sank to her knees too, facing him. She ran her hand over his hair, brushed away melting snow. “Must we think of that? Kiss me.”
He looked at her, stunned, and she pressed her mouth to his, felt him resist a moment before giving in, kissing her back. He pulled her closer, groaned.
“The first kind of man would not do this—” he began.
“Then be the second,” she said.
He lowered his lips to hers, and she met him halfway. How had she lived without kisses? He nipped at her lips until she drew a breath and opened. His tongue tangled with hers, lapped the inside of her lower lip. His hand cupped the back of her head, pulled her closer still, and he pressed his body to hers. He kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead. She sighed, reveled in the sensation. It was like stars coursing through her veins, warming her blood, making it sing. She kissed him back, running her lips over the stubble on his jaw, found the pulse point under his ear, and felt his heart beating under her mouth.
He pulled back and searched her face, his eyes dark, unreadable. “We’d best stop, or—” He got to his feet. “I must go out and see to the garron.”
He rose and walked out the door, shutting it behind him, and the room was silent. Alanna bit her lip. What if he did not return, took the garron, and rode away? He might leave her here, knowing she’d be safe inside the cottage. But he wouldn’t leave her. He was, after all, the first kind of man.
She found a basket of kindling and laid the fire. She watched the flames lick the dry moss before she fed it some twigs.
She put a hand to her lips, which were sensitive and buzzing. Her whole body buzzed with
anticipation. She stared at the door. Was it wrong to want to know what kisses felt like, to understand what it meant to lie with a man she loved, desired? She looked around the room, at the familiar fireplace, at the clothesline strung between the roof beams, at the kettle, and the hearth rug, where he had kept her warm through the night the last time they’d shared a night here.
She didn’t want to think, to worry about tomorrow. She picked up his plaid, folded it, and laid it down by the fire.
She undid the buttons of her gown and let it drop to the floor. Then she slipped out of her shift, then her stockings, and laid them over the bench. Naked, she glanced at the door before she slid into the thick warm folds of the plaid and closed her eyes to wait for him.
Chapter Forty-Six
IAIN STOOD IN the lean-to with the garron, staring into the snow. He was not a man who gave in to whims, or desires, or passion. He thought things through before he spoke, considered the drawbacks as well as the benefits of any plan. This time he had allowed his desire to speak for him, had blurted out a clumsy, ham-handed proposal. It had felt right. But it wasn’t.
She had more honor than he did, more sense, perhaps. She’d made a promise, and she intended to keep it. He wished he was a reiver, had the right to steal another man’s bride. But he was a laird, an earl and a gentleman. And Alanna was a lady. Love did not, could not, enter into this.
He waited for the cold to drive some sense into him, but it didn’t.
He shouldn’t have brought her here. If he hurried, they could still make it back to Craigleith, if not before dark, then soon after, though the wind was against them, and the snow was thickening. But that would be every bit as foolhardy and dangerous as staying. Could he keep from kissing her if they remained here alone? If he kissed her again, it would lead to more, far more. Did she understand that? He leaned on the animal’s broad flank. Would it make it better or worse to love her now, then let her go and marry another man?
Once Upon a Highland Christmas Page 23
