by Sabrina York
She stared at him for a moment and he had the unsettling impression she was analyzing various strategies of attack. In the end, she set her hand on his arm and said in a soothing tone, “Alexander, I assure you. I am perfectly safe with Beelzebub. He is a lamb.”
At that moment, the beastie reached over and nipped Wallace’s hindquarters. Alexander’s mount jumped and shuffled away, sending him an accusing glance.
“Well, he’s a lamb with me,” she said, biting back her smile.
“He’s … so large.”
“I raised him from a colt, Alexander. I’m the only person who has ridden him. Now tell me.” She sidled up to Alexander, hooked her arm in his, gazed up at him with wide eyes, and said, “How are we going to proceed as man and wife? Are you going to bark orders—?”
“I doona bark,” he barked. She ignored his outburst.
“Or are we going to work together? As a team?”
He rather liked that idea. He nodded and grumbled something vague. He’d never been managed before and he wasn’t sure if he liked the feeling. Although he didn’t much mind being managed by her … when she looked at him in that way.
“And if I choose to ride my horse, and I shall, you willna sweep in and wrench me from his back each and every time?”
“Will you promise to take an escort when you ride?”
She frowned as she studied Alexander’s expression. He was certain it was unyielding and firm, but he might not have gotten it right, because she nodded and said, “Of course. If I feel like it.”
He opened his mouth to object, but she went up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his chin and all his arguments scattered.
“And thank you for attempting to save my life,” she added, patting his arm. “It was verra sweet.”
Sweet?
It had been the worst moment of his life. He didn’t know if he would ever recover.
And even worse? The emotions churning through his gut right now. Because he’d realized in all this, though they had only been married for a short while, she’d somehow wormed her way into his heart. She had become necessary to him. And if anything ever happened to her, if he ever lost her, it would devastate him.
* * *
“Bother,” Hannah grumbled to herself as she paced the terrace. Even the breathtaking view of the sparkling sea in the distance could not appease her. Annoyance prickled at her.
Her conversation with Alexander had gone well, she supposed, or at least as well as it could have gone. Though he’d seemed adamant at first that she not ride Beelzebub, he’d been willing to see reason. That was an excellent sign.
She’d had great hopes for a more in-depth interaction, perhaps a kiss or two, but then, when they’d returned to the castle, he’d disappeared. Just when she thought she was making progress with him, he retreated once more.
Although she had to allow she learned something new about him each day. He was like an onion, layer after layer of revelations that made her admire and respect him even more. She wondered if she would ever come to the core of him.
A cutting wind knifed in from the sea and Hannah wrapped her arms around herself. She turned to head inside to request some tea but stilled as she noticed a small girl standing to her left. The surly child from her welcome.
Hannah affected a smile. “It is a delightful view, is it not?”
Fiona gazed up at her with solemn eyes and nodded.
“I do love the sea.”
Another nod. The girl’s lips worked and Hannah could tell she was attempting to say something, so she waited patiently as Fiona worked at the words. “D-did you m-mean what you … said?”
Hannah quirked a brow. She had a tendency to say a lot of things, and while she generally meant all of them, she wasn’t sure to which comment Fiona referred.
“Th-that everyone st-struggles with something?”
“Aye. I did mean that.” In her experience, it was true.
Fiona looked her up and down, nibbling on her lower lip. “Wh-what do-do you…”
“What do I struggle with?”
A nod.
Hannah laughed. “I’m luckier than most. I have many challenges.”
“You do?” Why Fiona sounded so surprised was a mystery. Was it not obvious that Hannah was a bundle of issues?
“Och. Aye.” She set aside her desire for tea and strolled to a stone bench along the balustrade. She sat and Fiona crawled up next to her. “For one thing, I’m not terribly patient. My father despairs that I’m far too rash. Barreling in where cooler minds would wait. For another, I’m not verra pretty.”
“You … you are v-verra pretty.” The compliment sounded suspiciously like a complaint.
Hannah blew out a breath. “My sisters are much prettier. Lana is like a delicate angel and Susana is a warrior princess.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “A warrior princess?”
“She is rather magnificent. I, on the other hand, have always been rather … ordinary.” When Fiona snorted, Hannah nodded. “My eyes are too large and my mouth is crooked.” She gestured at her body. “I’m … plump.”
“He … he thinks you’re pretty.”
Her pulse stalled. “He?”
Fiona jammed a thumb up to the sky. For a moment, Hannah thought perhaps Fiona was talking about God and was about to pat her on the head and tell her how precious she was, but she glanced up, way up, and a movement in the window of the turret tower caught her attention. With a hit to her solar plexus, she realized who stood at the window, watching them.
Her husband.
She waved up at him and he jerked out of sight, as though embarrassed to have been caught spying.
“Laird Dunnet?”
“Aye.” Fiona put out a lip.
“How do you know he thinks I’m pretty?” She shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t not.
“He-he told m-me so.”
Something pleasant trickled through her. It might have been joy. Heat crept up her cheeks. “Did he?”
“Aye.”
“He told you? With actual words?”
Fiona giggled, though it wasn’t meant as a joke.
“Because he doesna speak to me much.”
The girl kicked her legs and smoothed her skirts. “He t-tells me lots of things.”
“He must like you verra much.”
“He does.” She beamed and then sobered. “We … are verra much alike.” This she said softly, with a treble of import. Hannah had the sense the words meant much more than they seemed to at face value. “Lots of p-people th-think I’m stupid be-because I canna sp-speak well, but he doesna.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“He gave me his quill.” This in a hushed whisper, as though the quill were the Golden Fleece or the Arc of the Covenant. And he’d given it to her. “He-he is t-teaching me to write.”
Oh, lovely. Another generation of letter writers.
“That was verra kind of him.”
“S-sometimes, wr-writing is … m-much easier than sp-speaking.”
Hannah stilled, her attention locked on the earnest little face. Her heart clenched. The breath burned in her lungs.
Lots of people think I’m stupid because I canna speak well.
We are verra much alike.
Writing is much easier than speaking.
Oh dear God.
Comprehension blossomed in her mind. Certitude filled her soul.
All of a sudden she knew. She understood.
Chagrin raked her. Chagrin that she had dared judge him without coming to know him.
She glanced up at the turret tower and caught him watching her again. All of her frustration, her aggravation and impatience, melted away. Something else entirely took its place, filling her chest with an ache that felt like adoration.
He thought she was pretty.
He was very kind to children.
He was a damn good kisser.
And he was hers.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled
up at him before he could retreat once more, “When are you coming out of your tower?”
Hannah glanced down at Fiona. “I told you I was impatient,” she said with a wink. And Fiona, bless her heart, threw back her head and laughed.
When Fergus arrived with the next letter in hand, Hannah did not rip it to shreds.
And she was very glad she did not.
It was an invitation.
To a picnic.
With her husband.
It was a delightful letter indeed.
* * *
Alexander looked up from his work, surprised to find Fergus standing nervously on the threshold of his study. After scrawling out the invitation to his wife, he had disciplined himself to return to work. If he wanted to spend the afternoon with Hannah, he needed to finish this first. In addition to urgent messages from Keiss and Feswick, which required his attention, the bitter battle in Lyth between the Dunns and the Keiths was heating up again.
The sight of Fergus nearly made him growl, because it meant the factor was bringing more to do. Indeed, he held a letter in his hand.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, my lord.”
“Come.” Alexander waved him in. Whatever it was, he would deal with it, and quickly. He was beset with anticipation. Seeing her again, holding her. Perchance soliciting a kiss or two, maybe a seduction in the tall grasses of the meadow—
“Her Ladyship sent this.”
Alexander’s hand stilled, mid-stroke.
Her Ladyship?
Sent him a letter?
His mood took a tumble. A letter could mean only one thing. She was refusing his picnic invitation. And here he’d been so encouraged when she’d smiled and waved and called up to him, imploring him to come out of his tower. The gesture had ignited something in him, some brand of courage that incited him to ignore his simmering foreboding, the fear that she might see the truth of him and turn away. He’d been suffused with the urge to face her, share his secrets with her, unveil his myriad faults, and trust that she would be patient with him.
He couldn’t bear her rejection of his gesture, but he held out his hand for the letter nonetheless.
Fergus gave it over and skittered from the study as though the hounds of hell were on his tail. Alexander had only bellowed at him once for interrupting his work—and that had been a very bad day—but Fergus had taken him at face value and rarely darkened the tower door since.
Alexander studied the letter. Her script was flowing and fine. His name was like a poem in her hand. A scent wafted up from the parchment. With trembling fingers, Alexander lifted it to his nose.
Ah. Her perfume.
It clouded his vision.
Surely a woman didn’t scent a rejection?
He had no idea. Women were a mystery to him altogether.
Burning to know what she said, he sloughed off his trepidation and ripped the letter open.
Alexander,
I would verra much like to meet you for a picnic this afternoon. Thank you for suggesting it.
His lips quirked up. That was a promising start. Not like a rejection in the slightest. And she would verra much like to meet him.
Excellent.
I thought it would be delightful if Fiona could join us as well.
Fiona?
His grin slumped. While he enjoyed the girl’s company, he’d had a very different afternoon in mind. Something romantic. With kisses.
He couldn’t very well seduce his wife with a child in attendance.
He thought very seriously about sending Hannah another note, requesting pointedly that they attend the picnic alone, but was glad that he didn’t when he joined the two of them in the bailey, with Brùid at his heel, and saw Fiona dancing from foot to foot, clearly delighted with the prospect of an outing.
He would have tonight, he reminded himself.
And if all went well, he might steal a kiss this afternoon.
Or two.
Hannah looked stunning, as always. Her ebony hair flowed free and glinted blue in the shafts of sunlight. Her brown eyes sparkled and her alabaster skin glowed. She wore an alluring kirtle that hugged her curves. His mouth watered.
She reached out to his dog with great trepidation and then relaxed with a gust when Brùid lapped at her hand. She smiled up at Alexander with a look that made his bowels clench.
She carried a small basket on her arm, one that made him shoot her a curious look, but she said nothing. So, as he tucked his own basket—filled with the accoutrements of their lunch—on his arm, they set out.
It was a beautiful day. Spring was waning and summer just beginning to rumble. It was warm, but there was a fresh breeze coming in off the sea. They made their way through the bailey and across the drawbridge and out to the meadow surrounding the castle. There was a spot near the ruins of the old keep he had in mind; it was the perfect picnic spot. As they made their way up the hill, birds wheeled in the sky and the drone of insects surrounded them.
Hannah chatted with Fiona—who seemed to have no hesitation about speaking to a veritable stranger—but his wife said nothing to him. Alexander found he didn’t mind. Especially when she laced her fingers through his.
It was an enchanting little walk. Just a man, a woman, a child, and a dog. One day, God willing, Hannah and Alexander would make this walk with their own children in tow. He could have kept going, could have basked in this interlude forever, but they reached the ruins. He set his basket down and picked up the blanket he’d brought, whipping it out.
It took a while to settle the blanket on the ground, because Fiona squealed and ran beneath it as it billowed. Then Hannah laughed and did the same. Brùid joined the dance, barking and bounding about, snapping at the corners. Alexander indulged them, lifting the blanket again and again, because he loved seeing her laugh. Head tossed back, eyes dancing, lips curled, wreathed in the joy of the moment … When finally the blanket fell, he arranged the basket on it and they all sat. One by one, he pulled out Morag’s treats.
Hannah and Fiona oohed and aahed over cold chicken and fruits and tiny cakes. But they didn’t ooh and aah for long. Apparently, they were both hungry. They filled their plates and all ate, enjoying this kiss of the sun, the tease of the breeze, and the comfortable company. With great glee, Fiona fed Brùid—perhaps more than she should have. But to be honest, the hound had perfected a pleading look.
To Alexander’s relief, Hannah didn’t pepper him with questions. Other than a casual comment about this offering or that, there was little conversation.
In all, he felt very comfortable.
Though he still wondered about the small basket she’d brought, he didn’t ask.
After they’d eaten their fill, they lay down on the blanket and stared up at the sky, with Fiona between them. Alexander couldn’t help but think this was the point at which he might have launched his seduction, but when Hannah glanced over at him and smiled, a happy, contented smile, he couldn’t regret the lost opportunity.
He could still steal a kiss later.
Fiona became restless and, to his delight, Hannah suggested the girl hunt for wildflowers. Alexander saw his chance. As soon as Fiona bounded up and dashed through the tall grass with Brùid at her heel, he made his move, rolling over and capturing Hannah’s chin in his fingers and setting his mouth on hers. He caught her by surprise. Her mouth was open. She tasted of wine and berries and … Hannah.
She stiffened, but only for a heartbeat, and then she melted into him, twining her fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. She made a murmur in the back of her throat, a little growl of pleasure like the ones she’d made last night, and it sent a wave of arousal through him.
He edged closer and deepened the kiss.
Her breath gushed into his mouth as he entered her with his tongue and then, God help him, she sucked him in. His arousal raged into a boiling sea of lust.
That simply, that easily, he was on fire for her.
It was probably indiscreet to shift, just a tad, so
he was over her. It was probably bad manners to press his hard cock against her hip and rub, but he couldn’t help himself.
She pulled back, only enough to whisper, “We shouldna.”
He grumbled a response. It was probably in the affirmative. But he didn’t stop kissing her. She was far too delicious.
Phhht.
Hardly a sound that engendered romantic flights of fancy. And coming from above him as it did, from a five-year-old, it was like a bucket of cold water. Alexander chuckled and kissed his wife again, before easing away. “Tonight,” he murmured, catching her gaze.
She pressed her lips together to stop a creeping smile, but it didn’t work. Not entirely.
“What have you found, Fiona?” she asked, sitting up and brushing down her dress.
“Just weeds.” Fiona dumped her collection on the blanket. “Wh-why were you k-kissing?” She wrinkled her tiny nose.
“Husbands and wives kiss,” Hannah said matter-of-factly. It occurred to Alexander that she would be a wonderful mother. Someday. Perhaps soon. She studied Fiona’s offering. “And these are not weeds. They are lovely.” She picked them up, one by one, and arranged them in a bouquet. A bouquet that looked very much like the one she’d carried at her and Alexander’s wedding. “If you weave them together, like this…”—she linked several of the stems together—“you can make yourself a crown.”
“A cr-crown?” Fiona’s eyes gleamed. “I should like that.”
“Here. You try.” Hannah handed the girl some flowers and she began weaving them together as Hannah had shown her, edging out her tongue as she worked. “Why do you no’ make one for each of us?”
“I will need more fl-flowers.” Without hesitation she leaped up and headed back to the meadow.
Excellent.
Alexander leaned toward his wife again, his intent clear. She stopped his advance with a palm to his chest. That her thumb stroked him didn’t ease his disgruntlement. She did allow him one kiss, although it was a quick one.
“I thought we could play a game, you and I.”
A game? He frowned.
He had another game in mind entirely.
“It will help us get to know each other better.” She seemed so resolved, so optimistic, certainly so determined, he couldn’t refuse. At his nod, she reached into her basket and pulled some things out. When his attention fell on the items, he froze.
