by Sabrina York
Parchment. A quill. Ink.
What…?
“I shall write down a question, and then you write down an answer. And then you can write down a question for me. All right?” She shot him a hopeful look; he saw beneath it a thread of uncertainty. Worry that he would refuse.
He would not refuse. When he nodded, she gave a tiny sigh of relief.
“Excellent.” She picked up the quill and dipped it in the pot of ink. “We’ll start with something simple, I think.” He watched her as she scratched out her query. And he wondered, what would she want to know?
Why do you never speak? God, he hoped not. He didn’t want to reveal that murky secret. Not yet. Not so soon.
When she handed him the parchment, he nearly laughed out loud.
What is your favorite color?
He took the quill and responded with Green. It always reminded him of spring. After a moment of thought, he added that bit as well. Then he wrote: Yours?
She opened her mouth, as though she were going to speak, then gave a tiny shake of her head and took the quill.
I love green too. I doona care for brown.
Why she added that part he didn’t know. He hadn’t asked.
Her next question wasn’t as simple.
What is your favorite season?
As he thought, he tapped the quill against his lips until he caught her staring at them. He couldn’t stop his grin at her fascination. And his grin incited hers. He liked that very much.
“Well, go on,” she said. “Answer.”
He began to write.
Spring is a reawakening. When the flowers lift their heads and smile up at the sun. When the new lambs spring forth in bleating masses. When the earth yawns and stretches after a long sleep.
But summer is delightful too. The feel of the hot sun beating down on my face and the splash of the cold sea on my toes.
Fall has her charms. When the colors change and the nights go still. When the scent of the harvest lingers in the air.
Ah, but winter, with the heavy drifts of pure white snow. When the trees lose their leaves and stretch their fingers into the sky in a bony embrace.
I love them all, I suppose.
She read his response and then stared at it for quite some time. When she lifted her gaze to his, there was a hint of tears in her doe-brown eyes. “You’re a poet, I think,” she murmured.
He snatched the parchment back. Do you like poetry?
I love poetry, she wrote. I love all books.
Why she stared at him with a meaningful expression he didn’t know, but he didn’t ask. She continued to write.
I especially enjoy histories and plays. Or scientific books.
Then she nibbled on her lip and scratched that all out and simply wrote: Aye. But it was too late. He’d already read the part she tried to obliterate.
He edged closer and wrote:
Scientific books?
I didn’t mean to write that part. I am not a bluestocking.
She underscored not several times.
I wouldna mind if you were.
He’d always had a high regard for intelligence of any kind. That his wife, who would be the mother of his children, had an aptitude for learning pleased him.
She stared at him and then scribbled:
Men prefer stupid women.
He barked a laugh.
Not true.
Quite true.
I doona. The bleating of sheep annoys me.
She chuckled and pointed to his earlier passage—about bleating sheep—then dashed off:
One would think you enjoy them.
Before he had time to think through his response, he wrote: Not in my bed. And then he cringed, because she stiffened at his side. Her body hummed with a certain energy, one he couldn’t ignore; it set up a responding hum within him.
Their gazes locked. She looked away, but only long enough to scrawl:
What do you enjoy … in your bed?
He swallowed heavily.
Last night was rather fantastic.
Her smile lit a fire in his belly.
It was.
Did you enjoy that?
I verra much did.
He found he rather liked this game.
She added:
I’m looking forward to tonight.
As am I.
He glanced up at a giggle and saw Fiona returning with an armload of weeds … wildflowers, and he realized his and Hannah’s game was very nearly at its end. But he’d learned much about her in this short time, and through their play they had formed a bond. A tenuous one, for certain, but it was a start.
Hannah liked wildflowers. And books. And his kisses.
She had enjoyed last night … very much.
And he’d stolen a kiss … two.
Not a bad return for a lazy afternoon.
That he had to walk back to the castle wearing a crown of wildflowers was a small price to pay.
CHAPTER TEN
Oh, that had gone well. Very well.
Hannah smiled up at Alexander as they made their way into the castle. Fiona dashed off to find her friends and brag about her crown, and as much as she’d enjoyed the girl’s company, Hannah couldn’t help but be pleased. Because now, for a while, she had her husband to herself.
Well, with the exception of his dog, who obediently lagged at Alexander’s heel. As horrifying as their first meeting had been, she rather liked Brùid now. He was very much like Alexander. Strong, silent, and fiercely protective.
“I was wondering…” she murmured, waiting to continue until he met her gaze and quirked a brow. My, but he was handsome. Her thoughts stalled on that for a moment.
“Wondering?” he prompted. His voice, like honey, drizzled over her.
She hooked her arm in his. “I was wondering … why wait until tonight?” Why not go to their room now? And begin early?
His chest swelled. His nostrils flared. Tension thrummed between them. His gaze stalled on her lips. “I—”
“There you are.”
Hannah flinched at Fergus’ strident tone.
Damn it. They hadn’t been quick enough.
The factor bustled up, his features scrunched into a moue of distress.
Alexander sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “What is it?” This he growled through clenched teeth.
Fergus blanched. His attention winged from Alexander to Hannah and back again. “I’m sorry, Your Lordship. A messenger has arrived from Ackergill. He needs to speak to you at once.”
“Ackergill?” His expression firmed.
“Aye, my lord.” Fergus leaned in to whisper, “The message is from the duke himself.”
“Caithness?”
Hannah and Alexander exchanged surprised glances. Something churned in her belly. “I thought he lived in London.”
“Aye. He did. He recently returned,” Alexander told her.
“My lord. The messenger is waiting. He is … verra anxious.”
The sound that came from her husband’s throat was something like a growl, but Hannah felt the need to growl as well. Things had been going so well. She would have so loved to continue … in private, but it wasn’t meant to be.
“You go on,” she said, stroking his arm. She loved how his muscles rippled in response. “I shall see you tonight.” She didn’t need to add the wink to convey her meaning, but she did anyway.
She didn’t expect him to take her face in his hands and hold her still as his head descended, but he did. The kiss was hard, hot, and fierce. The savage brush of his lips, his taste, his scent, sent all kinds of inappropriate urges scurrying through her. That, of course, was what he intended.
When he lifted his head, locked gazes with her, and whispered, “Tonight,” her belly clenched.
Heavens, he was a glorious man.
“I canna wait.”
“Nor can—”
Fergus cleared his throat.
Alexander sighed and kissed her again, quickly, bef
ore turning on his heel and storming up the stairs. But he stopped at the landing to glance back at her, a simmering heat in his expression.
Fergus, who wasn’t paying attention, plowed into him.
* * *
Alexander swept into the sitting room and glared at the messenger, although it was hardly his fault that Caithness had ruined what could have been one of the most amazing days of his life. The boy flinched and handed Alexander a letter bearing the impressive seal of the Duke of Caithness.
Alexander had never met the man. Had no idea what to expect, but the reports about Caithness were … concerning.
Trepidation—and a prickle of irritation—rose. Alexander steeled his spine and ripped open the missive. As he read the contents, a growing ire singed him.
It was a summons, a demand that he hie to Caithness Castle in Ackergill at once. And bring his account books. The accusation was not written in plain print, but the intimation that he’d been giving the taxman short shrift made Alexander’s vision blur.
Aside from that, he disliked being called like a dog, and this from an insolent pup.
But, like it or not, Sinclair was their laird, their duke. The command was clear. Alexander was expected in Ackergill, and he had to leave at once. And take his account books.
His account books.
Bluidy hell.
Why that made him feel like a small boy being called before his uncle Alexander didn’t know, but he despised the feeling. He always had.
He was not alone in his umbrage. From the conversations Alexander had had with his fellow barons, resentment toward Caithness was running rife. Word was, the duke was a pompous ass. Though he was born a Scotsman, he knew nothing of the Highlands. Yet here he came, in his gold-gilded carriage, and began spewing orders at the lairds within his aegis. Alexander had already heard the cries of outrage from his kinsmen in Keiss and Halkirk and Wick.
The chieftains of Caithness County, to a man, were all used to wielding their own power; they bowed to no man. They were all accustomed to the disregard of their duke. For him to suddenly appear, after all this time, and demand fealty was ludicrous. Suicidal, perhaps.
Caithness would be lucky to survive a month.
Which would please Stafford, no doubt.
Alexander sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his bride and hie off to Ackergill to be raked over the coals about his accounts by the duke none of his friends could abide. But he would go. Because he’d been commanded to and because he wanted to meet his long-absent laird. He resolved to wait until he took the duke’s measure before he made any judgments. He was, above all things, a fair man in that. He prided himself on his honor and the honor of his clan.
He dismissed the messenger and headed to his chambers to prepare for an unwelcome journey.
The hardest part of it all was facing Hannah and giving her the news that he would be gone for some time. At the same time her disappointed expression wrenched his heart, it buoyed his mood.
Because she would miss him, she whispered as she went on her toes to give him a kiss.
She would miss him.
And aye, he would miss her.
He headed for the stables with a determined stride. He wanted to get to Ackergill and return with all haste. He hated the thought of leaving his wife now, just when things were going his way. The horses whickered greetings as he made his way through the shadowed stables to Wallace’s stall. He was opening the gate to saddle his mount when a strange noise captured his attention. A murmur. A rustle.
With a frown, Alexander headed toward the tack room and peered inside. What he saw caused his gut to clench. Lana Dounreay, locked in a clinch with a man.
And not just any man.
His brother.
Hannah’s pretty plea of the night before rippled through him and his blood curdled. If she knew what his brother and her sister were doing right now, she would be furious.
Words escaped him. He simply issued a growl. The two sprang apart and Lana’s eyes went wide. Her hand lifted to smooth her bodice. With an eep she hastened from the room.
Alexander turned to his brother and leveled him with a dark glare. “What the fook was that?”
Andrew blinked innocently. “That? What did it look like?”
“It looked like you were kissing my wife’s sister.”
His smile was incongruous, given Alexander’s fury. His smile was also annoying. “She’s verra lovely.”
“She’s an innocent. Not one of your playthings.”
“Really, Alexander—”
“I’m not joking, Andrew. Above all I want to keep my wife happy, and if she knew you were trying to seduce her sister she would be decidedly unhappy. And that would make me unhappy. Do you follow?”
Andrew put out a lip. “Hardly a seduction. It was only a kiss.”
“A kiss is one kiss too many.” Especially with Hannah’s sister.
“I needed to kiss her. Hamish and I have a bet.”
Good glory. Hamish. He should have known. “What kind of bet?” But he knew Hamish. He could well imagine.
Andrew lifted his shoulder. “Just a simple bet to see who can kiss a hundred women first.”
Alexander gaped at him. “A hundred women?”
“Aye.” The smug grin reappeared. He thrust a thumb in the direction Lana had gone. “That was number ninety-nine. I’m verra close to winning.”
“And what, precisely, do you win?”
“A dram of whisky.”
“It seems like a lot of work for a dram of whisky, kissing a hundred women.”
Andrew pursed his lips. “’Tis more than just the whisky. Bragging rights, and all.”
Alexander blew out a breath. “You do realize at some point you and Hamish are going to have to start behaving like grown men?”
“Ah.” Andrew winked. “But grown men kiss women.”
“Not a hundred of them.” Hell, he wanted to kiss one and only one. Shaking his head, he led Wallace from his stall.
When Alexander’s brother saw his bulging saddlebags, his eyes widened. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve been called to Ackergill to meet with the duke—”
“Ah, hell.” To his credit, Andrew’s unrepentant grin faded. His gaze fell on the account books as Alexander shoved them into the bags. “Why are you taking those?”
“The duke would like to review them.”
Alexander’s brother narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Aye.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I realize that.”
“Why do you suppose he wants to see them?”
Alexander had been wondering the same thing himself. He was certain all was in order. Still, he couldn’t stay the ripple of apprehension that skated through him. Caithness was a very powerful man. If he didn’t like what he found in Alexander’s books, there was no telling what he might do. At best, the man had it in mind to raise taxes, which would make things very difficult come winter, especially with all the refugees coming to Dunnet, all mouths that needed to be fed.
“I doona know how long I will be gone.” Alexander frowned at his brother. “While I’m away, will you look after my wife? Make sure she has everything she needs?”
“Of course.”
Alexander hefted himself into the saddle and gored his brother with an even darker look. “And I expect you to keep yer distance from Hannah’s sister. Do I make myself clear?”
Andrew frowned. “Aye. But—”
“No buts,” Alexander snapped. “Keep yer distance.”
The last thing he needed was his brother seducing his bride’s sister.
* * *
He’d said he would be back soon.
Ah, but he was not back soon.
Though Hannah was frustrated—she really wanted to spend time with her new husband and get to know him better—she made the best of it. While he was gone, she explored the shops of Dunnet with Lana, took leisurely walks with Brùid, an
d sometimes sat with Fiona, helping her learn her letters. She tried to keep busy, but none of these activities were terribly productive. She missed the constant bustle of Ciaran Reay. She missed being needed. She missed having a purpose.
It became clear, very quickly, that her help was not welcome here. The staff of the castle, a well-oiled machine, didn’t want her interference. Each time she offered to help with this or that, their features would pucker up and they politely, but firmly, refused any assistance she offered. She was, in a word, superfluous.
If things didn’t change, she would go stark staring mad within a week. As it was, she was bored. Unbearably bored.
Still, she’d never expected to take to her new home so much, but she had. From the far reaches of the castle, to the lively town to the west, to the surrounding fields … she loved Dunnet. It was so much like Ciaran Reay and the people were so very kind she felt as though she’d always lived here.
Lana loved it too. Hannah was delighted that her sister was happy here as well. But then, Lana tended to be happy wherever she went.
On the second day of Alexander’s absence, Hannah and Lana convinced Fiona to give them a tour of the castle. A real tour. Brùid trailed along with them. The girl was thrilled to squire her new lady from one end of the sprawling edifice to the other, proudly showing off one chamber after another. Upon Hannah’s urging, Fiona showed her the way to her husband’s office in the high tower, but in his absence the door had been locked.
She tried to quell her disappointment. Seeing his private study would have told her so much about him and, at the very least, made her feel closer to him in his absence.
They discovered two other locked rooms, one on the ground floor and one directly above it, which made Hannah wonder what they were and why they were locked, but no one would tell her. In fact, whenever she asked a footman or a maid about the sealed rooms their lips would tighten and their gazes would shift away. And heaven help them if Fergus should wander by as she was peppering them for details. He would glower, as he often did, and the poor underlings would pale and melt away.
