by Sabrina York
“A tour of the borders. To help you become acclimated for your work. I should like to show you everything.”
“I would love that.”
“All the way round, it’s a two-day ride. We can stay at the inn in Bower.”
“Ah. The tangled limbs.”
“Indeed.” He grinned. It was a beautiful, carefree offering and she loved it.
In fact, she very much suspected she loved him.
* * *
They started their ride as dawn broke because Alexander explained they would need to get an early start if they were to make it to Bowermadden Inn before dark. At the last moment, they decided to take Brùid, because his large brown beseeching eyes could not be resisted. He loped along beside them, glorying in the run, his tongue a’loll.
Hannah was entranced as she and Alexander rode side by side—he on Wallace and she on Beelzebub—but she was not just entranced with the beauty of Dunnet. Alexander’s glances and smiles bedazzled her as well. For a while, as they rode up to Gutteregoe and turned for Loch Dunnet, he held her hand, which was a challenge because the two horses didn’t care to be so close.
When Beelzebub took a swipe at Wallace and Alexander’s mount retaliated, both Hannah and her husband laughed and released hands. They could touch tonight.
They followed the Burn of Ratter through Greenvale and then he gave her a tour of the Barrack mill. It was much like every other mill she’d ever seen, but it was fascinating … because he was there.
After a lovely lunch on the banks of the Loch of Scister, they headed south, toward the village of Hartfield. Just beyond that they stopped at a small croft on the border of Olrig’s land, where Alexander introduced her to Agnes, the elderly woman who was now confined to her bed. Though she was ailing and weak, her mind was sharp as a tack, and Hannah enjoyed the riotous tales of the adventures Agnes had had in her youth. It warmed Hannah’s heart when Alexander produced a shank of ham and some bannocks for Agnes.
Evening was just beginning to fall as he and Hannah reached Bowermadden Inn, south of the Dunnet border, on the road that ran from Wick to Castletown. It was a simple collection of buildings on the heath, just the inn and the stables, but it was bustling. There were not many roads crisscrossing Caithness and fewer posting houses. Any traveler seeking shelter for the night and a warm meal would stop here.
As they rode into the stable yard, Hannah frowned. “It looks busy,” she said.
Alexander shot her a grin as he dismounted. “Not to worry. I sent a runner yesterday to reserve rooms for us.” He reached for her and she allowed him to help her down. Not because she needed it, but because she enjoyed the slow slide of her body on his.
“That was verra thoughtful of you,” she said softly.
His eyes twinkled. “Not thoughtful so much as prudent. If the inn was full, there would be no … tangling.”
She gusted a sigh. “I do love a man who plans ahead.”
His humor faded. He stilled and their gazes locked. A flush rose on her cheeks.
He leaned closer. “Do you?” A murmur.
She swallowed. “Aye. I do.”
The coming kiss set her blood on fire long before their lips touched.
“Perhaps,” he suggested when he came up for air, “we could have our meal served in our rooms.”
“Mmm. An interesting suggestion.”
“I am a wealth of interesting suggestions.”
“You most certainly are.” She shot him a mischievous glance. “So, sir, am I.”
His responding grin was wicked. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words stalled as his name echoed through the yard.
“Dunnet!”
He winced. “Blast,” he whispered beneath his breath. Then he fixed a smile on his face and turned. “Bower, old friend.”
Bower was a tall man with a kind, though florid, face. He welcomed Alexander with a slap to his shoulder. “It’s damn fine to see you, but what the bluidy hell are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’ve been showing off my lands to my bride.” He pulled Hannah forward and slipped his arm around her waist. “Ranald Gunn, Baron of Bower, meet my wife. Hannah Lochlannach, of Reay.”
Ranald’s eyes widened on her. “Of Reay?” He barked a laugh and slapped Alexander on the shoulder once more. “You dog. Why was I not invited to the wedding?”
Hannah leaned forward and answered for her husband, “It happened … forthwith.”
“Ah. I … see. Well, congratulations to you both, and welcome. You’re just in time for supper.”
Hannah set her hand on her stomach as it growled. It had been a long time since their impromptu picnic by the loch.
As the ostler took their mounts, Hannah and Alexander fell in beside Ranald and made their way into the inn. Brùid loped at Alexander’s heel.
“So, what are you doing here, Bower?” Alexander asked. “The inn is quite a ways from Hestigrew.”
“Aye. Aye. I’m just returning from a hunting trip with some of the local lairds. We decided to stop for a tankard or two before we all return home.”
“Well met then.”
“Aye.”
As they stepped inside the inn, a loud, harsh laugh barraged them and Alexander stilled. When Hannah glanced at him, she was surprised to see his face had become a mask, his jaw tight and his lips pale. He flicked a glance at her. His hold on her tightened.
Curious, she scanned the crowd … and her pulse stuttered.
Niall was here. And he was staring right at her.
* * *
Alexander’s gut churned.
Damn and blast. He’d wanted to have a romantic evening with Hannah, a nice dinner and then perhaps some … tangling. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was rub elbows with the local lairds. Especially the ones who were here.
Niall Leveson-Gower for one, especially given the look on his face as he ogled Hannah. He was, no doubt, put out that he’d lost her to Alexander. It was clear from Niall’s expression he intended to be unpleasant, and Alexander didn’t want to expose her to his malice. He certainly didn’t want her to witness his own temper, which was beginning to stir.
The other two men lounging beside Niall at the table in the corner—Olrig and Scrabster—were also on the list of men Alexander would least like to spend an evening with. He considered taking Hannah’s arm and tugging her back into the stable yard, leaping with her back on their horses and scurrying home in the dark, but before he could, Olrig spotted him.
“Dunnet!” he bellowed, opening his arms wide. He tipped in his chair, as though it was a challenge to stay seated. It was clear he’d had more than a tankard or two. In fact, all the men looked decidedly foxed. “Jus’ the man I wanted to see.”
“Aye,” Niall said with an insincere smile. He stood and pulled up two more chairs. “Won’t you join us?”
Alexander was about to decline when Bower gusted, “Oh, please do.” His tone was so desperate, Alexander hesitated. No doubt, after days in the company of these men his friend was despairing for some rational conversation.
Alexander glanced at Hannah. “Perhaps for a moment?” When she nodded, he acquiesced and settled her in the seat farthest away from Niall. He sat beside her and shot a dark look around the table. “But we canna stay long. My … bride and I have plans for this evening.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Olrig muttered with a smirk. Niall and Scrabster laughed. Alexander glared them all down.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Niall said, fixing his brooding gaze on Hannah. Bless her, she met his eyes without a flinch.
“We’re verra happy,” she said, tucking her arm in Alexander’s.
Alexander pulled her closer and kissed her brow. And not just to annoy her former suitors, but because he wanted to. “Aye. We are.”
“You bested us all in the pursuit of the elusive Hannah Dounreay,” Olrig said, lifting his tankard and taking a healthy snort. A splash landed on his tunic, but he barely noticed.
Alexander frowned. His uncle had been a deep drinker, and Alexander had never cared for the trait in other men. Aside from which, Olrig looked very much like Dermid, from his portly silhouette, to his reddened, bulbous nose, to his narrow, mean eyes. Alexander forced his attention elsewhere.
Niall took a healthy quaff as well. “Aye. Snagged the prize, as it were.” His gaze flitted to Hannah and he proffered a reptilian smile. “Oh, and the lovely Hannah, as well.”
Alexander’s hackles rose at the implication that the lands were worth more than the woman. He hated that Hannah flinched at the insult. It wasn’t true. She was the true prize here. But he said nothing. His ire was too high for him to speak with any prudence. Aside from which, his throat was clogged with irritation. Instead he tightened his arm around her in a show of support and affection. He drew his thumb along her shoulder to make his point. She glanced up at him and he smiled down at her. And then, because he couldn’t not, he kissed her. Gently. Briefly. Reverently. On the brow.
“You know, it’s odd that you should arrive just now,” Scrabster said into the breach. “We were just talking about you, Dunnet.”
“Were you?”
“Aye.” Olrig motioned for another drink. “You know, you and Bower, and Dounreay of course, are the only lairds who havena joined with the other barons.”
Alexander glowered at him. “This is not the time to discuss politics,” he said.
“Ach, bah! Because your bride is here?” Olrig shot a belligerent look at Hannah. “She can sit there and be silent as men discuss their business, as all good wives should.”
Olrig really was an ass. And a fool. If he didn’t sense Hannah’s growing annoyance, Alexander did. He stroked her arm in hopes of calming her. It would probably be awkward if she grabbed one of the forks on the table and stabbed a baron. Which, judging from the glimmer in her eye, she seemed wont to do.
“Dunnet is right,” Niall said with a glance around the room. “We shouldna talk about that right now.” He leaned in and added, “There are far too many ears.”
Aye, and their plot to betray Caithness amounted to treason.
“But these are changing times,” Scrabster said. “It behooves us to change along with them.”
“Aye. But there are right ways. And there are wrong ways.” Alexander’s gaze fell on Niall. “Clearances, for example.” He shouldn’t have brought it up. With the exception of Bower, the men around the table bristled.
Niall frowned. “Clearances improve the land.”
“At what cost?”
“At what gain?” Olrig bellowed. “Stafford has cut the deadweight and brought in a profitable business.”
“At the cost of his crofters and tacksmen. At the cost of his vassals.”
“Bah! That is the old way of seeing things.”
“It is the Scottish way,” Hannah snapped. The men glared at her interruption.
“Stafford’s efforts have been so successful, I’ve begun doing the same with my lands,” Olrig said.
Alexander gored him with a glower. He shrank back. “I know,” Alexander snapped. “Where do you think your refugees turn?”
Olrig smirked. “More fool you, for taking them in.”
“He is hardly a fool for showing mercy,” Hannah said.
“He’s a fool for resisting the inevitable,” Scrabster rejoined. “It is going to happen. Both Stafford and Caithness want it. So let it happen. These Improvements are a chance to make more money. For ourselves. For our laird.”
“A chance to decimate our land.”
Niall shrugged. “It’s only a few sheep.”
Hannah bristled. “Nae. It is more than a few sheep. It is murder.”
“Murder?” Scrabster chortled. He lifted his cup. He was clearly deep in it.
Hannah appeared stalwart and strong, but Alexander could feel the tremble of her hand on his arm. “It is the murder of our people. The murder of our way of life.” Her voice was cold and clear.
“Bah.” Olrig stood. He teetered to the side. “This conversation is pointless. And I need to take a piss.”
Hannah flinched at his vulgarity. When she met Alexander’s gaze, he could see her thoughts in them. Though they had rooms for the night at the inn, he had no desire to stay here. Not with those men in residence. And he sensed Hannah felt the same. The evening had been ruined. “Perhaps we should go home,” he murmured.
She nodded. “Aye.”
He whistled to Brùid, who scrambled to his feet and loped to Alexander’s side. He riffled his fingers through the hound’s fur and tried to calm himself. As unpleasant as this altercation had been, he had no desire to carry this bile with him.
Bower rose with them and walked them to the door. “I’m verra sorry about that,” he murmured, bowing to Hannah.
“It’s all right,” she said with a smile.
Alexander clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You had no way of knowing, but there is bad blood between the lot of us.”
“Still, I fear I have ruined your wedding trip.” Chagrin wracked his countenance.
Hannah trilled a laugh. “Never say it. It has been a lovely day.”
“You must let me lend you my carriage. It is a long ride back to Dunnet on horseback.”
Alexander glanced at Hannah. He could ride the rest of the way with no problem; he knew this land like the back of his hand. But she was tired. Besides which, a carriage ride would allow for … tangling. At least of some sort. “I would appreciate that. Thank you, Bower.”
“Excellent. I will arrange it.” Bower shot him a relieved smile, and together Alexander and Hannah stepped outside.
The stable yard was quiet and cool after the cacophony of the inn. As they made their way to the stable, a noise from inside caught Alexander’s attention. A snarl, a thud, and a yip.
At his side, Brùid stiffened. His hackles rose. A growl rumbled from his throat.
“Goddamn you!” a yell wafted from the stable, along with a pained howl.
And ah, Alexander’s hackles rose as well. It was a collection of sounds he’d heard before. Hannah called after him as he sprinted toward the broad open doors, with Brùid at his heel. Alexander’s muscles tightened as he took in the scene, though he’d known. He’d already known what he’d find.
Olrig, drunk and red-faced, had cornered his dog in a stall and he was whipping her. Though the animal tried frantically to escape, the furious man would not allow it. One lash fell and then another. Olrig cackled with glee.
Aye, he was very like Dermid indeed.
Swamped with rage, the remnant of years of helplessness, Alexander lunged for him, grabbing his arm. Olrig snarled and lashed at Alexander’s face with the whip. The pain barely registered.
“You bastard,” he growled.
Olrig growled back and hit him again and again.
With a hair-raising snarl, Brùid attacked. He lunged across the stable and tackled Olrig, knocking him to the ground. The bastard issued a shrill scream as Brùid planted his forepaws on Olrig’s reedy chest and snapped and snarled at his face. Olrig lifted his fist and slammed it into Brùid’s muzzle. The dog whimpered but didn’t budge.
When Olrig lifted his fist again, this time clutching the handle of his whip, Brùid took his hand in his mouth and bit down. Olrig howled and writhed and then fumbled for something on his belt.
Though stunned to silence by the drama playing out before him, Alexander barked, “Brùid. Heel.”
With a glance back at Alexander, his dog whined and then released his prey.
Olrig reeled up; something glinted in his hand. Alexander saw the danger, even if his hound did not, but there was no time to warn his faithful friend before the blade came down hard, sinking deep into Brùid’s shoulder.
To Alexander’s horror, his dog fell.
Alexander’s vision went red.
A memory assailed him. A memory of another man, another dog. Another time.
He launched himself at Olrig and, without thought, plowed his fi
st into the other man’s fleshy face. Blood spattered as the man’s nose crumpled beneath the blow. It was extremely satisfying. So satisfying, Alexander wanted to continue the pummeling.
Hannah’s call reined him in.
It wouldn’t do to kill the man before her very eyes.
He forced himself to retreat and bent down beside his panting dog. He was relieved to see the knife had glanced off his dog’s ribs, but there was a long gash in his side. Brùid whined and winced as Alexander slipped the blade out.
“Dunnet, are you insane?” Olrig trilled. He fished for a handkerchief and blotted his nose.
Alexander glared at him, too furious to form words.
“You are a maniac.” Olrig turned to the grooms who had run to investigate the commotion. “He’s a maniac. He set his dog on me. And then he hit me.” He turned to Alexander. “You broke my nose!” He struggled to his feet, gesturing to the onlookers. “You can see. You can see what he did!”
“Nonsense.” This from Hannah; the word dripped with disdain. “Alexander dinna set his dog on you, you cretin. And he only hit you after you pulled a knife.”
“Shut up, you whore.”
Ah. Olrig was going to die. Alexander rose to his feet and stepped forward, the knife, providentially, fisted in his hand.
“Alexander.” Her voice was calm, composed, though there was a tremble of rage in it. It forced him to meet her gaze. “It doesna matter. What matters is Brùid, and the other poor creature this man has wounded.” She glowered at Olrig. The other dog, a bitch, was curled into a ball, quivering and staring at the men, wreathed in fear. “How dare you beat a helpless animal.”
“It’s my dog. I do what I want,” Olrig had the gall to pronounce.
“She isna your dog anymore,” Alexander growled.
“What?”
Alexander’s fists tightened around the knife. “Go. Go now.”
“But I—”
“I suggest you leave, if you want to walk away from this undamaged.” Hannah’s fury was like a cold wind whipping through the stable.
It even seemed to sink through Olrig’s cloud of outrage. He paled and then took a step back. And another.
“Go,” Alexander barked, and he did. He whirled and scampered from the stable, lucky to escape with all his body parts attached.
