by Sabrina York
“Your Grace! Where have you been?” Dougal strode toward the duke, as though a man on a mission to save his lord from a vile villain. The look Dougal shot at Hannah made clear she was the villain.
She offered him a glowing smile. Just to be contrary.
“Ah, I was just taking a walk. I needed it after our journey.”
Dougal’s brow furrowed. “Are you … feeling all right, Your Grace?”
“I’m feeling fine. Fine.” He swept out his arms. “What do you think of this view, Dougal?”
Dougal glanced at the bay and frowned. “It’s water.”
“Ah, but it’s a magnificent view, is it not?”
“Your Grace, you really must rest.”
Hannah nibbled on her lip. Dougal was treating the duke as though he were an invalid. Which made no sense. He seemed healthy as a horse.
The duke clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “If you need a rest, do go on, Dougal. Lady Dunnet and I are having a chat. And I fancy a stroll. Will you accompany me, Lady Dunnet?” He offered his arm.
Why Dougal sent her another blazing glare she had no clue. She responded with an even more brilliant grin. “I would be honored, Your Grace. May I show you around the castle grounds?”
“I would like that.”
As they walked away, Hannah shot a look over her shoulder at Dougal, who had clearly been dismissed. She didn’t imagine his glower. And oddly enough, it wasn’t aimed at her.
It was aimed at the duke.
“So something else has been plaguing me, Lady Dunnet,” Caithness said as they made their way into the bailey.
“What is that, Your Grace?”
“If Dunnet is not a violent man … why on earth did he beat Olrig?”
“Have you met Olrig?”
Caithness chuckled, perhaps his first hint of humanity. “I have. But still … Englishmen do not resort to savagery to resolve their conflicts.”
“Do they not?”
At her frank assessment his ears went pink.
“Aside from which, it was hardly savagery. Alexander punched him once. That was all. T’was Olrig who came at him first.”
“I expect better than petty squabbles from my barons.”
“The Scots doona live by the same rules as the English, Your Grace.” Thank God.
“I’ve noticed.”
“But we do have our codes. Verra strong and deeply rooted traditions. Scots are passionate men, but reasonable at their core.”
“Like your husband?”
“Aye.”
“And about your husband … What happened to make this reasonable, nonviolent man break Olrig’s nose?”
The stables came into view just as he asked; a sudden resolution flooded her and she shifted her course to head in that direction. “I shall show you.”
Caithness shot her a curious glance but followed.
The stables were cool and shadowed. Hannah made her way to the back toward the stall where Brùid and the bitch were healing. Several steps in, she realized she’d lost the duke’s attention. He’d stopped at the first stall and was patting a mare on the muzzle.
With a sigh, Hannah headed back.
“This is a beautiful beast.”
“Aye, she is. Alexander has some excellent horseflesh.”
The duke glanced at her. “Arabian?”
“Aye. And a mix of his own. Horses need to be strong and fleet in the Highlands. One of his hobbies is breeding them.”
“I shall have to discuss this with him.”
“Do.” She took his arm and guided him farther in, though it was a challenge, as he wanted to stop at each stall and inspect the stock. He was particularly entranced with Beelzebub, who was not flattered by his attention in the slightest. In fact, the horse took a swipe at the duke. It was probably beneath her, that trickle of glee as Caithness leaped back.
They finally made it to the last stall and Hannah opened the gate. “Here.”
The duke peered inside and froze. His cheek bunched. His eyes glimmered.
Aye. What Olrig had done to these poor creatures was truly monstrous. Hannah stepped in behind the duke … and froze herself. The animals were in there, curled up in the straw, but something else was curled up with them. Or someone.
Lana lay next to Brùid with her arm wrapped around him. Incomprehensibly, Nerid was nestled in the curve of the great hound’s body. It appeared, somewhere along the way, the two had made peace.
A delicate snore riffled through the stall. It was not Brùid’s snore.
“Oh dear.”
“She’s…” The duke’s lips flapped. “I … Who is she?”
“My sister Lana,” Hannah said. “She’s been looking after the dogs.”
Apparently, sleeping with them as well.
The duke’s gaze flicked from one dog to the other. “What happened to them?”
“Olrig beat the female. With a whip. When Alexander tried to stop him, well, that’s what caused the altercation between them. And then, when Olrig turned the whip on Alexander, Brùid attacked and Olrig stabbed him. Fortunately, both animals survived.”
The duke’s brow lowered. “He beats his dogs?”
“He beat this one. Quite badly. She nearly died.”
Caithness knelt down to inspect the female’s wounds. She whined a bit and licked his hand. His gaze flickered over to Brùid. Then to Lana. It stalled on her.
Considering he was a heartless man who wanted to destroy their way of life, the heat in his gaze as he surveyed Hannah’s sister was concerning. When Lana’s lashes flickered open and she smiled at him, a red tide crept up to his ears.
“Hullo,” she said.
“Hullo.” Though he managed the word, the duke was clearly befuddled. But Lana’s beauty did that to men. Hannah made a sudden vow to keep her sister and the duke far apart for the remainder of his visit.
She stepped between them. “Lana, darling, have you been sleeping in the stables?”
Lana smiled at her as well. “Oh, hullo, Hannah. I didn’t see you there.”
Really? She was standing right next to him. Hannah refrained from rolling her eyes, but just barely. “Have you? Been sleeping here?”
Lana frowned and ruffled Brùid’s fur. “They get lonely at night.”
“They have each other. And it’s the middle of the afternoon.”
“Is it?” Limpid blue eyes blinked.
“It most certainly is. Have you had anything to eat today?”
“No. I’ve been here.”
Hannah shook her head. “Come along then, darling.” She helped her sister stand, which was difficult—because the duke didn’t seem inclined to move out of the way—and then she brushed the hay from her skirts.
When Hannah straightened, she realized that the duke was still gaping at Lana. Her bosom, in fact. Hannah glared at him.
He ignored her glare. “Would you … introduce us, Lady Dunnet?”
Hannah set her teeth. It was the very last thing she wanted to do, especially given the gleam in his eye. But he was a duke. And he had asked. And he would be here for at least a day or so before he hied off to destroy other lives; the two were bound to come into contact at some point.
“Your Grace,” she muttered, “this is Lana Dounreay. Lana, this is His Grace, the Duke of Caithness.”
Lana’s eyes widened. She surveyed the duke—and his costume—with curious eyes. She glanced at Hannah. “He’s a duke?”
The duke tugged on his waistcoat and then, noticing Lana’s attention to his cuffs, put his hands behind his back. “I am.”
“I see.” Lana’s lips tweaked and then she executed a deep curtsey. “Your Grace.”
“Miss Dounreay.” He kissed her hand. Really kissed it. Not the mere hovering he’d bestowed upon Hannah.
Apprehension licked through her. Hannah took hold of her sister’s arm. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” both Lana and the duke said at the same time.
Ha
nnah tugged. “Come along. We need to get you inside.”
“But the dogs…”
“They will be fine. Fetch Nerid and let’s go.”
Lana put out a lip. “Nerid wants to stay here.” At Hannah’s frown, she added, “They feel safer with Nerid protecting them.”
Hannah nearly snorted. More likely, they wanted to nibble him when no one was looking. Although—she shot a glance at the ferocious cat—no doubt he could defend himself.
“I did assure them that horrible man shall not bother them here.” She bent to riffle the female’s fur and she nuzzled closer. “But I can understand their concern.”
Hannah nodded and tugged again. “Fine. Shall we go?”
Lana resisted her urging and fixed her enormous eyes on the duke’s. “Can you imagine, that poor thing? A terrible man beat her. She dinna do anything to anger him. He just beat her.”
The duke tipped his head to the side and arranged his features in a sympathetic moue. “That is a terrible thing.”
Blech. Hannah wanted to retch at Caithness’ tone. As sticky as honey. And nearly as sweet.
The mounting impulse, to whisk her sister away from the duke, raged within Hannah. For one thing, Lana was far too innocent and trusting to recognize that this man could be a threat. Powerful men tended to take what they wanted.
Hannah didn’t want her sister to become the duke’s plaything.
Aside from that, Lana was unpredictable. One never knew what might come out of her mouth. She often saw things and knew things that made people uneasy, even nervous. Despite the potential disaster of sharing this information with the people involved, she often did. God forbid she should say something untoward to the duke and absolutely scuttle whatever progress Hannah had made with him—if any.
Urgency screamed through her. She needed to separate these two immediately. Before it was too—
Ah. Too late.
“I do like your mother,” Lana said with an angelic smile.
Caithness reeled back. His jaw locked. Shock drifted across his features.
“My … mother?”
“She’s verra nice.”
The duke drew himself up to full height and tugged down his waistcoat once more. “Madam. My mother died long before you were born.”
Lana chuckled and patted him on the cheek. Patted him on the cheek. The duke. “I know,” she said. And then she turned on her heel and made her way from the stables and into the sunlight.
Bowing to the gaped-jawed duke, Hannah hurried after her.
Lovely. Just lovely.
Judging from his horrified expression, that was the end of that.
That was the end of everything.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
He shouldn’t have left. Certainly not on a three-hour ride to the far-flung clachans and back. But Alexander had felt the need to ride. To run.
The horror of the duke’s ultimatum rang in his soul, and, wrapped with it, a bone-chilling panic.
It was over. All he’d built. All he’d fought for. All he’d struggled to protect.
All gone.
With one decision, the Duke of Caithness would wipe it all away, along with a thousand years of Scots history. And there was nothing he could do or say to stop it. Change it.
And it hardly mattered which decision he made. To clear the land and remain laird or lose his station. Both were untenable.
As he passed his people on the road and they lifted their hands in cheery greetings, Alexander was stultified by the knowledge that he’d failed them. Utterly failed them all.
And worse, he’d failed Hannah.
How could he survive the look of pity or, worse, the contempt in her eyes?
Even if she didn’t repudiate him, if he lost his title and his lands where would they go? Where would they live?
What would he be?
It was a death of sorts.
It took him time to process it.
But before he gave Caithness the answer to his ultimatum, Alexander needed to find his wife and talk to her. He had promised to share everything with her and, as distressing as this news was, she deserved to know. It would crush her. As deeply as he felt for his land and his people, her passion met and matched his. Beyond that, they would need to discuss which of the two untenable decisions they would make and how they would deal with the consequences.
He knew which he would choose, but he wanted her input as well. This affected her as deeply as it did him.
He didn’t want to have that conversation, but he had to. She was his partner. His mate … if she still wanted him after this.
He was still not resigned to it when he returned to the castle. That he found Caithness lurking in the stables as he unsaddled Wallace didn’t help. Caithness was the last person he wanted to see at the moment. Still, he bowed. “Your Grace.”
“Dunnet.” The duke ran a hand over Wallace’s withers and checked his teeth.
Assessing the goods already? Alexander had not even given him his answer. Although, in truth, the point was probably moot.
“This is a beautiful beast. All your horses are.”
“Thank you. It’s … something of a hobby of mine.”
“Quite an enviable assemblage. No doubt, these animals would be in great demand in London.”
London.
Aye. It was the only thing that mattered to the duke, after all. What they thought of him in London.
“They are not for sale.”
“Hmm.” Caithness patted Wallace on the neck. “A pity. He would make a fine stud.”
Alexander didn’t respond. What was the point?
He was possessed of the urge to hop back on his stallion’s back and ride away, but he’d had enough riding, enough running away. It was time to face this. End this. End it all.
“Have you made your decision?” the duke asked.
Alexander frowned. “I need to speak with my wife before I give you my answer.”
“Ah. Your wife.” He had no idea why Caithness smiled like that. “I just had an interesting conversation with her.”
“Did you?”
“She is quite outspoken. Not at all what I’m used to in a gently bred lady.”
It took some effort, but Alexander restrained his snarl at what could be a thinly veiled insult. His fingers curled. “She’s a fine Scottish lass.”
“I’m certain she is. Relax, Dunnet. I did not mean offense. I appreciate frankness in my dealings. And your wife was … frank.”
Alexander quirked a brow.
“She seems to be of the mind that I have lived in London too long. That I do not understand my people.”
Aye. Hannah had the right of it.
“She suggested I … dress like a man while in Scotland.”
“She … did?” A curl of laughter bubbled up inside him. Good God, he loved her.
“What do you think, Dunnet? Would it help in my dealings if I dressed the part of a Scottish laird?”
In all likelihood, his perusal of the duke’s outfit was disdainful, but Alexander didn’t try to hide it. The man had said he preferred frankness. Well, he was happy to oblige. Aside from which, he had nothing left to lose. “You look like a dandy.”
“I most certainly do not. I know many dandies in London. I assure you, I am rather circumspect in my dress.”
“Ye are no’ in London.”
To Alexander’s astonishment, Caithness smiled. “That’s what she said.”
“You would look more like a proper duke in a kilt.”
“I shall have to find one.”
Alexander gaped at him. “You doona have a kilt?” It was unthinkable.
“There is little call for them—”
“Aye. In London.” He snorted a laugh. “We shall have to get you a kilt forthwith.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“What else did my wife tell you?”
The duke leaned against the stable wall and crossed his arms. “Your wife assures me, despite your recalcitrance,
you are a loyal man.”
“I am.” Alexander pursed his lips. “Did she say I was recalcitrant?”
“I added that part.”
“Much obliged.”
“Yet loyal though you may be, you refused to obey my orders.”
“Only because you asked me to choose between loyalties. And when forced into such a choice, I must choose the one that protects my people.”
“Ah, loyal to the bitter end.” The duke made a sound, something like a laugh. “You know, I do like you, Dunnet. I think, perhaps, we got off on the wrong foot. Shall we begin again?”
Begin again? Alexander gaped at him. His mind whirled. The man had arrived in his gold-gilded carriage, barked out his ultimatum—one that was intolerable at every turn—and now he wanted to be friends?
But as he stared into the duke’s eyes, Alexander saw something there he didn’t expect, and it wasn’t just the hint of hope and vulnerability. It was a flash of the man’s soul. He knew, in that moment, that in other circumstances he and Lachlan Sinclair would have been friends.
A flicker of regret washed through him.
At the same time, he realized if he was to have any chance to convince the duke to change his mind—if indeed he did—it would not be if they were at odds. And damn it all, he did like the man. Despite all his best intentions not to.
He thrust out his hand and said gruffly, “Aye.” They clasped hands, and for the first time in hours Alexander’s gut calmed. A handshake. It was a small thing, but it was something.
As they turned in tandem and strolled from the stable into the bailey, Alexander glanced at the duke. “May I ask you something, Your Grace?”
“Certainly.”
“Why is it you are so set on clearing the county?”
“I believe I answered that. I need the money.”
“Surely there are other ways to assure prosperity.”
“The Improvements are proven. And the rewards immediate. I need the money now if I am to restore the castle before…”
At his hesitation, Alexander studied him. They were hardly friends. Certainly not confidants, but something urged him to ask. “Before what?”
Caithness raked his fingers through his hair and stared out at the busy bailey. Then he murmured in a very soft voice, “I’m dying, Dunnet.”
