Lana and the Laird

by Sabrina York

  Oh, how magnificent she was. And how wonderful to hear those words. To feel the blanket of her acceptance.

  It was a pity she was deluded.

  Never in his life had he known such a welling of warmth. How he wished he could sink into it. That he could be the man she thought he was. That he could have her in every way.

  But he couldn’t.

  It took some effort, but he reminded himself of who and what he was. Of the shadow lurking on his horizon. Of the misery any assignation between them would bring down on her head.

  “Lana. You doona know what you are saying.”

  Her lips pursed in an intransigent pout. They absorbed his attention, that and the unholy urge to kiss her again. He could not kiss her again. Should not. This interaction had shown him just how weak his resolve was. How easily he tossed his convictions into the wind.

  “I do,” she muttered. “I know more than you think.”

  Did she?

  Did she know what touching her, holding her, fucking stroking her had done to him? Did she know that it had been all he could manage to step away once he’d brought her to bliss? Did she have any clue what he’d wanted to do? What he still wanted to do? Could she suspect the howling beast she’d woken within him?

  If she could really see him, see the aching, desperate, savage man beneath his polished veneer, she would run screaming. Any sane woman would.

  “Lana, I am not the man for you.”

  It killed him to say it. Nearly as much as it had scored his soul to hear her suggest she lie with another man. Fuck. That thought, that image, that prospect had nearly made his head explode.

  He’d never thought himself a violent man, but in that moment he’d known such panic, such savage jealousy, he could have been.

  He felt torn in two. On the one side was his logical mind, reminding him of the facts, the truth, the undeniable reality of his life. On the other, a hungry, ferocious beast who would do anything, be anyone, to be with her.

  “Are you no’?”

  “No. I am not.” Harsh. Guttural. Desolate.

  “And I have no say in this?”

  His heart stuttered. “It has to be this way.”

  “I … understand.” It was disarming, the vulnerability with which she stared at him. Her lashes flickered and she looked away.

  “What? What do you understand?”

  She smiled, a wan offering. “You are a duke.”

  His brow lowered. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you are a duke. And I am no’ of your station.”

  Oh, fuck. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

  When she turned away, he stopped her. His hold on her was harsh, but then, so was his mood. “Nae, Lana. You doona understand at all.”

  “I think I do. It’s all right, Lachlan. Thank you for the kisses.” So politely offered. He hated the civility in her tone; beneath it surged a cauldron of pain.

  “Lana.” He didn’t mean to bark, but she was retreating into her shell and he had to stop her. He couldn’t leave her thinking this. He couldn’t let her believe he didn’t want her. But words escaped him. He did the only thing he could think to do.

  He yanked her into his arms and he kissed her again.

  Wildly, savagely, investing into the embrace all of his hopes and dreams and dark despair. He intended it to be the last kiss he gave her, but by the time it ended, he knew. God help him. He knew. It wouldn’t be the last. It couldn’t be.

  * * *

  Lachlan woke the next morning remarkably refreshed. He was halfway down the stairs, heading for the morning room for breakfast, when he realized there had been no visitation. And the only dreams he’d had had been pleasant.

  Perhaps he should eschew Dougal’s toddies every night.

  He was smiling when he came into the morning room. His smile broadened when he set eyes on her.

  Lana sat in a beam of sunlight with a cat on her lap, cautiously feeding it bits of bacon. Cautiously, because the cat appeared to be ravenous, as likely to take her finger as the slice of meat. Although the creature did not appear to be starving. Not by far. It was, in fact, enormous.

  She glanced up and saw him and grinned. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  He tried not to frown; he heartily disliked the formal title. Especially from her lips. But then he realized they were not alone in the room. Lachlan bowed. “Miss Dounreay. Lady Dunnet.”

  The latter sighed. “Really, Your Grace. You’ve given Alexander leave to be familiar with you. Can you no’ call me Hannah?”

  Lachlan stilled. It occurred to him that it was highly improper for a vassal to suggest informalities, but at the same time he liked it. He was tired of being formal. He affected a small bow. “I should like that very much, Lady … Hannah.”

  Lana tittered. He had the sense she was laughing at him. “And you may call me Lana, Your Grace,” she said with a grin.

  Hannah grimaced. “As I said before, that is no’ a good idea.”

  “Whyever not? If he can call you Hannah, he should be able to call me Lana. It’s only fair.” While she wasn’t looking, the cat stole her bacon.

  “You are an unmarried lass.”

  “I fail to see how that signifies.”

  Hannah’s eyes widened. Along with her nostrils. “Do you no’?”

  “Nae.”

  Lachlan decided it would be best to not become embroiled in the dispute between the two sisters, especially considering their respective ferocity, and he left them to it, heading to the breakfront to fill a plate. As he selected eggs and assorted meats, he tried not to think how much he wanted Lana to be familiar with him.

  And in which positions.

  As he sat at the table, she smiled at him and his stomach tightened. “So what are your plans for today, Lachlan?” She shot a taunting glance at Hannah, who grumbled beneath her breath.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a gruff voice behind him said, “We should be heading back to Ackergill.”

  “But you’ve just arrived,” Lana said softly. So softly, he almost missed it. The flash of pain in her eyes scored him. Something else scored him, too. A deep revulsion. He didn’t want to return to Ackergill. He didn’t want to leave here. Not yet.

  Not ever.

  He glared at Dougal, who was just entering the room. His cousin ignored his scowl. “We should. This was supposed to be a quick visit. We’ve stayed far too long.”

  “I’m not ready to leave.” Lachlan shot a glance at Hannah. “If I am welcome to stay for a while, I should like to.”

  His hostess gaped at him. “Welcome? Of course you are welcome. We would be happy to have you stay as long as you like.” What a difference from his less-than-enthusiastic reception here. And how he appreciated the warmth in her expression.

  “As long as you like,” Lana parroted. Lachlan nearly leaped from his seat as her foot nudged his. And then he realized how much he enjoyed it. She was a naughty minx. Especially when her toes traveled up his calf.

  Dougal’s snort rounded the room. It nearly tore Lachlan’s attention from Lana’s face. Nearly. “We have much work to do at the castle.”

  “Do we?”

  “Aye. We do.”

  “It seems to me, we have little work to do there.”

  His cousin stared at him. “But…”

  “How can I continue with the repairs without the money?” It was a lame excuse, but he liked it. He flashed Dougal a grin. His cousin wasn’t amused. “I might as well stay here for a while and get to know you all better.” This, he said to Hannah, but it was really directed to Lana.

  Somehow she knew it. A flush crept up her cheeks. It was charming. “I was thinking you could join me today, Lachlan,” she said.

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed. He ignored her glare. Really, he’d done nothing to deserve it. At least, not this morning.

  “And what are your plans today, Lana?”

  “A picnic.”

  “A picnic?”

&
nbsp; “Aye.” Her eyes twinkled.

  “A picnic sounds lovely,” Hannah gusted. “I should love to join you.” But they all knew what she meant. She meant to chaperone. Lachlan could hardly blame her for her diligence in protecting her sister’s virtue, because, in truth, at the thought of a picnic with Lana, he’d been filled with the sudden intent to steal another kiss. Or two.

  It wasn’t wise to kiss her again, and he knew it, but the devil within him wouldn’t be silenced.

  Indeed, it might be a good idea to have a chaperone. Because Lachlan, it appeared, had little willpower.

  * * *

  As it turned out, he didn’t need willpower. They had a plethora of chaperones. Small ones. Squealing ones.

  When Lachlan joined Lana and her sister in the bailey, it was to find them surrounded by a throng of young children, dancing about, squealing, all apparently delighted at the prospect of an outing.

  Hannah wasn’t so delighted. She had insisted on coming on the picnic to guard her sister, not to play nanny. Her disgruntled expression as she attempted to herd the children into an orderly formation made Lachlan chuckle.

  Lana greeted him with an enormous smile as she handed him a heavy basket to carry. They both had been tricked into service, it seemed. “Thank you for joining us, Your Grace.” While he didn’t like her use of his title, not now, not after hearing his name from her lips, he understood. She sent a speaking glance around the company and the children obediently parroted her thanks, though in decidedly singsong voices.

  “I thought we would have a more private outing,” he murmured for her ears only. He could do so because Hannah was occupied chasing a wandering toddler.

  “Did you?” Lana batted her lashes.

  “You know I did.”

  She hooked her arm in his—a shocking familiarity, but one he couldn’t lament. “You will enjoy this. It is a lovely day and the children are excited.” Indeed, they were. The shrieking increased as they headed out of the bailey and into the meadow surrounding the castle.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, although he didn’t care. He was far too pleased to have her close.

  She pointed to the ruins of an old keep on the crest of the hill. It was picturesque and charming … and ruined. A mere crumble of stones with a teetering turret. It was in worse shape than his own castle. “There?”

  “Children love to explore it.”

  “Surely that is not safe.”

  Her laugh danced on the breeze, and she tugged him closer. This, of course, distracted his attention, because her breast brushed his arm. He stumbled. “It will be fine. Doona worry, Lachlan.” This last bit, she whispered. It sent a slithering snake of lust through him. It occurred to him that it was, perhaps, a good thing she’d brought an army of chaperones.

  “They are all orphans, you know.”

  Something tugged at his heart as he watched the children scamper up the hill. “No. I did not.”

  She patted his arm. “They will enjoy this tremendously. They have so little opportunity for revelry. So little joy in their lives.”

  “Indeed.” He, too, had been an orphaned child. He knew. He knew …

  When they reached the top of the hill, he obligingly laid out several blankets and with Lana’s help began setting out the food while Hannah attempted to engage the children in a game. It was more of a brawl, but despite the baroness’s panicked glances at him, Lachlan had no intention of joining the fray. He was far too comfortable here. With Lana. Arranging and rearranging food. Although he did deign to murmur, “We should probably help her.”

  “Who? Hannah?” Lana chuckled. “She loves children.”

  Judging from the baroness’s exasperated expression, not at the moment. One of the boys stole her slipper and began a game of keep-away that had her yelling at them to stop.

  When the food was laid out, Lana called to the hellions and they swarmed the blankets. Hannah followed, clumping along at an uneven gait and blowing the hair from her face.

  “You could have helped me,” she said as she snatched her shoe from the ground, where the boys had abandoned it in favor of a plate of cakes.

  Lana smiled. “But you were having so much fun.”

  To which her sister snorted.

  The three adults helped the younger children fill their plates. This was a new experience for Lachlan. He’d never filled anyone’s plate. As he handed a small girl with dark hair and dark eyes her food, she looked at him.

  That was all. Just looked at him. Solemn and steady. And his heart melted.

  It wasn’t that she was an orphan, or that she was so slight and defenseless. It wasn’t the gratitude in her eyes or the slight quirk of her lips. It was something far more ephemeral. A connection. A human connection. Something he’d rarely had the pleasure to indulge in. It moved him.

  And then, to his dismay, the tiny sprite crawled up into his lap.

  He’d never had interactions with children before this. Dukes never did. He didn’t know what to make of this, what to do.

  His muscles bunched. His jaw dropped. He shot a panicked glance at Lana.

  She was no help. She simply nibbled her lip and passed him another plate.

  Having a child in his lap was not familiar to him at all, but he could not in good conscience ask her to leave. Not given the raw trust and vulnerability in her expression.

  So he sat there, marveling at her presence, this brave and innocent creature, as chatter and laughter washed over him.

  Her presence warmed his soul, and for some reason it pained him when, as she finished eating, she wriggled away and ran off with the other children to explore the ruins.

  He’d denied it for his entire life, this great and welling ache, but he could deny it no longer.

  He could play the part of a heartless duke, utterly at peace with his impending doom, but it was all a lie. He wasn’t at peace at all with the fact that he had to live his life utterly alone.

  He wanted nothing more than a family.

  A wife.

  Children.

  It was a simple thing to want. But so beyond his reach.

  “Are you all right?” Lana asked softly.

  Lachlan scraped his fingers through his hair. “Yes.”

  Another lie. He was full of them this morning.

  “You seem…”

  “What?”

  “Moody.”

  “Of course he’s moody,” Hannah said as she stacked the empty plates. “He was pressed into service. We both were.” She shot her sister a dark look. “You could have warned us there would be children when you mentioned the picnic.”

  “If I had done that, you might not have come.” How Lana managed to appear so innocent was a mystery. “And they are having so much fun. Look at them.”

  They turned their attention to the ruins in time to see one of the boys take a flying leap from one of the larger boulders.

  “Oh, dear God,” Hannah gasped. She shot to her feet and bolted across the grass to issue a stern lecture.

  Lana turned to Lachlan and blinked several times in succession. “Ah. Alone at last.”

  “Should we not help her?”

  “Nae. Hannah is no’ truly happy unless she’s bossing someone around.” A wink. “It’s why I brought the children.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “To take her attention from me.”

  “Let me get this straight. You invited a horde of children on this picnic … so we could be alone?”

  “Aye. It worked, didn’t it?”

  Lachlan glanced over at Hannah, who was now organizing another game. She did, indeed, like to be in charge. And she seemed in her element. “You are a devious wench.”

  “Aside from which, I thought the children would be good for you.”

  He nearly snorted tea through his nose. “Good for me?”

  “Aye. They ground us somehow. Remind us what really matters.”

  “And what does? What really matters?”

  Her hand wa
s warm on his. “People. We forget sometimes that it is people that matter. Not castles or fortunes. Not power or cravats.”

  “I’ve not been wearing my cravat.”

  “I’ve noticed.” He liked the way her eyes flicked over his person. Liked the smile that curled her lips. “You do look fine in Scottish garb.”

  “Thank you very kindly, my lady.”

  “Verra.”

  “What?”

  “Not va-rey. Verra. If you’re going to dress like a Scot, you might as well speak like one.”

  “Ah yes. The coaching.”

  “Aye.” She grinned; her eyes danced. “Let’s practice. Say something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything.”

  “I have no idea—”

  “Not no.” It was intriguing, the way she rounded her lips around the word; it sounded like noo.

  “Not no?” He couldn’t hold back his smile.

  “Scots say nae.”

  “Horses say nay.”

  She smacked him. “Pay attention.”

  “I am paying attention.” He was. To her lips. They were fascinating lips.

  “Aye and nae. Ach and och. Bluidy, not bloody—”

  “Ach, ye really shouldna curse.” He was surprised at how Scottish he sounded, because he’d only been joking.

  She stared at him, delight on her features. “Aye, that’s it. That’s it exactly.”

  And all of a sudden, he wanted to talk like a braw Scotsman all the time. At least, when he was with her. He liked the way it made a red tide rise on her cheeks, the way it made her nibble her lip. The way it made her lashes flutter.

  They chattered like that for a while, completely alone in a crowded meadow, Lachlan practicing his Scottish brogue and Lana alternating between correcting him … and fits of giggles. When the children tired of their game and flooded back to the blankets to nibble on more cakes, and the solemn little girl crawled back into his lap—as though she had claimed ownership—he allowed it. He allowed himself to enjoy every moment.

  It was an excellent outing indeed.

  * * *

  Ach, the picnic had gone well. Lana was beyond pleased with her success. Not only had it been a pleasant day, she’d made great strides in softening Lachlan’s heart. The fact that she’d been able to cajole him into practicing his brogue was pleasing enough, but to see how he interacted with the children … Ah, that had been delightful.