Lana and the Laird

by Sabrina York

But it wasn’t the dead.

  * * *

  When Lachlan woke, she was gone.

  He tried to ignore the desolation blowing through him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen into such a deep sleep. He never slept through the night, not ever. That he had on this night, the one night he really wanted to be sleepless, was a cruel twist of fate.

  He leaped from his bed and quickly dressed, noting that her nightgown was gone. He elected a simple pair of breeches, a plain shirt, and his plaid, because he wanted to dress quickly. Besides, he hardly cared what he wore. Lana certainly didn’t.

  In fact, she preferred him naked.

  The thought made him hard, which was a pity because there would be no release for him. At least, not until tonight.

  He stilled as the prospect washed through him. He’d justified last night by telling himself it would only be the once, but now he knew, it could never be just the once. Not now that he’d held her, tasted her, had her so completely.

  It horrified him, the need welling in his soul. It conflicted with everything he’d ever known or felt or believed. But he couldn’t deny it.

  He was addicted to her.

  He would do anything, give anything, to be with her again, forever.

  It was a sobering realization, because for him, forever was a mere six months. But by God, if he had six months left, he wanted to spend every day with her. At least then, if God chose to take him, he would have had that.

  He pushed into the hall, determined to wake her and kiss her and tell her how he felt, but as he paused by her chamber, the door down the hall opened and Alexander and Hannah spilled out.

  “Ah, Lachlan. Good morning,” Dunnet called.

  “Alexander. How did you sleep?” Restraining his frustration, he continued down the hall toward them, eschewing Lana’s room. He couldn’t very well batter on her door with her sister looking on. Hannah seemed dour enough this morning already. If she knew Lachlan had debauched Lana last night, he would, no doubt, end up with a dirk in his gullet.

  “We slept verra well … considering.” Alexander curled his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  “Excellent.”

  “Shall we go down and see what the innkeeper has to break our fast?” Hannah asked.

  “Are you sure you want to eat?” Alexander brushed a strand of hair from her face. Indeed, Lady Dunnet looked pale. Yesterday she’d been ill. She didn’t look as though she were faring better.

  “I will try,” she said. “I requested bacon. Lana does love bacon.”

  “Does she?” Good to know. Lachlan would have to ply her with it.

  And speaking of Lana, why had she left without waking him? It hardly seemed fair. He’d wanted to—

  “She’s an early riser, though,” Hannah said with a wink. “So we’d better hurry.”

  “I … ah … hurry?”

  “Or she’ll eat it all before we get there.”

  Oh, lord. Was she already awake? Already downstairs? Why the hell were they tarrying here?

  He followed Alexander and his wife down the stairs, his anticipation high. As they turned into the private dining room, his gaze lit on Lana and his pulse lurched. Ah, she looked so lovely. It was all he could do not to stare.

  Or perhaps he did. Stare.

  Alexander nudged him with an elbow. “Lachlan?”

  “Oh, aye.” He gathered his senses, what was left of them, and stepped into the room. And then she smiled at him. He felt it like a lance to his heart. A lovely lance, but a lance nonetheless.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” she said softly, with a small bow. She was everything demure and proper, everything she should have been, except for the shimmer of mischief in her eyes. He hoped he was the only one who spotted that.

  Thankfully, the others were studying the buffet, so they couldn’t have noticed the way his cock surged. But Lana did. Her gaze flitted over his trews and she nibbled her lip. To hide his burgeoning arousal, he slid into the bench across from her.

  “Why did you leave?” he asked in a whisper.

  “I had to,” she said with a grin. “It was almost morning.” But then her smile faded. “Lachlan, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Last night, after you fell asleep…” She trailed off and her gaze flickered over his shoulder. He didn’t like the way her expression pinched.

  He glanced behind him to see what it was. He should have known. Dougal blew into the room, his frown severe. “Your Grace,” he said.

  “Good morning, Dougal.”

  He disliked the look Dougal sent Lana. Really disliked the curl of his lip. It was far too like a sneer. His fingers closed into a fist, although he didn’t know why. Surely it wasn’t the unquenchable urge to plant it in Dougal’s face. “Your Grace, I need to speak with you.”

  “Certainly.” Lachlan waved at the table. “Join us.”

  Dougal bristled. “In private, Your Grace.”

  Lachlan’s belly rumbled. He grimaced. “Can it wait until after I’ve eaten?”

  “I fear not.”

  “Oh, bluidy hell,” he muttered as he stood. He shot a remorseful glance at Lana and followed his man from the room. He didn’t miss the glower Dougal shot at Lana. It made something acidic crawl through his gut.

  As they stepped out into the murky sunshine of the yard, Lachlan turned to Dougal. “What is it?” He didn’t intend to ask so sharply, but in addition to his dislike of the way Dougal had been looking at his woman, he was irritated to be pulled from a pleasant breakfast when all he wanted was to relax and eat and gaze upon her.

  “How did you sleep, Your Grace?”

  What? “I slept fine, Dougal,” he snapped. Is that what was so important it needed to be discussed at once? In private?

  “You werena … disturbed?”

  He was disturbed now. But, “Nae, I wasna.”

  “Not at all?”

  Lachlan narrowed his gaze on his cousin. “What is this about, Dougal?”

  “Your Grace, there were reports of … intruders in some of the rooms last night and I was worried about you.”

  “Intruders?” Yes. Likely so. Someone had intruded on Lana. “Probably just drunks. They were rather rowdy last night.”

  “Aye. Of course. Drunks.”

  He didn’t understand the intensity with which Dougal studied him, and frankly, he didn’t care. “Is that all? Because I’m rather famished and would like to eat before we leave.”

  “I … ah … Well, Your Grace, there is one other thing.”

  He forced his impatience down. “What is it?”

  “Miss Dounreay…”

  Something nasty curled in his belly. What the bloody hell did Dougal have to say about her? “Aye?”

  “Your Grace … You dinna … You havena … I mean…”

  Good God. The man’s stuttering was irritating beyond belief.

  He clapped his cousin on the shoulder to stop the babbling and leaned in, fixing his features in a harsh moue. “Whether I have or whether I have not is none of your business.”

  “But Your Grace … You doona understand what kind of woman she is.”

  The annoyance roiling in his stomach surged up into his throat, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.

  “What kind of woman she is?” This, a hiss.

  “You know them. We’ve met them. Women who would seduce a man for one thing and one thing only.”

  “And that would be?” How did he even get the words out? How did he even force them from his mouth? Through teeth as clenched as they were?

  “Your title, Your Grace. Women like that would seduce a man in an attempt to force him into marriage. And you … you canna allow that.”

  “Can I no’?”

  Dougal went pale, then red in turns. “You canna! Your vow.”

  It seemed Dougal was the only one who gave a bloody damn about that vow anymore. Thoroughly disgusted, Lachlan spun on his heel and stormed back to the inn.

>   “I warn you, Your Grace,” Dougal called after him. “You will regret this if you allow this hussy to trap you.”

  Ah. He stormed right back. He had to. Right up into his cousin’s face. “Dougal…” Nothing less than a snarl. “I willna countenance another word.”

  “But…”

  “Not. Another. Word.”

  He was pleased with himself, that he made it back to the dining room without punching something. But the morning had lost some of its glory and his breakfast sat like a stone in his belly.

  Aside from that, Dunnet and his wife had joined Lana at the table and any opportunity for a private conversation was lost.

  * * *

  It was a torment, spending the entire day sitting next to Lachlan in the carriage, not being able to speak with him. He was warm at her side, and with each jostle of the coach he touched her, or she touched him. Occasionally, their gazes would lock, and heat would wash through her, and excitement. Because there was a promise in his eyes.

  Once, when the others weren’t paying attention, he’d leaned close and whispered, “Tonight,” in her ear. It had filled her with an unaccountable excitement. It was lovely being so close, but she truly wanted to speak with him.

  She was anxious to tell him what she’d discovered, but the conversation had to be private and there was no opportunity to bring it up. Not with Hannah and Dunnet sitting across from them. So instead, they engaged in light chatter about nothing much, interspersed with the frequent stops Hannah required to retch on the side of the road.

  It alarmed Lana, how many times she retched.

  It probably alarmed Lachlan, too, considering how often she couldn’t escape in time and erupted onto his boots.

  It was a good thing their journey today wasn’t a long one. They should reach the inn in Forss by early afternoon, and then their final leg of the journey would take less than half a day.

  Although if Hannah kept requesting stops, it would take longer.

  Lana studied her sister as she settled herself after one such visit to the bushes. She was pale and wan but otherwise looked hale. Her energy was strong. Very strong, in fact. Lana leaned closer and touched Hannah’s sleeve. “Do you think it was something you ate?”

  Hannah frowned. “I canna think what it might have been. We’ve all had the same meals.”

  “Perhaps the ague?” Dunnet said, his expression worried.

  “I doona have a fever.” Hannah set his hand on her forehead. “And I feel fine once I…” She flourished a hand. When her gaze fell on Lachlan, she winced. “I am verra sorry about your boots, Your Grace.”

  “They are only boots.”

  Lana knew better. They were more than just boots, but she appreciated his gentle lie. Hannah would be mortified if she knew how much he loved those boots. Lana shot him a grateful glance and their gazes clung for a moment. And then, to her surprise, something nudged her thigh. It took a moment for her to realize it was his hand, beneath the froth of her skirt.

  She glanced at Hannah and her husband. They were wrapped in each other, talking about what might have caused her stomach upset. Casually, Lana rearranged her cloak over her lap, so they couldn’t see, and she took Lachlan’s hand in hers.

  He stared out the window, as though their fingers were not entwined beneath the cloak, but a smile teased his lips. As the coach lumbered on down the rutted track, he stroked her with his thumb. Over the top of her hand, her palm, along the lengths of her fingers.

  It was hardly some grand romantic gesture.

  But oh, how it thrilled her.

  When Hannah’s eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth, and Dunnet knocked on the roof so she could once again rush from the carriage with him hurrying in her wake, Lachlan turned to her. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered once they were alone.

  “I’m sitting right here.”

  “You know what I mean.” His eyes glimmered. “I want to kiss you but I dare not.”

  “Tonight,” she murmured.

  His nostrils flared. “Aye. Tonight.” She hoped to God the inn had enough rooms for her to have her own.

  “I wish you hadn’t left so soon,” he said.

  “It was nearly morning.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You were sleeping so peacefully.”

  He shook his head and stared at her. “Odd that. I never sleep peacefully.”

  “I probably wore you out.”

  He cracked a laugh. “It’s supposed to work the other way around.”

  “I was tired as well.”

  “Were you?” A teasing glance.

  “Och, aye.” A grin. But then, she sobered. “Lachlan, there’s something I need to tell you about.”

  “What is it, my darling?”

  Oh, blast. He thought she was being seductive. She tightened her hold on his hand. “No. Really. We had … a visitor last night.”

  A hint of horror lit his eye. “A … visitor?”

  “Aye. Wearing chains.”

  He paled. Scrubbed his face. She hated that he loosed his hold on her to do so. “And I slept through it?”

  “You were verra tired.”

  “How could I have slept through it? I’ve never slept through it before.”

  “Well, probably because he dinna really have a chance to wake you, since I scared him off.”

  He boggled. “You … scared him off? How on earth did you do that?”

  “I doona think he was expecting to find me in your bed. He looked surprised. And then … well, I touched him.”

  His stare widened. “You touched him? My father’s ghost?”

  She had to snort. “I doona think it was your father’s ghost.”

  “What?”

  “I doona think it was a ghost.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I touched him, Lachlan. Touched him. Ghosts don’t wear wool.”

  “He was wearing wool?”

  “It felt like wool. Aside from which, he used the door.”

  Lachlan shook his head. “What does that mean?”

  “Ghosts don’t need doors, Lachlan. They simply are where they want to be. And his feet shuffled on the floor. Ghosts, generally, don’t shuffle.”

  “What do they do, float?”

  She sighed. “They simply are. Shuffling intimates a physical presence and none of the ghosts I’ve ever met had any physical presence. They are simply … energy.”

  “What do you think this means, Lana?”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see Hannah heading back to the carriage. She knew there wasn’t much time to finish this conversation. No time to prevaricate. “I think someone is trying to make you think you are haunted by your father. Someone verra cruel. Do you have any idea who that could be?”

  * * *

  Lachlan stared at Lana, his mind in a whirl. He was so flummoxed, he almost forgot to yank his boots out of the way when Lady Dunnet began heaving again.

  Who would want him to think he was haunted by his father? And why?

  As the carriage continued on, he thought back to the very first visitation, nearly two years ago. He’d been woken in his rooms in St. James after a long night of debauchery with Dougal and a handful of his friends. They’d been to a brothel and a gaming hell and he’d had more to drink than should be humanly possible.

  He’d been pickled, for certain. Filled with God knew what kinds of pleasurable poisons. A moan had woken him. A moan, and then a howl. Though it had taken some effort, he pried open a lid … and stared. Stared at his father’s spirit, hovering at the foot of his bed enrobed in chains, calling to him, beseeching him to return to Scotland.

  At that first visit, he’d been stunned, frightened, and foxed, so he’d chalked the incident up to a hallucination caused by too much liquor. In the days following, he’d stopped drinking altogether.

  But then, a month later, it had happened again. This time, there had been no carousing, no alcohol, no anything. This time, he�
��d taken more note. His father had been adamant that Lachlan return to Scotland and refurbish the family seat. When it happened the third time, the terror had really lit in. He’d been convinced that his father was writhing in some abominable hell and it was up to Lachlan to save him, to redeem him and all of his ancestors.

  It was at that point Dougal suggested Dr. Pribble, the man who had inspected his person and then prescribed the laudanum. It had helped for a while but then, when it failed, it failed miserably.

  The spirits returned with a passion. Sometimes more than one. All of them singing the same refrain. Return to Scotland. Restore the castle. Redeem the Sinclair name.

  He had still resisted, because he knew, deep in his soul, Scotland was where he would meet his end. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he’d rationalized that if he never returned to Scotland, he could escape his fate.

  A foolish rationalization, for certain.

  There was no escape for Lachlan Sinclair, descendant of the Baron of Rosslyn. There was no escape for any of the Caithness dukes. The curse against them was immutable.

  But he resisted as long as he could, until the urgings became more and more frequent. At long last, he could no longer bear it. He acceded to the spirit’s request in the interest of saving his sanity. Because, at that point, he really did believe he was going mad.

  He’d even considered doing himself in.

  He wasn’t sure why he had not.

  Probably stubbornness. That and the howling urge to do as his father asked. To make his life matter somehow.

  He’d thought the hauntings would cease when he returned to Scotland, because he was, after all, doing as the spirit asked, but they’d gotten even worse. The visits came with more regularity and the commands had changed, exhorting him to raise the funds to refurbish the castle by ordering the Clearances.

  In all that time, he’d never once suspected the visitations were spurious.

  Why had it never occurred to him?

  Ah. He knew why.

  With sudden clarity, it dawned on him.

  Each and every time the spirits had visited, he had ended the day with one of Dougal’s toddies. Toddies that had numbed his brain and weakened his body.

  The realization stunned him. At the same time, it infuriated him. No, more than fury. A scorching tide of rage.