Lana and the Laird

by Sabrina York

  “Come here and I’ll tell you.”

  Obediently, the girl crawled off his lap and onto Lana’s, and while Lachlan missed her warmth, he needed the space, a moment, to process.

  That two pieces of the cross had been found within a matter of days, when his family had been searching for centuries, was mind-boggling.

  It incited in him a welling hope. And along with that hope, a fear darker than one he’d ever known. Because he’d found something he very much wanted to live for.

  Found someone.

  As Lana told the tale of his family’s misfortune and the damning curse, Lachlan watched her. He loved the way her lips worked, her smile, the brogue with which she colored her yarn. He loved the color of her hair and the glow of her skin. The sparkle of her eyes. Her laugh. Her courage. Her spirit.

  He loved everything about her and he suspected he would forever, even beyond death.

  Thirty years and not a breath more

  For Sinclair heirs of Caithness Moor

  Short lives they live to pay the cost

  ’Til joined once more the MacAlpin Cross

  Hell, even his curse, on her lips, was poetry. Isobel’s eyes were like saucers as Lana repeated the insufferable rhyme in her soft and calming lilt.

  When she finished, she settled a solemn look on her niece. “Only one thing can break the curse,” she whispered.

  “One thing?”

  “He must reunite the MacAlpin Cross.” Lana kissed her brow. “We think the piece you found is a part of the relic.” He knew she thought the curse was utter ballocks, so he appreciated her willingness to help Isobel understand why he needed the piece so much.

  He shifted under the child’s unwavering regard. There almost seemed to be a sympathetic flicker in her expression. Almost. Then she put out a lip. “But it’s my treasure.

  “It means quite a lot to me,” he said gently.

  Isobel frowned. “Do you believe in curses?” she asked Lana.

  Lana smiled sadly. “I’m not sure if curses are real. But I do know I doona want Lachlan to die.”

  Ah. God. Her words, her tone. They did something inside his chest. Something painful and sweet.

  Isobel studied him. “He is verra handsome.”

  “Aye. He is.”

  The girl pulled the trinket from her pocket and fondled it. “But it’s a verra beautiful treasure.”

  “Perhaps I could offer you a trade?”

  Isobel turned to him with interest glinting in her eyes. “A trade? What do you have?”

  He tugged on his plaid. “What do you want?”

  “A sword.”

  He boggled. A sword? Dear God. What kind of women did Dounreay raise? “A … sword?”

  “I really want a sword.” Isobel fluttered her lashes. “But not a big one. Yet.”

  He glanced at Isobel’s mother. To his astonishment, she rolled her eyes, blew out a breath … and then nodded.

  It occurred to him that Dounreay women were, indeed, rather fierce. And apparently they started young.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  What an excellent homecoming, Lana thought as she nibbled a cake—possibly the only one Isobel had not licked—and surveyed the company. It was wonderful to see Susana and Isobel and Papa again. She’d missed them so. Even Lady Braal had made an appearance in the sitting room to welcome her home, which was saying something. Lady Braal was a shy spirit and didn’t like crowds in the slightest. As it was, she remained in the corner, nearly faded into nothing, but her pleasure at seeing Lana again shone brightly.

  And och, it was delightful, watching Lachlan with Isobel. In fact, it was delightful simply seeing him here, in her home, sitting in the wing chair in the bosom of her family. There had been a moment of concern when she thought Papa might pummel him, but now they seemed to be the best of friends, which was a relief, all things considered.

  It felt so right having him here, in this company.

  Having them all here.

  She glanced at Andrew, sitting next to Susana and gazing at her with a besotted devotion. When Lana had met him upon her arrival at Lochlannach Castle, she’d known immediately he would be someone important to her—and not just because she’d dreamed of him. She’d been entranced by his charming demeanor and a familiarity that clung to him like a mist.

  Naturally, she’d assumed this feeling was a message that he was her one true love. She nearly snorted now in retrospect, now that she had actually found that soul-deep connection with someone. She’d even allowed Andrew to kiss her to test the assertion. She’d known the moment his lips touched hers that she was wrong, but she hadn’t understood how wrong until now. Until she saw Isobel and Andrew side by side and realized the familiarity about him stemmed from the fact that he and her beloved niece shared facial features, mannerisms, and that striking shock of white-blond hair. They even had the same gamine grin—complete with those evil dimples. Andrew was her father. It was an undeniable fact.

  She didn’t know why she’d never seen it before. She probably hadn’t been paying attention. She’d probably been far too embroiled in her own concerns.

  But Andrew would feature significantly in her future, and with his longing looks at Susana—and the resultant softening of her features—Lana could see why. Though, for some reason, they’d been separated for six years, it was clear they were meant to be together now. There would, no doubt, be a wedding soon.

  And if the glow about Susana meant what she thought it meant, there would also be something more. Kippers for certain.

  Her gaze flickered to Hannah, whose attention was fixed on Dunnet as he and Lachlan studied the papers Isobel had rescued from Scrabster’s chest. The pride and adoration on her face as she contemplated her husband warmed Lana’s heart.

  It was wonderful that both her sisters had found their heart’s desires, that a happy-ever-after was in store for them.

  She tried to ignore the tinge of bitterness, the envy at the thought.

  Oh, she had found her heart’s desire, of that she was certain. It was the happy-ever-after she was unsure of.

  If Lachlan didn’t let go of this conviction that he was doomed, he probably would die, simply because his soul had accepted it as an immutable truth. She could hardly bear to think on the possibility.

  But the curse hardly signified. Even if there were no curse and Lachlan felt at liberty to choose a wife, Lana was convinced it wouldn’t be her.

  Not that she didn’t believe he cared for her. She knew he did. And he found her physically attractive. But marriages for men of his station were not acts of desire so much as exercises in empire building. Dukes married to expand their consequence, and Lana had nothing to bring to such a union. No title or wealth. No properties.

  She stared at him, blinking as the sight of him began to shimmer. She wouldn’t cry. She would not.

  She resolved that if she couldn’t have the happy ending her sisters had discovered, she would take whatever she could get with Lachlan, and be thankful for it.

  Because she loved him. She loved him with all her heart.

  “Lana?”

  It took a nudge from Hamish to capture her attention, and even then it was a challenge ripping her gaze from Lachlan’s dear features.

  “Aye, Hamish?” She forced a smile at Andrew’s second in command, who sat beside her. They’d met in Dunnetshire, before the two men had been assigned to the protection of Dounreay. She’d liked the large, cheerful man on sight. He was striking, with a shock of red hair and a crooked, charming smile. She had allowed him to kiss her, too, so long ago, which in retrospect had probably been an error.

  He gazed at her with an unmistakable glint in his eye. “I am verra happy to see you again.” He set his hand on her knee, which was rather forward.

  She patted it and gently removed it. “I am glad to see you as well. And how have you found Dounreay?”

  “Ach, ’tis fine. Beautiful location. Excellent hunting.” His brow lowered. “Although…”

&
nbsp; When he didn’t continue, Lana shot him a quizzical glance.

  “It has never shined so brightly as now.”

  “Now?”

  He leaned closer and whispered, “In your presence.”

  Oh, dear.

  “You are, indeed, more beautiful than I remember.”

  “Thank you, Hamish. That is kind of you.”

  “No’ kind in the slightest. I only speak the truth.” A flame glowed in his eyes. “You are ravishing.”

  Ravishing? She glanced down at her traveling dress, besmirched with the dirt of the road as it was. Though she and Hannah had taken a moment to freshen up, she still felt encrusted with the grime of the journey.

  “I never stopped thinking about you, you know.” Oh, heavens. He seemed so resolved, so sincere. He leaned closer still and murmured, “I never stopped thinking about that kiss. It was … transporting.”

  It had been a fine kiss, as kisses went, but hardly transporting.

  Aside from which, Lana knew from the chatter of the women at Lochlannach Castle that Hamish kissed everyone. And she could tell, from Lady Braal’s derision, he’d kissed plenty of women here, too.

  She widened her eyes and shot him an ingenuous look. “If it was so impressive, then surely you havena kissed another woman since you kissed me.”

  His expression blanked. A flush rose on his cheeks. “I … ah … you…”

  “Because surely, if it meant so much to you, that would be the case.” She knew, beyond all doubt, it was not.

  It took a moment for him to regain his composure, to reclaim his legendary aplomb. “But now that I see you again, I canna help but wonder…” Again, the tantalizing lure.

  She wasn’t tantalized. She wasn’t lured. She simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

  He seemed slightly disgruntled at the lack of a gushing response to his seductive ploys, but rallied his resolve and continued. “I canna help but wonder if there is no’ something … magical between us.” There was not. She was certain of it. “Something we should … explore.” Judging from his expression, he no doubt felt certain his simmering gaze would send her into paroxysms of maidenly delight. Cause her to swoon, perhaps.

  Not likely.

  “Would you care to take a walk in the garden with me? There is … something I would like to show you.”

  As seductions went, his was appallingly cliché. She ignored the fact that she’d used the same ruse on Lachlan.

  She quirked a brow. “But Hamish, I have seen the gardens. I did grow up here, you know.”

  The consternation on his face was amusing. “I … but … It—”

  “And I am rather fatigued. From the long journey. I’m sure you understand.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Lachlan stand. She heard him express his desire to retire to his rooms to rest up before dinner.

  She shot to her feet as well. “Your Grace, I would be happy to show you to your chambers.” They had situated him in the Grand Suite in the east wing.

  There was no call for Hannah, Alexander, and Papa to frown so. Her sister opened her mouth, likely to object, when Isobel leaped from Andrew’s lap and jumped up and down. “I will go, too.” She linked fingers with Lachlan and gazed up at him with nothing short of adoration.

  But then, he had agreed to get her a sword.

  Hannah’s mouth snapped shut and her lips curled with smug satisfaction. No doubt she felt certain Isobel would be an excellent chaperone. No doubt she was right.

  Clearly she didn’t realize Lana’s desire to go with Lachlan wasn’t born of illicit intent—not entirely. She also desired to quit Hamish’s presence. He was charming and entertaining and a great deal of fun to tease, but his ardent attentions were a trifle uncomfortable. Especially when she had no interest in him in the slightest.

  “This way, Your Grace,” Isobel said as she tugged Lachlan’s hand and led him up the stairs. Lana followed with a smile toying her lips. It was sweet, the sight of the two of them. The tall bristly duke and the wee commanding girl.

  Most endearing was that he allowed her to command him.

  Upon their arrival, they’d ordered the Grand Suite be prepared for His Grace. It was only fitting. But as they made their way down the hall—all the way down—it occurred to Lana it was a long way from her rooms. In fact, her suite was in the other wing. How annoying.

  It was unlikely either one of them would be able to sneak into the other’s chambers without being spotted by someone, which was distressing indeed.

  She’d come to really enjoy those long lazy hours, with his hands and mouth on her. It would be difficult to sleep alone again. Then again, she’d known it couldn’t last forever. They’d both known. Now that they were here in Dounreay, there were many more watching eyes.

  If they were to be together, they would need to be stealthy indeed.

  She didn’t know why a skirl of anticipation rippled through her at the thought, except for the fact that the prospect of sneaking about with Lachlan was terribly exciting.

  When they came to his suite—at long last—Isobel did the honors and showed the duke every nook and cranny, from the plush sitting room to the lavish bedchamber to the well-equipped privy.

  It took everything in Lana not to glance at the tub.

  Lachlan was not so prudent. She knew it. She felt the heat of his gaze, and a flush rose on her cheeks.

  Thankfully, Isobel was oblivious to this byplay; she charged on into the dressing room and, when Lachlan didn’t follow quickly enough, she ran back to grasp his hand and pull him after her. With a helpless glance and a grin over his shoulder, he followed.

  It was lovely, the way her niece had taken to him. As though she saw past all the falderal, all the walls he’d erected, straight through to the true man. As Lana did.

  She leaned against the doorjamb with a smile on her face and watched as Isobel showed Lachlan all the features of the dressing room. There were not very many and they were not terribly interesting … to an adult, but to Isobel, the bouncy cushion of the stool and the rod for his clothes—sturdy enough to swing upon—were fascinating. She was also entranced by the secret door to the valet’s quarters.

  It was hardly a secret door, at least to a valet, but Isobel thought it rather enthralling. Lachlan oohed and awed, which was generous of him, in Lana’s opinion.

  Inspired by his undivided attention, Isobel nattered on about her recent adventures and her favorite cakes and her expertise with the bow. And, of course, her excitement over the promised sword. He nodded and murmured and asked questions when they were required. Watching them together made Lana’s heart swell. And with that longing, a tinge of pain.

  He would, indeed, make an excellent father.

  There was something just so heartbreaking about him. Not the curse, or his belief in it, as much as this. This strong, stalwart determination to be brave despite his fears. To be gentle and sweet and attentive to Isobel—even though Lana knew he would rather have been alone with her—and the child was undoubtedly pestering him.

  But he didn’t seem annoyed in the least. He seemed charmed, and when Isobel asked if he would like to see her bow, he nodded and said he would very much like to see it.

  Which was clever of him. Because Isobel’s eyes widened, glimmering with excitement, and she shot from the room.

  Oh, clever indeed.

  For as easily as that, they were alone.

  Lachlan turned to Lana with a wicked smile. “Ah, God,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

  He bent to kiss her and Lana’s heart fluttered as a hint of panic and exhilaration flared. “Och. Not here, Lachlan.” She glanced at the door. Isobel had far to go to fetch her bow in the other wing, but she was fleet of foot. Besides, anyone could come upon them.

  “Good point.” He tugged her into the dressing room and closed the door with a decisive click. “Much better.” He pulled her to him and set his mouth on hers. It was a sweet kiss, but one laced with hunger.

  “Ah, Lachla
n. I’ve thought about this all day,” she sighed as he made his way over her cheek.

  “Mmm.” He nibbled her neck as he walked her back to press her against the wall. His … enthusiasm was evident. “I thought about it all day, and all night.”

  “All night?”

  “From the moment I left you.”

  She chuckled. “There wasn’t much of the night remaining when you left.”

  “Far too much to spend without you.”

  His hand closed on her breast and she was reminded, suddenly, of the pleasure he’d played on her there the night before, and the night before that. She shivered as her nipples ruched in anticipation. Because she felt she probably must, she murmured, “Not here, Lachlan.” Not now. But glory. There had to be a way for them to be together tonight.

  “No. Of course not. Just one kiss.”

  “One kiss.”

  But it wasn’t just one kiss. It never was.

  He kissed her many times and, as the passion rose between them, his caresses became wilder, more daring, inciting her to mischief as well.

  He had his hand up her skirt, drawing delightful designs on the dampening flesh of her core, and she had her hand on him, when—to her annoyance—the door beside them opened.

  They sprang apart. Well, he sprang. She was far too bemused for such cogent thought. She shook down her skirts and turned to see Isobel, bow in hand, studying them. Her head was cocked to the side and her tiny brow furrowed.

  Something curled in Lana’s belly. She knew what that expression meant. It meant Isobel was thinking. Saints preserve them all.

  “Ah, there you are,” Lachlan gusted, rubbing his hands together. “Did you find your bow?”

  It was right there. In her hands. But it was a good attempt and Lana appreciated Lachlan for trying.

  Isobel’s features scrunched up. “What were you doing?”

  “Ah … doing?” Lachlan fiddled with his collar, as though it were suddenly too tight.

  “It looked like you were kissing.” Why her niece shot her a glower, Lana had no clue. Unless the little mite had thought to win the duke for herself. Which was a likely possibility, given the adoration with which she perused him.