Lana and the Laird

by Sabrina York

  She smiled at him. “Not a thing.”

  “No unpacking?”

  “All done.”

  “No catching up with your sisters?”

  “They are napping.”

  “No games with Isobel?”

  “She’s gone out to shoot her bow.”

  His lips quirked. “She’s a fierce thing, isn’t she?”

  “Aye. She’s a Dounreay to the core.”

  “True. And you are, all of you, rather daunting.”

  “Surely I am not daunting. Susana, naturally. Hannah, of course, if you cross her. And Isobel has her terrifying moments. But I’m not frightening in the slightest.”

  “You frighten me.”

  Surely he was bamming her. “How do I frighten you?”

  In response, he lifted a finger and traced her cheek. Which really, was no answer at all.

  “Lachlan … How do I frighten you?”

  “Do you no’ know?”

  “I doona.”

  “Ah, Lana.” He stepped closer and his scent surrounded her, musky and manly, making her head spin. His finger traced her jawline and then he used it to tip up her head and hold her still, although there was no need. She was right where she wanted to be.

  His eyes glinted as he neared. His breath brushed her cheeks. His warmth enfolded her.

  It was hellish, waiting for his lips to touch hers, and he seemed to know this, drawing the moment out, stretching her on a rack of anticipation. But when his mouth covered hers, it was heaven on earth. She opened to him with a sigh, and he responded in kind, folding her into his arms and holding her close.

  “God, I’ve missed you.”

  She chuckled through the kiss. “I’m right here.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “We were together last night.”

  “I miss kissing you.” He kissed her again.

  “I know.”

  “Funny, isn’t it, how quickly I got used to sleeping with you?”

  Lana set her palm on his cheek. She felt the same way. It would be difficult spending the night without him. This night, and all the coming nights.

  He pulled back to study her face. “I could … visit you. Or you could visit me.”

  She arched a brow. “What about your guards?”

  “We could be quiet.” It was adorable how ingenuous he was. They hadn’t been quiet in the least. “My room does have that secret door…”

  Ah. The secret door. She suddenly found it as intriguing as Isobel had and … Oh, blast. She had completely forgotten. “We canna. Not tonight. Isobel is sleeping in my room.”

  His hopeful expression fell.

  “She asked and I couldna refuse. She missed me.”

  “I miss you more.” He was adorable. Like a wee lad denied a treat.

  “I couldna refuse. She’s been through quite a lot lately. Being kidnapped and blowing up castles and all … Surely you understand.”

  “Not really.” But he smiled. “Damnation, I shall be cold tonight. I need you.” He nestled closer, close enough that she could feel the firmness of that need. It sent a shiver through her. She needed him as well. Her mind flittered through her options. Surely there was somewhere they could be private enough to—

  The door opened.

  They were both far too absorbed to react quickly enough, to spring apart as convention demanded they do. With dismay, Lana glanced around Lachlan’s sturdy form and saw Hamish glaring at them from the hall. As he stormed into the room, Lachlan eased away, but not far and not quickly; his hand lingered on her back, as though in claim of her.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Hamish muttered, his gaze flicking from one to the other.

  Lana tipped up her chin. “Nothing.”

  It wasn’t precisely a lie. It was nothing. Nothing that was any of Hamish’s business.

  He turned to Lachlan. “Were you just kissing her?”

  She expected him to deny it, but to her surprise Lachlan nodded. “I was.” His tone was almost … goading.

  “Lana, what on earth are you thinking? Kissing the duke? Do you no’ know how dangerous that is?”

  “Dangerous?”

  Hamish waved a hand in Lachlan’s direction. “He’s a duke.”

  “Aye. I am aware of that.” Dear Hamish. He’d always had something of a tendre for her. But then, he had a tendre for several women. Whoever was available, to be precise. She couldn’t allow his wounded expression to concern her.

  “Dukes doona marry girls like you.”

  “I am aware of that as well.” Very aware. Lana didn’t understand Lachlan’s frown.

  “Dukes use girls like you. Use them and toss them aside when they are finished.”

  “Now, see here,” Lachlan roared.

  Lana set a hand on his arm to quiet him. “Hamish, I know what I am doing. It is my choice and I fully understand the consequences.”

  Hamish stormed closer, attempting to step between them. Lachlan did not allow it, so he stood before her and scowled. “I doona think you do. This man will shred your reputation. Seduce you … and then leave. At best, he will break your heart. At worst, he will plant a bastard in your belly.”

  Lachlan stiffened. His fingers curled to fists. He opened his mouth to respond, but Lana didn’t allow him to speak. “Hamish, this is none of your business.”

  “It most certainly is. You kissed me!”

  Lachlan whirled to gape at her. “You kissed him?”

  “It was long before we met. And I’ve kissed lots of men.” This, she said to placate Hamish. It didn’t work.

  Apparently, it didn’t placate Lachlan, either. “You’ve kissed a lot of men?” A growl.

  She patted his arm. “Only to see if I liked it.”

  “If you liked it?” Both men. Bellowing. In tandem.

  She tipped up her nose. There was no call for bellowing.

  “What will your father say when I tell him what I saw?”

  Lana shrugged. “Papa is verra open-minded.”

  Hamish snorted. Probably because Papa wasn’t open-minded in the least. “He will insist you marry him.” He thrust a thumb in Lachlan’s direction.

  Lachlan threw back his shoulders and tugged on his plaid. “And I would, of course.”

  Lana gaped at him. Shock and delight flooded her … and then she caught the look in his eye and her mood tumbled. It wasn’t a hopeful look or a happy look. It was a look of resignation. Aye, he would marry her, if he were forced to.

  She wanted him, but she didn’t want him that way.

  Hamish’s reaction to Lachlan’s declaration was abrupt; his mouth snapped shut and he clapped his lips together. Likely, he wouldn’t tell Papa a thing. He wouldn’t tell anyone. The last thing he wanted was to force Lana to marry a man other than himself.

  She tried not to be disappointed. It was for the best. Really it was. But deep inside, where no one could hear, her soul wailed.

  Hamish turned his glower on Lachlan. “I suggest you be on your best behavior, Your Grace,” he said in a dark rumble. “I shall be watching you. I shall be watching your every move.”

  Lachlan forced a casual smile. And then he purred, “Thank you for the warning.”

  * * *

  Dinner that evening wasn’t as pleasant as it could have been, considering the fact that Hamish did indeed watch Lachlan’s every move, which was, all things considered, unnerving. To make things worse, in a nod to convention Susana had seated Lachlan at the head of the table, far from Lana. He had to tip his head to even see her. And then, when he did, he saw Hamish as well, as the bastard was seated next to her.

  The bastard spent most of the evening attempting to court Lana. Lachlan should have been grateful that she responded with nothing but amusement.

  He wasn’t grateful.

  He would have much preferred being the one to command her attention.

  He would have much preferred sitting next to her or across from her. Or within sight of her.

  He
tried to enjoy the meal, but it was a trial.

  When he made his way to his rooms that night, Hamish followed. With a smirk, the man pulled a chair into the alcove across from Lachlan’s door and set up camp. Lachlan allowed him his triumph, secure in the knowledge that he would probably be getting little sleep in that chair, and for no great purpose. Lachlan had no illicit intentions tonight. He wouldn’t be sneaking out to visit Lana … because she wasn’t available tonight. And if he were going to sneak out to visit Lana, he would probably use the valet’s entrance, which made Hamish’s position at the main doors to his suite a moot point. Not that he’d thought about it. Much.

  But that was the point of sneaking, after all. Not being seen.

  He shot Hamish a supercilious smile as he stepped into his rooms and closed the door with a decisive click.

  A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he went still. His heart thumped. Two thoughts flashed through his brain. The first and foremost was the looming threat of Stafford’s plot. And then came the illogical and lingering apprehension that his father’s spirit had followed him here to Dounreay and was getting an early start on his haunting. But Lachlan remembered that whoever his visitor had been, it had not been his father. Slowly, he scanned the dimly lit room.

  When Dougal emerged from the shadows, his pulse gave a leap.

  He didn’t know why he felt the sudden urge to hunt for a weapon. Or perhaps he did. While he’d never felt in danger in Dougal’s presence, in light of his recent discoveries he certainly felt ill at ease.

  The possibility that Dougal and Stafford might be in cahoots didn’t escape him.

  He knew he needed to have a confrontation with his cousin, but at the moment all he had was a handful of suspicions. He wanted to see what more he could discover before he tipped his hand. Regardless, he needed to be on his guard.

  “Ah Dougal.” Lachlan forced a smile. “You’ve returned.”

  “Aye, Your Grace. With disturbing news.”

  Lachlan had a pretty good idea what the news would be. “Do tell,” he said as he made his way from the parlor into the bedroom. It annoyed him to see a toddy awaiting him on the table by the fire.

  “Dunnet’s men have attacked Scrabster.”

  Lachlan blinked. That wasn’t the news he’d been expecting to hear. It was directly opposed to the tale Andrew had told. “Really?”

  “Aye. The bastard blew up his castle and skewered the baron with several arrows. Nearly killed him.”

  “He’s not dead?” There was a pity. Now there would have to be a trial. Although, with the letters they had in their possession, and the fact that Lachlan would be the justice of the peace, he had a pretty good idea how it would turn out.

  But Scrabster’s betrayal was a small annoyance at this point. What bothered Lachlan more was the fact that Dougal was lying to him. Again. “And why would Dunnet do this?”

  Dougal’s brow lowered. “The same reason he attacked Olrig, I’d wager. Because he’s in league with Stafford and the two barons refused to join ranks. The point is, Dunnet canna be trusted. And we are no’ safe here. We must return to Ackergill at once.”

  Lachlan didn’t understand why Dougal was so intent on returning to Caithness Castle, but it probably had nothing to do with Lachlan’s safety. Indeed, if his cousin was part of Stafford’s grand plan, isolating him in the crumbling castle would suit his needs quite nicely.

  At any rate, he had no intention of leaving anytime soon, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue with his cousin. He hadn’t slept much the night before—someone had kept him awake—and he was tired. Beyond that, he was heartsick at yet more evidence that the man he thought he could trust with everything, including his life, was a traitor. So he dropped into the chair by the fire and murmured, “I shall think on it.”

  “Think on it?” Dougal’s face went an odd shade of red. And then, at Lachlan’s sharp glance, he calmed himself. It seemed to take some effort. “Aye, Your Grace.”

  “In the meantime, I’m tired from the journey and would like to rest. I will see you in the morning, Dougal.”

  It was a blatant dismissal. His cousin’s lips flapped as he glanced from Lachlan to the door and back again. “I, ah, made you a toddy.”

  “Thank you. I shall enjoy it.”

  If Dougal was waiting for Lachlan to take a sip, he had a long wait coming. There was no way that toddy would pass his lips, ever again. But he wasn’t ready to reveal his suspicions. Not just yet. So he fixed his gaze on the fire and when Dougal didn’t leave, he repeated himself, this time in a meaningful tone. “I shall see you in the morning.”

  “Do you no’ want me to help you prepare for bed?”

  Lachlan forced a smile. “In this costume, I need little help.” Indeed, that was one of the benefits of the kilt. “Good night, Dougal.”

  “But—”

  “Good night.”

  Finally, his cousin took the hint—though it was hardy a hint, more of a command—and made his way to the valet’s door. Once he was gone, Lachlan glared at the toddy and, holding the glass with two fingers, carried it to the privy and dumped it into the toilet. He held the empty glass to his nose and sniffed, trying to identify the ingredients. Whisky for certain, but there was another scent, a bitter tinge.

  Something nasty roiled in his belly at the confirmation his cousin had been drugging him. He stormed back to the bedroom and, setting the empty glass on the table once more, prepared for bed. He took the precaution of finding his hunting knife, packed in his trunk, and tucking it under his pillow. And then he pushed a chest in front of the valet’s door. If someone sought to visit him in the night, Lachlan didn’t see the point of being an easy target.

  As tired as he was, sleep was long in coming. For one thing, Dougal’s duplicity plagued him. He needed to decide how to handle it. He wished he had more information about his cousin’s plans, his intentions. He wished he knew why he’d done all the strange things he’d done. But there was one thing he did know. If he asked, Dougal wouldn’t tell him.

  At least Stafford’s motives were plain.

  Other thoughts plagued his mind as well and then, in the nature of such things, his body. Memories of Lana’s kisses, visions of her face as she came apart in his arms, her scent, her warmth.

  And then, the expression on her face when Hamish had railed at her …

  God, that had scored him to the soul.

  Dukes doona marry girls like you. Dukes use girls like you. Use them and toss them aside when they are finished.

  And she had nodded. Nodded. As though she accepted this wholeheartedly. As though she expected as much from him.

  Although, if he were being honest with himself, it was true. All true.

  He did have no intention of marrying her, despite the fact he’d despoiled her. Despite the fact he’d selfishly forgotten to use any protection. Hell, he could have planted a babe in her belly already. They’d had plenty of opportunity.

  It was wrong that the thought excited him.

  The thought of his child, stirring in her body. Growing there.

  It was wrong to hope his seed had taken root.

  That he might be forced by convention to break his vow and marry her despite the curse. Despite everything.

  The thought thrilled him to the core.

  But then his exhilaration came crashing down as he remembered. He could not, should not expose her to his hell.

  Even his hope was a sin.

  It was a terrible thing to want something so much and know it couldn’t be yours. Even worse to know it could be yours, if you simply reached out and took it. The temptation to do so scoured him.

  A thump and a curse in the dressing room made Lachlan still. His pulse quickened as he heard footsteps in his room. He slid his hand beneath the pillow. The cold hilt of his knife was a comfort. The only light was that of the fire, and as it had burned down to embers, there was barely that, but he could see a figure moving through the shadows. As the intr
uder neared the fire, Lachlan recognized Dougal’s features. He frowned as he picked up the empty glass and then glanced at the bed.

  Lachlan made it a point not to move.

  He was curious to see what would happen now, when Dougal was certain he was asleep. Or, at the very least, drugged out of his mind.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Dougal made his way back into the dressing room, and shortly thereafter Lachlan heard the telltale clank of chains.

  Anger roiled through him.

  Anger and resolve.

  By God, he was catching his ghost tonight.

  He waited until the “spirit” made his way to the side of the bed, moaning and groaning and clanking and then, when he was close, Lachlan sprang.

  Indeed, he knew at once, as Lana had, this wasn’t a ghost. It was a man, and a solid one. It was, apparently, a man who knew how to fight. But Lachlan was clever and determined and utterly enraged. And he had a knife. When he leaped for the man, Lachlan draped him in the coverlet from his bed to blind him and then held him tight.

  The man whirled madly, trying to shake Lachlan loose. Together, they careened around the room, bumping into furniture and knocking over a vase. It fell to the ground with a crash, but Lachlan ignored it. He focused on hanging on to his intruder. To that end, he dropped the knife. It clattered to the ground.

  The man was larger and stronger, but Lachlan had his fury to feed his fire. Still, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

  Thank God Hamish was keeping watch outside his door. He must have heard the tumult because he burst into the room and took in the sight of the duke clinging to a bucking miscreant draped in the ducal bedclothes, and sprang forward to help.

  Together Lachlan and Hamish lugged the cursing man into the parlor and forced him into a chair. He tried to lunge away, but Hamish was a big man and held him still. It was probably poetic justice that they used his chains to bind him to the chair.

  Outrage flicked over Hamish’s face as he glared at the draped ghost. “Shall I fetch Dunnet?”

  “I think that would be a good idea,” Lachlan said as he retrieved the knife. It wouldn’t hurt to have it handy.

  Hamish wasn’t gone long as Dunnet’s rooms were just down the hall. While he was gone, Lachlan lit the lamps. By the time Hamish returned with the baron, the room blazed with light and the man tied to the chair had stopped struggling.