Lana and the Laird

by Sabrina York

It took everything within her not to scowl at her niece. She should have known better than to plot in her presence, to assume Isobel had been distracted by the talk of eels. Isobel was always listening.

  “Isobel, darling,” Andrew said. “Go find to your mother.”

  “But I want to watch.”

  “Go on now.” Resolutely, he shooed her to the door, although she decidedly did not want to be shooed.

  When it closed behind her, Dunnet cleared his throat. It took him a moment, but he struggled through his outrage to grate, “Just what the hell is going on here?”

  Andrew nibbled at his lip. “I should think that was obvious.”

  Dunnet glared at his brother and then swung his attention back to Lachlan. “Well?” A snarl. He was much like a wolf in his ferocity; Lana could see why he’d earned that moniker.

  To his credit, Lachlan didn’t seem put out in the slightest at being caught. Indeed, he smiled, though it did not escape her that it was a tight smile. “Well,” he gusted. “It appears you two will be the first to hear our news.”

  Lana’s gaze snapped to his face. His expression was harsh and hard. Not loverly in the slightest. Bristly, in fact. She didn’t care for it.

  “Miss Dounreay has just done me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife.”

  She froze as the words filtered in, as a frigid fury took her. Her pulse thudded as shock rocked through her body. Oh, certainly, there was that sharp shard of joy at the thought of marrying him, of living with him, of having him forever. The foolish illusion that this was something he wanted too. But his austere expression made clear this was not the case at all.

  Hence the fury.

  They’d been caught kissing, and in his world such indiscretion resulted in marriage.

  Somewhere, deep in her heart, anguish welled.

  Ah yes, she would love to marry him. To spend her life in his arms, her nights in his bed. But she didn’t want to marry him like this.

  Out of obligation.

  Her mouth went dry and her throat locked, but she managed to croak, “You must have misheard me.”

  Lachlan’s head whipped around so fast it was a surprise it didn’t spin off his neck. “What?”

  “I dinna agree to marry you.”

  “But…” Lachlan’s lips flapped. He stared at her, his eyes wide, his nostrils flared.

  “I dinna agree. And I willna marry you, Lachlan Sinclair.”

  Dunnet had the gall to growl at her. “You will marry him,” he said.

  Lana shot him her prettiest smile. It cost her. “Nae,” she said. “I willna.”

  And then, leaving all three men staring after her, she quit the room.

  She would not be forced into a marriage. Not even to the man she loved.

  Aside from that, until he released his fear of that ridiculous curse, this thing between them could never be more than what it was. A fling.

  * * *

  Alexander’s raptorlike attention was uncomfortable, but not as off-putting as Lana’s refusal of his proposal. Granted, it had been a poor one. Lachlan stared after her, utterly befuddled. And her adamant rejection wasn’t nearly as stupefying as the way it had cut him. Sliced him open. Gutted him like a fish.

  Had he known loving someone could hurt so much, he would never have allowed it to happen. But it had. And now it was too late to save himself. He was lost. Utterly lost.

  It took a moment to realize that Alexander was still glaring at him. “Do you want to explain what that was?” he snapped.

  Did he?

  Not really.

  It was far too precious. Too personal. Too raw.

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Do you really want to marry her?” he asked. “Or did you offer because we found you in a clinch?”

  A clinch? Surely it hadn’t been that.

  Ah, but yes. It had been.

  Lachlan scrubbed his face. “I canna think of a woman I would rather spend my life with.” Indeed, now that she had rebuffed his suit, he realized there was nothing in this world he wanted, needed more. His curse be damned.

  Andrew cracked a grin. “Pity that.” And when Lachlan scowled at him he shrugged and added, “Because I do believe she refused you.”

  Alexander nodded. “Aye. She did.”

  “She seemed rather … adamant as well.”

  “Aye. She is a Dounreay. They are exceedingly stubborn.”

  Andrew waggled his brows. “We should know.”

  Lachlan glowered at the brothers, each in turn. This wasn’t amusing. This was a disaster of epic proportions. A cold ball settled in his belly. Lana had refused him. After everything they’d shared, with all he felt for her … she’d said no. “There must be some way to change her mind.”

  “You need some grand gesture, I think,” Alexander said.

  Andrew tapped his lip. “You could kidnap her.”

  Lachlan reared back. “Rather unseemly, don’t you think?”

  “Isobel assures me it is what Scotsmen do when they want to profess their love.” How Andrew said this with a straight face was a mystery. But then, it sounded like something Isobel would say.

  “Do they?” He had the sense the brothers were bamming him.

  “According to Isobel.”

  Alexander frowned. “Kidnapping seems like a lot of unnecessary work. It seems to me a simple seduction should suffice. A protestation of endless devotion. Women like that sort of thing.”

  Lachlan turned to him. “A seduction, you say?”

  Andrew grinned. “It worked for me.”

  “Are you saying the two of you don’t have any issues with me seducing your sister-in-law?”

  “No’ if you intend to marry her.”

  Alexander crossed his arms. “You do intend to marry her?”

  “I do. Yes. Of course I do.” And it was true. He couldn’t envision any other future. Long or short. Six months or sixty years. He didn’t care. All he wanted was her, for as long as the good Lord saw fit to give them.

  Alexander shrugged. “As long as your intentions are noble, and by noble I mean my wife won’t have my guts for garters, I willna object. In fact, I will help you.”

  Ah. Lachlan liked that prospect. He liked it a lot.

  And not just because with their help he had a greater chance at success. But because it was simply nice to have friends. Conspirators, perhaps.

  * * *

  Isobel found Lana in the garden where she’d fled to nurse her heartache. And, of course, her regret. Though she wanted nothing more than to be with Lachlan, she couldn’t trap him into marriage. She knew the only reason he’d made his stilted offer was because they’d been caught. And truth be told, that wasn’t enough for her.

  She required his heart as well, and if she couldn’t have that, she would rather live her life alone, clinging to the memories of their brief affair.

  Although that did seem slightly melodramatic. And she wasn’t a melodramatic sort.

  At any rate, it was a relief when Isobel found her in the garden and distracted her from her gloomy ruminations. Bow over her shoulder, she sat next to Lana with a huff. Together they stared out at the flowers.

  A bunny hopped by and Isobel tracked its passage, fingering her bow, but she didn’t shoot it. Instead, she fixed her gimlet gaze on Lana. “Do you no’ like him?” she asked.

  “I like him verra much.” Lana sighed.

  “I thought so … the way the two of you were seducing and all.” She said this in a sage tone, as though she knew of what seducing consisted. The thought that she might was a trifle horrifying. “But if you like him, why did you refuse to marry him?”

  Lana blinked. “How did you know that?” She had been shooed, after all.

  Isobel snorted. “The library has a gallery,” she said, as though that explained everything. But then, it did.

  “You shouldn’t listen in.”

  “If I didn’t listen in, I would never know anything.”

  Lana couldn’t argue the point. It was probably
true.

  Isobel peeped up at her, nibbling on her lower lip. “So why did you say nae? He is verra handsome and, you know, the duke part and all.”

  Lana studied her niece. Though she was precocious and inquisitive and something of a hellion, she deserved at least the truth. “I canna many a man who doesna want to marry me.”

  Isobel’s features wrinkled. “But he does want to marry you. He said so.”

  “Only because we were caught kissing.” She narrowed her gaze on her precocious niece, because this point bore repeating. “If you are caught kissing a boy,” she warned, “you could be expected to marry him.”

  Isobel nodded wisely. “I shall not get caught.”

  Which was hardly the point.

  Lana opened her mouth to clarify, but Isobel spoke first. “But when my papa asked him if he offered only because you were caught in a clinch, the duke dinna say aye.”

  Lana stared at Isobel. A pricking optimism rose in her chest. “I … What did he say?”

  “I canna remember exactly—”

  “Honestly, Isobel. What is the point of listening in if you are no’ going to pay attention?”

  “But it was something like, I canna think of a woman I would rather spend my life with.” It was impressive the way she managed the crisp accent and everything.

  Lana’s heart stuttered. “He said that?”

  “Aye. But he dinna seem happy about it.”

  Nae. He wouldn’t.

  “He did seem verra stern, though. And verra certain.”

  What a lovely prospect. What a delightful thought. But, given the circumstances, something of a hollow triumph.

  “Have a care, though. I think he may be planning to kidnap you.”

  Lana’s lips flapped. “What?”

  “My papa suggested it, although it was really my idea.”

  “Was it?”

  She nodded; her white-blond curls tumbled. “When he was wooing my mama, I suggested it, although he dinna do it.” She snorted in disgust. “And the duke dinna seem fond of the idea, either.”

  “Did he not?” Her lips curled into a smile.

  “Someone really should kidnap someone.” Isobel’s indignation was adorable. “I doona know why men are so unreasonable.”

  Lana wrapped her arm around her niece’s slender shoulder. “Neither do I, darling. Neither do I.”

  “Ahem.” The low rumble of Lachlan clearing his throat sluiced through her, and Lana stilled. She gave her heart a moment to cease its manic pounding and turned. He stood in a shaft of sunlight filtering through the trees, looking so handsome it made her chest hurt. He affected a bow. “Miss Isobel. Miss Dounreay.” He settled his gaze on her; it burned. “A word, if I may?”

  Isobel waggled her fingers. “As you wish.”

  Lachlan’s frown was a gentle one. “In private, Miss Isobel. If you don’t mind?”

  Isobel huffed as she bounded from the bench. “Oh, I mind,” she muttered, but she did do him the courtesy of making herself scarce. As she passed Lana, she whispered, “Doona forget to have a care.”

  “I willna.”

  She grinned after her niece and then, once she was certain the imp was gone, she fixed her attention on Lachlan. He appeared oddly ill at ease. He waved to the bench. “May I?”

  “Of course.” She shifted over to give him room, although, once he sat, he didn’t seem to know how to begin. Lana decided to show him some mercy. “Isobel is convinced you intend to kidnap me.”

  He gaped at her. “How on earth…”

  “She was eavesdropping. In the gallery.”

  His brows lowered. “You Dounreay women do make a habit of that, don’t you.”

  Lana widened her eyes in mock dismay. “I assure you, good sir. I have never done such a thing.”

  “Have you not?”

  She had. Of course she had, but she fluttered her lashes innocently. “You wanted to speak to me, Your Grace?”

  He frowned at her use of his title, but he knew better than to complain. Instead, he took her hands in his. “Lana, darling, I must renew my request that you marry me.”

  She didn’t like his phrasing in the least. “Must you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nae.”

  He blinked. “Nae?”

  “Lachlan, I willna marry you.”

  “Lana. See reason.”

  “I am perfectly reasonable.”

  “You are not! You must marry me.”

  She tipped up her chin. “I willna marry a man whose hand is being forced.”

  “My hand is not being forced.”

  “Is it no’?” She stared at him. “Would you have proposed marriage had we not been caught?”

  A flush crawled up his cheeks. “Nae.” Pain lanced her at his brash admission, even though she knew it was true. “But—”

  “Then your hand is being forced. I doona want a husband who spends his life regretting being tied to a woman like me.” Unable to bear the sight of his handsome face, she turned away.

  He caught her arm and yanked her back. His expression was hard, desolate. “First off, my life is a paltry six months—”

  “Oh, pish.”

  “It is true, Lana. You must accept the possibility that I will not be with you for long.”

  “None of us, not one of us, knows how long we have.”

  “True. But I assure you, you will never be married to an old man.”

  She snorted. “There is some comfort in that. I’ve never had a penchant for sprouting ear hair.”

  His lips tweaked, though there was little humor in his expression. Indeed, it darkened. “And what did you mean when you said I wouldn’t want to be tied to a woman like you?”

  “You know what I mean.” Ach. She hated to say the words out loud. Hated have it out there, between them, but it had to be said. Though he’d never shown any hint of revulsion about her gift, other people had. She couldn’t bear it if his enemies used his association with her to discredit him. “A woman who is … touched.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Touched?”

  “Fey? Mad? A woman who speaks to the dead?”

  “I rather like that about you.”

  “Lachlan, people will talk.”

  “People always do.” He shrugged. “I found your gift helpful. Invaluable.”

  But really, her curse was the least of it. “You are a duke.”

  His lips twisted. “I’m aware of that.” There was no call for humor.

  “I have no standing, other than as a daughter of a baron. You canna marry a woman like me. Your British society would … shun you.”

  He stilled. His expression hardened. A muscle bunched in his cheek. “The same British society that mocked me as a boy? That treated me as an outsider? The same society that considered me unworthy of a place in their ranks because of my Scottish ancestry? Do you think I give a damn what they think? Yours is the only opinion that matters. And I want you, Lana.”

  “You … want me? In your bed?”

  He snorted a laugh. “Absolutely.”

  Of course. Of course that was what he meant—

  “But I want more than that. I want you by my side, Lana. I want you in my life and for God’s sake, I want you to be mine. The thought of you with any other man drives me wild.”

  Ach. She loved his ferocity. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to surrender. To sink into his arms. But … “Men doona like being forced to marry. There may come a day when—”

  He pulled her closer. Held her with a fierce passion. “Know this, Lana Dounreay,” he growled. “No one forces Lachlan Sinclair to do anything he does not choose to do. Not anymore. And I want you to be mine. Mine and mine alone.”

  His intensity gave her pause, that and the lingering pain she sensed behind his vehemence. She’d not realized the depth of his desolation, until now. The loneliness she felt in his soul was palpable. She couldn’t allow him to suffer any longer.

  “Silly man.” She set her palm to his cheek. “There is no
one else. There never has been and there never could be.”

  He stared at her, his eyes rimmed with red, his expression intent. “So you will? You will marry me? Be my wife? Be my companion for as long as I live?”

  She huffed a sigh, but her reluctance was feigned and they both knew it. “I suppose. But only if you promise to live longer than six months.”

  “I shall do my very best.” He pulled her close and kissed her, and she had the sense of coming home.

  Still and all, she ended the kiss before it got out of hand. When he frowned at her, she whispered, “Isobel is watching.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  With Lana having agreed to marry him, Lachlan saw no need for delay. Heavens, now that he’d made up his mind, and had her consent, he would have dragged her to the chapel then and there if Hannah and Susana hadn’t caught wind of the impending nuptials. Between her sisters, a quick wedding somehow blossomed into a grand affair.

  When Lachlan complained about the delay the next afternoon as they all congregated in the parlor for tea—all but Isobel, who was testing out her new sword—Alexander and Andrew both shrugged.

  “You must let the women have their fun,” Andrew said. He was likely gratified that the frenzy had shifted from his wedding to Lachlan’s.

  “’Tis not every day a duke gets married,” Susana said with a sniff.

  “’Tis not every day my daughter marries one,” Magnus chortled, raising his glass. Which was most probably not filled with tea. He was beside himself with glee, for finally, all three of his daughters had snagged husbands.

  But to be honest, the delay was frustrating to Lana, too. Though she and Lachlan were freer to spend time alone, there wasn’t much opportunity to be together. Not in the way she craved.

  It was undoubtedly wrong of Lana to sneak into her groom’s bedroom on the eve of their wedding.

  It was undoubtedly something a lady shouldn’t do.

  But she was a Scots lass. Daring and bold and willing to take what she wanted with both fists.

  She did, however, skulk.

  It wouldn’t do to be seen, after all.

  She waited until the castle had settled into silence and crept through the shadows to the servants’ hall, then followed the narrow staircase to Lachlan’s valet door. Lana was glad that after tomorrow, neither of them would have to sneak around, ever again.