Lana and the Laird (27 page)

Her attention shifted to his chest and her pulse skipped. It was a tremendous chest, layered with muscle and spattered with dark curls. And his belly, ah, so flat. She glanced lower, at his manhood, that rampant spear, though now it lay, quiescent, along his thigh. It was no less impressive in this form. She wanted to touch it, but feared if she did, she would wake him, and it seemed as though he dearly needed his sleep.

She should probably sleep as well. She would need to wake before him and skitter back to her room before the others rose. With any luck, the creature who had taken up residence there would have roused himself by then.

So instead of waking Lachlan, she lay her head back down on his chest and wrapped herself around him, enjoying the feel of his body, warm against hers. Oh, and she plotted her next seduction. Perhaps tomorrow night. There would be another inn—at least one more—before they arrived in Dounreay. And then, once they reached her home … she had ideas for that as well.

They would need to be careful, of course. She didn't want to be caught seducing a duke. Surely if anyone knew what they had done they would squawk. And she didn't want Lachlan to be forced to marry her. She didn't want Lachlan to be forced to do anything.

But it hardly signified.

She'd meant what she said.

If, God willing, she should conceive a child, she would not marry him—if it set his mind at rest. She didn't need wedding vows to validate what she felt for him, and more than one woman she knew had raised a child without a husband.

And if she did have a child, his child—her heart swelled at the thought—she would love it and care for it and cherish it, whether Lachlan was in her life or not.

But she very much hoped he was.

When the fire went out, burned down to but embers, a chill edged into the room and Lana pulled the covers over herself and Lachlan, creating a toasty nest. She knew she should soon rise and dress, but she didn't want to leave. Not yet.

A jiggle on the handle of the door made her pulse skitter. Though it was dark, the light of the moon glowed thinly through the room. She stared at the door, holding back a shiver of dread as the knob slowly turned. The latch caught and the door rattled again, as though someone was trying to loosen it. A scrape echoed, that of metal on metal, and then the door eased open.

Lana caught her breath as
someone
slipped into the room, a great hulking shadow. Her first thought was that the miscreant who had accosted her in the hall had woken and decided to come after her—which was horrifying, because she was naked. She knew she should wake Lachlan, but just then, a strange sound captured her attention, and curiosity overrode her need for his protection.

The clink of a chain.

She sat up, clutching the covers to her chest, and peered into the shadows as the figure approached. She felt no fear, as one might expect, receiving a shadowy visitor in the dark of night, even though, beneath her blankets, she was vulnerable and bare.

She knew she was safe from this creature, whatever it was.

Whatever it was, it was here for Lachlan.

It must be the spirit that had been visiting him. His father.

Odd that.

He didn't look the way she'd expected his father to look.

The specter shuffled over the plank floors, chains rattling. As it neared the bed, Lana hunkered lower and sharpened her gaze against the murk. It was a man, tall and broad with dark, curly hair. His skin was an ashy color and he was draped in gray rags … and chains. He stopped by the bed and opened his mouth and issued a low groan, but halfway through it, his eyes fixed on her hair, shining like a beacon in the moonlight, and the groan strangled to a surprised halt. His jaw dropped and his lips flapped.

Lana took this chance, in his consternation, to reach out a hand and touch him, to confirm that which she already suspected.

This seemed to surprise him, for he leaped back, but not quickly enough. Her hand closed on his ragged cloak. The fabric was coarse and rough, and it told Lana what she needed to know. What she'd already known.

As he whirled and fled the room, shutting the door behind him with a tight snick, she glared after him.

This man was not a ghost. He was as solid as she.

Also, ghosts, as a general rule, did not need to use doors.

For some reason, someone was haunting Lachlan.

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.