Lana and the Laird (40 page)

“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.

She pushed open the door and peered into the dressing room. A soft glow from the bedroom lit her way. Anticipation churning within her, she slipped through and into Lachlan's chamber.

Her heart lifted when she saw him, sitting in the chair by the fire, staring into the flames. It struck her once more how handsome he was. And how dear. And tomorrow, he would be hers. To have and to hold, forever.

He must have sensed her presence. He stilled and then looked over his shoulder. The flash of relief on his face made clear to her that he wasn't quite sure who he might see entering his room in the night, and once again fury at his cousin's betrayal racked her. She forced a smile.

“Lachlan.”

“Lana.” He set his drink on the table and rose, crossing to her and folding her into his arms. “You shouldn't be here. But I am glad you came.”

“I couldn't miss this last chance.”

His brow quirked. “Last chance?”

“For an illicit tryst.”

His chuckle warmed her. “I assure you, my darling. There will be many illicit trysts. As many as I can manage.”

“Ah, but they won't be so verra illicit, once we are man and wife.”

“Will you mind so very much? Being a dull married couple?”

“I willna.”

“Me either.” He pulled her closer. The glimmer in his eyes bespoke his intent to kiss her. And then he did. He tasted delicious. Of resolve and satisfaction and delight.

When he pulled back and stared at her, his expression filled with an unbearable vulnerability, she had to say it. She had to tell him how she felt.

“I do love you, Lachlan Sinclair,” she said.

His Adam's apple bobbed. Tears glimmered in his eyes. But he said nothing.

“I love you with all my heart. I love that you are so strong and braw, yet so gentle with children. I love your laugh, your smile, your sense of humor. I love the way you insist on facing your doubts and fears head-on. And I certainly love the fact that you accept me as I am. Oh, and also…” She grinned at him. “I love the way you taste.”

His lips worked. Her declaration, apparently, had rendered him speechless.

Thank God he found another way to express his devotion.

He yanked her into his arms and kissed her with a savagery that stole her breath and, indeed, stole her sanity.

Without losing his hold on her, he walked her to the bed and eased her onto the mattress. And followed. His hands roved over her, and to her delight she realized he was unfastening her dress. She hurried to catch up with him, tugging at his beautiful plaid and popping off the buttons of his shirt in her frenzy.

She did not care.

Neither did he.

Lifting his head, he strafed her bared skin with a hungry perusal, then caught her gaze and held it. Though he did not say the words, the emotion shining from his eyes was indisputable. “Lana,” he sighed.

She grinned at him, something saucy and provocative, something bold and brash, and then she raked his chest with her nails.

His nostrils flared. “Doona,” he growled.

“Doona what?”

“Doona taunt me, lass. I want to make gentle love to you. I want to show you—”

She silenced him with the mere scud of her palm. Down and down. When she encircled him, he issued something feral, a mix between a growl and a moan.

“Lana—”

“Lachlan. My braw warrior. How hard you are.” She stroked him, reveling in the twin sensations of velvet over steel.

“God, Lana.” He closed his eyes and threw back his head and gloried in her touch.

“I'm ready for you, Lachlan.” She had been. All day. But now, she was on fire for him. She'd unburdened her soul to him and his response had been a savage passion. She was a greedy girl, for she wanted more. She wanted everything.

She eased her legs apart and set him at her entrance.

He held her gaze and slipped inside. His cock invaded her, stretched her, filled her completely.

Glory unfolded in her. Her body rejoiced, wept.

She wrapped her legs around him and arched up, inviting him to give her what she wanted.

And he did.

His mouth was hot on hers as he moved his hips, first slowly in an agonizing drag of friction and then, as she incited him, faster and harder.

Deep in her core, a familiar, delicious tension coiled and swelled. She held him closer, digging her fingers into his flesh as he worked away, driving her higher, closer to the bliss that awaited her.

When she didn't think she could bear the agony any longer, when she thought her heart might pound right out of her chest, when her lungs ached for forgetting to breathe because the delight was so intense, he stopped moving. Just for a second, and deep within, buried in her, hard and full.

And then he growled. Growled and pulled out, until only the tip remained in her grasp. His pulse thrummed in his cock, through her being.

“Lana.”

She looked at him. The light in his eyes transported her.

“Lachlan—”

And he drove home, pounding into her with a passion that set her off, tipped her from the precipice to which she had been clinging.

They tumbled together, plummeting in each other's arms, a dizzying rush to a rapture that healed all ills and bound them together as one.

When it was over, when they were exhausted and sated and sheeted in sweat, she curled up in his arms and put her head on his chest, listening to the thud of his heartbeat. She could stay like this forever.

She was tempted to try.

It was nearly dawn when she finally stirred. “I should go,” she murmured.

“Not yet.” His arms tightened. He kissed her brow.

“It wouldn't do to fall asleep. Can you imagine the kerfuffle if I am discovered here in the morning?”

“'Twould be a scandal indeed. You'd be ruined for certain. Probably forced to marry the brigand who seduced you.”

Lana pushed up on her elbow. “'Twas not you who seduced me, Your Grace.”

His nostrils flared. “It most certainly was.”

“Nae. It was I who seduced you.” She fluttered her lashes in a penitent manner. “It was all part of my plan to compromise you. Do you mind so verra much?”

He tucked a length of hair behind her ear. His lips quirked. “Not at all. I rather like being compromised.”

“You really don't mind marrying me?”

“Mind?” He sat up and set his forehead on hers. His breath washed over her face. His eyes bore into hers. “Lana, my sweet. I have never been happier in my life.”

“Really?”

“Really. I've never felt so complete than when I am with you. Never so hopeful. Never so happy.”

“I'm happy, too, Lachlan. Really I am. And I canna wait for the wedding. Canna wait to say
I do
. But I must go now, or I fear I will stay all night.”

“I wouldn't complain.”

“Hannah would.”

At the reminder of her sister's vehemence, he cringed. “All right. Let me get dressed and I will walk you back to your room.”

She snorted a laugh. “I doona need an escort in my own home. Besides, if we should be seen together, well, the aforementioned kerfuffle would undoubtedly ensue, and that would be awkward.” She pushed him back on his pillows and kissed him, then hopped from the bed and searched for her gown. Odd, how used she had become to being bare before him. But then, that's what intimacy was.

Once she was dressed, she kissed him again and, though he tried to delay her, she took her leave.

A smile played on her lips as she made her way through the valet's door and down the staircase. Tomorrow night, they could spend the entire night together. It would be sublime.

She turned the corner into the darkened servants' hall and skidded to a halt as a shadow loomed before her. A man. Alarm skirled through her as she recognized his features, twisted with malice as they were.

Dougal, it appeared, had returned.

Her first reaction was to scream, but he was quick. He yanked her around, against his hard form, and slammed his hand over her mouth.

“Miss Dounreay,” he hissed into her ear. “What providence. Just the
bride
I was coming to collect. Thank you for your cooperation.”

She fought him, and he chuckled, tightening his hold even more as he pulled her through the deserted kitchens, into the bailey and then into a waiting carriage. It aggravated her mightily that she was too small, too weak to protect herself. That she hadn't thought to bring a weapon.

But he was large and she was wee, and he had her bound and gagged before she knew what had happened. She didn't like the glint in his eye as he leaned back and surveyed her. His lips twisted, though it wasn't in a smile. “So you thought to marry the doomed duke?” he asked. It was probably a rhetorical question, since she was in no position to answer. “Now you will see what happens to women who align with the Dukes of Caithness. Now you will discover that the curse is verra real.” With a harsh chuckle, he rapped on the ceiling and the coach lurched into motion.