Hannah and the Highlander (11 page)

A marriage of convenience? A cold, heartless, distant union?
Denial howled. Suddenly, to his surprise, he found he wanted something very different. He longed to respond, to cry out his dissent, but his throat locked.

“There is no reason to pretend this is something other than it is. I agreed to marry you because Dounreay needs your protection and you agreed to marry me for my lands. We are marrying for no other reason. Aye. I understand that.
We
understand that.”

Nae. We
understood nothing of the sort. There was another reason he was determined to marry her, did she but realize.

He
wanted
her.

“Regardless, Dunnet, my wish is for a peaceful union.”

Peaceful. Aye.
Peaceful was good.

“I should like for us to work together as a team. In partnership.”

Aye.
He had a partnership in mind.…

“If I'm going to pledge myself to a man forever, I need to know that he will respect me. That he will honor my wishes. I need to know he will take my counsel into account.” She fixed Alexander with a steady gaze, as though she expected a response. So he nodded.

She was so beautiful, so earnest. So tantalizing.

He stepped closer, intent on his target.

Her eyes widened as he neared. Her hand on his chest stalled his approach and her brow wrinkled. Her gaze flicked to his mouth and her tongue peeped out, wetting her lips, igniting a flame in his belly. With great effort, she ripped her gaze away and frowned at him. “Do you agree to my terms?” she asked.

He cupped her cheek and angled her head up. Her breath caught. Her features froze as she realized his intent. “Aye,” he said. “Aye.” And then he did what he'd been thinking about for weeks. What he'd been obsessing over all day. He kissed her.

And it was glorious.

*   *   *

A shiver rippled over Hannah's skin as Dunnet took her mouth. His taste, his scent, infused her. It was a light kiss, a testing foray, but it sent an unholy thrill through her and left her wanting one thing. More.

She had wanted this chance to speak with him privately, to receive his assurances that their marriage would be a partnership, to set her mind at rest, and he'd done that. But if she was being truthful … something like this had been on her mind as well, skulking there behind her noble intentions, a roiling hunger. A curiosity. A need.

She'd kissed him before and he had turned away. She desperately needed to know if, in his heart, he had any passion for her whatsoever.

He lifted his head—way too soon—and stared down at her. “Hannah…” he murmured.

Even as she attempted to rein in her disappointment at his withdrawal, his hold on her cheek tightened, his eyes narrowed, and he issued a noise, something gruff and deep, something that sent a lick of exhilaration through her.

He yanked her closer. The feel of his body against hers, rigid and unyielding, made her head spin. His fingers threaded through her hair and he held her steady as his head descended again. She sucked in a breath, quivering with anticipation.

And
ah
.
Ah
.

This kiss was different.

This wasn't tentative in the slightest. It was a taking. A mad, starved consummation of her mouth with his, a melding of lips and tongue and need.

This was as wild as the windy squalls off the coast. As tantalizing as the fairy wisps at dusk. As scorching as the forge where razor-sharp steel was tempered and formed.

And it cut through her like a screaming wind, an enticing magic, a warm blade.

Scuttles of heat rose in her womb. Rivulets of excitement danced in her veins. His taste filled her senses, her mouth, her soul.

When he lifted his head, a glimmer danced in his eye. It was the look of a conquering hero, a savage Scotsman, a man whose hunger had been sated but ignited at the same time.

Oh heavens.

Exultation whipped through her. Her knees were weak and her body melted.

Damn her reservations.

Damn her fears.

Damn her doubts about whether or not he really wanted her.

She wanted him. And she would have him.

It was gratifying to see that he was not unaffected. His breath came heavy and hard and there was a slight tremble in his voice when he spoke. It was one word and one word only, forced out and wreathed in a growl, but it was enough.

“Mine.”

*   *   *

Alexander stared down at Hannah. Her expression was soft, her lips damp. Need coiled in his belly. He ached for her. Now. But he was aware that all the town and half the clan was gathered below. Waiting for them. As much as he wanted to lay her down on the bed by the window and show her the depth of his passion, he couldn't.

Not now. Not until she was truly his.

He would wait to have her until after the wedding. Tonight. Soon. Anticipation skirled through him. He gestured toward the door.

She stepped back. Blinked. The dewy expression on her features faded, replaced by something that could have been intransigence.

Unease riffled at her retreat. Had she not been as befuddled and bewildered by their exchange as he had? Was she not as anxious as he to seal their bond?

“My lady? The … wedding?”

Ach. Ah.
She frowned at him and crossed her arms. Intransigence indeed.

“Dunnet, surely you doona expect me to get married in this?” She gestured to her dress with a huff of disgust. He stared at it. It was a dress. Just like every other dress. And it looked charming on her.

He opened his mouth to respond but didn't know what to say.

With a snort she pushed past him into the hall and rapped on the door to her sister's suite. A delicate blonde with large blue eyes answered. She smiled at Hannah, but when her gaze landed on him her smile widened. “Is it time?” she whispered.

“Aye.”

“Nae.”

He and Hannah responded at the same time. She frowned at him and then hooked arms with her sister and tugged her toward her room. “Come and help me prepare,” she said.

“P-p-prepare?” Alexander burbled. She looked just fine. In fact, she looked amazing. He took a step to follow her and make his case, but she shut the door in his face.

“Trouble in paradise?” Andrew's chuckle rippled down the hall.

Alexander turned to see his brother leaning against the wall. He gestured at the closed door. “She wanted to change her dress,” he murmured in a bewildered tone.

Andrew grinned. “Women do that.”

Alexander's brow rippled. “But everyone's waiting.”

His brother levered off the wall and came to clap him on the shoulder. “It's her wedding day. No doubt she's nervous. She wants to look fine.”

“She looks fine.” She always looked fine. She would look fine wearing nothing.

Alexander's mind stalled on that thought.

“Come along. Give her some time to ready herself.” Andrew led him back toward the stairs. “You'll be leg shackled soon enough.”

His brother laughed and Alexander tried to force a smile as they headed back to the chapel, but it was a halfhearted attempt. His bowels were knotted and his muscles clenched. Sweat prickled his brow. All he could think of was the fact that his wedding was nigh … as was the wedding
night
.

*   *   *

It took her forever to dress, or at least it seemed so. Alexander occupied himself by wearing a rut in the stone floor of the chapel. When Auld Duncan creaked to his feet and the plaintive wail of the bagpipes, heralding the bride's arrival, sounded, Alexander's heart shot into his throat.

He whirled. His breath caught. His pulse thrummed.

She was here.

And she looked beautiful.

A murmur went up through the crowd as Hannah and her sister stepped into the chapel.

Hannah's hair was caught up in a tantalizing confection of ebony silk and pearls. She wore a dress of emerald green that set off the alabaster tones of her skin. Her décolletage made his mouth water. As custom demanded, she wore a sprig of white heather pinned to her lapel. In her hands, she clutched a bouquet of … were those weeds?

He ignored this incongruity and flicked his attention to her face.

Her expression was tight and wreathed with fear, but when her gaze landed on him it softened; her eyes glimmered. He thought she might have sighed.

Alexander swallowed the knot in his throat and bowed as she approached the altar. As she came to stand at his side, her scent rose to engulf him and his knees locked.

He straightened his plaid and took his place beside her, nodding to Father Pieter.

Alexander had prompted the priest on how the ceremony should go—short and sweet—but that was before the flask of whisky. As it was, Pieter had a tendency to be somewhat long-winded. And he was now, babbling on about fealty and ancient vows and God's plan for man and wife until Alexander had the urge to give him a swift kick.

He was nervous enough as it was without all this falderal.

He wanted the vows and nothing more.

He gave a low growl.

Pieter halted mid-word, gaping at him with wide eyes. Then Pieter cleared his throat and opened his book.

Why he needed a book for such a familiar ceremony Alexander had no clue, but Pieter quickly got to the meat of the ceremony and that was all that mattered.

“Do you, Hannah Dounreay, take Alexander Lochlannach to be your husband, and in the presence of God and before these witnesses, do you promise to be a loving, faithful, and loyal wife, for as long as you both shall live?”

She hesitated before answering, which gave Alexander cold chills, but when he glanced at her and their eyes met she nodded and murmured, “I will.”

A bolt of satisfaction slashed through him. His heart thudded. But then, when the priest spoke again, she looked away. Alexander forced himself to pay attention, so he would respond at the proper time—and without delay. He'd been practicing this for days, the most important two words he would ever say. He was determined they would come forth with ease and perfection.

“Do you, Alexander Lochlannach, Laird of Dunnet, take Hannah Dounreay to be your wife, and in the presence of God and before these witnesses, do you promise to be a loving, faithful, and loyal husband to her, for as long as you both shall live?”

He drew in a breath. His gaze met hers again as he spoke. “I—”

His throat locked.

A frown flickered on her brow.

Panic snaked through him.

I will.

Simple words.

They wouldn't come.

Father Pieter, apparently satisfied, or eager to finish his flask, slapped his book closed. “Excellent. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Holding up the ring, Alexander glared at him.

“Ach
.
Oh, aye. The ring.”

With a sigh, Alexander slipped the Lochlannach Knot onto her finger. It was a ring that had been in his family for centuries, a symbol of his clan and his promise. Then, having done that, he gestured to Andrew, who approached with the Lochlannach sash. He smiled down at Hannah as he draped the sash over her shoulder and pinned it with the rosette. Then, as tradition demanded, he kissed her.

There was no reason for Alexander to clench his fists as he did.

Tradition also called for Father Pieter to kiss the bride.

Tradition was far too annoying at times. And the priest was far too enthusiastic. The kiss went on and on. Perhaps there was a reason for the clenched fist after all.

Alexander issued a snarl and the priest staggered back, having the good grace to flush.

But when it was Alexander's turn to kiss her, Hannah turned her cheek.

He tried to ignore his flash of disappointment.

Their first kiss as husband and wife.

On the cheek.

When he eased back and she glared up at him, he knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Pity he had no idea what it was.

*   *   *

As she followed her new husband from the chapel Hannah fumed, barely aware of the skirling wail of the pipes as they celebrated the new union. Barely cognizant of the cheers of the crowd—with the exception of Lana, all people Hannah didn't know.

A single thought circled in her mind.

One word.

He'd said one word.

Aye.

Do you take this woman to be your wife?

Aye.

Not
I will
or
I do
. Simply
Aye
.

That blasé response made her hackles rise.

Beyond that, their conversation before the wedding had been somewhat less than satisfying. Although he'd agreed to her terms, he certainly hadn't had much to add. He'd stood there, the great lummox, and stared at her through most of it.

And then he'd kissed her.

While it had been a wonderful kiss—it still sent chills through her body—she couldn't shake the suspicion that he, like all men, felt that when it came to women, only one form of intercourse mattered.

Granted, she'd married him for her own purposes and he had done the same. But heaven help her, she wanted more. She so desperately wanted more.

In a daze, she watched as he scattered coins before the assembled children, barely noting that he saved one for Fiona, the tiny girl with the enormous frown—although she did smile at
him
. One of the boys stepped forward and handed Hannah a horseshoe, the traditional symbol of fertility and good luck.

She offered the boy a smile in exchange for the token, but it might not have been a smile—a baring of teeth, perhaps—judging by the way his eyes widened before he slunk away.

Without a word, Alexander led her back through the walkway, into the castle proper, and to an enormous hall decked out with flowers and tables groaning with food. It seemed as though every resident of Dunnet followed them in for the Ceilidh, the wedding reception.