Hannah and the Highlander (14 page)

With a feral howl he came, sinking into her, taking her mouth, filling her with all he had. She took it all. Every drop.

She left him with nothing.

Weak, drained, and still beset with shimmers of delight, he collapsed.

Hannah crawled up his body and lay on top of him, a heady weight. Despite the pleasure she'd just drawn on him, he didn't think he'd ever known such contentment as
this
. Skin to skin, from chest to groin, they were sealed. He wrapped his arms around her and held her.

She murmured a sigh and nestled closer, tucking her face into his neck. He stroked her back as he fought for purchase.

Bone-deep gratification, bone-deep gratitude, coursed through him and he sent up a prayer of thanks that he'd found her. That she'd wanted him. That they were wed. That she was his.

Every night could be like this, he told himself. Every night.

He was almost asleep when it hit him. When he remembered.

Damn it.
He'd forgotten, once again, that he was supposed to be worshiping her.

Not the other way around.

 

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Hannah awoke from a pleasing dream and stretched, enjoying the ripple of soft sheets on her skin and the embrace of a warm nest. The memory of last night drifted through her, along with a pleasant pinging ache between her legs.

Ah.
Her wedding night.

She'd loved every moment of it.

She snuggled deeper into her pillow.

She'd heard tales from the married women of Ciaran Reay, tales intimating that the first time was painful, but Hannah had not experienced that. There'd been nothing but heaven. Nothing but the desire for more.

Most specifically she'd been possessed of the urge to taste him, as he'd tasted her.

And he'd allowed it.

She didn't know if this was something married women did; the matrons of Ciaran Reay had certainly not mentioned that, but she had enjoyed it. Loved the feel of his smooth skin between her lips, the taste of him, the scent of him. His shivers and groans.

The best part, of course, had been tormenting him to the point where he lost all control and bellowed her name.
Bellowed
it.

She bit back a smile and rolled over, hoping to wake him and, maybe, try that again.

But her hand landed on cool sheets, long deserted. He was gone.

She pouted down at his pillow, next to hers, dented with the shape of his head but empty.

Well, not empty. There was an envelope on it.

Hannah recognized the parchment and something in her belly curled.

A letter?

Another
letter
?

With a frown, she picked up the note and opened it. His script was crisp and precise and, if she was being realistic, not romantic in the slightest. Certainly not as
loverly
as a night like the one they had shared should command. It said, simply:

Hannah, Wife,

I dinna want to wake you. Please enjoy your first day as the Lady of Dunnet. Fergus will be available to give you a tour and introduce you to your people.

Yours,
Alexander

No prose or poems about the beauty of their joining—although she certainly had not expected that. But she'd expected
something
. Something more.

And he'd signed it
Alexander
. Not
Dunnet
. Was this an invitation to call him by his given name?

Short of asking him, there was no way to know.

She sighed and collected her wedding dress and the plaid he had given her and padded through the parlor to her hideously hued room. She saw a covered tray set on the table in the parlor and paused to investigate. A pot of tea—still warm—and a plate of oatcakes.

Hannah wrinkled her nose. She wasn't a fan of oatcakes, but she was hungry. She took one and nibbled on it as she continued on to her room and dressed for the day.

Thusly fortified, she crossed the hall and scratched on Lana's door.

Hannah's sister greeted her with wide eyes. Lana caught Hannah's arm and tugged her into the room. “How was it?” her sister asked in a whisper, as though someone else might overhear.

Hannah's response was naught but a blush. It had been marvelous—until she awoke to find him gone—but she didn't want to share the details with her sister, who was a maiden, no matter how curious she was.

Hannah shot a glance at the bed, where Nerid lounged in a truly undignified arrangement, his back leg lifted high. He shot her an offended glare and then proceeded to resume grooming his fur with furious licks. It was nice to see he had weathered his kerfuffle with Brùid with his usual aplomb.

Something captured her attention then, something that wiped all thoughts of the cat, of her absent husband and the night they had shared, from her mind.

“What is that smell?” she asked.

Lana waved at a tray on the table next to her hearth.

Hell.
A full breakfast. With eggs and cheeses and … “Is that bacon?”

Lana nodded and snagged the last piece, crunching into it with relish.

“How did you get bacon?”

A slender shoulder rose. “I asked. Morag is a dear, you know. She and her sister Una have served as Dunnet's cooks forever and a day.” Lana poured two cups of tea.

Hannah picked up a fork and helped herself to some of the fluffy eggs and then ate them all, despite Lana's frown. “All I got were oatcakes.”

“Hmm. I told Morag they make me ill.” A mischievous grin. “You should try that.”

“Perhaps I shall.” She glanced at her sister, sitting there in the soft morning light looking so sweet and innocent and pure, and something rippled in her belly. It felt like concern. Though she'd been distracted last night at the feast, she hadn't been so distracted that she'd been oblivious to Andrew's hungry glances at Lana. Though Hannah knew she should hold her tongue, she couldn't.

“Lana?”

She smiled; her face glowed with it. “Aye?”

“I…” She sighed. “I canna help but worry.…”

Lana quirked a brow and took a sip of tea. “Worry? About what?”

“You.”

A laugh. “I'm fine. Doona worry about me.”

“I canna help it. You are here, under my charge. I would never forgive myself if…”

“If … what?”

“If anything happened.”

Lana tucked her chin and fixed Hannah with a puzzled glance. “What are you talking about, dear?”

It had to be said. And bluntly. “Andrew.”

“What?” Lana blew out another laugh, this one of incredulity.

“I've seen the way he looks at you, watches you, as though you were a plump rabbit and he a hungry fox.”

“Are you saying I am plump?”

Hannah narrowed her eyes. “You know what I mean. He intends to seduce you. I can see it.”

Lana tapped her lips. A mischievous light danced in her eyes. “He is verra handsome.”

Hannah clenched her fingers. “Aye. He is an attractive man, but I've met his sort before.”

“His sort?”

“The kind of man who flits from flower to flower, taking what he wants and then dances away.”

Lana's brow rumpled. “So am I a rabbit or a flower?”

“Both.” A growl. “You should keep your distance from him. Papa would slay me if I allowed you to be compromised.”

Her delicate chin firmed. “Hannah, if I'm to be compromised, or rather when, as I do hope it will happen at some point, it willna be you who allows it. It shall be my choice.”

“Men like Andrew can be verra convincing.”

Lana reached over to pat Hannah's hand. “Darling, doona worry about me. I know how to handle men like that.”

Hannah's eyes flared. “What?”

“I'm not a complete innocent,” she said with a sniff.

“What-what-what are you saying?” Hannah's heart thrummed.

“I know how things work.”

Och, Hannah did not like that
knowing
look. It was far too … knowing. “
How
do you know how things work?”

Lana lifted a shoulder. “I eavesdropped on the matrons while they were carding wool.”

“Lana Dounreay! You dinna!” It was easy to ignore the ripple of guilt that Hannah had done the same. This was a completely different circumstance. This was
Lana
.

Her innocent lips curled into a wicked smile. One that made Hannah's bowels seethe. “I discovered many things.” A wink.
Holy hell. A wink!
“Besides, I've been kissed before.”

“What?”
Hannah gaped at her sister. “Who? Who kissed you?”

Lana pinkened. “Rory for one.”

“Rory?”
Good God.
Hannah would flay him.

“And Torquil.”

“Torquil? The beekeeper?” Hannah gaped. Torquil had
nostril hair
.

“Is there another Torquil? And Angus and Ewan and—”

“Oh, do stop.” A ghastly thought occurred. “Lana, you havena … I mean there hasn't been … You dinna…”

Lana's laugh was incongruous and a little irritating. “Of course not, Hannah. Doona be silly. They were all just kisses. Only kisses.”

“Kisses can easily lead to something else.” She knew. Och, aye, she knew.

“Doona fash yerself, Hannah. While I find Andrew rather attractive, and I wouldna mind a kiss from him—”

Hannah
eeped
.

“I prefer a man with dark hair.” Her eyes twinkled. “A man who isna … prettier than I am.”

Aye.
Andrew was pretty. And he knew it.

“I still must ask you to guard yourself around him.”

Lana studied her for a moment, taking in her concerned expression. “All right, Hannah. If it will make you rest easy, I shall.” Relief gushed through Hannah … until Lana added, “But I wouldna mind a kiss from him.”

“Lana!”

Her laugh echoed through the room. She patted Hannah again, though she was not mollified. “So tell me, Hannah, what are your plans for today? Your first day as a wife?” It was a clear attempt to change the topic, and Hannah allowed it. She didn't respond,
Keeping you from kissing Andrew Lochlannach
, as she wished.

She was very proud of her restraint.

“Dunnet has notified me that Fergus is prepared to give me a tour of the castle.” She tried very hard not to allow a bite in her tone. “Would you like to come?”

“I would love that.” Lana refilled their tea. “So Dunnet finally spoke to you?”

Hannah sniffed. “Another letter.” She added honey and stirred with a clang that bespoke her irritation.

“He does like those letters.”

“Humpf.”

Lana chuckled. “Why do you snort like that?”

“I hate those letters.”

“You hate them?”

“Darling, he's spoken but a handful of words to me in the entire time I've known him. And that man is my husband.”

Lana waggled her fingers. “Words are overrated.”

“Humpf.”

“Is it not true that a man is measured by his actions, not his words?”

Hannah glared at her sister, and not only because she was parroting back a maxim Hannah herself had often spouted. It was rather annoying to be in a fine fettle and have some logical and rational person attempt to calm one down. “That is hardly the point.”

“It is precisely the point.”

“Is it too much to ask that I have a conversation with my husband?”

“If you want to speak to him, well, speak to him.”

“In point of fact, I shall.” Hannah rose and brushed out her skirts. “Shall we go and find him?”

“That would be lovely.” Lana hooked her arm in Hannah's and they headed for the door. “I quite like him, by the way,” Lana murmured.

“Oh? Has he spoken to
you
?”

“Of course not.” Lana patted Hannah's hand. “You know I see things differently.” It was true. When Lana described people she'd met, she spoke in terms of colors surrounding them, rather than their physical persona. Hannah had never understood that, but Lana was usually right in her assumptions about people and once she decided she liked someone she never changed her mind.

Maybe Lana should have married Dunnet.

Or maybe not.

“Why do you like him?”

“He is verra strong. Loyal. Brave.” Lana's brow wrinkled. “I have a sense he's been through great hardship.”

“This is Scotland.” Everyone had been through hardship.

“You should be patient with him.”

“I've never excelled at patience.”

Lana didn't respond. Probably because she knew this was true.

With the help of a footman, they found Fergus in the morning room, a charming east-facing salon speckled with elegant Chippendales and comfortable divans. The factor was overseeing the work of a pretty young maid who was dusting a breakfront. Andrew, Hannah's new brother-in-law, was with him.

Apparently, it took the oversight of two grown men to assure the girl's work was up to par.

When Andrew spotted the sisters, he ceased his mooning at the maid and proceeded to moon at Lana. It was all Hannah could do not to growl.

He affected a bow. “Good morning, my lady. Miss Dounreay.”

“Good morning, Andrew. Fergus.”

The factor bowed. “My lady. I have orders to give you a—”

“Aye. A tour of the grounds.” Hannah had received those orders as well. “Do you know where my husband is?”

Fergus frowned. “At this hour? Most likely in his study.”

“Aye. And where is this study?”

Fergus blanched, except for his scar and the tips of his ears, which showed a hint of pink. “Oh, ye canna go
there
.”

Hannah blinked. A whisper of outrage skulked through her. “I would like to speak to him.”