Hannah and the Highlander (17 page)

Her eyes widened as he neared, but he did not touch her. He stroked her. Gently, reverently, with the velvet bloom, tracing her features.

Her gaze flicked to his mouth and her tongue peeped out, wetting her lips, igniting a flame in his belly. He dropped the rose and cupped her cheek and angled her head up. Her breath caught. Her features froze as she realized his intent.

And then he did what he'd been obsessing over all day. He kissed her. He kissed her there in the moonlit garden, bathed in the scent of roses and a sweet, gentle breeze.

It was glorious.

And there was no talking whatsoever.

 

CHAPTER
NINE

On the second morning of her marriage, when Hannah awoke to find her husband gone and another letter on her pillow, she tried very hard not to let her annoyance roil. She'd had the perfect opportunity to speak with him, to ask him all the questions churning in her head, to peek beneath the hard and fierce face he showed the world. But she'd failed. She'd allowed herself to be seduced.

It was difficult to banish her grin at the recollection of that seduction.

He'd swept her away, into a maelstrom of passion that had reduced them both to quivering lumps of flesh.

It had not taken much effort.

With a sigh, she opened the letter. There were not words on the paper; a single rose petal fluttered out. Hannah stared at it, her mind beset with the memory of the pleasure he'd drawn from her, there in the garden. The scent of the rose had weakened her knees, but it truth it was the gentleness, the reverence with which he traced her features, that had destroyed her resolve.

Surely she could forgive herself for losing sight of her purpose. Given the circumstances.

And there was always today. Perhaps she could arrange another meeting with him. And perhaps this time she would not allow herself to be distracted.

She smiled to herself. Or perhaps she would.

When she didn't find Lana in her chambers, she meandered down to the kitchens. As she suspected, she found her sister there, chatting with Morag over a cup of tea as the latter rolled out dough for a pie.

Hannah loved the hominess of the room and the smell of baking bread wafting on the air. Her stomach rumbled. “Good morning,” she chirped as she took a seat at the small table.

Morag's head shot up. She stared at Hannah in horror. “Yer Ladyship,” she croaked, wiping her hands on her apron and flicking a panicked look about the kitchens. “Did-did Senga not deliver your breakfast?”

“She did.”
Oatcakes.
Hannah wrinkled her nose. “I was hoping for something else.”

“Something … else, my lady?” Morag's lip trembled. Oh dear. It was rather humbling to be the cause of such desolation.

“Hannah canna eat oatcakes, either,” Lana offered with a wink.

Heat crawled up Hannah's cheeks. “They were lovely oatcakes,” she hurried to assure the cook, who was now wringing her hands. “But I do prefer eggs to break my fast. And perhaps some bacon? If it's no trouble, of course.”

“Nae a bit of it.” Morag abandoned her pie and ran to the larder to fetch some eggs, which she cracked into a bowl. She picked up a whisk and stilled. Her attention fixed on Hannah. “My lady?”

“Aye?”

“Would you care to wait in the dining room?”

“In the dining room?” She would much rather wait here. And watch. Get to know the cook a little better. Besides, the dining room was far too formal, far too enormous for one person.

“It is more … fitting.”

Lana's smile was impish. “You are the
lady
, after all.”

Morag nodded, a brisk bob of her head. Clearly, it was unthinkable for the lady of the manor to loll about in the kitchens.

“I'd rather wait here.”

Morag blanched.

“Surely there's something I can help with?”

“Help?” Practically a screech.

Hannah tried very hard not to blow out a sigh. In Ciaran Reay she'd been involved in every aspect of the housekeeping—from overseeing laundry day to planning the menu. She'd been deeply involved in the lives of all her people and had a daily routine where she checked in on the crofters, visited the shopkeepers, and met often with her factor. She spent hours poring over productivity reports and reading all the latest journals on estate husbandry.

She wasn't fashioned to be a lady of leisure. It didn't suit her to sit, alone, in a booming dining room, awaiting a plate of eggs.

“I'll come with you,” Lana said, which was somewhat helpful.

“Och. I was so enjoying our talk,” Morag murmured as she poured the eggs into a pan. Honestly, they would be done in a minute. Surely Hannah could wait until then?

Apparently not.

“We'll talk more later,” Lana assured the cook with a cheerful grin, and then hooked arms with Hannah and led her from the kitchen.

“I feel as though I've been exiled,” Hannah muttered as they made their way down the long, narrow serving hall into an antechamber that led to the dining room.

Lana's laugh was a merry ripple. “Never say it. Morag is simply old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned?”

“In her world, the staff doesna mingle with the laird and his lady. They serve.”

“She mingles with you.”

“She misses Una.”

As Hannah took her seat at the table, she glanced at her sister. Awkward though her ability to talk to the dead might be, it did come in handy on occasion.

“Aside from which,” Lana said, “
I
am not the lady of the manor.”

That would come in handy as well.

Hannah had been born in Ciaran Reay, accepted in the community from childhood. Her role had been clear. Here, not so much. Here, she would have to forge herself anew. “I
am
the lady of the manor. Not a pariah.”

“Give them time. They're still getting used to you.” Lana's forehead puddled. “Apparently, the last lady of the manor was something of a termagant.”

“Really?”

“Also, she wasn't actually the lady of the manor. Or a lady.”

Hannah shot her sister a curious glance.

Lana leaned in and whispered, “She was a courtesan.”

“What?”

“Aye.”

Morag entered with Hannah's plate, a pile of fluffy eggs and assorted meats. When the cook left, Lana continued. “The previous laird, your husband's uncle, was something of a profligate, if the rumors are to be believed.”

“And one would assume they should be.” Hannah took a bite and nearly moaned. The eggs were perfect.

“He brought in this trollop and made the staff treat her like a queen. She wasna verra pleasant to them, so you understand why they would rather keep their distance.”

“I'm not like that in the slightest.”

“I realize that. Once they get to know you, they'll warm up. I'm certain of it.”

“I hope so. I canna bear to have every meal in this room.” She spread out her hands to encompass the long, echoey hall.

“You can have your meals in your room.”

Hannah frowned. “It's brown.”

“Then come and have breakfast in mine.”

“Perhaps I shall. So, whatever became of this trollop queen?” she asked, taking another bite.

“Ah.” Lana snagged a slice of bacon, which was hardly fair, but Hannah allowed it. It was a small price to pay for the company. “Alexander sent her away when his uncle died. There was something of a celebration when that happened.”

“When he sent her away, or when the uncle died?”

“Both.” Her brow furrowed. “The uncle was
not
well liked.”

“How did he die?'

Her sister leaned in and whispered, “He threw himself from the ramparts.”

“He
threw
himself?”
How gothic.

“Some say that the ghosts of his ancestors tripped him. He was deep in his cups.”

Hannah took a sip of tea. “An inglorious way for a laird to die.”

”Och, aye. But he wasna really the laird.”

“He wasna?”

Lana shook her head. “When your husband's father died, his brother, the uncle, assumed the title, until Alexander reached maturity.”

Hannah's gut tightened. “How old was he when his father died?”

“Five.”

Five. Poor mite.
This revelation made Hannah want to find him and fold him into her embrace, to comfort the boy he had been.

He would probably not appreciate it, but she couldn't quell the desire. She stared at her empty plate. She hardly remembered a bite. Had she inhaled it? Hannah set her serviette on the table. “Do you suppose, once Morag gets to know me better, she will let me sit in the kitchen and have tea?”

Lana grinned. “Probably not. You're the baroness.”

Hannah sighed. Lana was undoubtedly right. But what did a baroness
do
? She had a new role here, one she would have to discover day by day. But in the meantime … “Do you suppose the castle has a library?”

Lana wrinkled a brow. “There wasna one on the tour.”

“There were many things that weren't on that tour.” They shared a snort. Hannah was, of course, thinking of her husband's mysterious study. Who knew what Lana was thinking? Hannah rarely did.

Her sister drummed her fingers on the pristine tablecloth. “The castle is verra large. It must have a library somewhere.”

“Come with me,” Hannah said, leaping to her feet and hooking arms with Lana.

“Where are we going?”

“To find Fergus. We will command him to take us to the library at once!”

Filled with a sudden trill of excitement, Hannah burst from the doldrums and into the bright light.

Until she found Fergus, that was. Until she asked about the library and he stared at her with an expression of horror and murmured something about the castle library being expressly off-limits.

Who had ever heard of a library that was off-limits?

Unthinkable.

Naturally, once Fergus had issued his dour proclamation Hannah had gone in search of her husband to flay him with her grievance. She could forgive just about anything—she was almost certain she could—but a locked library?

Her search had been fruitless, though she'd expected as much. The castle was an enormous place to hide and it appeared her husband was determined to hide from her. In truth, his reticence during the day was confusing. It was completely at odds with his scorching attention under the cover of darkness.

Hannah shivered as she recalled the glory of last night's passion. He'd been gentle and tender and then wild and brash, a tempest in bed. He'd brought her to the heights of glory and brought her down again slowly, sweetly, holding her in his warm embrace until she'd dozed off.

She'd awakened alone, of course. With a letter.

The two sides of him were so different, it befuddled her.

The man of the day avoided her and rarely spoke, locked her out of his favorite rooms as much as he locked her out of his life. But at night … at night he was everything she'd ever wanted, loving and passionate and utterly focused on her and her pleasure.

If she had any sense, she would confront him about the disparity, beard him with her questions, at night, before he touched her. But, no doubt, she would forget herself before she had the chance. He did that to her, made her mindless with a glance, boneless with a kiss.

Still, she needed to know. She needed to know what made him the way he was.

She feared it was a secret she would never discover.

It was far more difficult being married than she'd feared. Far too frustrating.

She decided to do what she usually did when she needed to clear her head. Indeed, it was a beautiful day for a ride. Beelzebub deserved a treat for not nipping very many people on the journey here, and it would be a wonderful opportunity to explore her new home.

Filled with resolution—about one thing she could control—she made her way to the stables.

*   *   *

Alexander put his heels to Wallace's flank and let him have his head. They tore down the road. The wild ride matched Alexander's mood. Oh, he'd awakened feeling wonderful, after that amazing night with Hannah. He'd been beset with gratitude that he'd had the good sense to marry her. Every moment they shared convinced him further that she would be an excellent wife.

She was tender and sweet and docile. And hell, a phenomenal match for him between the sheets.

But then Olrig had gone and ruined his day.

He'd ridden out to check on the Homack mill, only to discover that the bastard had sent raiders in during the night. They had stolen several bags of grain and Alexander was furious. Obviously, he was going to have to set guards on all his border properties, and that aggravated him. After he sent an entourage to Dounreay to assist with the protection of Hannah's land, his men were stretched thin. And those who remained had other responsibilities. But hell and damn, he had to.

Apparently, Olrig would not stop unless he did.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked over. His heart stalled in his throat.

It was Hannah, astride an enormous stallion, streaking over the field. Her hair streamed out behind her and she hunkered low over the horse's neck, clinging to the reins.

There was no doubt; the stallion was out of control.

The prospect of Hannah in danger made Alexander's pulse rocket and his breath stall. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow. Without hesitation he changed direction and urged Wallace after her. If Alexander could come alongside, perhaps he could snatch her from the saddle before disaster befell her. That in itself would be a dangerous move, bringing two huge beasts so close together, grabbing her from her mount, but he had to try. He had to save her.

Flying over the uneven ground in a riotous ride, he pounded after her.