Hannah and the Highlander (34 page)

Alexander's chest tightened. “I … I'm sorry.”

The duke grunted. “Me too.”

“Are you ill?”

“Do I look ill?” His hint of indignation was perplexing.

“Not in the least.”

“Ah. Good.” He brushed down his waistcoat. “No. Not ill.”

“Then … what?”

“A family curse.”

Alexander stared at him.
A family curse?
Alexander didn't believe in curses, just as he didn't believe in ghosts … or hadn't, before he'd met Lana Dounreay. Still, the question of the duke's sanity flickered through his mind.

Caithness caught his expression and chuckled, but there was little humor in the sound. “Centuries ago, one of my ancestors incurred a curse which, according to the legend, condemns the firstborn males to die before their thirtieth year.”

What rot.
“This is Scotland. Everyone curses everyone.” There were many curses floating around. “No one pays them any mind.”

“Yes. This is true. But in my case, the curse has borne true. My father died on the eve of his thirtieth birthday, and his father before him. Throughout our history, no one has escaped.”

“No one?”

“Not one man since the reign of Longshanks, thanks to my ancestor the second Baron of Rosslyn. And while I'm not a believer in such things, it would be irrational, given the evidence, to assume I will be the only one to evade my fate. It would be foolhardy not to prepare.”

“What did the baron do to earn such ill will?”

“He aligned with Edward the First for one thing. And betrayed his people for another. He traded the family's relic, the MacAlpin Cross, to the enemy in exchange for the title of Duke of Caithness.” The title the duke nearly spat. “Edward smashed the relic and tossed it into the sea and, with her dying breath, the Keeper of the Cross levied the curse on Rosslyn and his descendants.”

“Of which you are one.”

The duke nodded. “I suppose some men would consider it a horror to know the approximate date of his death, but I see it as a blessing.” He said this with a little too much conviction. “It gives me time to set my estate in order. To reclaim the glory that was once Caithness Castle. I owe it to my ancestors.” He fell silent for a moment and then muttered, “They do … plague me.”

“I beg your pardon? They plague you?”
His ancestors?

“Every night.”

Which explained the dark rings beneath his eyes.

As insane as it sounded, Alexander understood completely. He'd suffered his share of ancestral plagues as well. And with the incontrovertible evidence that some people—such as Lana Dounreay—could truly see the specters, maybe even speak to them, he had to belie logic and assume Caithness was more haunted than deranged. So instead of marking the duke off as a madman, he nodded. “Again, this is Scotland. Ghosts abound.”

Caithness' tension visibly released. He even smiled, though it was a wan effort. “You have your ghosts as well?”

“I do.”

“How do you silence them?”

“My wife's sister gave me some excellent advice. She told me ghosts have only the power over you that you grant them.”

“I wish that were true.” His expression took on a contemplative aspect. “Your wife's … sister? Would that be Lana Dounreay?”

“It would be. Have you met her?”

“I have. She … she mentioned my mother.” His tone was befuddled.

“Your mother?”

“She died when I was an infant. I never knew her.”

“I'm sorry.”

Caithness shrugged off his sympathy. “Miss Dounreay spoke of her … as though she were still alive. Do you think…? Do you think she can actually speak to the dead?”

“Anything is possible. Perhaps you should ask her about this. Maybe she can help bring you peace.”

“Perhaps I shall.” He sighed heavily. “I should love some peace. Even a small shard of it, in my final days.”

“She certainly brought me peace.” And how blessed it was. Too bad it had been followed so quickly by the likelihood of losing everything he was. He glanced at the duke. “How … long do you have?” No doubt, it was rude to ask, but it was relevant to the conversation.

Caithness pinned him with a bleak glance. “I'm twenty-nine now. I have six months.”

“Ah. And this curse … is there any way to break it?”

“There is. But it's impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.”

The duke sent him a wry look. “I like that about you, Dunnet. Your optimism.”

Alexander didn't think himself optimistic, not in the slightest. “I prefer to think of myself as stubborn.”

“I like that too. But sadly, the only way to break the curse is to reunite the pieces of the cross.”

“The one that was tossed into the sea?” The sea was very large and did not give up its treasures easily.

The duke snorted. “Yes. My family has searched for it for centuries but never found so much as a hint that it still exists. If it ever did.”

“That is a pity.”

“Yes, it is.”

Their conversation was interrupted as a tiny bundle of muslin wearing a crown of woven wildflowers ran across the bailey and flung herself into Alexander's arms. He lifted her up and swung her around and she squealed her delight.

“And who is this?” the duke asked, not bothering to hide his grin.

“Ah. This is Lady Fiona.” Alexander set her on the ground. “Fiona, make your curtsey to the duke.”

Fiona wrinkled her nose, as though she'd never been asked to do such a thing before. Which she probably had not. Still, she made a credible curtsey, and then she asked, “Do you like my crown?”

The duke blinked; his gaze settled on the wildflowers. “It is very … elegant.”

Fiona preened.

“Say ‘thank you, Your Grace,'” Alexander said on a chuckle.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She peered up at him. “You are verra tall.”

“I am indeed. And you are very pretty.”

The poor girl turned scarlet, then dipped her head and darted away.

The duke stared after her. “Is she your daughter?”

An ache shafted through him. “I doona have any children … yet. Hannah and I were married little more than a month ago.”

“Ah, newlyweds. And here I am interrupting the honeymoon.”

“Not at all. We are delighted to have you.” Oddly enough, this wasn't a complete lie.

The duke's eyes glinted with humor. “I appreciate that.” Alexander had the sense he was referring to the fib. “So who is the girl?”

“She's one of the orphans we took in.” Alexander cleared his throat. “Her family came to us when their land was cleared.”

“Ah yes. Your wife was telling me about the orphans.”

They passed a group of men sorting bales of wool by the mill. They all raised their hands in greeting. “We have many refugees here,” Alexander said. “These men, for example, came to us from Castletown.”

“Yes. Olrig has been aggressively clearing.”

“Verra aggressively. In the past week, refugees have been pouring over our borders. Some of the stories are … heartbreaking.”

Caithness' lips quirked. “Do I detect a hint of censure in your tone?”

Alexander shrugged. “I canna hide how I feel and I willna lie to you. I truly do believe these Clearances are morally wrong.”

“I do appreciate your honesty. I do.” He sighed. “It's a pity things couldn't have been different.…”

Silence crackled between them as they watched the busy denizens scuttle about the bailey, the way men had hurried about their work in Lochlannach Castle for ages. Watching them, Alexander had a sudden sense of timelessness. As though the past and present and future were, in some strange way, one. “It makes me wonder.…”

The duke glanced at him. “Wonder what?”

“How men like Stafford and Olrig will be remembered by future generations. I'd wager they willna be lauded by their descendants.”

“I daresay you are correct in that.”

Alexander pinned the duke with an intense scrutiny. “And how do you want to be remembered by your descendants?”

Caithness' frown was sharp. “I believe I mentioned I shall not have them. The Sinclair line ends with me. And the curse with it.”

“And that will be it?”

“Yes. That will be it.” The duke smoothed down his waistcoat, although it did not require smoothing.

Though he knew the answer, Alexander had to ask, had to try, just one more time. “Is there any chance you might be willing to reconsider your decision about the Clearances?”

Caithness sighed. “No.”

Odd, how this blatant confirmation of his worst fears didn't decimate him. Indeed, an acceptance bloomed within him. A peace, of sorts. What would be would be.

The duke tipped his head to stare at the sky. “I'm determined to leave something of myself behind, Dunnet.” He pierced Alexander with a bright stare. “I shall return Caithness Castle to its former glory before I pass.”

“Even at the cost of all of Caithness?”

Though Alexander's words were mild, the duke set his teeth.

“Even if it costs lives?”

The man bristled. “As I told your wife, no one will be harmed.”

Alexander tried to stifle his snort but was unsuccessful. “And what happens to this gloriously restored castle when you die?”

The duke stared at him as though he hadn't ever considered the question, as though he hadn't thought that far ahead. “It shall revert to the Crown, I imagine.”

“You have no heirs at all? No relatives to steward this great treasure?”

“Only Dougal.” It was odd, the trickle of regret in his tone.

“Will he become the duke?”

Caithness shook his head. “Unlikely. For one thing, he was born on the wrong side of the blanket, and for another…”

“Aye?”

“The Prince Regent doesn't like him.”

Hardly a shock.

He was an utterly unlikable creature.

They continued their stroll in a somewhat tenable silence. When they reached the castle walls, they climbed the steps until they reached the lower battlements. From there, the vista of Dunnethead stretched out, the sea to the north and the town to the west. The village was awash with colors and flapping banners. From their vantage point, they could see the people bustling about.

A great wash of pride gusted through Alexander as he looked down on his holdings. He endeavored to cling to the feeling, because once he and Hannah made their decision, once he gave his answer to the duke, none of this would belong to him anymore. None of this, but the tenuous memory of what it had been like to be the Baron of Dunnet.

*   *   *

After he and the duke parted ways, Alexander went in search of Hannah, to have the conversation he dreaded since the moment the duke had issued his ultimatum. He found her in the kitchens, marshaling the staff to prepare dinner for their visitors. He leaned against the doorjamb with his arms crossed and watched. Just watched. It was glorious, and daunting, witnessing her crack the whip over his people. And, judging from their expressions, she frightened them a little as well. Even Morag was in awe.

If nothing else, it looked as though Hannah had found her place in this household at last.

When she spotted him, her frown blossomed into a bonny smile. “Dunnet, darling,” she said as she made her way to his side. Though they were all there, all the household staff, he kissed her. He couldn't not. She was far too exquisite, far too alluring, to resist. “Where have you been?”

“Riding. I needed to think.”

She patted his chest. “Of course. How do you feel?”

How did he feel? What kind of question was that? His stomach hurt. His head ached. His pulse pounded. Nausea bubbled. And hell. Now that the moment was here, his trepidation rose to new heights. Though he'd been mulling over this for hours, he had no idea how to approach it. Certainly no idea how to
tell
her.

“I feel fine. Could I … speak with you? In private?”

“Certainly. Where would you like to go?”

“Our suite?”

Her grin became minxish. It lit an inappropriate fire in his gut. That wasn't what he'd had in mind, but now that the thought had taken root, he had trouble banishing it. How tempting it was, to make love to her one last time before telling her the truth.

But he wouldn't do that.

He owed her better.

They made their way to their rooms through the servants' staircase, because it was faster than winding through the main halls. Alexander couldn't help noticing the bounce in her step, the glow about her. He hated to think he would steal all that from her with a few small words.

When they entered his bedroom, she wrapped herself around him. It was delightful … and agonizing. Because he had to gently untangle her. “Hannah, we need to talk.”

“I doona want to talk. I want to kiss.”

“I want to kiss too but—”

His words were muffled. By her mouth.

Ah, heaven.
Though he knew he should stop this, he didn't want to. In his heart of hearts, he really didn't want to. He allowed her to kiss him, and aye, he kissed her back. But when she came up for air, he said before she could distract him again, “Hannah, I have something I must tell you.”

She stilled and gazed up at him with limpid eyes. “All right.”

“I … ah … It's…”

“The duke?”

“Aye. It … has to do with the … duke.”

“And your meeting with him?”

“A-aye.”

He broke away and strode to the window, staring out, though he saw nothing. God, this was hard. The hardest thing he'd ever had to say. He couldn't bear to look at her. Couldn't bear to see her crumble. “He … has issued … an … ultimatum.”

“Aye. Clear the land or lose your title. I heard.”