Hannah and the Highlander (39 page)

“Aye.” He kissed her lips. “You are. And willful and fierce. I adore all those things too. Even your rash, reckless spirit.” He winked. “I can only hope our sons will inherit that.”

Sons!

Oh mercy.
The thought sent a bolt of excitement and anticipation and hope through her. “Ach, Alexander,” she sighed. “I'm so lucky to have you.” She stared up at him—at his harsh, craggy face, at the eyes she adored beyond bearing, at the lips that had always fascinated her—and something swelled in her chest. An urgency, a need.

She cupped his cheek and captured his attention, though it had not wandered so very far—just down to her cleavage. “Alexander Lochlannach?”

“Aye, my Hannah?”

“I'm so pleased you are my husband. So honored to be your wife. I know I've never said it, but I love you too, with all my heart.”

His grin was wide and wicked. “Aye,” he whispered. “Aye, my sweet. I know.”

“You know?” Surely there was no need for this feeling of pique.

“I can tell in the way you look at me, the way you smile. The way you warm in my embrace.”

She nibbled a lip. “There are those things, I suppose.” She'd experienced the same with him.

“Hannah,
mo ghraidh,
some things doona need words. Some things will always speak for themselves.”

How convenient then, that no more words were necessary.

All through the night and far into morning.

 

EPILOGUE

“We'll be there soon.” Alexander pulled Hannah closer and nuzzled her brow. Poor thing, she was sheeted in sweat. He'd suggested they stop at an inn, so she could rest comfortably until she was ready to travel again, but his wife had refused. She was too anxious to arrive in Dounreay and see her family to stop for something as insignificant as a stomach upset.

But it didn't seem so insignificant at the moment. Hannah moaned and clutched her belly. Caithness, sitting across from her in the carriage, looking fine and manly in his kilt, widened his eyes. “Maybe we should pull over again,” he suggested.

More than once on this journey, the Baroness of Dunnet had voided the contents of her stomach on Lachlan's Hessians. Fortunately, he was an understanding and patient man, for a duke.

Alexander knocked on the roof and the carriage rolled to a stop. Hannah reeled through the door, not even waiting for Alexander to help her down. He followed her, concern limning his brow. He held her hair back as she retched in the unfortunate bushes on the side of the road.

It was gut-wrenching, watching her heave, because there was nothing he could do to help her.

When she finished voiding, she gazed up at him with a watery smile. “Not verra … not verra
baronessy
of me, is it?” she asked.

He handed her a fresh handkerchief and she wiped at her mouth. “You missed the duke that time,” he offered, and was rewarded with a chuckle.

“I wasna aiming for him,” she insisted, taking Alexander's hand and struggling to her feet. “He just happens to be sitting across from me.” Her eyes held a hint of humor beneath the misery.

Alexander wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her back to the carriage. Lachlan peered out the open door; concern wreathed his expression. Most likely, concern for his Hessians. “Are you feeling better?” he called.

“Aye, much better,” Hannah replied, but Alexander suspected this was a lie. She still looked a little green around the gills, but he said nothing.

Lana beamed at him as he helped Hannah into the carriage and took his seat. He tried to respond, but it wasn't an entirely sincere offering. In truth, he was very worried about his wife and determined that, at the next town, he would summon a doctor—no matter what Hannah said. It was not natural for a woman to retch like this. It couldn't be.

Lana patted him on the knee. “Doona fash yerself,” she said. “It will all be fine.” And then she shot a wink at her sister. Lana's cavalier attitude prickled him. Hannah often complained that Lana hadn't a care in the world, and now he was beginning to understand her exasperation about that.

Though it was true Lana did
know
things sometimes. Perhaps, in this, she was right. Perhaps it would be all right. He hoped.

Hannah settled herself more comfortably and cleared her throat.

Lachlan's eyes widened. Alexander noticed that he edged his boots back under the seat. “Ah … Have you … always had trouble traveling?” he asked in a cautious tone.

Hannah blew out a breath. It was … bilious. “Nae. I've always loved traveling. Haven't I, Lana?”

Lana sniffed. “Aye, Hannah, but you've never traveled quite like this before.”

“Like this?” Hannah tipped her head and gazed at her sister. “In a carriage? With three other people? I've done so many times.”

“Aye, but not with … a husband.” Lana's gaze flickered over him. The look Hannah shot Alexander was a trifle accusatory. Though this was hardly
his
fault. He'd done nothing to make his wife ill. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to—

Lana's attention shifted to Hannah; it settled on her belly. Her knowing grin widened. When their eyes met, she gave Alexander a tiny nod.

His pulse skipped a beat. His head went a little light. He turned to his wife and studied her through narrowed eyes. It could have been his imagination, but were her breasts fuller? Her belly slightly rounded? Could it be? Could the grandest miracle of all have happened? A shiver of excitement shot through him.

“Dunnet?” she muttered. “Why are you gaping at me like that?”

“Ach, I do love you, Hannah Lochlannach.”

She frowned. “I know that. And I love you too.” This she snapped, but he didn't mind. If his wife was truly with child, there were many cranky days in his future. He didn't mind at all. His heart was too full, his spirit too unfettered, to care about a cranky day or two.

He was the luckiest man on earth. He had a beautiful wife—who might be even now carrying his son—a prosperous and happy clan, and a secure and shining future laid out before him.

Best of all, there were no more shadows wreathing his soul. She had banished them all. His Hannah. His love.

Ach, he yearned to kiss her. On the cheek, perhaps—her breath was rather … bilious. But as he leaned forward to do so, the carriage lurched into motion.

And his wife threw up again.

All over Lachlan's boots.

 

Read on for an excerpt from the next book by
Sabrina York

SUSANA AND THE SCOT

Coming soon from St. Martin's Paperbacks

 

Susana was annoyed. There was no doubt about it. The swish of her hips as she led him across the bustling bailey was a dead giveaway, that and the dark glowers she shot over her shoulder. But Andrew couldn't help but be amused. For one thing, she was damn alluring when she was annoyed.

Hell, she was damn alluring altogether. The curve of her waist alone could drive a man insane, much less that silky tumble of hair. He wanted to wrap it in is his fist, wind it around his body. A certain part of his body.

At the thought, his cock rose.

It was difficult to remind himself that he'd vowed to eschew seduction, but try as he might, he couldn't banish the fantasy of stripping those breeks from her lovely body and laying her down in the heather. Visions of that twitching backside—bare before him—danced in his head.

But he'd made a vow. A sacred vow. And as tempting as she was, he would control his baser urges. He could. Probably.

These thoughts whirled in his head as she led him into the stables, past his men—who were unpacking and seeing to their horses—and through the kennels. Though he was perplexed, Andrew followed. He would probably follow anywhere she led. It was a fact that should have scared him to death or, at the very least, concerned him. But it didn't. However, when she started up a staircase at the very end of the long hall, he had to stop her.

She glared at the hand he set on her arm. He tried to ignore the sizzle that raged through him at their first touch. It was ridiculous how much that touch affected him. And how much he enjoyed her glare.

He edged closer. “Where are we going?” he asked in a purr.

Judging from her frown, his tone irritated her. He rather enjoyed irritating her, he found.

She ripped her arm away and continued up the stairs. He followed and found himself in a narrow loft that ran the length of the kennels. It was dim and a little dusty. Motes danced on the air. The roof was so low he had to duck his head to miss the rafters.

“Your men will stay here,” she said.

Andrew gaped at her. The room was swept clean and empty. A thin shaft of light from the far window illuminated it with a murky light. But the yipping from the kennel and the stench of excrement wafted up from below. For some reason, all thoughts of alluring backsides dissipated. Disbelief gushed through him.
“Here?”

She crossed her arms and offered what could only be described as a smirk. “Here.”

He tipped his head to the side. “This is a kennel.”

“I am aware of that.”

“I have twenty-five men.”

“The room is quite large.”

“There are no beds.”

She blew out a breath. “We'll bring in pallets.”

Andrew blinked. He set his teeth and tried to remain calm. His men were warriors. They did not sleep on pallets. In a kennel. “This will not do.” Surely she saw that. Surely she understood … He caught a glimpse of her smug expression and it dawned on him.

She did. She did understand. She knew damn well what she was doing. Her response only verified his suspicions.

“I'm sorry, but you have descended upon us with no warning whatsoever with a large group of men. I'm afraid this is all we can offer you at this time.” Her smile was deferential, but hardly sincere. The light dancing in her eyes lit a flame in his belly. “Of course, if our accommodations are unacceptable, you can always return to Dunnet…”

Oh, she'd like that, wouldn't she?

The minx.

Rather than the exasperation her self-satisfied look should have sparked, Andrew found himself filled with another emotion entirely. Anticipation. Exhilaration. The thrill of a challenge.

For that was what she was, Susana Dounreay. A challenge.

And it appeared she reveled in provoking him.

A pity she didn't understand he was a dangerous man to provoke.

The tumult her presence sparked within him flared again, burning the edges of his resolution; his inconvenient lust blossomed, and with it, an unruly resolve.

He wanted, very badly, to kiss her. He wanted to wrench her into his arms and cover her sweet mouth with his. He wanted to taste her, consume her, possess her.

And he would.

Clearly he wasn't the kind of man who could swear off women. Clearly he wasn't the kind of man who could keep a vow.

So be it.

Damn to hell his ridiculous vow.

Damn to hell the fact that she was his sister-in-law.

He was going to seduce this vixen, and he would start right now.

Desire, like a snarling, snapping beast, rose within him, and he stepped closer.

*   *   *

Susana's eyes flared as Andrew advanced on her, like a skulking fox that had spotted a plump rabbit. She didn't mean to retreat, but she had to. She'd seen that expression in his eyes before and she knew what it meant. Something within her howled:
Run
.

Perhaps it was the expression in his eyes, or the knowledge that she was playing with fire, or the sudden realization that she'd foolishly come here, to this deserted loft with the most dangerous man she'd ever met, but she couldn't still the urge to whirl and pace to the far end of the room to peer out of the smudged window. She was aware he followed. She felt his presence like a fire in a forge.

Desperation prompted her to continue their conversation, to put some space between them, to raise a shield. “The room is perfectly habitable,” she proclaimed. “And once we have pallets brought in, it will serve you well.”

“Will it?”

His voice was low in her ear, a whisper almost. And far too close. She wanted to turn, to confront him, but she knew if she did, they would be face to face, perhaps lip to lip, and she could not allow that. She could never allow that.

The last time he'd kissed her, it had been her undoing.

A pity he didn't remember.

“My men
willna
like being housed with the dogs.”
Holy God.
Was that his hand on her hip? His thumb tracing her waist? “
Nae
doubt they will all want to find … other beds to welcome them.”

Susana stilled as his words sank in. The threat was clear. And it was rather horrifying. A horde of randy warriors set loose on the innocent maidens of Dounreay? That his hand had slid over to toy with the small of her back, to tangle in the skeins of her hair, didn't help.

Her pulse thudded and her knees went weak. She couldn't have it. She couldn't have this man
touching
her. She sucked in a breath and slipped to the side, out of his grasp. When she was far enough away for some measure of safety, she turned to face him, a reproachful look fixed on her face. “Are your men so lacking in discipline?” She hoped her frown, her reproving tone, would bring him to heel. She should have known better.

He grinned and stepped closer. His eyes glinted, as though needling her was an amusing sport. “They are
verra
disciplined … when their needs are met.”

She crossed her arms, as though that could protect her, and pretended to study the room. Pretended she wasn't aware of his thrumming presence, his heat, his intent. “Well, I shall hold you responsible for any … improprieties.” She took a step toward the staircase, only a tiny one—surely not an attempt to escape.