Lana and the Laird (29 page)

“Oh, Lana.” Hannah wrapped her in a hug. “Wouldn't that be brilliant? A tiny lad with his shock of curls?”

“Or a lass with your eyes?”

“Honestly, both would please me. I wouldna care, as long as the child was healthy.”

Lana glanced at Hannah's belly and her smile widened as a certain
knowing
infused her. Oh, my. Oh, dear. Hannah would have her hands full indeed. “No worries,” she said, patting her sister's hand. “The … child will be healthy. And you will feel better soon.”

“Do you know if it is a boy or a girl?” Hannah asked, her eyes alight.

Lana didn't answer. She didn't want to ruin the surprise for them. But the temptation to murmur
both
was strong. She had a sudden vision of two hellions, running rampant in the Dunnet bailey, with identical tousled curls. One a braw, strong boy and the other a fierce and puckish lass. Both rascals to the core.

“Lana?”

She sent her sister a serious look and patted her hand. “You should rest while you can. You'll need it.”

Hannah put out a lip. “What kind of answer is that?”

“The one you're getting.”

“Och, yer such a tease.” But there was no heat in Hannah's glower.

“Take my advice. Rest while you can.” She winked.

“And that is excellent advice,” Dunnet said in a low voice as he came up to them. He took Hannah's arm and helped her stand. “Our rooms are ready. The innkeeper has ordered a fine meal, though I asked him to prepare a bland fare for you, my dearest.” It was charming, the way he kissed her brow.

Hannah pushed him away with a frown. “Bland?”

“Boiled beef. A broth. Simple food. I have hopes you can keep that down.”

“I doona want bland food.”

“Darling, you're ill.”

She thrust out her chin. “I am no' ill.”

Dunnet gaped at her. He waved a hand in a vague direction. “You christened every bush and shrub between here and Halkirk.”

Hannah stepped into his embrace. “But I am no' ill.” She leaned up and whispered something in his ear. He went pale. Teetered. His gaze swung to Lana and she nodded.

“Are-are-are you sure?”

Hannah nodded, though the question was directed to Lana. And Lana, well, she just raised her brows.

“Are you pleased?” Hannah asked with a perplexing quiver to the question. Surely she knew. Surely she understood what this meant to Dunnet, of all men.

His expression went hard, bare, raw. “Pleased?” Nearly a growl. Then he took his wife's cheeks in his hands and kissed her brow, the tip of her nose, and then her lips. Gently. Reverently. “I've never been so…” The words escaped him, so he kissed her again. While it might have been awkward, witnessing such an intimate scene, it wasn't. It was beautiful. Because she knew Dunnet. She'd glimpsed his soul. His deepest desires. And on this day, Hannah had gifted him that which he most required.

Without another word, the ferocious Wolf of Dunnet swept his wife up into his arms and started for the stairs, ignoring her squawk. “What are you doing? Put me down.”

“I willna. You shouldna walk.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Dunnet, I am no' an invalid.”

“You're in a delicate condition. I canna have you trip or fall or become fatigued.”

“You canna carry me for the next nine months.”

Surely it wouldn't be that long. Eight at the most.

“Hush, darling. I'm taking you to our rooms. So you can rest.”

“Rest? But I'm just feeling better…” Hannah's voice receded as Dunnet bounded up the stairs with his wife in his arms. Most likely, neither would be seen until the morrow.

Thusly abandoned, Lana sighed and gazed around the inn. It was a pleasant place, quiet and rustic. Other than the maid, scrubbing tankards by the bar, there was no one around. While she enjoyed the peace of being utterly alone—it was a rare occurrence for her—she was pleased to see Lachlan step through the door into the inn. She was struck again by his presence, the beauty of his face and form. Struck by some indefinable emotion.

He was her man. Her heart knew it, as did her soul. Her lips curled. “There you are,” she said as he sat next to her. “What were you doing?”

She didn't like the darkness cloaking him, but when he took her hand, it dissipated. “I was talking to Dougal.”

Lana didn't miss the bitterness with which Lachlan said the name. Something danced through her belly, an acknowledgment, a realization. She swallowed. “And what did you say to him?”

“I sent him on an errand.”

“An errand?”

“I sent him with an urgent message for Scrabster.” The baron had his seat several miles to the east along the coast.

“Oh, my. An urgent message?”

His eyes glimmered. “Oh, it wasn't the message that was urgent, as much as my need for his absence.”

“He is the one?”

Lachlan nodded, a curt bob of his head. “I believe so. But before I confront him, I need time to sort things through. Having him gone will allow me that. Aside from which, I am curious to see if, in his absence, there are any … visitations.”

He was clever, her man. “And if there are no'?”

“It may be a confirmation that he has been behind this. But it may not. Regardless…” His hand tightened on hers. “It would be nice to spend a night without … interruptions.”

Och. She did like his expression. “In all likelihood, Dunnet and Hannah willna join us for dinner.”

“Really?”

“I have the feeling he shall be hovering over her all night.”

“And your feelings? Are they usually right?”

She bit her lower lip. “Usually.”

He stared at her, his eyes aglow. Energy simmered around him.

The innkeeper bustled up to them with his wife at his side. “Your Grace,” he said with a bow. Lana didn't like that Lachlan released her hand, but she understood the need for prudence. Even though they'd moved into a new, more intimate, stage in their explorations of each other, no one could know. Not even the innkeeper. “'Tis such a pleasure to have Your Eminence here in our humble establishment.” The man bowed again, and again. His wife bobbed as well.

Lachlan stood and clapped the innkeeper on his shoulder, which made him boggle like a trout. “My good man, I'm verra pleased to be here.” Lana bit back a grin at his perfect brogue. “I'm looking forward to a quiet night, excellent food, and a peaceful rest.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The innkeeper's eager expression faltered a bit at Lachlan's subtle cue that he didn't want to be disturbed by gawking locals come to catch a glimpse of the grand Duke of Caithness. No doubt, such an influx would have been profitable.

“Would it be possible to have our dinner served in the private dining room?”

The innkeeper glanced around the empty hall. “Ah, aye. Of course, Your Grace.”

“Excellent.” He turned to Lana and offered his arm. “Shall we examine our rooms in this fine inn first, Miss Dounreay?”

“Oh, aye, Your Grace.” She smiled as his title passed her lips. It was odd calling him that after whispering his given name to him in the dark.

“Lord Dunnet requested three rooms,” the innkeeper murmured, glancing from one to the other. The question was woven through his words.

“Of course,” Lachlan said with an easy smile.

They made their way up the stairs and the innkeeper flung open a door at the end of the hall. “The grandest room for you, Your Grace.”

Lana peeped in. It was, indeed grand, with a large bed and wide fireplace.

“And this room for you, my lady.” The room next door wasn't as luxurious.

Still, she lied. “It is lovely. Thank you.”

Lachlan cleared his throat. “It doesna seem right for me to take the larger room,” he said. The burr of his voice sent a shiver up her spine. “Perhaps we can give that room to the lady?”

The innkeeper stared at him for a moment and then nodded. Something, something resembling admiration, flickered over his features. “If you wish, Your Grace.”

Lachlan smiled down at Lana. “It only seems … chivalrous.”

“Och, aye,” the innkeeper's wife sighed. Her eyes gleamed.

“Why, thank you, Your Grace,” Lana said softly, keeping her eyes downcast as a chaste maiden should. Though it was a grand gesture indeed, and a romantic one, they both knew he was giving up nothing.

They would both be spending the night in the larger chamber.

Together.

*   *   *

Dinner was an annoyance.

For one thing, Lachlan had things other than food on his mind. For another, the private dining room was hardly private.

He'd had it in his mind to use said privacy to begin a seduction, and though he knew it was probably not necessary, that did not signify. He wanted to seduce her. To slowly lead her to passion with the stroke of a hand, the touch of his foot beneath the table, whispered enticements, perhaps. But as soon as he would get started, the damn door would open and either the innkeeper, his wife, or the barmaid would come in with a new dish, a drink, or a query about the quality of the repast.

And then, to his consternation, Alexander strolled in and, with a sigh, dropped into the seat next to Lana. Lachlan set his teeth as all thoughts of laying her back on the table and feasting from her alabaster skin skittered from his mind. They had been foolish thoughts anyway. The door had no lock.

“How is Hannah?” Lana asked in a concerned tone.

“Och, she's fine,” Alexander said. And then, beneath his breath, he muttered, “Bossy.”

Lachlan caught the dance of amusement in Lana's eyes. She, no doubt, knew how bossy Hannah could be, and Alexander was just finding out. “Is she still ill?”

“Nae. In fact, she's asked me to find her some kippers.”

“Kippers?” Lana's beautiful mouth gaped. It gave Lachlan ideas. With effort, he thrust them away.

“Aye.” Alexander tipped his head toward the door. “The innkeeper is fetching them.”

Lana tapped her lip. “I remember when Susana was expecting Isobel. She asked for the strangest foods.”

Lady Dunnet was expecting?
Well, that explained the damage to his boots. “I understand it is fairly common.” Lachlan shifted his foot, hoping to find Lana's. He found Alexander's instead and drew away. “You probably have several months of strange requests to contend with.”

Alexander huffed a laugh, though he was clearly distracted. Lachlan wished he would leave, but couldn't very well
ask
him to. He exhorted himself to be patient. He had all night.

“Should I come and sit with her?” Lana asked.

Dismay curled through him. His eyes widened in blatant denial. It took everything in him not to howl,
No!

“Thank you, Lana. That's verra thoughtful of you.”

Lachlan's pulse skipped. Panic scored him.

“But I am her husband. It is my place to take care of her.”

Ah. Thank you, blessed Mother.

Alexander seemed to recall himself and he skated a glance between them. “You both found your rooms, I trust.”

“Aye. They are quite fine,” Lana said. “I'm sure it will be a restful night.”

Lachlan sent her a speaking look. No, not restful. Not if he had any say in the matter.

“Ah. Good. Good.” Alexander nodded, then huffed a breath and stood. “I'm going to find out what's keeping the innkeeper with those kippers. I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well, Lana.” He nodded at her. “And you as well, Lachlan.”

When the door closed, silence sizzled between them. Lachlan caught Lana's gaze and narrowed his eyes meaningfully. “Alone at last.” A whisper.

She giggled. When he nudged her with his foot, certain it was her foot he would find, her nostrils flared. As he worked his way up her stockings, beneath her hem, her lips parted. “Lachlan.” A breath. “Someone could come in at any time.”

“Aye.” He let the word hover between them. “Someone could.”

“Och,” she gasped as he reached higher and higher. “You are a wicked man.”

He was wicked, but not that wicked. How he wished he'd been wicked enough to remove his boots before supper. His
befouled
boots. At the thought he yanked his foot away and frowned.

“We should retire to our rooms.”

“'Tis too early. And they havena yet brought all the courses.”

“I cannot bear to wait.”

She waggled a finger at him. “Ah, but you must.” Her expression was playful, her tone twined with humor. He longed to shoot to his feet, round the table, and take her. Perhaps bent over the table. Or splayed upon it or—

God damn that door.

It slid open again to reveal the innkeeper's wife with a pudding.

A pudding.

With a broad smile she set it on the table and selected one of the candles from the branch on the table. “This is our most famous dessert, Your Grace,” she said with a tinge of pride. Or more than a tinge.

“It looks lovely—” The words nearly strangled in his throat as something touched his leg. Something soft and delicate and mischievous. Slowly, it crept upward. His gaze shot to Lana. The minx had all her attention on the innkeeper's wife, seemingly fascinated at the history of the pudding she was relating. She set her chin on her fist and nodded and murmured as the woman rambled on. And all the while, her toe eased closer and closer to perdition.

His cock, to be precise, which was now full and aching and thudding in anticipation.

And God. Ah, God.
When she touched him, he nearly came out of his seat. At the very least, he nearly came.

How was it that she, such an innocent, untried maiden, could do this to him? Wind him up like a clock, turn the key again and again, until his nerves were stretched, until he was near breaking?