Lana and the Laird (39 page)

Andrew, on the other hand, struggled to keep the grin from his face.

Lana had always liked Dunnet and she had a fondness for his brother. But in this moment, she didn't like them in the slightest. For one thing, they were interrupting something that had nearly reached its peak, for her at least.

And for another, Dunnet's glower at Lachlan was hardly fair.
She
had been the one to orchestrate this impropriety. She was almost certain she had been.

And then, of course, they'd had the bad manners to walk into a room without knocking.

She propped her fists on her hips and frowned at each of them in turn. Why they seemed surprised at her anger was a mystery.

Isobel popped into the room as well. Thank God she hadn't been the first to enter. “See?” she crowed. “I told you they were in the library.”

It took everything within her not to scowl at her niece. She should have known better than to plot in her presence, to assume Isobel had been distracted by the talk of eels. Isobel was
always
listening.

“Isobel, darling,” Andrew said. “Go find to your mother.”

“But I want to watch.”

“Go on now.” Resolutely, he shooed her to the door, although she decidedly did not want to be shooed.

When it closed behind her, Dunnet cleared his throat. It took him a moment, but he struggled through his outrage to grate, “Just what the hell is going on here?”

Andrew nibbled at his lip. “I should think that was obvious.”

Dunnet glared at his brother and then swung his attention back to Lachlan. “Well?” A snarl. He was much like a wolf in his ferocity; Lana could see why he'd earned that moniker.

To his credit, Lachlan didn't seem put out in the slightest at being caught. Indeed, he smiled, though it did not escape her that it was a tight smile. “Well,” he gusted. “It appears you two will be the first to hear our news.”

Lana's gaze snapped to his face. His expression was harsh and hard. Not loverly in the slightest. Bristly, in fact. She didn't care for it.

“Miss Dounreay has just done me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife.”

She froze as the words filtered in, as a frigid fury took her. Her pulse thudded as shock rocked through her body. Oh, certainly, there was that sharp shard of joy at the thought of marrying him, of living with him, of having him forever. The foolish illusion that this was something he wanted too. But his austere expression made clear this was not the case at all.

Hence the fury.

They'd been caught kissing, and in his world such indiscretion resulted in marriage.

Somewhere, deep in her heart, anguish welled.

Ah yes, she would love to marry him. To spend her life in his arms, her nights in his bed. But she didn't want to marry him like this.

Out of obligation.

Her mouth went dry and her throat locked, but she managed to croak, “You must have misheard me.”

Lachlan's head whipped around so fast it was a surprise it didn't spin off his neck. “What?”

“I dinna agree to marry you.”

“But…” Lachlan's lips flapped. He stared at her, his eyes wide, his nostrils flared.

“I dinna agree. And I willna marry you, Lachlan Sinclair.”

Dunnet had the gall to growl at her. “You will marry him,” he said.

Lana shot him her prettiest smile. It cost her. “Nae,” she said. “I willna.”

And then, leaving all three men staring after her, she quit the room.

She would not be forced into a marriage. Not even to the man she loved.

Aside from that, until he released his fear of that ridiculous curse, this thing between them could never be more than what it was. A fling.

*   *   *

Alexander's raptorlike attention was uncomfortable, but not as off-putting as Lana's refusal of his proposal. Granted, it had been a poor one. Lachlan stared after her, utterly befuddled. And her adamant rejection wasn't nearly as stupefying as the way it had cut him. Sliced him open. Gutted him like a fish.

Had he known loving someone could hurt so much, he would never have allowed it to happen. But it had. And now it was too late to save himself. He was lost. Utterly lost.

It took a moment to realize that Alexander was still glaring at him. “Do you want to explain what that was?” he snapped.

Did he?

Not really.

It was far too precious. Too personal. Too raw.

Andrew cleared his throat. “Do you really want to marry her?” he asked. “Or did you offer because we found you in a clinch?”

A clinch? Surely it hadn't been that.

Ah, but yes. It had been.

Lachlan scrubbed his face. “I canna think of a woman I would rather spend my life with.” Indeed, now that she had rebuffed his suit, he realized there was nothing in this world he wanted, needed more. His curse be damned.

Andrew cracked a grin. “Pity that.” And when Lachlan scowled at him he shrugged and added, “Because I do believe she refused you.”

Alexander nodded. “Aye. She did.”

“She seemed rather … adamant as well.”

“Aye. She is a Dounreay. They are exceedingly stubborn.”

Andrew waggled his brows. “We should know.”

Lachlan glowered at the brothers, each in turn. This wasn't amusing. This was a disaster of epic proportions. A cold ball settled in his belly. Lana had refused him. After everything they'd shared, with all he felt for her … she'd said
no
. “There must be some way to change her mind.”

“You need some grand gesture, I think,” Alexander said.

Andrew tapped his lip. “You could kidnap her.”

Lachlan reared back. “Rather unseemly, don't you think?”

“Isobel assures me it is what Scotsmen do when they want to profess their love.” How Andrew said this with a straight face was a mystery. But then, it sounded like something Isobel would say.

“Do they?” He had the sense the brothers were bamming him.

“According to Isobel.”

Alexander frowned. “Kidnapping seems like a lot of unnecessary work. It seems to me a simple seduction should suffice. A protestation of endless devotion. Women like that sort of thing.”

Lachlan turned to him. “A seduction, you say?”

Andrew grinned. “It worked for me.”

“Are you saying the two of you don't have any issues with me seducing your sister-in-law?”

“No' if you intend to marry her.”

Alexander crossed his arms. “You
do
intend to marry her?”

“I do. Yes. Of course I do.” And it was true. He couldn't envision any other future. Long or short. Six months or sixty years. He didn't care. All he wanted was her, for as long as the good Lord saw fit to give them.

Alexander shrugged. “As long as your intentions are noble, and by noble I mean my wife won't have my guts for garters, I willna object. In fact, I will help you.”

Ah. Lachlan liked that prospect. He liked it a lot.

And not just because with their help he had a greater chance at success. But because it was simply nice to have friends. Conspirators, perhaps.

*   *   *

Isobel found Lana in the garden where she'd fled to nurse her heartache. And, of course, her regret. Though she wanted nothing more than to be with Lachlan, she couldn't trap him into marriage. She knew the only reason he'd made his stilted offer was because they'd been caught. And truth be told, that wasn't enough for her.

She required his heart as well, and if she couldn't have that, she would rather live her life alone, clinging to the memories of their brief affair.

Although that did seem slightly melodramatic. And she wasn't a melodramatic sort.

At any rate, it was a relief when Isobel found her in the garden and distracted her from her gloomy ruminations. Bow over her shoulder, she sat next to Lana with a huff. Together they stared out at the flowers.

A bunny hopped by and Isobel tracked its passage, fingering her bow, but she didn't shoot it. Instead, she fixed her gimlet gaze on Lana. “Do you no' like him?” she asked.

“I like him verra much.” Lana sighed.

“I thought so … the way the two of you were
seducing
and all.” She said this in a sage tone, as though she knew of what seducing consisted. The thought that she might was a trifle horrifying. “But if you like him, why did you refuse to marry him?”

Lana blinked. “How did you know that?” She had been shooed, after all.

Isobel snorted. “The library has a gallery,” she said, as though that explained everything. But then, it did.

“You shouldn't listen in.”

“If I didn't listen in, I would never know anything.”

Lana couldn't argue the point. It was probably true.

Isobel peeped up at her, nibbling on her lower lip. “So why did you say nae? He is verra handsome and, you know, the duke part and all.”

Lana studied her niece. Though she was precocious and inquisitive and something of a hellion, she deserved at least the truth. “I canna many a man who doesna want to marry me.”

Isobel's features wrinkled. “But he does want to marry you. He said so.”

“Only because we were caught kissing.” She narrowed her gaze on her
precocious
niece, because this point bore repeating. “If you are caught kissing a boy,” she warned, “you could be expected to marry him.”

Isobel nodded wisely. “I shall not get caught.”

Which was hardly the point.

Lana opened her mouth to clarify, but Isobel spoke first. “But when my papa asked him if he offered only because you were caught in a clinch, the duke dinna say aye.”

Lana stared at Isobel. A pricking optimism rose in her chest. “I … What did he say?”

“I canna remember exactly—”

“Honestly, Isobel. What is the point of listening in if you are no' going to pay attention?”

“But it was something like,
I canna think of a woman I would rather spend my life with
.” It was impressive the way she managed the crisp accent and everything.

Lana's heart stuttered. “He said that?”

“Aye. But he dinna seem happy about it.”

Nae. He wouldn't.

“He did seem verra stern, though. And verra certain.”

What a lovely prospect. What a delightful thought. But, given the circumstances, something of a hollow triumph.

“Have a care, though. I think he may be planning to kidnap you.”

Lana's lips flapped. “What?”

“My papa suggested it, although it was really my idea.”

“Was it?”

She nodded; her white-blond curls tumbled. “When he was wooing my mama, I suggested it, although he dinna
do
it.” She snorted in disgust. “And the duke dinna seem fond of the idea, either.”

“Did he not?” Her lips curled into a smile.

“Someone really should kidnap
someone
.” Isobel's indignation was adorable. “I doona know why men are so unreasonable.”

Lana wrapped her arm around her niece's slender shoulder. “Neither do I, darling. Neither do I.”

“Ahem.” The low rumble of Lachlan clearing his throat sluiced through her, and Lana stilled. She gave her heart a moment to cease its manic pounding and turned. He stood in a shaft of sunlight filtering through the trees, looking so handsome it made her chest hurt. He affected a bow. “Miss Isobel. Miss Dounreay.” He settled his gaze on her; it burned. “A word, if I may?”

Isobel waggled her fingers. “As you wish.”

Lachlan's frown was a gentle one. “In private, Miss Isobel. If you don't mind?”

Isobel huffed as she bounded from the bench. “Oh, I mind,” she muttered, but she did do him the courtesy of making herself scarce. As she passed Lana, she whispered, “Doona forget to have a care.”

“I willna.”

She grinned after her niece and then, once she was certain the imp was gone, she fixed her attention on Lachlan. He appeared oddly ill at ease. He waved to the bench. “May I?”

“Of course.” She shifted over to give him room, although, once he sat, he didn't seem to know how to begin. Lana decided to show him some mercy. “Isobel is convinced you intend to kidnap me.”

He gaped at her. “How on earth…”

“She was eavesdropping. In the gallery.”

His brows lowered. “You Dounreay women do make a habit of that, don't you.”

Lana widened her eyes in mock dismay. “I assure you, good sir. I have never done such a thing.”

“Have you not?”

She had. Of course she had, but she fluttered her lashes innocently. “You wanted to speak to me, Your Grace?”

He frowned at her use of his title, but he knew better than to complain. Instead, he took her hands in his. “Lana, darling, I must renew my request that you marry me.”

She didn't like his phrasing in the least. “Must you?”

“Yes.”

“Nae.”

He blinked. “Nae?”

“Lachlan, I willna marry you.”

“Lana. See reason.”

“I am perfectly reasonable.”

“You are not! You must marry me.”

She tipped up her chin. “I willna marry a man whose hand is being forced.”

“My hand is not being forced.”

“Is it no'?” She stared at him. “Would you have proposed marriage had we not been caught?”

A flush crawled up his cheeks. “Nae.” Pain lanced her at his brash admission, even though she knew it was true. “But—”

“Then your hand is being forced. I doona want a husband who spends his life regretting being tied to a woman like me.” Unable to bear the sight of his handsome face, she turned away.

He caught her arm and yanked her back. His expression was hard, desolate. “First off, my life is a paltry six months—”

“Oh, pish.”

“It is true, Lana. You must accept the possibility that I will not be with you for long.”