Lana and the Laird (44 page)

He thought they understood.

He should have known better.

He gave the signal to move, and when he and Magnus charged into the room,
everyone
followed, even Isobel, who issued a truly horrifying battle scream.

It had the effect of stunning the men—this incursion of armed and bellowing women—but only for a moment. Dougal whipped around, his hand fumbling for the pistol tucked in his belt. He didn't reach it before Lachlan plowed into him. Together they landed and landed hard. Though his mind spun, and pain rocked him, he was aware that Dougal was stunned, too stunned to launch a counterattack before Lachlan lifted the blade to his neck.

He was aware of other things as well.

The pluck of an arrow being released. The dull
thunk
as it landed. McKinney's howl. An ominous thud.

And Susana's sigh.

“Ye werena supposed to shoot him,” she said in a gentle tone.

“I know,” Isobel responded. “But I wanted to.”

Lachlan glanced up to see Lana and Hannah run to the bound men and cut them free. While Andrew skittered over to check on McKinney's condition, Alexander came to help Lachlan restrain Dougal, who had regained his senses and was beginning to struggle. They quickly scuttled his efforts, tying him with the same rope he had used on Alexander and his brother.

“Well, what do we do with them now?” Alexander asked as he stared at the two men, fully trussed. McKinney wasn't dead but only, Isobel insisted, because she had not intended to kill him.

“I could use them for target practice,” the adorable demon suggested, whipping out an arrow and taking aim.

The flare of Dougal's nostrils was supremely satisfying.

“We canna kill them, darling,” Lana said gently, setting a restraining hand on her niece's shoulder.

“We canna?” Isobel's lip came out.

“No' if I'm to live in this castle once I marry the duke.” When Lachlan sent her a quizzical glance, she elaborated. “I doona want to have to see him every day, and if you kill him here, he might … linger.”

Ah. Excellent point. “Also,” he added, “the carpet is very expensive.”

Alexander nodded, surveying said carpet. “There is that.”

“Best if we have the magistrate oversee their transfer to Newgate.”

Isobel gusted a sigh, but she sheathed her arrow.

This settled, Lachlan turned to Lana and pulled her into his arms. It was his first chance in far too long to hold her, imbued with the knowledge that they were both safe and hale. Well, mostly hale. He was shot after all. Although, upon inspection, he realized the bullet had gone clean through and it had, for the most part, stopped bleeding. But he appreciated Lana fussing over it.

Andrew and Susana, as well as Alexander and Hannah, enjoyed a warm reunion as well. For her part, Isobel kept watch on their prisoners with an eagle eye and twitching fingers, and Magnus explored the whisky in the breakfront, muttering something about this being
an excellent time for a dram
.

It was, in Lachlan's estimation, an excellent time for a kiss. He pulled Lana closer and whispered the words he now found so easy to share. “I love you, my darling. Love you with all my heart.”

And then he kissed her.

And while he didn't care anymore who saw them, it was a little unnerving when Isobel issued a resounding snort and announced to all and sundry with a great deal of derision, “There he goes, seducing her again.”

Lana huffed a laugh into his mouth, and he gave it back. But he didn't stop kissing her.

He never would.

 

EPILOGUE

Lachlan sipped his whisky as he stared at the portrait of a man with the features so much like his. In his arms was tucked a beautiful woman with a peaceful smile. It was the same woman in the portrait over the mantel in the parlor with a babe in her arms, the portrait he'd always loved so much. Workmen had found this painting of his parents hidden in the attic as they finalized their refurbishment of the main hall of Caithness Castle, and Lachlan and Lana had hung it in the gallery in a place of honor.

The spurious painting of Archie Dunphy, they'd put to other use.

It was wonderful, soothing, and redemptive to finally see his parents' faces, to know them, at least a little. They seemed like people he would have loved.

They
were
people he loved, even though he'd never met them.

He couldn't seem to stare at them enough.

He'd spent the better part of the past six months doing so. Although that wasn't all he'd been doing. Not by far. He'd been busy overseeing the restorations of the castle and was pleased with the results. Not only was the main hall now habitable, it was suitable for guests.

The other major project that had occupied his time was the construction of the Caithness Orphanage, a safe home and school for the orphans of the county. Lana had dedicated herself to the challenge of finding new parents for the waifs. The first child she'd placed was wee Fiona, who now lived in Ackergill, bringing great joy to her parents. That they were Lachlan's new factor and his wife—a most excellent cook—was an added bonus, for they got to see Fiona often. It had been a joy to watch her blossom.

Aside from those things, and the business of being a duke, Lachlan spent every moment he could with Lana. His lips quirked as he thought of her, as they always did. She was his wife, his life, and his heart. If he didn't live another day, he could die happy, knowing he had her love.

Of course, he would prefer to live.

He was delighted that her entire family had returned to Ackergill to celebrate the occasion of his thirtieth birthday. They'd stayed for a while after he and Lana had married, but they had all returned to their respective homes. It was heartening to have them back. For one thing, they were a much-needed distraction.

Though Lachlan had had his goldsmith reforge the pieces of the cross—dispelling the curse, if there indeed was one—he couldn't banish the lingering fear that tonight could be his last. He'd lived with this anxiety for far too long to expel it completely. In his heart of hearts, he was comforted to know that if he didn't wake in the morning, Lana would have her family around to console her.

His death would devastate her. He couldn't bear the thought.

Aye. He really did prefer not to die tonight.

It was, then, extremely poor timing that at the tail end of that thought, an arrow whizzed past his head and thunked into the portrait next to that of his parents. Lachlan made the effort of fixing a frown on his face before he turned, although he very much wanted to grin.

“Isobel Lochlannach, what have I told you about shooting in the gallery when there are people present?”

The archer in question sashayed out from behind a column and curled her nose. “I dinna hit you.” She waved to the portrait of Archie Dunphy, the one that had been turned to a useful purpose. It bristled with arrows, head, heart, and kneecaps; the latest wedged in his groin.

She really was a sadistic creature, although Lachlan couldn't bring himself to mind. Along with his cousin and erstwhile steward, McKinney, Dunphy was serving a term in Newgate for his crimes, but still, each new arrow gave Lachlan a savage sense of vengeance.

“I suppose I should thank you for not hitting me.”

“I suppose you should.” She winked. “I've come to tell you dinner is ready. Cook has made roast beef and pudding.”

“Ah, excellent.” He was feeling hungry and he did love roast beef. He held out his arm and she hooked hers in it, though she had to reach quite a ways to do so.

She peered up at him with a considering gaze. “Is it really your thirtieth birthday tomorrow?” she asked.

“I certainly hope so.”

“Humph.”

He shot a curious glance at her. “What?”

“Thirty is verra old.”

“I suppose it is when you are five.” Thirty was certainly older than he'd ever expected to be.

“I'm six now,” she said with a moue of annoyance.

“That is rather old as well.”

“Aye, it is.” She sighed. “I suppose all the good times are behind me.”

He spurted a laugh. “Are they?”

“Of course. Now that Mama is having another baby.”

Susana was quite large. Lachlan suspected there might be more than one Lochlannach swimming about in her womb. For that matter, Hannah was quite large as well. And Lana … Ah, Lana.

“Do you know what they told me?”

“What?” From her tone, it had been something heinous indeed.

“They told me that now I am the older sister, I should be more judicious.”

“Really?”

“Aye. They even suggested I be more ladylike.”

“Imagine that.”

She put out a lip. “My papa called me a hoyden.”

“Did he?”

She peeped at him. “What is a hoyden?”

Lachlan chuckled. “I imagine it is a girl who shoots arrows at portraits.”

“I only shoot the ones I doona like.”

“True. But I believe that is the definition of a hoyden.” Or nearly so.

“That's not so bad then.”

“Nae. It is not.”

They came to the drawing room where the others were assembled and Lachlan smiled as he surveyed the company. Andrew and Susana were bickering about the fact that he wanted her to sit and she did not want to sit and, by the way, she was not a china doll. Alexander and Hannah smiled at each other as he set his hand on her belly to feel the kick of his son—judging from the way his eyes flared, his son would be robust indeed. Magnus stood by the window, inspecting the various vintages of whisky on display, and …

Ah. There, by the fire. The person he most wanted to see. The one who made his heart race and his body tighten. Even now, when they'd been wed for six months. Even now, when she was as big as a house.

She hefted herself from her seat to come to meet him, her hand on her back. She moved slowly, ponderously, taking each step with great care, her gaze, ever, always on him. His Lana. His love.

“Darling,” she said as she tipped her face up for a kiss. “Were you staring at the portrait again?”

“He was,” Isobel muttered.

Lachlan shot her a warning glance. She wasn't warned. But then, she never was.

“How are you feeling tonight, my duchess?” he murmured.

“Wonderful,” she said, her eyes aglow. “It is wonderful to see them all again.”

“Aye. It is.” It was wonderful to see her so happy.

“Although it is something of an adjustment.”

He arched a brow. “How so?”

“When it's just the two of us, we can kiss whenever we want.”

He tugged on his plaid. He felt certain he would not allow visitors to curtail his kissing. And to prove it, he kissed her. Although it was a brief kiss. Much briefer that it would have been had they been private. Still, it provoked a snort from Isobel.

He chuckled at that and whispered in Lana's ear, “We can kiss all we want tonight.”

She grinned at him and whispered back, “Excellent.”

*   *   *

Dinner was a raucous event. There was a great deal of mirth and merriment. Lachlan enjoyed each and every moment. He hardly thought about his curse at all. Though he didn't want the evening to end, his guests insisted on retiring, and his wife was anxious to get him alone. And if he was being truthful, he was anxious to be gotten.

He kept Lana awake most of the night, loving her gently, and letting himself be loved by her. Surely it wasn't in his mind that if he never went to sleep, he would, at least, live to see the morning light.

But ah, in the end, she exhausted him and he did fall asleep.

He didn't realize he'd drifted off until he woke, of course, until he opened his eyes to the bright light of day sliding through the crack in the curtains. And it took him a moment to realize this was not just another day. It took him a moment to realize … this was a new day. A new life. A new world.

Lana rolled over, wrapping her arms around him and snuffling at his neck, searching for a kiss as she did most mornings. He found her lips. Tasted them. Tasted joy. Curled up against him as she was, her belly pressed against his flank. An odd flutter tickled him.

He realized with astonishment, that
flutter
was his child, stirring in her womb.
His child.
One he never thought to have. His heart swelled with a splendid ache, one that made tears prick at his lashes.

He kissed her again, gently, sweetly, reverently, and her eyes opened. He sank into them, the most glorious blue in the world. “Good morning,” he said, barely able to contain his elation.

“Happy birthday,” she said in a sultry tone, cuddling closer, her skin so warm and silken against his. And then she sent him a smirk and whispered, “Old man.”

 

ALSO BY
SABRINA YORK

Susana and the Scot

Hannah and the Highlander

 

 

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