Hannah and the Highlander (18 page)

The stallion was fast. Almost as fast as Wallace, so it took some time for Alexander to catch her. When he did, he guided Wallace with his knees, reached over, and plucked her from the back of the runaway mount.

She screeched and thrashed, which didn't make the maneuver easier, but Alexander had a firm hold and whipped her from danger, settling her before him. Then he pulled on the reins and slowed Wallace to a halt.

When the horse stopped, she wriggled away and shimmied off. Alexander's heart lurched as she dropped to the ground, but she caught herself. And then she whirled on him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she screeched. “You could have killed me!”

He gaped at her. Opened his mouth and then closed it again.

She was angry? Why was she angry? He'd just saved her bluidy neck.

Fury of his own rose. That, combined with the sheer horror of seeing his wife so close to death, stole his sanity. He whipped from Wallace's back and glared down at her with his hands on his hips.

“Me? What the hell were
you
thinking?” He didn't mean to bark, but he was far beyond restraint.

“I was thinking I would go for a ride.”

“On that … that … that…” He waved in the general direction of the monstrous equine, who, divested of his rider, had slowed to a walk. He rolled his head back and glared—aye, he
glared
—at Hannah, then whinnied and stomped his hoof, kicking up great chunks of turf.

“Aye. On
that
.” She turned to the horse and clicked her tongue. The creature obediently trotted back and she took the reins. “He's
my
horse.”

Alexander's jaw went slack. She was a tiny thing and this horse was … hell, he was massive. There was no way she could control him. “You canna … canna … canna…”

She didn't allow Alexander to finish his sentence, which would have been,
You canna be serious.

“Oh, bother, Dunnet.” He flinched when she used his title. Or perhaps it was the vitriol with which she spat his name. “Never say you are forbidding me from riding my own horse.” Not his intention in the slightest, but it was an excellent idea. “Because let us get one thing straight, right here and now. No one forbids me from doing anything. If I want to ride Beelzebub, I shall ride him. Whenever I wish.”

“Bee-Bee-Beelzebub?” Her horse was named
Beelzebub
? Alexander glanced at the beast, who tossed his head and eyed Wallace with what looked disturbingly like malice. Wallace snorted and shook his mane, to which Beelzebub showed his teeth. “He is … He is dangerous.” He was. Even Alexander would think twice before hopping on Beelzebub's back.

Hannah laughed. Threw back her head and laughed. And while it was an entrancing sound, it sent shivers of trepidation down Alexander's spine. “He's nothing of the sort.” She cradled the creature's snout and scratched his nose. “He only nips when he's annoyed.”

Bluidy hell!

“Hannah, I canna allow you to—”

Again, she did not allow him to finish. She rounded on him, her dander up. He was struck with how utterly beautiful she was at this moment, her chin tight, her body quivering, her eyes glowing with an unholy light. “You canna
allow
me? Did you no' hear what I just said?”

He frowned at her. “I canna allow you to risk your life. I couldna bear it if you were hurt.” This last bit he said softly, and somehow it seemed to reach through her anger and touch her heart. Her expression softened. Her lips quirked in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.

She stared at him for a moment and he had the unsettling impression she was analyzing various strategies of attack. In the end, she set her hand on his arm and said in a soothing tone, “Alexander, I assure you. I am perfectly safe with Beelzebub. He is a lamb.”

At that moment, the beastie reached over and nipped Wallace's hindquarters. Alexander's mount jumped and shuffled away, sending him an accusing glance.

“Well, he's a lamb with me,” she said, biting back her smile.

“He's … so large.”

“I raised him from a colt, Alexander. I'm the only person who has ridden him. Now tell me.” She sidled up to Alexander, hooked her arm in his, gazed up at him with wide eyes, and said, “How are we going to proceed as man and wife? Are you going to bark orders—?”

“I doona bark,” he barked. She ignored his outburst.

“Or are we going to work together? As a team?”

He rather liked that idea. He nodded and grumbled something vague. He'd never been managed before and he wasn't sure if he liked the feeling. Although he didn't much mind being managed by her … when she looked at him in
that
way.

“And if I choose to ride my horse, and I shall, you willna sweep in and wrench me from his back each and every time?”

“Will you promise to take an escort when you ride?”

She frowned as she studied Alexander's expression. He was certain it was unyielding and firm, but he might not have gotten it right, because she nodded and said, “Of course. If I feel like it.”

He opened his mouth to object, but she went up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his chin and all his arguments scattered.

“And thank you for attempting to save my life,” she added, patting his arm. “It was verra sweet.”

Sweet?

It had been the worst moment of his life. He didn't know if he would ever recover.

And even worse? The emotions churning through his gut right now. Because he'd realized in all this, though they had only been married for a short while, she'd somehow wormed her way into his heart. She had become
necessary
to him. And if anything ever happened to her, if he ever lost her, it would devastate him.

*   *   *

“Bother,” Hannah grumbled to herself as she paced the terrace. Even the breathtaking view of the sparkling sea in the distance could not appease her. Annoyance prickled at her.

Her conversation with Alexander had gone well, she supposed, or at least as well as it could have gone. Though he'd seemed adamant at first that she not ride Beelzebub, he'd been willing to see reason. That was an excellent sign.

She'd had great hopes for a more in-depth interaction, perhaps a kiss or two, but then, when they'd returned to the castle, he'd disappeared. Just when she thought she was making progress with him, he retreated once more.

Although she had to allow she learned something new about him each day. He was like an onion, layer after layer of revelations that made her admire and respect him even more. She wondered if she would ever come to the core of him.

A cutting wind knifed in from the sea and Hannah wrapped her arms around herself. She turned to head inside to request some tea but stilled as she noticed a small girl standing to her left. The surly child from her welcome.

Hannah affected a smile. “It is a delightful view, is it not?”

Fiona gazed up at her with solemn eyes and nodded.

“I do love the sea.”

Another nod. The girl's lips worked and Hannah could tell she was attempting to say something, so she waited patiently as Fiona worked at the words. “D-did you m-mean what you … said?”

Hannah quirked a brow. She had a tendency to say a lot of things, and while she generally meant all of them, she wasn't sure to which comment Fiona referred.

“Th-that everyone st-struggles with something?”

“Aye. I did mean that.” In her experience, it was true.

Fiona looked her up and down, nibbling on her lower lip. “Wh-what do-do you…”

“What do I struggle with?”

A nod.

Hannah laughed. “I'm luckier than most. I have many challenges.”

“You do?” Why Fiona sounded so surprised was a mystery. Was it not obvious that Hannah was a bundle of issues?

“Och. Aye.” She set aside her desire for tea and strolled to a stone bench along the balustrade. She sat and Fiona crawled up next to her. “For one thing, I'm not terribly patient. My father despairs that I'm far too rash. Barreling in where cooler minds would wait. For another, I'm not verra pretty.”

“You … you are v-verra pretty.” The compliment sounded suspiciously like a complaint.

Hannah blew out a breath. “My sisters are much prettier. Lana is like a delicate angel and Susana is a warrior princess.”

Fiona's eyes widened. “A warrior princess?”

“She is rather magnificent. I, on the other hand, have always been rather … ordinary.” When Fiona snorted, Hannah nodded. “My eyes are too large and my mouth is crooked.” She gestured at her body. “I'm … plump.”

“He … he thinks you're pretty.”

Her pulse stalled. “He?”

Fiona jammed a thumb up to the sky. For a moment, Hannah thought perhaps Fiona was talking about God and was about to pat her on the head and tell her how precious she was, but she glanced up, way up, and a movement in the window of the turret tower caught her attention. With a hit to her solar plexus, she realized who stood at the window, watching them.

Her husband.

She waved up at him and he jerked out of sight, as though embarrassed to have been caught spying.

“Laird Dunnet?”

“Aye.” Fiona put out a lip.

“How do you know he thinks I'm pretty?” She shouldn't ask, but she couldn't not.

“He-he told m-me so.”

Something pleasant trickled through her. It might have been joy. Heat crept up her cheeks. “Did he?”

“Aye.”

“He told you? With actual words?”

Fiona giggled, though it wasn't meant as a joke.

“Because he doesna speak to me much.”

The girl kicked her legs and smoothed her skirts. “He t-tells me lots of things.”

“He must like you verra much.”

“He does.” She beamed and then sobered. “We … are verra much alike.” This she said softly, with a treble of import. Hannah had the sense the words meant much more than they seemed to at face value. “Lots of p-people th-think I'm stupid be-because I canna sp-speak well, but he doesna.”

“Of course you're not.”

“He gave me his quill.” This in a hushed whisper, as though the quill were the Golden Fleece or the Arc of the Covenant. And he'd given it to
her
. “He-he is t-teaching me to write.”

Oh, lovely. Another generation of letter writers.

“That was verra kind of him.”

“S-sometimes, wr-writing is … m-much easier than sp-speaking.”

Hannah stilled, her attention locked on the earnest little face. Her heart clenched. The breath burned in her lungs.

Lots of people think I'm stupid because I canna speak well.

We are verra much alike.

Writing is much easier than speaking.

Oh dear God.

Comprehension blossomed in her mind. Certitude filled her soul.

All of a sudden she
knew
. She understood.

Chagrin raked her. Chagrin that she had dared judge him without coming to know him.

She glanced up at the turret tower and caught him watching her again. All of her frustration, her aggravation and impatience, melted away. Something else entirely took its place, filling her chest with an ache that felt like adoration.

He thought she was pretty.

He was very kind to children.

He was a damn good kisser.

And he was hers.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled up at him before he could retreat once more, “When are you coming out of your tower?”

Hannah glanced down at Fiona. “I told you I was impatient,” she said with a wink. And Fiona, bless her heart, threw back her head and laughed.

When Fergus arrived with the next letter in hand, Hannah did not rip it to shreds.

And she was very glad she did not.

It was an invitation.

To a picnic.

With her husband.

It was a delightful letter indeed.

*   *   *

Alexander looked up from his work, surprised to find Fergus standing nervously on the threshold of his study. After scrawling out the invitation to his wife, he had disciplined himself to return to work. If he wanted to spend the afternoon with Hannah, he needed to finish this first. In addition to urgent messages from Keiss and Feswick, which required his attention, the bitter battle in Lyth between the Dunns and the Keiths was heating up again.

The sight of Fergus nearly made him growl, because it meant the factor was bringing more to do. Indeed, he held a letter in his hand.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt, my lord.”

“Come.” Alexander waved him in. Whatever it was, he would deal with it, and quickly. He was beset with anticipation. Seeing her again, holding her. Perchance soliciting a kiss or two, maybe a seduction in the tall grasses of the meadow—

“Her Ladyship sent this.”

Alexander's hand stilled, mid-stroke.

Her Ladyship?

Sent him a letter?

His mood took a tumble. A letter could mean only one thing. She was refusing his picnic invitation. And here he'd been so encouraged when she'd smiled and waved and called up to him, imploring him to come out of his tower. The gesture had ignited something in him, some brand of courage that incited him to ignore his simmering foreboding, the fear that she might see the truth of him and turn away. He'd been suffused with the urge to face her, share his secrets with her, unveil his myriad faults, and trust that she would be patient with him.

He couldn't bear her rejection of his gesture, but he held out his hand for the letter nonetheless.

Fergus gave it over and skittered from the study as though the hounds of hell were on his tail. Alexander had only bellowed at him once for interrupting his work—and that had been a very bad day—but Fergus had taken him at face value and rarely darkened the tower door since.