Hannah and the Highlander (19 page)

Alexander studied the letter. Her script was flowing and fine. His name was like a poem in her hand. A scent wafted up from the parchment. With trembling fingers, Alexander lifted it to his nose.

Ah. Her perfume.

It clouded his vision.

Surely a woman didn't scent a rejection?

He had no idea. Women were a mystery to him altogether.

Burning to know what she said, he sloughed off his trepidation and ripped the letter open.

Alexander,

I would verra much like to meet you for a picnic this afternoon. Thank you for suggesting it.

His lips quirked up. That was a promising start. Not like a rejection in the slightest. And she would
verra much
like to meet him.

Excellent.

I thought it would be delightful if Fiona could join us as well.

Fiona?

His grin slumped. While he enjoyed the girl's company, he'd had a very different afternoon in mind. Something romantic. With kisses.

He couldn't very well seduce his wife with a child in attendance.

He thought very seriously about sending Hannah another note, requesting pointedly that they attend the picnic alone, but was glad that he didn't when he joined the two of them in the bailey, with Brùid at his heel, and saw Fiona dancing from foot to foot, clearly delighted with the prospect of an outing.

He would have tonight, he reminded himself.

And if all went well, he might steal a kiss this afternoon.

Or two.

Hannah looked stunning, as always. Her ebony hair flowed free and glinted blue in the shafts of sunlight. Her brown eyes sparkled and her alabaster skin glowed. She wore an alluring kirtle that hugged her curves. His mouth watered.

She reached out to his dog with great trepidation and then relaxed with a gust when Brùid lapped at her hand. She smiled up at Alexander with a look that made his bowels clench.

She carried a small basket on her arm, one that made him shoot her a curious look, but she said nothing. So, as he tucked his own basket—filled with the accoutrements of their lunch—on his arm, they set out.

It was a beautiful day. Spring was waning and summer just beginning to rumble. It was warm, but there was a fresh breeze coming in off the sea. They made their way through the bailey and across the drawbridge and out to the meadow surrounding the castle. There was a spot near the ruins of the old keep he had in mind; it was the perfect picnic spot. As they made their way up the hill, birds wheeled in the sky and the drone of insects surrounded them.

Hannah chatted with Fiona—who seemed to have no hesitation about speaking to a veritable stranger—but his wife said nothing to him. Alexander found he didn't mind. Especially when she laced her fingers through his.

It was an enchanting little walk. Just a man, a woman, a child, and a dog. One day, God willing, Hannah and Alexander would make this walk with their own children in tow. He could have kept going, could have basked in this interlude forever, but they reached the ruins. He set his basket down and picked up the blanket he'd brought, whipping it out.

It took a while to settle the blanket on the ground, because Fiona squealed and ran beneath it as it billowed. Then Hannah laughed and did the same. Brùid joined the dance, barking and bounding about, snapping at the corners. Alexander indulged them, lifting the blanket again and again, because he loved seeing her laugh. Head tossed back, eyes dancing, lips curled, wreathed in the joy of the moment … When finally the blanket fell, he arranged the basket on it and they all sat. One by one, he pulled out Morag's treats.

Hannah and Fiona oohed and aahed over cold chicken and fruits and tiny cakes. But they didn't ooh and aah for long. Apparently, they were both hungry. They filled their plates and all ate, enjoying this kiss of the sun, the tease of the breeze, and the comfortable company. With great glee, Fiona fed Brùid—perhaps more than she should have. But to be honest, the hound had perfected a pleading look.

To Alexander's relief, Hannah didn't pepper him with questions. Other than a casual comment about this offering or that, there was little conversation.

In all, he felt very comfortable.

Though he still wondered about the small basket she'd brought, he didn't ask.

After they'd eaten their fill, they lay down on the blanket and stared up at the sky, with Fiona between them. Alexander couldn't help but think this was the point at which he might have launched his seduction, but when Hannah glanced over at him and smiled, a happy, contented smile, he couldn't regret the lost opportunity.

He could still steal a kiss later.

Fiona became restless and, to his delight, Hannah suggested the girl hunt for wildflowers. Alexander saw his chance. As soon as Fiona bounded up and dashed through the tall grass with Brùid at her heel, he made his move, rolling over and capturing Hannah's chin in his fingers and setting his mouth on hers. He caught her by surprise. Her mouth was open. She tasted of wine and berries and … Hannah.

She stiffened, but only for a heartbeat, and then she melted into him, twining her fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. She made a murmur in the back of her throat, a little growl of pleasure like the ones she'd made last night, and it sent a wave of arousal through him.

He edged closer and deepened the kiss.

Her breath gushed into his mouth as he entered her with his tongue and then, God help him, she sucked him in. His arousal raged into a boiling sea of lust.

That simply, that easily, he was on fire for her.

It was probably indiscreet to shift, just a tad, so he was over her. It was probably bad manners to press his hard cock against her hip and rub, but he couldn't help himself.

She pulled back, only enough to whisper, “We shouldna.”

He grumbled a response. It was probably in the affirmative. But he didn't stop kissing her. She was far too delicious.

Phhht.

Hardly a sound that engendered romantic flights of fancy. And coming from above him as it did, from a five-year-old, it was like a bucket of cold water. Alexander chuckled and kissed his wife again, before easing away. “Tonight,” he murmured, catching her gaze.

She pressed her lips together to stop a creeping smile, but it didn't work. Not entirely.

“What have you found, Fiona?” she asked, sitting up and brushing down her dress.

“Just weeds.” Fiona dumped her collection on the blanket. “Wh-why were you k-kissing?” She wrinkled her tiny nose.

“Husbands and wives kiss,” Hannah said matter-of-factly. It occurred to Alexander that she would be a wonderful mother. Someday. Perhaps soon. She studied Fiona's offering. “And these are not weeds. They are lovely.” She picked them up, one by one, and arranged them in a bouquet. A bouquet that looked very much like the one she'd carried at her and Alexander's wedding. “If you weave them together, like this…”—she linked several of the stems together—“you can make yourself a crown.”

“A cr-crown?” Fiona's eyes gleamed. “I should like that.”

“Here. You try.” Hannah handed the girl some flowers and she began weaving them together as Hannah had shown her, edging out her tongue as she worked. “Why do you no' make one for each of us?”

“I will need more fl-flowers.” Without hesitation she leaped up and headed back to the meadow.

Excellent.

Alexander leaned toward his wife again, his intent clear. She stopped his advance with a palm to his chest. That her thumb stroked him didn't ease his disgruntlement. She did allow him one kiss, although it was a quick one.

“I thought we could play a game, you and I.”

A game?
He frowned.

He had another game in mind entirely.

“It will help us get to know each other better.” She seemed so resolved, so optimistic, certainly so determined, he couldn't refuse. At his nod, she reached into her basket and pulled some things out. When his attention fell on the items, he froze.

Parchment. A quill. Ink.

What…?

“I shall write down a question, and then you write down an answer. And then you can write down a question for me. All right?” She shot him a hopeful look; he saw beneath it a thread of uncertainty. Worry that he would refuse.

He would not refuse. When he nodded, she gave a tiny sigh of relief.

“Excellent.” She picked up the quill and dipped it in the pot of ink. “We'll start with something simple, I think.” He watched her as she scratched out her query. And he wondered, what would she want to know?

Why do you never speak?
God, he hoped not. He didn't want to reveal that murky secret. Not yet. Not so soon.

When she handed him the parchment, he nearly laughed out loud.

What is your favorite color?

He took the quill and responded with
Green
. It always reminded him of spring. After a moment of thought, he added that bit as well. Then he wrote:
Yours?

She opened her mouth, as though she were going to speak, then gave a tiny shake of her head and took the quill.

I love green too. I doona care for brown.

Why she added that part he didn't know. He hadn't asked.

Her next question wasn't as simple.

What is your favorite season?

As he thought, he tapped the quill against his lips until he caught her staring at them. He couldn't stop his grin at her fascination. And his grin incited hers. He liked that very much.

“Well, go on,” she said. “Answer.”

He began to write.

Spring is a reawakening. When the flowers lift their heads and smile up at the sun. When the new lambs spring forth in bleating masses. When the earth yawns and stretches after a long sleep.

But summer is delightful too. The feel of the hot sun beating down on my face and the splash of the cold sea on my toes.

Fall has her charms. When the colors change and the nights go still. When the scent of the harvest lingers in the air.

Ah, but winter, with the heavy drifts of pure white snow. When the trees lose their leaves and stretch their fingers into the sky in a bony embrace.

I love them all, I suppose.

She read his response and then stared at it for quite some time. When she lifted her gaze to his, there was a hint of tears in her doe-brown eyes. “You're a poet, I think,” she murmured.

He snatched the parchment back.
Do you like poetry?

I love poetry,
she wrote
. I love all books.

Why she stared at him with a meaningful expression he didn't know, but he didn't ask. She continued to write.

I especially enjoy histories and plays. Or scientific books.

Then she nibbled on her lip and scratched that all out and simply wrote:
Aye
. But it was too late. He'd already read the part she tried to obliterate.

He edged closer and wrote:

Scientific books?

I didn't mean to write that part. I am not a bluestocking.

She underscored
not
several times.

I wouldna mind if you were.

He'd always had a high regard for intelligence of any kind. That his wife, who would be the mother of his children, had an aptitude for learning pleased him.

She stared at him and then scribbled:

Men prefer stupid women.

He barked a laugh.

Not true.

Quite true.

I doona. The bleating of sheep annoys me.

She chuckled and pointed to his earlier passage—about bleating sheep—then dashed off:

One would think you enjoy them.

Before he had time to think through his response, he wrote:
Not in my bed.
And then he cringed, because she stiffened at his side. Her body hummed with a certain energy, one he couldn't ignore; it set up a responding hum within him.

Their gazes locked. She looked away, but only long enough to scrawl:

What do you enjoy … in your bed?

He swallowed heavily.

Last night was rather fantastic.

Her smile lit a fire in his belly.

It was.

Did you enjoy that?

I verra much did.

He found he rather liked this game.

She added:

I'm looking forward to tonight.

As am I.

He glanced up at a giggle and saw Fiona returning with an armload of weeds … wildflowers, and he realized his and Hannah's game was very nearly at its end. But he'd learned much about her in this short time, and through their play they had formed a bond. A tenuous one, for certain, but it was a start.

Hannah liked wildflowers. And books. And his kisses.

She had enjoyed last night … very much.

And he'd stolen a kiss … two.

Not a bad return for a lazy afternoon.

That he had to walk back to the castle wearing a crown of wildflowers was a small price to pay.

 

CHAPTER
TEN

Oh, that had gone well. Very well.

Hannah smiled up at Alexander as they made their way into the castle. Fiona dashed off to find her friends and brag about her crown, and as much as she'd enjoyed the girl's company, Hannah couldn't help but be pleased. Because now, for a while, she had her husband to herself.

Well, with the exception of his dog, who obediently lagged at Alexander's heel. As horrifying as their first meeting had been, she rather liked Brùid now. He was very much like Alexander. Strong, silent, and fiercely protective.

“I was wondering…” she murmured, waiting to continue until he met her gaze and quirked a brow. My, but he was handsome. Her thoughts stalled on that for a moment.