Hannah and the Highlander (29 page)

Silence crackled, and then, into the shadows, he murmured, “Aye. He … beat me daily.”

“Why?”

His laugh was harsh and held no humor. “No reason. He also gave me this.” He touched the side of his face. “But the beatings were the least of it. I did what I could to protect Andrew, but in the end, I had to send him away. I feared Dermid would kill him in one of his drunken rages.”

“See. You are brave. You stood up to him.”

“I was only a boy. I wasna verra good at fighting him, I fear.”

“He was a grown man. The point is, you tried. Many a man would have been destroyed by his brutality. You used it to become stronger.” She glanced away from the denial flickering over his face. “I canna imagine what it was like growing up with a guardian like that.”

“It was … horrendous.”

“But still, you protected your brother.” She was fishing for information but willing to take what minnows she got.

“Aye. But there were others I couldna … protect.…” He trailed off as though lost, buried, in the memories of those devastating failures. He riffled Brùid's fur. “He murdered my dog.” His voice was soft, but she heard.

“That is awful.” She wished they weren't sitting so far apart, that they didn't each have an animal cradled on their lap, so she could comfort him, but she sensed he needed the distance.

“Her name was Eoeith. She was my salvation. My best friend. One night … Dermid took her to the river. He…”

Hannah clenched her teeth. She didn't want to know. Didn't want to hear. But she didn't stop him.

When Alexander glanced at her, his expression was tormented. “He killed her, and made me watch, Hannah. I couldna stop him.”

“Of course not. You were a boy.”

“I was fifteen.” He scrubbed his face. “I was taller than him. I could have … done something. But he was in a rage because I'd sent Andrew away … to relatives in Perth. Dermid was furious. And in retribution, he … killed Eoeith.” He stroked Brùid's fur once more. “Brùid was her pup. I didn't let Dermid know I cared for him. I pretended nothing mattered after that. Anything I loved Dermid destroyed.”

Hannah shuddered. She could imagine it, see it, that poor sad boy cut off from everything that mattered, forced into a prison, forced to hide his feelings. Brutalized. Her chest ached at the thought. “He was an evil man.”

It was as though Alexander didn't hear her, as though he were somewhere else, wrapped in the thick, choking cloud of memory. “Fergus' scar? The burn?”

Something clutched Hannah's gut, a tight fist. “Aye?”

“Dermid did that.” A whisper. “Held his face to the fire. Because Fergus defended me. He nearly died. I can still hear his screams.” Alexander's laugh was harsh. “You would think, after that, Fergus would have abandoned me. But he dinna. He stayed by my side. Defended me, protected me.”

Ah.
Her heart wept.
Poor Alexander. Poor Fergus.
She cringed now as she recalled all her uncharitable thoughts about the dour man. It was a harsh reminder that one never knew the true depths of another soul. A caution against passing judgment over another. “You are lucky to have such a fine man at your side.”

“Aye. Indeed. Without him…” She waited, patiently for Alexander to finish, as she knew these words were difficult. “Without him … I would be dead.” He attempted a smile, but it was wreathed in shadows.

Glory, he was a magnificent man. Stalwart, resilient, and brave. How she loved him. How she longed to bring him peace, comfort him, protect him from every hurt, past and future. She didn't have such power, but she could give him what she could. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Alexander … but I canna help be thankful for it.”

“Thankful?” Incredulity wove through his tone.

“As difficult as your childhood was, it made you the man you are. A man who is strong, yet gentle. Powerful, but caring. That is what I see in you.” She dandled her fingers in the scruff of the wounded pup's neck and then, after a while, added, “But I'm glad he's dead.”

Alexander's smile flashed. “Me too, God save me. I'll probably rot in hell for it, but I am glad.”

“Lana told me he fell from the ramparts … or was pushed by ghosts.”

“There are many who would have cheerfully pushed him … dead and living. I couldna say, as I missed the … happy event.” He tipped his head to the side. “Lana…?”

Hannah nearly flinched at the question in his tone. She wasn't certain how to answer it. “Aye?”

“She had an … altercation with Dermid. Does she…? Can she…? Is she…?”

Hannah sighed. “Aye.” To all the unasked queries. “She speaks to the dead.”
Frequently.

“Hmm.”

A trickle of unease skittered through Hannah. She'd worried over her husband's reaction to her sister's gift, and while he'd seemed to accept it that night at dinner, he and Hannah had never discussed it directly. His murmur was not illuminating. She wished she could better see his face.

Relief washed through her at his chuckle. “She doesna care for him.”

“She wouldna. He doesna sound like a restful spirit.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Hannah swallowed. “How … How did you take the news?”

“That Lana can speak to my dead uncle, or that Dermid still haunts the library?”

Oh dear. Not the library.
Thank heaven
she
was oblivious to specters.

“At first it bothered me greatly … the knowledge that he might still be there. I'd felt safe from him for so long. But then Lana said something that … freed me from his onus. More so than mere death.”

The dog on Hannah's lap shifted position and groaned a bit and Hannah soothed her. “What did Lana say?”

“That ghosts only have as much power as you give them. That no one has power … but what you give them. I had never … thought of it like that.”

“Lana can be verra wise.”

“Indeed. I believe she is right. By locking the library … I was attempting to lock away the past. In truth, I was confining myself there.”

“Hmm. Methinks you are verra wise yourself, my husband.”

His soft laugh danced to her. “A wise man makes his library available to a wife who loves books.”

”Now that I know Dermid is in there, I doubt I should enjoy it as much.”

“Lana gave me some verra good advice on that point as well.”

“Did she?”

“Aye. She suggested I ignore him. And I think I shall.”

“An excellent strategy.”

He chuckled. “I agree. Aside from which, it is high time I put the past where it belongs. Behind me.”

Ah, aye. An excellent strategy indeed.

They rode then in a companionable silence as the carriage wound its way toward Lochlannach Castle. Hannah couldn't help but reflect on the past day and how illuminating it had been. It filled her with hope for their marriage and anticipation for the days, and nights, to come.

It was a pity the trip had been cut short, but she couldn't regret it because in that experience she'd had the opportunity to see clear through to his soul. And she liked what she saw.

Beyond that, it warmed her heart to know her husband was as adamantly opposed to the Clearances as she was. The altercation with his peers had shown that. But …

“Alexander?”

“Aye, Hannah?”

“What did Olrig mean when he said you had not joined the other barons?”

His sigh was heavy. “Hannah, we shouldna discuss this.”

Her welling pleasure deflated. “Why? Because I am but a
wife
?”

“Nae. 'Tis not that.”

“Because you made me a promise. You made a promise to share. Everything.”

He stared at her across the carriage. His eyes glittered in the darkness. “This is dangerous business.”

“Then we should face it together.”

He didn't respond for a while, for so long Hannah was certain he would refuse to answer. The prospect nearly broke her heart. But then he raked his fingers through his hair and blew out another sigh. “Aye. You are right. But Hannah, you canna discuss this with anyone.”

“I willna.”

“When I was in Barrogill … Olrig and Scrabster approached me with a proposition. Apparently, Stafford is in line for a dukedom—”

“A dukedom?” The thought appalled her. He was power hungry enough as a mere marquess.

“Aye. And he is planning to petition the prince to grant him all the lands in Caithness. He is attempting to … gain the support of all the barons in this endeavor.”

“Those lands belong to the Duke of Caithness.”

Alexander lifted a shoulder. “Hence the danger. Siding with Stafford is a betrayal to our oath. Supporting Caithness could result in disaster if Stafford has his way.”

“Yet you have remained loyal to Caithness.”

“He is my overlord.”

Ah. Of course.
Alexander was, in all things, a loyal man. But … “I doona understand. Why would the prince even consider such a request?”

“He would if Caithness were dead.”

Her heart stilled; her breath locked. “Dead?”

“There are whispers that the duke will no' live much longer.”

“I thought he was a young man.”

“He is. But all of the Sinclair men die young and, according to Scrabster, the duke is ailing. If he does die, without an heir, there is a very good chance the prince will grant Stafford's request.”

Horror crawled through her at the thought. “But Stafford has cleared his lands.”

“Aye. And he will likely do the same in all the northern parishes if he has his way. Dunnet. Reay. All of it.” The devastation he would wreak was unthinkable.

“It occurs to me it would be a wise thing to make sure Caithness doesna die.”

“Aye. It would indeed, but … it may be a moot point.” His tone was grim. So grim, it made apprehension skitter along her nerves.

“How so?”

“Because Caithness is considering clearing the land as well.”

Revulsion roiled. “Nae.”

“Aye. And if he does, we will lose everything we've worked so hard to build.”

He sounded so disheartened, she ached to soothe him, but what could she say or do to ease his mind? There was, indeed, a sword hanging over their heads.

But sword or no, she was his wife. His partner. His other. She steeled her spine and forced a chipper tone. “Whatever happens, Alexander, we shall face it together.”

He didn't respond, but she thought she heard him sigh. It sounded like,
“Ah, Hannah,”
and the words were wreathed in gratitude.

 

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

They arrived home in the middle of the night and, though they were both tired, Alexander and Hannah spent several hours with the surgeon as he saw to the dogs' wounds. Only when they were convinced the animals were as comfortable as they could be, nestled together in a stall in the stables, did Alexander and Hannah head for bed themselves. Hannah liked that Alexander took her hand as they walked to their suite of rooms, twining his fingers in hers. His palm was warm against hers. And though he said not a word, it was a comfortable silence.

It surprised her that he passed the door to his chamber and led her to her own. Her mood slumped at the thought he might kiss her good night at the door and hie off to sleep alone. Aye, she was tired and wanted to sleep, but she very much wanted to sleep with him. She needed it, his presence, after this very trying day.

He took her in his arms. His lips were soft on hers. “I have a surprise for you,” he said.

She glanced up at him, trying to read him. “Do you?”

His lips tweaked as he turned the knob and pushed open the door to her room. As curiosity swirled, she stepped inside … and then she froze.

The lamps were lit, limning the chamber in a soft glow. As she stared, her heart swelled and then overflowed with delight.

“Alexander…”

“I had it redone while we were gone.”

And oh, he had.

Gone was the shite-hued fabric on the wall. Gone were the dreary bedcoverings and the doleful drapes.

It was green. A glorious spring green. Everywhere. Her room looked like a garden. Except for the wall next to the hearth. There he had constructed shelves. They were filled to the brim … with books.

She launched herself at him. He caught her. “I adore it!”

“Do you? Do you really like it?”

“I love it!” She framed his face with her palms and kissed him, long and deep. “Alexander, you canna know how happy this makes me.”

“I can hope.”

“Ah.” She stared at him, soaking in the beauty of his deep brown eyes, the dear features of his face. And it hit her. It hit her hard. All that he was, all that he had been, and all that he had become—she loved. To the depth of her being. To the deep well of her soul. Her chest ached with it. She longed to say it, claim it, bellow it from the rooftops, but she couldn't yet. The feelings were far too raw. She hoped her expression spoke for her. “You are the best husband ever.”

A rosy tinge blossomed on his cheeks. His gaze heated until it scorched her.

When he took her lips, it was with a blazing passion. In that kiss she tasted his desire, aye, but also something far more significant. Something like vindication. And she gave it back, full force.

Thank heaven he thought to kick closed the door before he walked her back to the bed, else they would both have forgotten the need for privacy completely. He laid her down on the mattress and kissed her again, his hand roving over her bodice, sending spirals of ecstasy through her each time he swept over her pebbled nipples.

She groaned and wriggled beneath him, tugging at his shirt, his pants, his hair.

In a tumble of limbs, with a fumbling of fingers, they tore at each other's clothes until they were bare, though it took some time, as Alexander felt the need to kiss each spot he uncovered and Hannah reciprocated … with glee.