Hannah and the Highlander (36 page)

“You look verra much the laird,” Lana murmured.

“Does he no'? So handsome.”

Was it her imagination, or did he blush? “Not so verra handsome,” he grumbled.

“Verra handsome.” She sauntered to his side and kissed his cheek.

He kissed hers.

Then her lips.

“Ahem. I will meet you downstairs, shall I?” Lana said with a twinkle in her eye. As she headed for the door, she waggled a warning finger. “Doona get distracted.”

Hannah sniffed. Surely there was no call for such a comment.

Oh, but there was. They became very distracted indeed.

They were almost late for dinner.

*   *   *

Lana was the only one present when Alexander finally led Hannah into the parlor. She stood by the window staring out into the falling shadows. So absorbed was she in the view, she didn't turn around when they entered the room, for which Alexander was grateful. He paused at the door to give Hannah another quick kiss and tucked a curl behind her ear. Sadly, her hair had become … mussed. But her cheeks were rosy and her lips bee-stung. She looked ravishing.

He certainly wanted to ravish her.

Even though he already had.

It was a damn shame they had guests.

But they did and this dinner was important, so he fixed a credible smile on his face, linked his arms in Hannah's, and entered the room.

“There you are,” Lana said with a gust when she finally noticed them. “I was beginning to think I would have to have dinner all on my own.”

Hannah flushed charmingly. “Nonsense. We came straightaway.”

Lana nodded, but her mischievous smile showed she knew the truth. “I just feel honored that you remembered at all—” Lana stilled. The smile froze on her face. Her lips parted and her throat worked.

Alexander followed her stunned gaze just as the duke, dressed in the Dunnet-hewn kilt he'd found for him, entered the room. He could understand why the sight had addled Lana's thoughts. Caithness looked very fine in the deep Sinclair red. It set off his dark hair and striking features. In fact, suddenly, miraculously, he looked like a Scotsman. And a duke to boot.

It was very annoying, then, when Hannah espied him. Her body tensed. Her eyes widened and she murmured, “Oh my.” Alexander tried not to be annoyed at the awe in her tone.
Damn.
Maybe he shouldn't have given Caithness the plaid after all. Not if the look of him in it made Hannah gape so. He couldn't resist the urge to nudge her with his elbow.

She turned to him, her eyes wide. “Oh my,” she repeated.

When he glowered at her she grinned, but when she caught sight of Lana's dewy-eyed look at the duke her eyes narrowed. She grumbled something beneath her breath and then burst forward with a strident, “Good evening, Your Grace.”

Caithness seemed to find it a challenge to rip his attention from Lana's face, but at length he did, probably because Hannah thrust her hand at him. He stared at it for a moment before he took it. “I … ah … Good evening, Dunnet. Lady Dunnet.”

When the duke bent over his wife's hand, his gaze stalled. Alexander couldn't help but notice it stalled on her cleavage.

Aye, Hannah was in fine form. The dress she wore was stunning; it hugged her curves and highlighted her eyes. But nothing was more alluring than that shadowed crease. That another man was ogling it—with what looked like glint of avarice—made his fists curl.

He had to forcibly open his fingers and remind himself this was his overlord. One did not, as a general rule, plant one's fist in the face of one's overlord.

Dougal, on the other hand, he could pummel, and Alexander wanted to, because when the duke's cousin ambled into the room behind his liege, his gaze locked on Hannah's bosom as well.

Irritation snaked through Alexander, making the little hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. It took every effort not to growl. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the dinner Hannah had carefully planned.

But he would, if it became necessary.

Though he'd always been a fiercely loyal man, never in his life had he felt this. This sense of belonging in something and to something. This feeling of partnership … and the scorching possessiveness that seemed to come along with it, fist in glove.

Hannah was his. His wife, his love,
his
.

Other men should never be allowed to ogle her bosom. He would have to remind her of that later. Perhaps a new party dress was in order. One without a plunging neckline.

These thoughts flickered through his head, but he said nothing—certainly punched no one—as they made their way into the dining room for their meal. Hannah and Lana chatted with the duke about, well, whatever it was they were chatting about—Alexander found it difficult to focus on the conversation—and while Caithness seemed to divide his attention politely between the two, more often than it should his focus returned to that which Alexander considered his own.

Not growling was becoming a challenge.

The duke took the place of honor at the head of the table, and because they were a small party and had agreed to suspend formal protocol Hannah sat on his left and Lana on his right. Though it appeared Dougal seemed inclined to take the space next to Hannah, Alexander elbowed him out of the way. With a grumble, he headed over to the other side of the table to sit next to Lana.

Alexander realized his error at once. From that vantage point, both men had an unimpeded view of Hannah's décolletage, whereas Alexander had to lean forward to enjoy it. Or to glare at them. Whichever proved most necessary at the moment.

Sadly, neither of them noticed his displeasure.

They were far too preoccupied.

In truth, it wasn't a very plunging neckline. As the conversation swirled around him, Alexander mentally compared the two sisters and decided Lana's dipped far lower. Though Hannah's breasts were fuller. That was probably the attraction.

The necklace she wore only drew attention to the rise and fall of those milky swells. It cradled between them like a golden lance, sending lurid visions through his mind, visions of things a man should like to try when his woman had breasts as splendid as these. Tantalizing explorations …

His rising lust was an annoyance, because it was twined with the knowledge that Caithness and Dougal were likely thinking the same things.

Hannah, of course, was oblivious to the attention. But then, she would be. She was utterly absorbed with painting a picture of Scotland—true Scotland—for their guest. She and Lana shared stories of rollicking fetes and heartbreaking struggles, of ancient traditions and amusing anecdotes from their family history. Their tales were peppered with examples of men, women, and children affected by the Clearances, but it was so subtle, Alexander almost missed it.

When he allowed himself to ignore the too-frequent glances toward her chest, he was surprised to find he discovered much about his wife he didn't know, and it occurred to him that though they had become very close, they had not had long lazy conversations about their lives and their beliefs and their hopes and dreams. He resolved to rectify that. He wanted to know it all. He wanted to know everything.

The fact that her mother had died giving birth to her surprised him. She made a comment about being a large baby and, though she didn't say it, he sensed a long-buried wound. She blamed herself.

Her sister Susana's mother—who married Magnus shortly after Hannah's birth—died bringing Susana into the world as well. And while Lana's mother didn't suffer the same fate with her first child, she did with the second, a babe who followed her quickly into the afterlife. After the loss of this third wife, Magnus never tried again.

Alexander shot a look at Hannah. Though she chatted unconcernedly as she nibbled at her dinner, he had to wonder if the fear haunted her that one day she would be heavy with child and the birthing of it might kill her. His first thought was a swelling tenderness for her. Childbirth was dangerous, but she was strong and sturdy. No doubt she would prove more than worthy of the challenge.

His second thought was sheer terror.

At the prospect of losing her.

His appetite fled. The food in his mouth turned to dust. The beef in his belly churned.

How on earth could he face the future without her?

Laird or not?

No matter where this journey led him, he wanted her, needed her, at his side.

“Dunnet?”

He must have made a noise, perhaps that growl he'd been holding back. He had certainly stiffened. His hands were fists, but he had no desire to punch anyone at the moment. All he wanted was to hold on. Hold on to her forever.

“Dunnet? Are you all right?” Her voice was a balm, the sweet caress of a cool breeze over his spirit.

No point in borrowing trouble from tomorrow. They had plenty today.

“Aye,” he murmured. “I'm fine.” He was. As long as she was at his side.

She smiled. The sight of it danced down to his core, releasing something held tight. “Shall we order dessert?”

Dessert?

He glanced down at his empty plate. He didn't remember eating so much as a bite. “Aye. Shall we?”

She gestured to the footman who disappeared into the kitchen. “You will love Morag's cake, Your Grace,” she said, patting the duke's arm. “It is delicious.”

Lana nodded. “It is the traditional Dunnet wedding cake, but we loved it so much, we convinced Morag to make it again.”

“For you.” While he disliked the smile his wife shot at the duke, Alexander understood it was really for him. She was determined to help
him
achieve his goal. This fact calmed his aggravation when the duke smiled back … and his eyes, once more, flickered to her breasts.

“I look forward to tasting it.”

Alexander felt the bite of displeasure at what might have been a double entendre.

“I do love cake.” The duke rubbed his belly.

Hannah's laugh rippled through the room in a delicious wave. Her bosom rippled with it. Caithness' gaze locked on.

“I say,” he said. His tone was casual, but something murky and disquieting simmered beneath it. “I've been noticing your … necklace all evening. It's … rather stunning.”

Dougal's head, which had been nodding, snapped up.

Hannah touched the necklace. It was probably an instinctive gesture, but it made Alexander's nerves fizzle and spit because it drew all eyes to her chest. “This? Thank you.”

“Where, ah, where did you get it?” To Alexander's ears, all pretense of nonchalance evaporated. The acquisitive glint in the duke's eyes stunned him.

It was gold, to be sure, but certainly not the Crown Jewels.

“It's Lana's.”

The duke's attention swiveled to her.
Thank God
. “And … where did you get it?”

Lana shrugged. “It's been in the family for ages. My mother gave it to me. Her mother gave it to her, and her mother before her.”

“Interesting,” Dougal said. It was an odd thing to say, because that was generally how heirlooms worked. The glance he and Caithness shared was odd too.

“It's said to have belonged to the MacAlpin,” Lana said.

Dougal stilled. “Which one?”

Lana shot him a frown. “
The
MacAlpin. Kenneth. The first king of Scotland.”

The duke went a trifle pale. His lips worked. He cleared his throat. “May I … see it?”

“Of course.” Hannah leaned closer. The hair on Alexander's nape rose as the duke reached for the necklace. Though he was careful not to touch her, he was far too close for comfort.

Alexander found himself leaning closer as well, and not just because he wanted to remind her he was behind her but because, now that he noticed, the necklace had strange, rune-like carvings on the surface.

“It does look verra old,” he murmured into Hannah's ear.

“It is,” Lana said. “Ancient.”

The duke said nothing as he stared at the gleaming gold. With trembling fingers, he traced the markings; then he caressed the stone embedded at the tip.

Dougal leaned forward; his eyes glinted. “Is it the one?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Is it the piece you've been looking for?”

Caithness nodded. His lips worked. “It is.” A sigh. “This is it.”

“This is what?” Alexander asked.

“It's a piece of the cross. The one I told you about.”

“What cross?” Hannah murmured. She pulled back and reluctantly the duke let go, but still he stared at the necklace longingly.

“The MacAlpin Cross. The one that belonged to my ancestors. The one Longshanks broke into pieces and tossed into the sea. The reason for the curse on my family.”

Alexander shook his head. “How can you be sure?”

“There's a portrait in the castle of it. It is very distinctive. I've been searching for this. Searching my whole life.” The duke's features were fierce, his eyes red rimmed. “It is my duty to reunite the cross,” he whispered. “May I … have it?”

Hannah glanced at Lana, who tipped her head to the side. She studied the duke for a long moment. “I doona think so.”

The duke gaped at her. “I beg your pardon?”

Lana fluttered her lashes. “It's been in my family for ages,” she said. “I'm no' eager to give it up.”

“Miss Dounreay. I don't think you grasp the consequence of this piece.”

“Oh, I think I do. Correct me if I have this wrong. It's a piece of the MacAlpin Cross. The one you believe might break the curse on your family—if indeed such curses exist—and it could, in your estimation, possibly save your life.” She smiled sweetly. “Did I get that right?”

The duke narrowed his eyes. “You did.”

Her eyes took on a Machiavellian glint. “How badly do you want it?”

Caithness firmed his jaw. “I want it very badly.”

“Excellent.” Her tone was threaded with resolve. “Then perhaps we can discuss concessions.”