Lana and the Laird (33 page)

“Isobel,” Susana said in a reproachful tone. “Do not lick cakes.”

Isobel?
Lachlan's gaze flicked from the girl to Andrew Lochlannach. He knew Isobel was Susana's daughter, but with that hair and those features, she had to be Andrew's child as well. He could not, for the life of him, recall Alexander mentioning he had a niece. She was adorable, though. And she had a wicked grin. Lachlan decided at once that he liked her.

He found himself grinning as Alexander gaped at the girl, then at his brother, befuddlement written all over his features. Ah. This was why Alexander had never mentioned a niece. He hadn't known he had one. Lachlan folded his arms and sat back to enjoy the show.

“Why … ah … why was he saving you?” Alexander burbled.

The imp leaned against the table, crossed her ankles, and shrugged. “There was a bad man,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Andrew blew out a breath and eased himself gently into a chair with a wince. He winced again as the child crawled up into his lap.

When Alexander shot a curious glance at Susana, she glared him down. Searching rather desperately for a turn of topic, he gestured in Lachlan's direction. “Ah, may I introduce you to Lachlan Sinclair, Duke of Caithness?”

Andrew made to stand, but Lachlan waved him back down. “No need for that,” he said. “You've got your hands full.”

“You doona know the half of it,” Andrew huffed.

Susana shot him a quelling glower. “Is Hannah all right?” she asked in a tight tone.

At the mention of his wife, Alexander grinned. “Hannah is fine.”

“She most certainly is not fine,” Lachlan said with a chuckle.

Susana turned her glower on him and his chuckle evaporated. He might have paled. “What do you mean, she's not fine?”

“She was ill all the way here.” Alexander's grin broadened.

Susana's brow puckered. “She's been ill all the way here?” And then … “She's here?” Practically a screech. “Why didn't you tell me? Is Lana with her?”

“Aye.”

“Where are they?”

“We're here.”

Lachlan's heart stalled at the sound of Lana's voice, although there was no reason for it to do so. He stared at her, there in the doorway, with her sisters. It was a stunning sight. The three Dounreay sisters, all so beautiful in their own way. And yes, all indomitable and fearless. Hannah, with her long dark hair and Susana with her fiery curls. And Lana, with those soft blond locks.

It was a pleasure to watch the sisters reunite, and the imp, too. She pushed off her father's lap and shot across the room, throwing herself into the melee.

Lana caught her up in her arms and hugged her. “Ach, I've missed you, Isobel,” she cooed.

They all took their seats and Lachlan instantly regretted sitting in the wing chair, because the ginger warrior, a man named Hamish, sat on the divan next to Lana. And she allowed it. In fact, she smiled at him. And he smiled back.

Something nasty writhed in his belly. It took everything in him not to snarl, although his fingers did close with alarmingly ferocity on the arm of the chair.

“Lachlan,” Alexander said once everyone had settled. “Do you no' have an announcement you'd like to make?”

Ah yes. No doubt they were all anxious to hear. He cleared his throat. “I, ah, yes. I do have an announcement.” He glanced around the assemblage, his gaze lingering on Lana. She, in turn, flushed. “I have decided against Improvements for the time being.” Jaws dropped around the room, followed by a wash of relief and then a cacophony of delight. It occurred to Lachlan that it was a blessing to have such power. This power to relieve their worry. To create such joy. “Alexander and Hannah have convinced me there are other options to clearing the land. Options that are far better for the people in the county.”

“That is excellent,” Magnus gusted, clapping his hands together. “I think this calls for a drink,” he said, although they'd already had a drink to celebrate the news. Several in fact.

They all ignored this salient fact, accepting a new glass from the butler as he came around. As the men sipped their whisky, and the women sipped their tea and nibbled on cakes, they chatted about this and that, mostly the sisters' catching up. Lachlan said little. He merely soaked it all in.

For the first time in his life, he felt a part of something.

It felt oddly like … family. He quite liked it.

When Andrew told how Scrabster—Lachlan's baron—had crept into Dounreay Castle and kidnapped Isobel in a ploy to force Susana to marry him, his pulse pounded. “I am stunned,” Lachlan said when the tale was finished. “I would never have suspected Scrabster of such vile acts.”

“He's a verra bad man,” Isobel said.

“I can see that,” he said.

Isobel paused in the licking of her third cake. Her nose wrinkled. “He called me a fiend.”

Why this infuriated him, he didn't know. But coiled in that outrage was a ribbon of guilt. “I do apologize for that,” he said to the girl. “I am certain you are not a fiend.”

She sniffed her agreement and then proceeded to nibble her cake. After a moment, she asked, “Why would you apologize? It wasna you who called me that.”

“As duke it is my responsibility to protect you.”

She peeped up at Andrew. “I thought it was your job.”

Her father patted her shoulder. “It is his job, too. If a man threatens Dounreay, he threatens Caithness as well.”

“Exactly.” Lachlan nodded. “As duke it is my responsibility to keep bad men from bothering you. And I failed you in that.”
Good God.
He'd failed as a duke in so many ways. He could only pray it wasn't too late to make it up to them. All of them. “I hope you will accept my most sincere apologies for being absent and not providing you the protection you required.” Though he spoke to Isobel, the words were directed to them all.

Isobel surveyed him solemnly, nibbling her lip and considering his words. And then she nodded. “Aye. I accept your 'pology. But it doesna matter anymore.”

Lachlan frowned. “Does it no'?”

“Scrabster doesna matter anymore, at least,” she said, “because my mama shot him.”

Lachlan's pulse surged. He turned his stunned gaze on Susana. “You … shot him?”

“Good show.” Magnus lifted his glass.

Susana bristled. “He had a pistol pointed at my daughter.”

“Never forget,” Hamish said, “he planned to murder us all. And then turn his attentions on Lana.” The man's gaze on her was far too warm, but even that couldn't break through the sudden cold rage in Lachlan's gut.

Any man with designs on her deserved to die.
Any man.

Lana made a face. “
Scrabster?
I think I may be ill.”

The man, who deserved to die, patted Lana's hand. “You are the next in line for the lands he wanted,” he explained.

“But those are Hannah's lands,” Alexander growled.

“Exactly.” Andrew's brow darkened. “We believe his plan was to take out everyone and anyone who stood in his way. Hence the attempt on Magnus.”

“What is
take out
?” Isobel asked.

Andrew petted her hair. “He wanted to kill everyone.”

Isobel's face scrunched into a furious moue. She glared at Lachlan. “See. I told you he was a bad man.” Then she smiled sweetly and batted her lashes. “It's not my fault his castle blew up. Really. It's not.”

Lachlan gaped at her.
Holy God.
Was that a hint of … guilt in her expression?

“His … castle blew up?” Alexander squeaked.

Andrew widened his eyes and nodded, nibbling away an inappropriate smirk.

Magnus's guffaw rounded the room.

Isobel shrugged. “It was his own fault.”

Now, this could not go unaddressed. Lachlan fixed her with a curious gaze. “How so?”

Isobel blinked. “He locked me in the wrong room.” She leaned closer and whispered, “There might have been a fire.”

“I … see.” He tried to hide his smile but couldn't.

No doubt Isobel took it as encouragement. She leaped down from Andrew's lap and crawled onto his instead. Lachlan blinked at the feelings that washed through him, the raw yearning to have a child of his own crawl into his lap. A child like this, perhaps. He set his teacup on the small table at his side to hold her.

“It was a verra exciting adventure.”

“I am certain it was.”

“Look.” He blanched as Isobel reached into the pocket of her gown and pulled out a long blade.

“Where did you get that?” Susana and Andrew bellowed in tandem.

Isobel nodded at the man sitting next to Lana. “Hamish gave it to me.”

Lachlan was pleased that Susana glared at the man. He deserved a glare for sitting so close to Lana on the divan.

“I used it to unlock the doors.” Isobel waved the knife around until Lachlan felt the need to take it from her under the pretense of studying it. He set it carefully on the table next to his teacup. “It was verra handy. I used it to open his chest, too.”

Good God!
Lachlan gaped at her, envisioning that very thing. This small girl opening a man's chest with a wicked blade … It was horrifying. Perhaps he did not want a child
quite
like this. “I … ah … his chest?” he burbled. “Whose chest?”

“Scrabster's.”

He turned to Susana. “I thought you said you
shot
him.”

Isobel warbled a laugh. “Not that kind of chest. It was a treasure chest.” She put out a lip. “Although there wasn't much treasure in it. Just these stupid letters.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her pocket and waved them around until Lachlan confiscated them as well. As there was no more room on the little table, he handed them to Alexander, who began flipping through them. “Oh, and this.” She reached in and pulled out a gold trinket.

Lachlan's gaze fell on the object and his breath caught. His heart thudded, once, hard. Hell. It was … It was … It was another fragment of the cross. The top bit, if he wasn't mistaken. The carvings on it were unmistakable. The conversation faded as his entire consciousness narrowed on that shard.

He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I look at this?” he asked, his hand hovering over the piece. Isobel passed it to him and he studied it at length, turning it this way and that.

He didn't realize that silence had fallen over the company, that everyone was watching him, until Lana spoke. “Lachlan?” she said. “Is it…?”

He glanced up at her. His gaze burned. “It is.”

“It is what?” Isobel asked, taking the precaution of snatching it back and dropping it into her pocket.

Lachlan drew in a breath. “It is a treasure, Isobel. One I've been searching for a long time. You say you found it in Scrabster's castle?”

“Aye.”

Lana's eyes glowed. “That makes sense. Both Dounreay and Scrabster are along the coast.”

Ah yes. She was clever, his Lana.

“Aye. No doubt, sometime during the past five centuries they washed up on shore or were caught in nets.”

Lana nodded. “Likely, the people who found them dinna realize what they'd really discovered.”

“Would someone like to explain what you are all talking about?” Hamish asked peevishly.

“Och, it's a wonderful story,” Lana said. “Involving a curse and a magic relic and the future of all Scotland.”

Isobel's eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Come here and I'll tell you.”

Obediently, the girl crawled off his lap and onto Lana's, and while Lachlan missed her warmth, he needed the space, a moment, to process.

That two pieces of the cross had been found within a matter of days, when his family had been searching for centuries, was mind-boggling.

It incited in him a welling hope. And along with that hope, a fear darker than one he'd ever known. Because he'd found something he very much wanted to live for.

Found someone.

As Lana told the tale of his family's misfortune and the damning curse, Lachlan watched her. He loved the way her lips worked, her smile, the brogue with which she colored her yarn. He loved the color of her hair and the glow of her skin. The sparkle of her eyes. Her laugh. Her courage. Her spirit.

He loved everything about her and he suspected he would forever, even beyond death.

Thirty years and not a breath more

For Sinclair heirs of Caithness Moor

Short lives they live to pay the cost

'Til joined once more the MacAlpin Cross

Hell, even his curse, on her lips, was poetry. Isobel's eyes were like saucers as Lana repeated the insufferable rhyme in her soft and calming lilt.

When she finished, she settled a solemn look on her niece. “Only one thing can break the curse,” she whispered.

“One thing?”

“He must reunite the MacAlpin Cross.” Lana kissed her brow. “We think the piece you found is a part of the relic.” He knew she thought the curse was utter ballocks, so he appreciated her willingness to help Isobel understand why he needed the piece so much.

He shifted under the child's unwavering regard. There almost seemed to be a sympathetic flicker in her expression. Almost. Then she put out a lip. “But it's
my
treasure.

“It means quite a lot to me,” he said gently.

Isobel frowned. “Do you believe in curses?” she asked Lana.

Lana smiled sadly. “I'm not sure if curses are real. But I do know I doona want Lachlan to die.”

Ah. God.
Her words, her tone. They did something inside his chest. Something painful and sweet.

Isobel studied him. “He is verra handsome.”

“Aye. He is.”

The girl pulled the trinket from her pocket and fondled it. “But it's a verra beautiful treasure.”