Hannah and the Highlander (10 page)

Alexander stormed across the room and grabbed Brùid by the scruff of his neck, and though he whined and bayed a few more times, he allowed Alexander to tug him back toward the door. It was a struggle. Alexander could only hope she appreciated his efforts.

When he lifted his gaze to her face, to check, to see if she indeed appreciated his efforts … he froze. Because she was gaping at him with an expression of combined horror and fascination.

It didn't take long to realize why.

He was used to sleeping in the buff. It hadn't even occurred to him that he was completely naked when he'd leaped from his bed. His man parts were certainly not new to him.

They were, apparently, new to her.

Which, on the face of things, was good news—given her habit of kissing strange men.

But lord, he really had not intended to frighten her.

Certainly not on their wedding day.

He hunched down, so his dangly bits were somewhat obscured by the wolfhound, and her attention flickered to Alexander's face. Her jaw hung slack. She swallowed. With great effort.

He should say something.
I'm sorry
. Or
Forgive the intrusion
. Or
No, it's not usually quite so dangly
. But he found he couldn't find the words. Even if he could have found them, he couldn't have formed them.

So he settled for a quick bow and, holding Brùid at a fortuitous angle, backed from the room.

Not a promising start to their union.

Not promising at all.

*   *   *

Oh. Holy. God.

Hannah stared at the door as it closed behind her betrothed.

Her
naked
betrothed.

He'd been utterly unaware of his nudity, like Adam in the garden, beautiful, perfect … enormous. As he'd leaped across the room and wrangled his hellhound, her gaze had been locked on one thing, and one thing only.

Enormous.

A shiver rippled through her.

She knew much about animal husbandry. She'd read several books on the topic. She'd seen horses mating. She'd listened in when the matrons of Ciaran Reay thought she could not hear their whispers. She felt as though she was somewhat educated on the topic. She knew how things
worked
. But
that
had shocked her.

For one thing, the sheer size of it …

No matter how she wrapped her mind around it, she couldn't imagine how it would … fit.

The other thing that shocked her was the scalding sizzle of heat that had settled in her belly. The force of it had weakened her knees, sent her pulse to pounding, made her mouth go dry.

It was all the feelings she'd had upon kissing him … and more.

Was this what lust felt like? True lust? Not the girlish excitement of a quick kiss but a rampaging fire that threatened to consume her from within?

Visions of being tangled in those long, lean limbs, of being touched by him, wrapped in his arms, swirled through her mind and the heat rose again, prickling at her temples. She gusted out a breath and her head went light.

Nerid issued a plaintive cry, recalling her to the moment. She reached up and lifted him down from the mantel, holding him close and calming him. Though they both shook, it was for very different reasons.

She wasn't certain if she should be excited or afraid.

But she did know one thing.

She was very glad she wasn't marrying Olrig.

*   *   *

Her opinion on the matter shifted slightly when, less than an hour later, she received another letter from Dunnet. That it was delivered by his gloomy factor didn't help.

Please prepare yourself,
it said.
The wedding shall take place forthwith.

Hannah's teeth clenched. She was really beginning to hate that word.

“Everything is in place, my lady,” Fergus said with something that might pass as a smile. “The priest is here—and sober.” What that meant she had no clue. “And the laird is awaiting you in the chapel.”

Hannah blinked. “Now?”

“Oh, aye, my lady. Now.”

Well, for heaven's sake.
She wasn't even dressed. At least, not for a wedding. Although, as this was a marriage of convenience, a mere sealing of houses, that hardly mattered. She thrust the letter back at him. “Some warning would have been nice.”

Fergus' brow rumpled. “Some warning, my lady?” His tone made his meaning clear.
Were you not aware the purpose of your visit was a wedding?

Hannah set her hands on her hips. Had Dunnet given her the courtesy of a word or two, she wouldn't have been so exasperated. He'd been naked in her room once today after all. He could have said something.

Aside from which, she was not marrying the man until her concerns about the union were addressed. Surely her delay had nothing to do with the trepidation that lashed her whenever she recalled the vision of him—his … member dancing around—as he hauled his hound back into his room.

As fascinating as that glimpse of his naked body had been—and as curious as she was to know what making love with him would be like—she was not consummating this marriage until she had a face-to-face conversation with him.

With actual words and everything.

And on the topic of his hound … would they sleep with him? Every night?

Hannah didn't savor the thought.

Another question to ask Alexander, no doubt.

“Please tell Dunnet I wish to speak with him.”

The factor's lips moved, but no sound issued forth. Mutely he handed her the letter once more.

With a snarl Hannah ripped it in half.

He watched the scraps flutter to the ground, his horror intimating she'd just shredded something akin to the Magna Carta. His throat worked. “I, ah … The laird awaits your…” He trailed off and pointed to the parchment on the ground. “Why did you do that?”

“I'm tired of letters from him,” Hannah snapped. “I would like to speak to him.”

Why Fergus blinked, like a bemused owl, was a mystery.

“People do speak to him.…”

“Ah … Nae. Not really.”

“Nae?” She narrowed her eyes. “He's the laird of the manor. How can he manage business without speaking to his people?”

Numbly, Fergus bent down and picked up the scraps of paper, holding them out. Apparently, he felt this was answer enough.

“Oh, bother.” Hannah took the pieces and shoved them in her pocket. Not that she'd read them later. She'd never read another letter from Dunnet again.

She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed Fergus with a recalcitrant glare. “I willna marry a man with whom I have yet to share a conversation.”

His lips flapped. “But-but … everything has been arranged.”

“Then unarrange it. And notify Dunnet we will wed when and only when I decide we shall suit.”

It was clear her adamant stance was not appreciated. Hannah didn't care. Dunnet might as well understand from the very start that he was marrying a strong and stubborn woman. One who couldn't be bullied into doing something she did not wish to do. And she would not be rushed.

With no remorse Hannah closed the door on the sputtering factor.

She would be married when she was damn good and ready, and not an instant sooner.

*   *   *

Where was she?

Please God, let her not have changed her mind.
He couldn't bear it. He couldn't.

Ignoring the impatient and rustling crowd—all of his people had crowded into the small chapel to see him wed—Alexander paced, running a finger around his collar. Why the hell was it so tight?

He was racked with worry that she would back out or delay the proceedings or—given the expression on her face at the sight of his naked form—run in horror. He could only hope she hadn't seen the scars on his back.

He shot a glare at Andrew, who shrugged, and then, for good measure, Alexander glared at Father Pieter, whom he caught taking another nip from his flask.

If she didn't arrive soon, the clergyman would be insensate. He was already starting to list to the side.

Please God, let her hurry.

Immediately upon dressing in formal kilt—which included his jacket, waistcoat, hose, ghillie brogues,
sgian dubh
, and formal sporran—he'd rushed downstairs and issued a flurry of orders for the wedding ceremony and the subsequent celebration dinner. When all was in place, he'd sent the note to Hannah notifying her that the time for their wedding was nigh.

Not that he was anxious to have it done, but he was.

He had so wanted this day to go smoothly, but from the instant he'd awakened, much later than he'd intended, it had been a disaster. He hoped this wasn't an omen regarding the success of their marriage.

But it probably was.

Fergus had been gone far too long in fetching her; it made his hackles rise. Made sweat pop out on his brow. Made his throat close.

He had no idea why.

Perhaps it was because he'd never felt such … was that desperation?

Odd, that.
He'd always stood strong and faced the world alone. Never wanted or needed anyone, aside from Andrew. Now that Alexander's marriage was imminent, he found his wish to acquire her lands had been supplanted by something deeper. Certainly, he deeply desired
her
, but beyond that, he found he no longer wanted to stand alone. He craved a partner by his side. He craved her by his side.

Except, of course, that she wasn't here.

He growled at Father Pieter when he pulled out his flask once more. The priest paled and slipped it back into his pocket.

Alexander was about to spin on his heel and storm to her chambers and demand—
demand
—she attend her own wedding when Fergus appeared in the doorway with a pained expression on his face.

Alexander sent him a speaking glare. It said,
Where is she?
and, to his horror, Fergus shrugged. With a narrow-eyed glance at Andrew, Alexander hastened to the back of the chapel. “Well?” he barked. A trickle of remorse flitted through him at Fergus' flinch, but it was only a trickle. Alexander was far too nervous to pay it any mind.

“My lord…” the factor began, and then he stopped to clear his throat.

Something in Alexander's gut clenched. That Fergus wasn't meeting his gaze made his skin go clammy. “Where is she?” he hissed.

“She, ah … She wishes to
speak
to you before the wedding.”

His blood went cold. “
Speak
to me?”
Holy hell.

Had she changed her mind?

As he followed Fergus back into the castle, his mind awhirl, a horrifying prospect occurred. Hannah was a delicate flower. A young, innocent girl. She'd arrived at a new home, to marry a man she barely knew—and promptly spotted him buck naked. No doubt that had been a shock.

No doubt he'd frightened her to death.

All he needed to do was reassure her, although how he might accomplish that without appearing like a stuttering idiot he didn't know. But now that she was here, now that he had seen her again, his conviction to have her as his wife had solidified.

It was not the only thing that had solidified.

Ever since he'd burst into her room, ever since her gaze had locked on to his cock, he'd been possessed by the memory of that brief kiss they'd shared. It was only natural for him to entertain thoughts of stealing another. To plot said theft.

Perhaps this was the time.

Perhaps he could ease her concerns about the earthy aspects of their marriage with actions rather than words.

He lifted his hand to knock on her door and then realized Fergus was still by his side. Ever since he'd been a boy, the factor had been there for him, his protector. But Alexander didn't want his protection now. He certainly didn't want any witnesses if this discussion didn't go well. He shot the man a frown; he paled, nodded, and backed away.

Once he was gone from sight, Alexander took a moment to collect his thoughts, steel his spine, and straighten his plaid. Once he was ready, he knocked.

The door opened immediately, as though she'd been standing there waiting. At the sight of her, his heart stalled and his throat tightened. She had this effect on him each and every time he saw her. God, she was so beautiful.

Her eyes widened, as though she was surprised to see him, which befuddled him, because she'd asked him to come. Then her gaze raked him. He liked to think that look in her eye was a glimmer of appreciation. “Dunnet,” she said. “You're … dressed.”

Aye. Dressed for a wedding.
He couldn't help but notice she was not.

“Lady … Hannah.” He bowed. “You wanted to … talk?”

She nodded briskly and opened the door wider, stepping back to allow him to enter. He did so and closed the door behind him. The click was deafening. It was not lost on him that he was in her bedchambers. His gaze flicked to the bed. It was slightly rumpled. That made him feel slightly rumpled as well.

This was not the time for his passion to rise.

It did.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, turning away to pace. “I know you are prepared to marry …
forthwith
.” He had no idea why she emphasized the word as she did. “But before we exchange our vows, I have some things that I need to say.”

He nodded, even as relief gushed through him.

She hadn't changed her mind.

And if she had things to say, he should probably stay silent. And listen.

“You and I need to have an understanding.”

“An … understanding?”

“Aye.” His hope was supplanted by a hint of disappointment when she said in a very businesslike tone, “We both know this is a marriage of convenience.”

His gaze snapped to her face. Ernest though her expression was, it lacked the dreamy, romantic tinge a groom might hope for. In fact, she set her chin and shot him a very unromantic glance.