Hannah and the Highlander (28 page)

“You bested us all in the pursuit of the elusive Hannah Dounreay,” Olrig said, lifting his tankard and taking a healthy snort. A splash landed on his tunic, but he barely noticed.

Alexander frowned. His uncle had been a deep drinker, and Alexander had never cared for the trait in other men. Aside from which, Olrig looked very much like Dermid, from his portly silhouette, to his reddened, bulbous nose, to his narrow, mean eyes. Alexander forced his attention elsewhere.

Niall took a healthy quaff as well. “Aye. Snagged the prize, as it were.” His gaze flitted to Hannah and he proffered a reptilian smile. “Oh, and the
lovely
Hannah, as well.”

Alexander's hackles rose at the implication that the lands were worth more than the woman. He hated that Hannah flinched at the insult. It wasn't true.
She
was the true prize here. But he said nothing. His ire was too high for him to speak with any prudence. Aside from which, his throat was clogged with irritation. Instead he tightened his arm around her in a show of support and affection. He drew his thumb along her shoulder to make his point. She glanced up at him and he smiled down at her. And then, because he couldn't not, he kissed her. Gently. Briefly. Reverently. On the brow.

“You know, it's odd that you should arrive just now,” Scrabster said into the breach. “We were just talking about you, Dunnet.”

“Were you?”

“Aye.” Olrig motioned for another drink. “You know, you and Bower, and Dounreay of course, are the only lairds who havena joined with the other barons.”

Alexander glowered at him. “This is not the time to discuss politics,” he said.

“Ach
,
bah! Because your
bride
is here?” Olrig shot a belligerent look at Hannah. “She can sit there and be silent as men discuss their business, as all good wives should.”

Olrig really was an ass. And a fool. If he didn't sense Hannah's growing annoyance, Alexander did. He stroked her arm in hopes of calming her. It would probably be awkward if she grabbed one of the forks on the table and stabbed a baron. Which, judging from the glimmer in her eye, she seemed wont to do.

“Dunnet is right,” Niall said with a glance around the room. “We shouldna talk about
that
right now.” He leaned in and added, “There are far too many ears.”

Aye, and their plot to betray Caithness amounted to treason.

“But these are changing times,” Scrabster said. “It behooves us to change along with them.”

“Aye. But there are right ways. And there are wrong ways.” Alexander's gaze fell on Niall. “Clearances, for example.” He shouldn't have brought it up. With the exception of Bower, the men around the table bristled.

Niall frowned. “Clearances improve the land.”

“At what cost?”

“At what gain?” Olrig bellowed. “Stafford has cut the deadweight and brought in a profitable business.”

“At the cost of his crofters and tacksmen. At the cost of his vassals.”

“Bah! That is the old way of seeing things.”

“It is the Scottish way,” Hannah snapped. The men glared at her interruption.

“Stafford's efforts have been so successful, I've begun doing the same with my lands,” Olrig said.

Alexander gored him with a glower. He shrank back. “I know,” Alexander snapped. “Where do you think your refugees turn?”

Olrig smirked. “More fool you, for taking them in.”

“He is hardly a fool for showing mercy,” Hannah said.

“He's a fool for resisting the inevitable,” Scrabster rejoined. “It is going to happen. Both Stafford and Caithness want it. So let it happen. These Improvements are a chance to make more money. For ourselves. For our laird.”

“A chance to decimate our land.”

Niall shrugged. “It's only a few sheep.”

Hannah bristled. “Nae. It is more than a few sheep. It is murder.”

“Murder?” Scrabster chortled. He lifted his cup. He was clearly deep in it.

Hannah appeared stalwart and strong, but Alexander could feel the tremble of her hand on his arm. “It is the murder of our people. The murder of our way of life.” Her voice was cold and clear.

“Bah.” Olrig stood. He teetered to the side. “This conversation is pointless. And I need to take a piss.”

Hannah flinched at his vulgarity. When she met Alexander's gaze, he could see her thoughts in them. Though they had rooms for the night at the inn, he had no desire to stay here. Not with those men in residence. And he sensed Hannah felt the same. The evening had been ruined. “Perhaps we should go home,” he murmured.

She nodded. “Aye.”

He whistled to Brùid, who scrambled to his feet and loped to Alexander's side. He riffled his fingers through the hound's fur and tried to calm himself. As unpleasant as this altercation had been, he had no desire to carry this bile with him.

Bower rose with them and walked them to the door. “I'm verra sorry about that,” he murmured, bowing to Hannah.

“It's all right,” she said with a smile.

Alexander clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You had no way of knowing, but there is bad blood between the lot of us.”

“Still, I fear I have ruined your wedding trip.” Chagrin wracked his countenance.

Hannah trilled a laugh. “Never say it. It has been a lovely day.”

“You must let me lend you my carriage. It is a long ride back to Dunnet on horseback.”

Alexander glanced at Hannah. He could ride the rest of the way with no problem; he knew this land like the back of his hand. But she was tired. Besides which, a carriage ride would allow for … tangling. At least of some sort. “I would appreciate that. Thank you, Bower.”

“Excellent. I will arrange it.” Bower shot him a relieved smile, and together Alexander and Hannah stepped outside.

The stable yard was quiet and cool after the cacophony of the inn. As they made their way to the stable, a noise from inside caught Alexander's attention. A snarl, a thud, and a yip.

At his side, Brùid stiffened. His hackles rose. A growl rumbled from his throat.

“Goddamn you!” a yell wafted from the stable, along with a pained howl.

And ah, Alexander's hackles rose as well. It was a collection of sounds he'd heard before. Hannah called after him as he sprinted toward the broad open doors, with Brùid at his heel. Alexander's muscles tightened as he took in the scene, though he'd known. He'd already known what he'd find.

Olrig, drunk and red-faced, had cornered his dog in a stall and he was whipping her. Though the animal tried frantically to escape, the furious man would not allow it. One lash fell and then another. Olrig cackled with glee.

Aye, he was very like Dermid indeed.

Swamped with rage, the remnant of years of helplessness, Alexander lunged for him, grabbing his arm. Olrig snarled and lashed at Alexander's face with the whip. The pain barely registered.

“You bastard,” he growled.

Olrig growled back and hit him again and again.

With a hair-raising snarl, Brùid attacked. He lunged across the stable and tackled Olrig, knocking him to the ground. The bastard issued a shrill scream as Brùid planted his forepaws on Olrig's reedy chest and snapped and snarled at his face. Olrig lifted his fist and slammed it into Brùid's muzzle. The dog whimpered but didn't budge.

When Olrig lifted his fist again, this time clutching the handle of his whip, Brùid took his hand in his mouth and bit down. Olrig howled and writhed and then fumbled for something on his belt.

Though stunned to silence by the drama playing out before him, Alexander barked, “Brùid. Heel.”

With a glance back at Alexander, his dog whined and then released his prey.

Olrig reeled up; something glinted in his hand. Alexander saw the danger, even if his hound did not, but there was no time to warn his faithful friend before the blade came down hard, sinking deep into Brùid's shoulder.

To Alexander's horror, his dog fell.

Alexander's vision went red.

A memory assailed him. A memory of another man, another dog. Another time.

He launched himself at Olrig and, without thought, plowed his fist into the other man's fleshy face. Blood spattered as the man's nose crumpled beneath the blow. It was extremely satisfying. So satisfying, Alexander wanted to continue the pummeling.

Hannah's call reined him in.

It wouldn't do to kill the man before her very eyes.

He forced himself to retreat and bent down beside his panting dog. He was relieved to see the knife had glanced off his dog's ribs, but there was a long gash in his side. Brùid whined and winced as Alexander slipped the blade out.

“Dunnet, are you insane?” Olrig trilled. He fished for a handkerchief and blotted his nose.

Alexander glared at him, too furious to form words.

“You are a maniac.” Olrig turned to the grooms who had run to investigate the commotion. “He's a maniac. He set his dog on me. And then he hit me.” He turned to Alexander. “You broke my nose!” He struggled to his feet, gesturing to the onlookers. “You can see. You can see what he did!”

“Nonsense.” This from Hannah; the word dripped with disdain. “Alexander dinna set his dog on you, you cretin. And he only hit you after you pulled a knife.”

“Shut up, you whore.”

Ah.
Olrig was going to die. Alexander rose to his feet and stepped forward, the knife, providentially, fisted in his hand.

“Alexander.” Her voice was calm, composed, though there was a tremble of rage in it. It forced him to meet her gaze. “It doesna matter. What matters is Brùid, and the other poor creature this man has wounded.” She glowered at Olrig. The other dog, a bitch, was curled into a ball, quivering and staring at the men, wreathed in fear. “How dare you beat a helpless animal.”

“It's my dog. I do what I want,” Olrig had the gall to pronounce.

“She isna your dog anymore,” Alexander growled.

“What?”

Alexander's fists tightened around the knife. “Go. Go now.”

“But I—”

“I suggest you leave, if you want to walk away from this undamaged.” Hannah's fury was like a cold wind whipping through the stable.

It even seemed to sink through Olrig's cloud of outrage. He paled and then took a step back. And another.

“Go,” Alexander barked, and he did. He whirled and scampered from the stable, lucky to escape with all his body parts attached.

*   *   *

With Bower's help, Alexander and Hannah bound the dogs' wounds and wrapped them both in blankets and eased them into the carriage as the grooms tied the horses' reins to the back of the conveyance. Alexander suggested an immediate departure was in order and Hannah agreed. For one thing, she wanted very much to put distance between herself and Niall. Aside from that, the altercation in the stable with that hideous man had soured her stomach and her concern for Brùid and the other sweet pup was high.

Thankfully, it wasn't a very long ride home. Still, Hannah worried that, with his wounds, Brùid would not make it. Neither she nor Alexander spoke much as the carriage made its way along the road to the north. Hannah, cradling the other dog in her lap, as Alexander cradled Brùid, cringed with each jolt.

The carriage was nearly in full dark before Alexander spoke a word. “I'm verra sorry for that.” She hated the anguished lilt to his tone.

“Sorry for what?” She didn't intend to speak so sharply, but mercy, he had done nothing wrong.

“I shouldna have lost my temper.”

She gave a snort. “I would have done a sight worse.” Flailed Olrig with his own whip, for one thing. She trembled with outrage for that poor helpless hound. It always infuriated her, the inequity of the world. That some men were so large and had so much power, while others suffered beneath their thumbs.

“I shouldna have lost my temper.” Alexander's sigh was audible. “Only weak men resort to violence.”

Her chest tightened, ached, at his desolation. “Nae. There is a difference between a man who chooses violence because it is the easy way and a man who uses violence because it is the
only
way. Today, it was the only way to get through to that savage.”

“But—”

“And beyond that, there is a difference between a man who uses violence to dominate weaker creatures and one who uses it to save them.” She petted the fur of the dog in her lap; the hound whined and nestled closer. “Can you see the difference, Alexander? Because I see it in you.”

“Thank you, Hannah.” He was silent for a long moment, then said gruffly, “I just regret—”

“You have nothing to regret. Nothing.”

“I shouldna have hit him.”

“He deserved it. What he did was heinous. But you stood up to him. I love that about you. You doona back down without a fight.”

He stilled. She could feel his pulsating energy, all the way across the carriage. “You … love that about me?”

Ah. Aye.
Dare she admit it? She did. And much more. “You are verra brave.”

He barked a harsh laugh.

“You
are
.” She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve.

Alexander was silent for a long while. Then he said rather softly, “He reminds me of my uncle. Perhaps that was why I lost my temper.”

“Or perhaps you lost your temper because he is an ass.”

He chuckled and fell silent again.

“Andrew … told me about your uncle.”
Oh dear.
Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned it. His retreat was cold and quick. “Not a lot,” she hurried to say. “Just that he was … not a pleasant man.”

Alexander snorted. “That's putting it mildly.”

“Was he…”
Oh.
Could she ask? Should she? But if they were ever to be close, she needed to know. She needed to know
him
. “Was he the one who gave you the scars on your back?”