Hannah and the Highlander (6 page)

BOOK: Hannah and the Highlander
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Beyond that, she couldn't thrust that kiss from her mind. Or, more to the point, the fact that he'd ended it so abruptly. Ended it and then reared back and stared at her with that
look
in his eye.

What had it been? Disgust? Revulsion?

Regardless, it made an uncomfortable heat prickle on her skin.
He
made heat prickle on her skin. And she didn't like it.

Papa made a good point about Dunnet's following, though. Of late there had been a rash of raids on the outlying crofts, reevers and thieves. It would be nice to have additional security in the upheaval caused by the Clearances to the west.
Damn Stafford anyway.

But how foolish would she be to marry him? A man who made her
feel
the way he did … when he saw her as no more than a chunk of land—

Beelzebub reared and Hannah's heart leaped into her throat. Madly she grasped at the reins to keep from being thrown, then sawed back to bring her mount under control. As Beelzebub danced, she glanced up and stilled. Something curled in her belly.

Three men on horseback blocked the road. They were men she did not know.

Hannah frowned. She'd spent her entire life here. She knew everyone, but there had been a flood of strangers coming to Reay of late, usually under the cover of night and usually up to no good.

As she calmed her mount, she felt for her dirk. When she found the hilt, tucked in her belt, her panic eased. If they were bent on mischief, at least she had a weapon.

“Who are you?” she called.

The largest one smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “It's her,” he said, and Hannah's unease flared again. “He said she'd come this way.”

He? He who?

“What do you want?” Hannah clenched her knees, telling Beelzebub to be ready to wheel and run. His muscles quivered. He whinnied and shook his head. His eyes rolled back toward her.

With a prickling at her nape Hannah glanced over her shoulder. Her heart dropped as two more men emerged from the woods behind her, effectively blocking her in.

And one of them was Niall.

Hannah narrowed her eyes and spun her horse around. She glared at Niall. “What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.

He tipped his head to the side and tsked in a manner that made irritation skitter up her spine. She hated being patronized, and tsking infuriated her. “Honestly, Hannah. Did I not warn you?”

“Warn me? What are you talking about?”

“I told you I was determined to have you.”

Oh lord in heaven above.
Hannah blew out a breath. “Niall, I'm not marrying you.”

“O' course ye will, girlie.” The man next to Niall smirked. “Ye could be a marchioness.”

“I doona give a whit for titles.”

“My father is a powerful man,” Niall said. “He will be a duke one day. And from all accounts, your da is weak. Ailing. He canna stop my father from taking what he wants. And he
wants
Reay.”

Niall edged closer, far too close for comfort. As his mount approached, Beelzebub danced restlessly. Hannah knew, if Niall didn't, Beelzebub hated to be closed in; he'd been known to attack horses that got too close. Still, she didn't warn Niall, because now that he'd moved there was an opening between the two men. Not a huge one, but enough for her to charge through if the chance presented itself.

“Papa is not weak.”

“He is. He's weak and he's old. And his forces are laughable. You know that croft that burned down last week?”

Hannah stilled. The fire had been a tragedy. The family who lived there had not escaped. Husband, mother, and child had perished in the blaze. “What about it?”

Niall's response was an oily smile. “Such a pity.”

“Are you saying
you
caused that fire?” Horror curled in her gut.

“And the cattle that have been disappearing? With regularity?”

A cold fist gripped Hannah's heart. Prickles rose on the back of her neck.
Bloody hell. Was it him? Was it all him?

“It will only get worse, Hannah, unless you marry me now. It would be a damn shame if your granary caught fire. Or your sister … disappeared.” He leaned closer. His fetid breath gusted over her face. “Or if your poor da should take a tumble.”

Hannah's skin went clammy. Sweat beaded on her brow. The thought of Papa, Lana, Susana or Isobel in danger appalled her. “You are a bastard,” she snarled.

He had the temerity to look put out. “Is that any way to speak to your husband?”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Niall. How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not marrying you!”

“You will, actually. In fact, if that bastard Dunnet hadn't interfered in Barrogill, we'd be married already.”

Not hardly.

Niall glanced around at his men. They all urged their mounts closer. “We're here to make sure of that. Today. You might as well make this easy on us. Come along peacefully.” He flicked his reins and his horse eased forward. Beelzebub nickered and pawed the dirt, but Niall was oblivious. Niall was a fool.

Without warning he grabbed for her, fisting her sleeve. She lunged back and the sound of tearing fabric rocketed through the glen.

Fury raged. She made a sound. Something like a snarl.

This was her favorite dress.

He leaned in again, to make another attempt to get hold of her, but Hannah whipped out her dirk and swiped at him. He lurched out of range, but at the same time Beelzebub did what he'd been wanting to do for a while and nipped at Niall's horse's rump. The beast wheeled away with a scream. The momentum, and Niall's wild lunge, knocked him from his seat. He fell into the dirt with a warbled curse.

Hannah saw her chance—a wide berth through which she could charge—and she took it. With a feral growl she hunkered down over Beelzebub's neck and surged forward, through the breach. The man who had been beside Niall made a grab for her as she passed, but Hannah saw his hand coming and met it with the swipe of her dirk.

She didn't tarry to see what damage she had done. She set her heels and gave Beelzebub rein. The men followed her, of course. She could hear the pounding of the hooves twining with their furious shouts, but no horse could outrun Beelzebub, so she quickly outpaced them.

No doubt, her fury gave her wings.

Beyond all that, outrage boiled in her veins.

Niall thought to make a show of her father's weakness in an attempt to force her hand? Making her people suffer to bring her to heel? Aside from the fact that she would die before submitting to such a man, Hannah hungered for the opportunity to thwart him.

This land belonged to
her
, not the Marquess of bluidy Stafford or his son.

And damn them to hell!
How dare he try to kidnap her and force her into marriage? This act of outright villainy must not go unanswered.

But what could they do? Theirs was a small holding amongst small holdings. Their overlord, the Duke of Caithness, didn't give a fig about their well-being. They could send a plea to him or to the Prince Regent himself, but Hannah doubted either would bother to respond. The English thought the Scots all savages anyway.

Standing alone against Stafford was no longer an option, either. This much was clear. Her father had many fine men beneath his banner, but not nearly enough to fight Stafford. Not even enough to scare him.

It was up to Hannah to protect her people from further incursions. The only way to do that was to unite with a man who would give Stafford pause.

And only one such man, amongst the legion of her suitors, came to mind.

So he only wanted her for her land.

So he was dour and rude.

It no longer mattered.

When she arrived at the castle, she leaped from the saddle and tossed the reins to Rory, then she stormed into her father's office. He stared at her with his mouth agape; his gaze settled on her shredded neckline and then flicked to her tousled hair. “Hannah? What happened?”

“Send a missive to Dunnet at once,” she commanded before her courage fled. “Tell him I have accepted his suit and intend to marry him with all haste.”

She didn't imagine her father's lips quirked into a smile. Then again, he didn't bother to hide it.

 

CHAPTER
FOUR

So. Damn. Satisfying.

Alexander brought his sword down on his opponent's with a resounding clang that echoed through the meadow. The blades tangled and then the other man's arm weakened; his stance collapsed. He whirled and came at Alexander from another angle, but he was ready for him and blocked the strike.

And then Alexander advanced, battering the brigand with one hard whack after another, driving him back. The man stumbled over a hummock and fell on his arse, his weapon clattering to the ground. He stared up at Alexander with his eyes wide. Desperation flickered over his features. It was clear he was convinced the end was nigh. But Alexander didn't intend to kill him—though he deserved it. He just wanted to teach the blighter a lesson.

Alexander tossed his sword to the side and wrenched the man up by his collar.

“Stop,” he said, handing a blow to the man's midsection. “Stealing.” Another blow. “My cattle.” With a final punch, this time to a pointy chin, he let the man go. He tumbled into the dirt and lay there, moaning.

“Well,” a too-chipper voice came from behind Alexander. “That was fun to watch.”

Alexander whirled, his blood still high. He'd been furious to ride up on yet another raid in progress, determined to make a statement here and now.

Dunnet lands and people would be protected with ferocity.

He frowned at his brother. “You could have helped.”

Andrew shrugged and set his hand on the hilt of his sword. His
sheathed
sword. His blue eyes twinkled; his dimples danced. “You were having too much fun. I dinna want to ruin it for you.” His grin was slightly crooked, and mischievous. It usually was.

They were like two sides of a coin, the brothers, Alexander dark and silent and Andrew bright and lighthearted. His face was chiseled like a Greek sculpture, flawless in every respect, and his hair, a startling shock of white, caught every lady's eye. Though they were both big men, well-muscled and strong, with the blood of ancient Norsemen coursing through their veins, Andrew had gotten all the good looks in the bargain.

Alexander should resent him for the ease with which he breezed through life, but he couldn't. The bastard was too damn charming for anyone to begrudge him his gifts. Also, he was the only family Alexander had in the world and he loved him so much it made his chest ache sometimes.

Hiding his sudden swell of emotion, he bent and picked up his sword, wiping off the dirt. “Well, thank you for nothing,” he grumbled.

“It wasn't nothing. It was an enormous sacrifice.” Andrew blinked innocently. “Do you have any idea how much it cost me to exert such restraint? I would have loved to trounce that bastard.”
Aye.
Andrew did love swordplay. And trouncing people. It was something of a sport for him. “But I let you have the pleasure.”

“Again, thank you?”

“You needed the distraction.”

Alexander set his teeth. “What do you mean?”

“Seriously?” Andrew barked a laugh. “Ever since you returned from Barrogill you've been a bear.”

He had been. Even more surly than usual. “I've been … preoccupied.” Since he'd sent his offer to Magnus, he'd had one thing and one thing only on his mind.

Hannah.

He'd been lashed with dueling bouts of excitement and dread. She'd refused every man who'd offered for her hand. It was quite possible she could refuse Alexander as well. Now that he'd made up his mind about marrying her and adding the Reay lands to his holdings, he couldn't countenance the prospect that she might say no. Beyond that, he couldn't evict the memory of her sweet lips and her sweeter form.

And that kiss …

God in heaven above. That kiss.
Shivers skittered down his spine at the memory. Surely that boded well for his suit. It had nearly blinded him, the innocent passion in that simple buss. It bemused him still.

It wrapped him in the coils of fantasy and hope, battered him with thoughts about the ebony silk of her hair and how it would feel twined in his fist; or her rosy lips, or her amber eyes. Or her body, lush and full and oh, so soft.

She crept into his mind more often than he should allow.

Especially at night, when all his work had been dispensed with, when he lay in the cold clutch of his enormous bed … alone. He thought of her. Dreamed of her. And at those times, the desire within him rose.

And discipline evaded him.

Even the fear that she could reject him didn't dampen his obsession.

She might say no, but she might say yes. The prospect thrilled him to the core.

“Aye. You have been preoccupied,” Andrew said. His expression sobered. He looked away. “Hopefully you will hear back soon.”

“I hope so.” The wait was untenable.

The man on the ground stirred and then, with a leery glance at Alexander, scurried away. The two brothers watched as he ran.

“Should we chase him down?” Andrew asked.

Alexander responded with a shake of his head, “Nae. Let him run. Let him return to Olrig and explain why he has arrived empty-handed.” Let Olrig know the Laird of Dunnet would no longer tolerate these petty attempts to needle him.

“Do you think Olrig is behind this?”

“Aye.” Indeed, since their heated altercation in Barrogill conditions on the border had deteriorated. As though Olrig had given orders to pester him into submission.

The bastard should know better.

Alexander would not be pestered. Or cowed. Or bullied into joining Olrig's coalition of lairds. He could not be compelled to commit what was, in his mind, treason against his overlord.

BOOK: Hannah and the Highlander
10.56Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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