Lana and the Laird (14 page)

Put like that, he felt like a worm. Or maybe it was something more that crawled through his gut with a sizzle of chagrin. A bone-deep remorse that this was how she saw him.

“I would sooner throw it back into the sea than give it to a man who is bent on destroying the lives of everyone I love.”

Panic wrapped cold fingers around his soul and squeezed. He could not lose the piece. Not now. Not after all his anguish. After years of pain. Certainly not after this dizzying waft of hope. He
needed
it. It was a matter of life and death. And more. “I could just take it.” He did not know from where the words sprang, unless it was the well of his desperation.

She turned to him with an expression of resolute certitude, and smiled. A smile that gutted him … like a fish. “You willna.”

“How can you be so sure?” Nearly a whisper.

“Your mother told me you are a man of honor. And a man of honor wouldna stoop to such villainy.”

Hell.

All his venal intentions crumbled like a sandy cliff beneath the crash of the sea. Something not unlike amusement nudged him. He fought back a laugh because, frankly, the situation did not call for one. But seriously, the woman had no shame. He had no idea why he found her enchanting. But he did. “You, Miss Dounreay, do not play fair.”

She fluttered her lashes. “Life is unfair.”

“Yes. It is at that.” If life were fair, parents would not die before their time. Children would not be raised by uncaring uncles. A man would not be denied something as simple as love.

If life were fair, he would not be compelled to renovate a castle he deplored, would not be haunted every night by the specters of the dead.

If life were fair, maybe there could have been something between them. Something lasting. Something real.

He flicked a glance at Lana, skewered by her expectant expression. He couldn't give her what she really wanted, but he would give her what he could. His chin firmed. “Yes,” he said. “I will speak to the people and listen to their stories.”

“And visit the villages and crofts that have been cleared?”

“Yes.”

“And you will ask yourself if that is what your father would have wanted?”

Ah. A much more painful promise. “Yes.”

“And when you have done that, when you've done all that … you will reconsider your decision?”

“I will.” In exchange for the shard.

The irony was, if he could reunite the cross and break the curse, there would be no need for him to clear the land at all.

The light in her eyes made him weak at the knees. At the same time, it filled him with trepidation, because he knew, in the end, he would likely disappoint her. Given what he knew of the Clearances, given what his fellow lords had told him, things were not as dire as she seemed to think. Tales had been carried and embroidered by disgruntled crofters. The Clearances were nothing more than simple and legal evictions.

Ah, but she seemed so happy. So hopeful and trusting. He had to add, to cushion the inevitable blow when it came, “But I can make no promises that I will change my mind, Miss Dounreay. I make no promises at all.” Because, in truth, he couldn't. A man in his position couldn't afford promises.

He needed the money.

It was a pity the Rosslyn Treasure had disappeared centuries ago—if it had ever been more than a legend. It would have come in handy about now.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

After dinner, the ladies retired and Dunnet invited Lachlan to his study for a drink. Lachlan agreed, because he really wanted to strengthen their bond of friendship and they did have some unfinished business … but damn, had he known that Dunnet's study was in the turret tower, he might have suggested the library instead. By the time they reached the top of the winding staircase, his thighs ached. Still, the view from the windows was inspiring. From that eyrie, he could see far and wide.

Dunnet took him for a walk around the battlements, pointing out landmarks to the south and east, though it was too dark to see much of anything. They followed the flagstone path around the tower to the north side and inspected the view of the water as well. Then they sat by a crackling fire and enjoyed a dram or two of Lochlannach whisky.

Dunnet was a peaceful companion, because he didn't speak much, which was nice; it gave Lachlan some time to process what had happened at dinner. Indeed, this day had been eventful. In one fell swoop, he'd met the woman of his dreams, learned his mother might not have killed herself, and discovered a piece of the elusive cross. One revelation after another, as though God had saved them up for this one day. It was almost more than he could fathom.

At the forefront of his mind, however, was Lana herself. Somehow she eclipsed all else. Her gift was astounding in and of itself, but there was much more to her that fascinated him. Her smile, her temerity, her courage.

Her lips, her breasts, her hair …

Her scent. Her taste.

He knew it was wrong of him to want her the way he did, to entertain thoughts of seduction. Hell, she was Dunnet's ward and a maiden. And he was a duke with a curse that made said seduction inexcusable. But while he could never act on his desire, there was no harm in
thinking
about it. Imagining it. Playing it through in his head, over and over again.

No harm at all. Except that it made him hard. In Dunnet's study.

Lachlan forced his thoughts away from the tantalizing images of Lana Dounreay splayed on his bed, and focused on the business he had with Dunnet, business he needed to address. It was almost a pity to ruin the peace between them with such an unpleasant subject, but Lachlan needed to know.

He sucked in a breath and bleated his question into the silence, then cringed at his lack of finesse. “So, Dunnet, have you made your decision? About clearing your land?”

The baron glanced at Lachlan and then sighed and scrubbed his face. “Aye. I have. My wife and I discussed it and, I am sorry to say, I canna comply with your order.”

Hell.
Not what he'd wanted to hear, although Lachlan was hardly surprised. It was in keeping with Dunnet's person. Now that he knew him, Lachlan heartily wished he hadn't issued the ultimatum he had, because now he had no choice. He would have to strip Dunnet of his office. And evict him from his home.

From his expression, Dunnet understood this. Yet still, he clung to his principles.

One had to respect that, though it ignited a wave of regret within his breast. “I am sorry to hear that.”

Dunnet, unaccountably, flashed him a smile. “I have faith you will change your mind.”

Lachlan chuckled, though it was a halfhearted attempt. “I cannot.”

“You did promise Lana to reconsider.”

“Yes. I did.” He took another sip of the excellent whisky.

“Do you intend to keep that promise?”

“I do. I shall … reconsider.”

Dunnet studied him and then nodded his head. “I see.” Based on his expression he did. The disappointment in Dunnet's eyes scoured him.

“I was thinking,” his host said gustily, as he refilled both their glasses. “Perhaps I could take you on a tour of my lands tomorrow.”

“I would like that.” He'd enjoyed his tour of the castle grounds. It had been a delight to see a well-run estate.

“I can show you some of the improvements we've made and those we are planning. Improvements that will increase revenues over time.” No doubt, that glimmer in his eye bespoke Dunnet's confidence these “increased revenues” could be alternatives to the Clearances. Given Dunnet's competence as a manager, no doubt they would. Pity Lachlan didn't have the luxury of time.

“And then,” Dunnet continued, “I thought I could take you on a tour of Olrig's borderlands. It should be interesting to compare the two.”

Lachlan lifted a brow. “You believe I will see a difference?”

“I know you will.” Dunnet's expression darkened. “Olrig has been clearing his land. You will have the chance to see what that looks like. What
all
your lands will look like if you continue on this course. No doubt this will satisfy Lana.”

He nodded to Dunnet, thankful that he was willing to provide the opportunity to fulfill his promise. But that wasn't all. Curiosity coiled through him. According to Campbell, the Clearances were a simple matter of legal evictions. Lachlan wasn't sure why Dunnet's tone was so grim, but it certainly made him want to see the effects of this policy with his own eyes. Maybe then he would understand why so many of his barons refused to comply with his orders. If he understood their reasons, he would have a better chance of changing their minds.

Aside from that, he had made a promise to Lana. The least he could do was honor it. The vision of her face, upturned to his, expectant, trusting, wove through his mind, and his gut tightened.

Yes. He would approach this with the honor she seemed so convinced he possessed. He would go on this tour with Dunnet on the morrow, and he would seriously reconsider his plans.

He would.

It was a shame the outcome would not be what she hoped. What they all hoped.

By mutual consent, they both dropped the topic of the Clearances and went on to speak of other things—Dunnet's experiences growing up under his uncle's thumb, the challenges of his barony, and his romance with Hannah—the latter of which had Lachlan chuckling more than once. Dunnet spoke of his brother, Andrew, as well, and he did so with more than a thread of affection. Lachlan had never had a brother, a fact he'd always lamented. It occurred to him that if he'd been lucky enough to have a sibling, he might want one like Andrew. Or Dunnet himself.

They were both fine men.

He listened with half an ear as Dunnet rambled on—quite garrulous for such a reserved man—describing with enthusiasm a proposal he and his wife had devised, the one he was certain would increase revenues over time. It was Dunnet's assertion that if all the barons in Caithness County banded together and formed a guild, sharing their resources and supporting one another in the leaner times, they could create a powerful and profitable coalition.

It was a pity, really, that in Lachlan's experience, Scotsmen didn't work well together. They tended to bicker. Over pigs and cows even. But he listened and nodded and asked questions when he thought they were pertinent. He was careful not to be too encouraging. He wouldn't want Dunnet to be even more disappointed when all came to naught.

Funny how that had happened. How he'd come to care what Dunnet thought. What they all thought. This entire day, especially this evening, Lachlan had experienced an odd sense of belonging. Of friendship. Of warmth.

He enjoyed it greatly, but he knew it was a fleeting illusion.

Dunnet, his wife, and his wife's sister would hate him when he announced his decision and executed his plan.

Why that made him loath to do so was hardly a mystery.

He would have liked things to be different.

He would have liked to belong.

It was rather late before the conversation broke up and they headed down the winding stairs to the castle proper. Lachlan had a warm feeling in his chest—and not all of it was from the excellent whisky.

He'd been right about Dunnet. This was a man he could trust. A man he could count on. It was a damn shame he needed the money the Clearances would bring him as badly as he did. He would have liked very much to keep Dunnet as a baron.

His heart was heavy as he returned to his chambers. The suite Dunnet had allotted him was indeed fine, even nicer than his own suite in Caithness Castle.

The accommodations were lush, including a grand bedchamber with a sprawling four-postered bed, a parlor done up in velvet, and an enormous privy, complete with a claw-footed brass tub. These rooms had once been Dunnet's uncle's.

He must have hated his uncle indeed, to have eschewed them for less grand accommodations. But after what Dunnet had told him tonight, and after Lana's disdain for the man when they'd chatted in the library, it was understandable.

He and Dunnet had that in common, Lachlan reflected. Both of them had been orphaned at a young age and raised by uncaring relatives. But at least Colin hadn't tormented Lachlan the way Dermid had tormented Dunnet. Though his baron hadn't been explicit in their conversation, the vague inferences and the shadowed expressions as he'd talked of his childhood spoke volumes.

Dougal was waiting for Lachlan in the parlor, holding a toddy on a slaver and frowning mightily. “Where have you been?” he snapped, almost sounding like an outraged wife.

Lachlan dropped into the chair by the fire. “Dunnet and I had a drink.”

Dougal's brows lowered. “I looked for you.” With something like a pout, he thrust out the toddy, and Lachlan took it, although he set it on the table as he unwound the plaid and unbuttoned his shirt. He thought about mentioning Lana's revelation about his parents' deaths to Dougal, but decided against it. The emotions were far too raw and he was too fatigued for the discussion it would, no doubt, incite.

“We were in Dunnet's study.” He held out a leg; Dougal tugged off one boot and then the other.

“His study?”

“In the turret tower.”

“Bah.” Dougal's expression soured even more. “How like a Scot.”

Something sizzled and spat in his gut; he did not care for Dougal's tone in the least. “Have a care, Dougal. You are a Scot as well. As am I.”

“Never say it.” Dougal handed him his nightshirt and collected the discarded clothes. He held the kilt with two fingers as though it were infested with lice. “Having lived so long in London, I must say, I find it difficult to understand these savages.”

“Odd that.” Lachlan picked up the toddy and took a sip. His nose curled. Dougal's toddies tended to be strong. “If things had been different, we would have spent all our lives here.”