Lana and the Laird (19 page)

“Yes, but at what cost?”

Dougal frowned. “At what gain? You need that money. Now. You doona have a choice.”

“Ah, but I do.” There was always a choice. Always. “Dougal, I want you to send out letters to all my barons.”

His lips worked. “Letters?”

“Direct them all to cease and desist all Clearances on Caithness properties at once.”

“What?” A bellow.

Lachlan didn't understand his cousin's distress over this pronouncement, or why his face went pale, but he didn't care. His mind was made up. “Send the letters.”

“But, Your Grace … The castle … The restoration…”

“It will have to wait.”

“It canna wait!”

“It will have to. If I cannot get it done, well…” A shrug. Who would care, really? When he was gone, there would be no more Dukes of Caithness to live there.

Dougal's eyes narrowed. “Have you gone mad?”

“Mad?” Perhaps he had. Finally. But if he had, he liked the way it felt. It was somehow freeing to release his hold on a rotting pile of stones, to allow his obligation to his long-dead ancestors to dry up and flutter away on the wind. To let all the Caithness dukes carry the weight of their own damnation for once.

“I think you need your medicine.” Dougal stormed for the door.

Before he reached it, Lachlan stopped him with a sharp, “No.” There would be no more laudanum. Not in this lifetime. Not so much as a sip. “I am quite resolved, Dougal. And I do not need more medicine. Send the missives at once.”

“Your Grace.” A hiss, slithering across the room. Lachlan didn't like his tone in the least. “Don't you see what has happened here? Because I see it. Clear as day.”

“Do you? And what is it you see?”

“You're being led by your cock.”

Lachlan reared back and stared at his cousin. What a foul thing to say.

“You arrive here and within a day of meeting
her
, your resolve has crumbled.”

“Nonsense. I went with Dunnet to Olrigshire. I saw the devastation. That is what convinced me I need to—”

“Do you no' think I know she has been seducing you?”

“What?”

“I
saw
you kiss her.”

Lachlan stilled. A fist clenched his gut. “You saw…?”

“Aye. Last night. I followed you.”

The little hairs on the back of his neck rose. “You
followed me
?”

At his snarl, Dougal lowered his eyes and threaded his fingers together. He adopted a conciliatory tone. “I was worried about you. I heard you call out. Suspected you'd had … that dream again.”

It wasn't a dream, it was a haunting, but Lachlan didn't bother to state the difference. He was still reeling with the knowledge that Dougal had followed him last night. He'd seen …

“I was worried about you, Your Grace. I know how you get after…” A shrug. “I know how dark your thoughts become. I worry that you might attempt…”

“Attempt what?”

Dougal flicked a look at him. Lachlan wasn't sure if it was a pitying glance or an assessing one. “The ultimate solution.”

Revulsion rocked him. Yes, he had, more than once, considered it, just stepping off the cliff as his father had. But he had not done it. That Dougal thought him capable of such an act was lowering. “You thought I was going to kill myself?”

“The possibility occurred to me.”

“So you followed me.”

“Aye.”

“Have you followed me before?”

Again, Dougal looked away. “Every night.”

Lachlan wasn't sure what disturbed him the most, the fact that Dougal had crept about Caithness Castle, prepared to keep him from flinging himself from the battlements, or the fact that Dougal had been so successful in his creeping, Lachlan had never noticed.

Regardless, he didn't like the prospect of being shadowed.

“Well, don't do it again.”

“Your Grace. This conversation is beside the point.”

“Is it?” He was the fucking duke. He decided what the fucking point was.

“You mustna allow her to lure you from your convictions.”

“Ah. My convictions.” And they were his. No one else's. He bore the onus of each and every choice. Not Dougal. Not anyone.

“To rebuild the castle,” Dougal said in a peevish tone, as though annoyed Lachlan needed reminding.

“The castle can rot.”

Dougal's nostrils flared. “But the Clearances … The money…”

He understood Dougal's chagrin. For so long Lachlan had been obsessed with restoring the castle, with acceding to the ghost's demands. But now things had changed.

Now everything had changed.

“Dougal, I cannot be the agent of death and destruction to Caithness County. No matter what happens, no matter what eternity holds for me. I am not clearing the land.” He turned away and headed for the door, possessed of a sudden urge to be free of his cousin's overbearing presence. But he stopped with his hand on the knob. “Oh, and Dougal?”

“Aye?”

“Doona follow me again.”

*   *   *

Lana sighed as she stared out the window at the velvet night with Nerid on her lap. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts of him.
Lachlan.

Dinner that night had been something of a celebration. All the denizens of Lochlannach Castle—living and dead—were delighted the duke had changed his mind about clearing the county. Crofters from all over the shire had brought in gifts of fowl, eggs, and grain in thanks. Morag and Una even resolved to work together on the meal, so it was splendid indeed.

The only one who hadn't seemed pleased by the turn of events was Dougal, but then Lana expected as much from Lachlan's dour cousin.

Throughout the meal, Lachlan shared tales of growing up in England with his uncle as his guardian. It had been sad to watch him speak about his time at Eton and Cambridge, where the other boys had treated him as an outcast. Though he glossed over some of the stories, she was sure there was more, judging from the shadows in his eyes.

Ah, but when he spoke of his passion—breeding and training horses—his face lit up. This was a topic that enlivened the entire table. Even Dunnet had joined in, and he and Lachlan had become embroiled in a discussion of ways they could crossbreed Dunnet's stock with Lachlan's and create a stable that would be all the rage at Tattersall's. After that, they went on to talk about other ideas Dunnet had for making the clachans more profitable. Lana had felt Lachlan's spirits rise as his excitement swirled. Perhaps there were ways other than sheep farming to raise the funds he needed.

Lana didn't contribute much to the conversation, and she tried not to glance at him so often, sitting there at the head of the table with a new, self-assured glow about him. When she did look at him, all she could think about was the kisses they'd shared, his touch, his whispers … and how she wanted more.

Glory, he was a magnificent man.

Not only did the sight of him in a kilt send shivers through her—not only was he strong and brave and beautiful—he'd been willing to see reason and change his mind about clearing the land. He'd given up his dream of restoring his castle in the bargain. She understood what a sacrifice that was for him, understood the depth of his despair at the decision, but he'd chosen the right course and he knew it. He was, indeed, a man of great moral fortitude, the noblest man she'd ever known and by far, the most handsome. She'd never met a man who moved her the way he did, and she doubted she ever would again.

But heavens, he was irritating.

As they'd tangled in the garden, her passion had risen, swamped her. She'd wanted nothing more than to give him everything, right then and there. And he had refused. Spouted some nonsense about his curse and a vow and how necessary it was that they
not
kiss again.

Ballocks.

She would kiss him again, and more, if she had the chance.

A moth batted against the window, trying desperately to reach the glow of the night lamp. Enslaved by its own perception of the world, it would likely die there, seeking the light. Lana put out the lamp.

Lachlan was like that, she reflected. Battering incessantly against a window to reach a light that was not the sun he thought it was. So certain he was doomed to die. So certain he was cursed. While she knew there were no such things as curses, she also knew that beliefs held so tightly tended to become self-fulfilling prophecies.

If Lachlan continued on this same course, she had no doubt he would die on the eve of his thirtieth birthday, simply because he expected himself to do so. If he allowed this “curse” to control his life, he
was
doomed.

She couldn't allow that. Couldn't bear it. The thought of a world without his presence made her heart ache. She would do whatever she could to save him from that fate, to release him from the prison that held him. She wasn't sure how she would accomplish this—he did seem to be a man who stubbornly clung to his beliefs and adhered to his oaths. But he'd changed his mind about the Clearances. This gave her hope she could help him see the truth about his ridiculous curse as well. She resolved to do so.

Now, more than ever, Lana was determined to help him in any way she could. If she could convince him of the ridiculousness of this curse, the more the better.

Her determination didn't stem solely from altruistic motivations.

Nae. There was another desire lurking in her heart of hearts.

Well, perhaps not lurking as much as raging, like a firestorm.

She wanted him. His kisses, certainly, but she wanted even more. His body, his heart, his soul. Whatever he was willing to give.

In that moment she made a rash decision, a resolution, in fact.

She would have Lachlan Sinclair. Seduce him if she needed to, whether he wanted to be seduced or not.

And damn the consequences.

Damn his curse.

*   *   *

Lachlan didn't drink the toddy Dougal brought that night. For one thing, he was still reeling with an exquisite lightness of spirit, ignited by his momentous decision and the uplifting reaction of
his people
. He'd never felt so welcome in a place and he was loath to let go of the feeling, and he knew the toddy would muddy his thoughts. The other reason he eschewed the toddy was that he didn't want to sleep.

He slipped away, making certain Dougal didn't follow him, and crept down to the seawall. He was foolish, perhaps, hoping she would appear, hoping he could share another peaceful interlude with her. Although certainly not a kiss. But even if she wasn't there, he would enjoy the bracing sting of the wind blowing off the sea.

As he stared out at the swirling waters, he reveled in the view and in his certitude that he'd made the right choice. In fact, he'd never felt so right, so comfortable in his skin, so redeemed. It was a wonderful feeling.

A sound behind him captured his attention and his pulse lurched. Slowly he turned. His breath snagged as he caught sight of her.

For she had come.

He'd known she would, hoped she would.

“Lana…”

“Your Grace.” He loved the way her lips quirked. It made him want to cover them with his own.

“Call me Lachlan.”

Her eyes danced. “Och. I dare not call you Lachlan.”

He resisted the urge to put out a lip. She'd done so before—this afternoon in the garden, in fact. He very much liked the sound of his name on her tongue. He was possessed of images, fantasies, of Lana moaning his name in his ear as he buried himself in her—

But no. No.

With great effort, he reined in his errant imaginations and reminded himself that no matter how much he wanted her, it wasn't wise.

“You dare not?” He adopted her teasing tone in an attempt to keep things light.

“Should my sister hear me call you by your given name, there would be hell to pay.”

Lachlan barked a laugh. He hadn't been oblivious to Lady Dunnet's watchful eye. “She is rather intimidating.”

“And protective. She's convinced a man like you would take what he wants with no conscience.”

He swallowed. The thought had flittered through his mind. Once or twice. Or more. “I do have a conscience.”

“I know you do, Lachlan.” Ah, yes. He did love it, the sound of his name on her tongue. “You have proved as much. But Hannah has bidden me to have a care with you.”

“Has she?”

“Aye.” To his delight, she stepped into his arms, where she belonged. She stared up at him. Heat rocked through him. Lust rose; she rubbed against it.

His throat constricted. His hold on her tightened. The chained beast within him roared. Did she but know, he was not a man to tease. “I take it you didn't heed her advice.” He meant it as a smooth platitude but it came out as a croak.

“Ah, but I did.” She nestled closer, nudging his cock with her soft belly.

Lachlan's mind spun, his senses howled, urging him to lift her hem, rip off his kilt, and take her. It would be so easy, there was so little between them. But then, there were worlds between them.

She winked. “She told me to have a care with you.” Her fingers riffled over his chest, sending shimmers of sensation through him. “And I shall. Have a care.” Her lips touched his neck. “With you.”

Ah, God.
He shivered as her sweet tongue darted out and dabbed the sensitive spot behind his ear. Lust boiled in his veins, his resistance crumbled, but he felt the need to protest. At least a little. “We shouldna be doing this,” he murmured as his head descended.

“Nae. We shouldna.” She buried her nails in his nape and pulled him to her, took his mouth. Ah, but he gave it back.

And, God, she was entrancing. Her touch, her scent, the taste of her lips. He walked her back into the shadows of the castle, where no prying eyes could see.

*   *   *