Susana and the Scot (3 page)

He leaned on his sword and proffered an arrogant smile. “I'm Andrew,” he said, and her stomach clenched.
Ach.
She knew. She knew his name far too well. She'd cursed it often enough. “And you must be Susana?” he said in a silky voice. “Hannah told me you were lovely, but I had no idea how lovely you were.”

Was he even cockier now than he'd been as a boy?

Was that humanly possible?

She glared at him. “Why are you here?” she hissed.

He misunderstood the true meaning of her question and answered it at face value. “Because, Susana, you need our help. The raids on your lands have been increasing, and the neighboring lairds are getting more aggressive.”

Susana nearly growled. For one thing, the way he rolled the
s
's in her name sent a ripple of displeasure over her skin.

For another, she was damn tired of men and their posturing. From Stafford, the laird to the east who had been launching raids on their land, to Scrabster, the laird to the west, with similar outrages.

But the most galling by far, was this man. This cocky, smirking, arrogant peacock. A man who was far too handsome for his own good. A man who'd always had things his way. A man who took what he wanted and then, when he was done, tossed it aside for the next best thing.

Infuriating.

He took her silence as an invitation to continue, although it most certainly was not. “No doubt Stafford and Scrabster see your father's illness as a weakness, an opportunity—”

“My father isna weak,” she retorted. She didn't have much patience on a good day and this was proving, already, to be a very bad day. Aye, Papa was ill. He'd been ill for a while and was recovering from an attempt on his life—most likely orchestrated by Stafford's minions. But he wasn't a weak man.

“When they see that Dunnet has taken charge of the land and has the strength to hold it, they will have no choice but to back down … unless they want an all-out war.”

It aggravated her that he was right. With the ramparts bristling with Dunnet's men, Stafford would think twice about staging another incursion on Reay lands. And the good lord knew she desperately needed the help. Since Hannah and Lana had left, all of their duties had fallen in Susana's lap, along with her own. What she wouldn't give for the luxury of handing this weight over to someone. Someone competent. Trustworthy.

But not him.

Susana didn't want Andrew Lochlannach here. In her home. Under her roof. Near her daughter.

Her soul howled at the thought.

He had to go. There were no two ways about it. He had to turn tail and hie back to Dunnet. The sooner the better.

But if he did, indeed, come to Dounreay, and if he did, indeed, try to take over her duties of protecting her home, she was going to make his life a living hell.

This she vowed.

She would send him packing or die trying.

 

CHAPTER TWO

Susana Dounreay's glare darkened as she stared at him; her displeasure was clear. Andrew was fairly certain she was annoyed that he'd interfered with her capturing the criminal, but he suspected there was a deeper displeasure there as well. A pity he didn't know what had spurred it.

If there was ever a woman he did not want to displease, it was this one.

What an irony that only minutes ago he'd been so certain he would never meet a woman who sparked a fraction of his interest. And now here she was. A woman who fascinated him. It wasn't just the red hair or the snapping green eyes. It was more than that. It was the way she'd felt in his arms, her warmth, her scent perhaps. Something had unlocked the flood of need he'd worked so hard to contain.

Granted, the reason for his fascination could be that she reminded him of Mairi. Mairi had hailed from Ciaran Reay. No doubt they were kin, which would explain the undeniable resemblance. The urge to ask rose within him, but he pushed it down. Judging from Susana's expression, this was probably not the time to ask.

And while she might look like Mairi, she wasn't. Though her hair was red, like Mairi's, Susana's was a deeper, richer hue. Her eyes, though the same glimmering green, were sharp, like a predator's. Mairi's had been softer and dewy. And filled with love.

And then there was Susana's form.

As delectable as Mairi's had been, this woman was far more lush with a trim waist and flared hips. Breasts that made his mouth water. Long legs encased in those provoking breeks …

Breeks, for God's sake.

His thoughts stalled as he studied the unbecoming display. He'd never seen a woman in men's attire and he wasn't sure what he thought about it, although he was certain it made him uncomfortable. It should not be attractive in the slightest.

Should it?

Mairi had been a lady, through and through. A gentle soul with a soft voice and sweet smile. She would never have bounded about the countryside brandishing a bow and wearing breeks.

Mairi wouldn't snap and snarl and …
bite
him.

She most definitely would not have shot at him.

Aye, Susana Dounreay might look like the girl he'd once loved, but the two were hardly the same. It was almost a disservice to Mairi's memory that he wanted Susana.

But God help him, he did.

She was still scowling at him wordlessly when his men rode up on them. Hamish, who had witnessed the entire scene, was grinning like a loon. Andrew felt the urge to smack the grin from his face. The urge only swelled when his friend turned his attention to the enticing redhead.

He slipped from his saddle and sauntered over, easing off his riding gloves.

Andrew had known Hamish his whole life. He didn't know why he'd never noticed until now—until he stood before Susana Dounreay, smiling down at her—just how tall he was. How damn handsome.

That interest flickered in Susana's eyes as she perused him made something slightly acidic slither through his veins.

“Well, hullo there,” Hamish purred.

Andrew's hackles rose.

Hamish shot him a smarmy glance. “It was rather impressive how you foiled that robbery,” he said. “Aren't you going to introduce me to this … miscreant?” His eyes danced as he said it, making it clear he was mocking Andrew, not Susana. She was quick to pick up on this and served Andrew a superior smirk.

He ignored the heat rising on his cheeks. Aye, she hadn't been a robber at all, but it was a mistake anyone could have made.

He was certain of it.

“Hamish Robb, this is Susana Dounreay.”

Hamish blinked. And then he smiled. And then he threw back his head and laughed. “Sus-Susana Dounreay?” he said through his chuckles. He sobered, fixing a sincere expression on his face, but it was a poor attempt at sobriety. The lady's identity was clearly of great amusement to him. “Miss Dounreay, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and to Andrew's utter revulsion, in an overblown display of chivalry, kissed it.

And she allowed it.

In fact, she smiled. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hamish Robb. Please tell me you are in charge of Dunnet's men.”

Andrew frowned.

“Ach, alas. I am not. Andrew is our fearless leader.” He gestured in Andrew's direction but it was a gesture of exclusion, not inclusion. It made a prickle of displeasure dance on his nape.

Susana huffed a disgusted breath. “Andrew? The man who just let the thief I've been tracking for weeks escape?” She glowered at him, though it was wholly unnecessary. Her displeasure with him was hardly a secret. “Lovely,” she spat. And with that, she spun on her heel and made her way over to greet Rory—who was, apparently, an old friend and who, apparently, needed a hug.
A hug.
Then together, chattering like magpies, they went to examine the purloined cow.

Andrew had never been a jealous man, but he recognized the feeling, the dark swirl of frustration and need. The anger that another man, any other man, had captured
her
attention.

It hardly signified, he reminded himself as he attempted to rip his gaze away from her. He was here for one reason and one reason only.

It irked him that it took him longer than it should have for him to recall what that reason was.

“Well,” Hamish gusted. “That was interesting.” He watched Susana mount her horse with far too much attentiveness. Though Andrew couldn't blame him—it was a rather fascinating sight, considering the fact that she was wearing breeks. He quelled the urge to clout his friend. But then Hamish murmured, “I never thought I would find number ninety-eight so quickly.”

Andrew's stomach knotted. The thought of Hamish kissing Susana Dounreay was not a pleasant one. He made a sound that was something like a snarl. “Remember why we're here.”

“Och, I remember.” Hamish's eyes twinkled as he pulled his gloves back on and swung into the saddle. Andrew followed suit. “Protecting the puir souls of Dounreay from brigands. You're off to a wonderful start, I might add.”

“Shut up.”

Hamish waggled his brows. “I'd like to protect
her
…” He nodded at Susana Dounreay as her stallion launched into motion. She rode at the head of the company, her back straight, her hair flowing free in the breeze. “I've never seen a woman as … captivating.”

Andrew's fist curled tighter around his reins. There was no reason for that squall of discontent to whip through his veins. He had no claim on Susana; indeed, he wanted none. But Hamish had no claim on her either.

He
clearly wanted one. His eyes gleamed as he studied Susana's backside, cupped as it was by the saddle. It occurred to Andrew it was far too alluring a sight. A woman should not be allowed to sit a saddle like that.

A woman should not have hips that swayed with every step of her mount. She certainly should not be seated astride. The thought made his skin clammy.

“She's not a maid,” Hamish said in a contemplative tone and Andrew glared at him. He wasn't sure why.

Och, he was.

“How do you know that?”

“Rory mentioned she has a daughter.”

This bit of news made something bitter tickle the back of Andrew's throat.

Of course she wasn't untouched. She was a gorgeous, glorious, fearless woman. Men would be pursuing her in droves.

Just not
him
.

“She's married then?” Surely there wasn't a thread of desolation in the question.

“A widow.”

“Ah.” Andrew fell silent and studied Susana, the cant of her head, the slope of her shoulders, the taunting sway of her hair. Not married. Not a maid. Probably available.

Hamish grinned. It was an evil grin. He excelled at evil grins. “It's a pity you've sworn off seduction.”

Damn. He should never have mentioned the vow to Hamish. Again, in retrospect, he should never mention anything to Hamish. Especially not after he'd had far too much whisky.

Because here, now, was a woman he very much wanted to … pursue.

It pricked at him, this sudden swelling of excitement at the sight of her, because his vow was still very new. One would think his resolve would have lasted longer.

Of course, she did remind him of Mairi. That was probably it. And nothing more.

“You
have
sworn off seduction, haven't you?”

Andrew glared at his friend, though it was hardly Hamish's fault that now, so soon after consigning himself to a life of celibacy, he should meet
her
. “Aye.” Sworn off. Completely. No matter how tempting the swing of her hair night be. No matter how alluring her form, her glower, her scent …

His gut heaved at Hamish's next question. “So you're certain you doona intend to seduce the lovely Susana?”

“Nae.” He didn't intend his response to be so sharp. Or perhaps he did.

“Are you
certain
?”

“Aye,” he clipped. Nearly a snarl.

“So…” Hamish nudged him again. The look in his eyes was a familiar one. It had never before caused such cold dread to crawl through him. “What do you think? Should
I
seduce her?”

Andrew set his teeth. He didn't know why the thought of Hamish and Susana made him feel ill.

His soul screamed
Nae!
But his reason spoke more stridently. “If you wish,” he muttered, but the moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. Which was ridiculous.

He had no claim on her.

He didn't want one.

It was inconvenient, the seething desire he had for a prickly warrior princess with arrows that were far too sharp … and barbs to match.

He wasn't here to seduce a woman. Indeed, he'd vowed to himself to give all that up.

And she was his sister-in-law. Surely that complicated any seduction immeasurably.

But as they made their way through the flower-spattered meadow toward the seaside town of Ciaran Reay, he couldn't help thinking about it.

He couldn't help thinking about it a lot.

*   *   *

Susana fumed as she rode back to the castle, still reeling from her confrontation with Andrew. It was hard to believe he was here, solid, real.

In her life, once more.

And damn. Why could she not eject from her mind the memory of just how solid he was?

The sight of him barreling down that hill, his white-blond hair flowing out behind him, that fierce expression on his too-beautiful face was burned on her mind. Her heart had fluttered, then thudded. And then—when she'd realized he wasn't some figment of her imagination, but here, really here—it had plummeted.

He was the last person she ever wanted to see.

She'd been a stupid girl when she'd traveled to Perth six years ago to visit her mother's people. She'd allowed herself to be cozened by dancing dimples and a charming grin. She'd believed the tripe he'd fed her about how she was special and wonderful and the love of his life.