Lana and the Laird Page 12

  Lana tipped her head to the side. “You … doona enjoy his visits?”

  “I do not. They are … terrifying.”

  Why this puzzled her was a mystery. Ghosts were terrifying.

  “Can you describe the visit?”

  Something in her tone caught his attention. He sat beside her on the wall, listening to the waves crash below. It took a while for him to collect his thoughts, but she waited. “He is always dour. Pained. There is wailing and—”

  “Wailing?”

  “Yes. But it is the chains that are the most perturbing.”

  Lana blinked. “Chains?”

  “Yes. He’s draped in them. Bound by them. It is his eternal torment. Because of the curse.”

  “How odd. None of the ghosts I know wear chains.”

  “They are probably not cursed.”

  “Probably not.” Her lips quirked as she murmured, “As there are no such things as curses.”

  His heart lurched. Would that that were true. He studied her face. Beautiful as it was, that hint of amusement pricked at him. “Do you find this funny?”

  “Nae. No’ a bit of it.” She patted his hand. Her heat lingered. “’Tis just … odd.”

  “What is odd?” Was he really asking? This whole conversation was odd.

  “Odd that your ghost wears chains. Chains are verra … of this earth, after all.”

  “He’s being punished. They are probably metaphorical.”

  “Most likely.”

  As they turned back to the vista before them, Lachlan reflected that this was, indeed, a surreal conversation to be having. But then, with someone like Lana, it made sense.

  “Your mother doesna wear chains.”

  His belly roiled at the thought. “I am … gratified to hear it.”

  “She seems quite at peace.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Except that she worries about you.”

  “Will you tell her I’m fine?”

  “I canna.”

  He gaped at her.

  She lifted a shoulder. “I willna lie to her. Besides, she knows you’re no’ a happy man.”

  A happy man? Was there such a thing?

  “I am a cursed man.”

  “Pffft.”

  “I am.” He didn’t know why he smiled. His lips just wanted to move that way.

  What was it about this woman, this sprite, that made the shadows waft away? Made all his dark ruminations evaporate like mists in the sunlight? Made him smile after the horrific encounter he’d just had?

  Ah, but it didn’t seem so horrific. Not now. Not with her by his side.

  Lana shot him a glance that warmed his heart. “She thought you looked verra fine tonight at dinner.”

  “Ah. The kilt.”

  “Aye.” Her lashes fluttered. “I thought you looked verra fine as well.”

  Now, that stirred something in him. Something illicit and naughty. “Did you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Was I manly?” He was teasing, perhaps, but when she flicked a glance at him, with that expression—one of hunger and admiration and … heat—all his playfulness withered, scorched by the blazing flare of his lust.

  There was something about the cloak of night, the refreshing scent of the sea, the fragrance of her perfume, the way her hair riffled in the breeze. Or maybe it was his churning need to wipe the memory of his father’s visit from his mind, or the suddenly clawing desire to be a man he could never be … but Lachlan had to kiss her. Everything in him ached for it.

  And so he did.

  Though it was foolish and injudicious and wildly inappropriate of him, he did.

  He leaned closer, slowly so as not to startle her, threaded his fingers in the silk of her hair, cupped her nape, and set his lips on hers.

  It was sublime. She was warm and willing. Her mouth was mobile beneath his as she explored him as gently as he explored her.

  Excitement welled, desire roared.

  She made a sound, a murmur, a moan, and it incited him to further madness. He deepened the kiss, pulled her closer, eased his tongue into the cavern of her mouth. A shudder racked him as she pressed against him. Her breasts, tender and soft, nudged his chest. His mind spun. His body shook. Need possessed him.

  But he had to stop this.

  He could not continue.

  There was too much at stake.

  And he was not that man.

  Slowly, he pulled back, detangled from her hold, though it was clear she did not want to be detangled. He held her hand in his when it seemed inclined to wander.

  She gazed up at him with a dewy smile and sighed. “That was verra nice,” she whispered.

  “Yes. It was.”

  Her smile lit a glow in his belly. “Aye. A Scotsman says Aye. That was a verra nice kiss.” She stared at him expectantly.

  “Ah … Aye. That was a verra nice kiss.”

  “Excellent.” She patted his cheek.

  He could not resist pressing another buss on her lips, and then her nose and then her forehead. And damn. He didn’t want to stop. He rested his head on her shoulder and groaned. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  She laughed, a trill snatched away by the wind. “’Tis only a kiss.”

  Yes. Only a kiss, but by God, he wanted more. “We should go inside. It’s getting cold.”

  “I’m no’ cold.” She peeped up at him with a mischievous smile. “I’m warm.”

  Oh, lord. What had he begun?

  He’d never found it difficult to ignore female lures, but this was no mere female. She was a siren. Singing a song he couldn’t resist. He wanted her. He wanted her as he’d never wanted any other woman.

  It would kill him to walk away tonight, when it was so clear she would allow him to take … whatever he wanted, but he had to. There was no room in his life for a woman, for romance, for love. And he couldn’t dare expose her to his darkness.

  So when she leaned in again, with a tantalizing pout he longed to kiss away, he set his hands on her shoulders and held her back. “Miss Dounreay…”

  “Lana.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Call me Lana … Lachlan.”

  His name on her lips made him dizzy. It also reminded him. “We should not be doing this.” He stood in a rush, while he still had the strength to resist. “Thank you very much for this conversation. It has helped … soothe my soul tonight.”

  “Thank you for the kiss,” she rejoined with a grin. “It has soothed mine.”

  Their gazes locked and his heart fluttered. His fingers curled. His desire burned him up from the inside out.

  Aching temptation tormented him.

  He had to leave her then. It was far too seductive a scene. Far too enthralling, this prospect of … soothing her further. And yes, it was difficult, walking her up the grand staircase and then, with a kiss to her hand, watching her head into the west wing as he headed to the east.

  But as he made his way back to his rooms, he knew their encounter had not soothed him.

  Not in the slightest.

  He probably wouldn’t sleep a wink.

  And it wouldn’t be ghosts on his mind …

  * * *

  He wanted her!

  Lana sat on her window seat with Nerid in her lap, staring out at the breaking dawn. She hadn’t slept a wink, not since she’d woken in the middle of the night and chanced upon Lachlan at the seawall.

  Oh, that kiss filled her mind and her heart for certain—it had been so tender, so sweet, so right. It had stirred something in her, something no other kiss, no other man had.

  The certainty she’d known, upon seeing him wrapped in a kilt, swelled to something else, something tinged with a desire of her own. Aye, she was meant to help him change his mind about the Clearances, but it was more than that. Far more than that. She was meant to be with him, the way a woman was with a man.

  Even though he was a duke, even though she was far below his station, that kiss had told her everything.


  He wanted her. Utterly.

  A man didn’t kiss like that unless he knew a raging desire. Didn’t hold a woman so fiercely. Didn’t have to force himself to walk away.

  Oh, he wanted her, with all the maddening hunger she had for him.

  He’d put an end to their kisses, but she knew why. He was a nobleman with chivalrous intentions. She was a lass within his aegis. No doubt he felt it was wrong to act on his desires. No doubt he thought it was wrong to debauch her because doing so would sully her for marriage.

  Little did he know, she’d long ago given up the hope that she would find a man who could accept her as she was. She’d long ago given up the hope of marriage.

  So what if Lana threw herself into his arms and allowed herself to be ravished? To finally know once and for all how glorious passion could be? It wasn’t as though men were knocking down her door. It wasn’t as though she need to save herself for a true love that would never arrive. It wasn’t as though she would ever be a bride.

  Besides, she didn’t want that imaginary, hopelessly tardy man.

  She wanted Lachlan. With him she felt it, knew it. Breathed it.

  Wanted it.

  He might need to be … managed a little, to entice him to loosen his hold on his vexing gallantry. He might need to be teased and seduced.

  A shiver ran up her spine at the thought.

  She’d wanted him forever. And now he was here. And he wanted her.

  She would have him.

  But there was even more to their connection, wasn’t there? More than the issue of the Clearances, more than the sizzling attraction between them. She knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  It was also her charge to help Lachlan find peace in his soul, his poor, lonely, haunted soul.

  His comments about his father’s restless spirit had bothered her. Oh, certainly, there were plenty of restless spirits milling about. This was Scotland. There had been many murders, betrayals, heartbreaks, and more, all things that caused spirits to cling to their earthly home long past their time. She’d seen a lot of curious things and heard countless stories since the day she’d woken to find her dead mother hovering over her bed.

  But never once had she ever seen a spirit festooned in chains and barking orders.

  She’d read about it once in a gothic novel; she’d nearly spit out her tea, she’d laughed so hard. The fact of the matter was, most ghosts were not interested in the workings of the mortal world. They were all far too selfish to care if a castle was refurbished or a reputation was restored. If they cared about anything, it was the people they’d loved in this life.

  As a general rule, they did not haunt them.

  Lana wasn’t sure what kind of spirit Lachlan had encountered last night, but she was certain it was not his father.

  Lileas was certain, too. And she would know. She’d been married to the man.

  So in addition to helping Lachlan see sense about this Clearance business—and perhaps kissing him on occasion as a woman kissed a man—she was determined to uncover the mystery of the ghost that was tormenting him.

  She suspected things were not as Lachlan thought they were.

  With this resolution, she lay down on her bed with Nerid beside her and drifted off to sleep.

  And when she dreamed of him—and she did—this time she was able to reach him. She was able to reach him and pull him from the darkness.

  And then he kissed her.

  It was a lovely dream.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  To Lachlan’s surprise, he did sleep. And the dreams he had were all pleasant. They featured a playful blond sprite with a whimsical smile and an enticing demeanor. For the first time in months, years perhaps, he woke refreshed and excited to face the day.

  He was certain it had nothing to do with that kiss, although he couldn’t, no matter how he tried, evict it from his mind.

  This probably explained his smile as Dougal entered his rooms with a tray of oatcakes and coffee.

  His cousin eyed him warily. “How did you sleep?’ he asked.

  “Brilliantly!”

  Dougal blinked. “Really? Well, that’s … good.”

  Lachlan tucked into the food with a relish he hadn’t experienced for a long time. It would be a busy day, he would need the sustenance if they were to tour Dunnet’s land and then visit Olrig’s properties.

  In the spirit of the outing, he dressed in the kilt. It was far more comfortable than the trappings of an English lord, he found. Aside from which, it annoyed Dougal, probably because Lachlan didn’t require any help with it.

  His cousin took in his costume with a curl of his nose. His expression made clear what he thought of the Sinclair kilt, which was a bit provoking because he belonged to the clan as well. “Surely you are not wearing that,” he huffed. And when Lachlan didn’t respond, he added, “This outing is a bad idea.”

  Lachlan glanced at him over the rim of his cup. “I disagree. I think, as the overlord of these lands, it is a very good idea to be aware of what is going on.”

  “Surely you see this is just Dunnet’s ploy to try to change your mind?”

  “I did make a promise that I would reconsider.”

  “A promise to a woman,” Dougal muttered, as though promises to women didn’t signify. Then again, this was Dougal.

  Lachlan pulled his épée from his trunk and belted it at his waist.

  Dougal’s nostrils flared. “Are you intending to duel?”

  Lachlan chuckled. “One never knows. Besides, it goes with the kilt, don’t you think?”

  His cousin stared him down. “I think … you shouldna go.”

  “As I said, I promised.”

  Again, a disdainful grunt. “If you want the necklace, I can simply go to her rooms and take it.”

  Something unpleasant stirred in Lachlan’s belly. He wasn’t sure if it was the revolting offer to steal the cross for him, or the thought of Dougal in Lana’s room. Both were truly repugnant. “You will not do so. I have every confidence she will hand the piece over to me if I accede to her request.”

  “To reconsider the Clearances you’ve ordered? You know damn well you canna change your mind. For one thing, several barons are already in the process. For another, dare you forget? You need the money. And with these Clearances, the payments will begin immediately. You will be able to continue your quest to repair the castle.”

  “Yes, I am well aware of that.” Lachlan forced a grin, but only because he felt sure it would calm Dougal’s outrage. “But she did not ask me to change my mind. She asked me to reconsider.”

  “Ah!” Dougal proffered something that might have been a smile, or a smirk. “So you will reconsider. And then, when she requests your answer, you tell her, quite sadly, that you have indeed reconsidered your command and, unfortunately, you have decided to continue on. Clever.” Dougal waggled a finger. “Rather clever.”

  Revulsion surged through him at Dougal’s inference that he intended to be less than forthright in his deliberations. Because he fully intended to be. Honest. Straightforward. Noble. He owed it to Lana. To his people. Hell, he owed it to himself. But deep in his heart, he could not deny, this was probably how it would work out.

  He really had no choice in the matter.

  “Are you coming with us?” he asked.

  Dougal looked away. “Nae. I have … a friend I need to meet.”

  “A friend?” As far as Lachlan knew, Dougal knew no one in Scotland, save the people they’d met together.

  His cousin forced a smile. His lashes flickered. “A lady friend.”

  “Ah.” Yes. Other men had assignations. It behooved him to remember.

  He tried not to allow that blade of envy to prick him.

  And he tried not to let thoughts of Lana overtake his consciousness.

  He failed at both.

  He inspected himself in the glass. It was striking, the difference a simple costume change could effect. Not only did this reflection—himself, tall, braw, and sav
age—please him, it looked like him. The image of himself he’d always carried in his mind, but never really quite matched. But this? This was Lachlan Sinclair. It send a skitter of elation through him. “I think I am ready.”

  “You look quite lordly,” Dougal said. “Even in that.”

  And yes. He did. He looked quite lordly indeed.

  Feeling more like himself than he ever had, he headed down the stairs to where Dunnet was awaiting him in the parlor. Lady Dunnet was there as well, and announced that she intended to come along on their little expedition. Her declaration should not have surprised him. It was the kind of woman she was. And her sister was just like her.

  If things had been different, and he’d been in a position to choose a bride, he would want a woman like Lady Dunnet … or her sister. A brave and valiant partner. Someone strong enough to stand by his side.

  When Dunnet saw him, his gaze flicked over the Sinclair kilt and he nodded his approval. And then his attention stalled on Lachlan’s sword. “What the bluidy hell kind of weapon is that?” he asked.

  Lachlan glanced at Dunnet’s claymore and winced. Yes, comparatively, the two weapons were not in the same league. But what his weapon lacked in size and savagery, it gained in maneuverability and lethal speed. “It’s an epée.”

  “A what-pee?”

  Lachlan ignored the curl of his nose. “An epée. It’s French.”

  Lady Dunnet leaned in to peer at it. “It’s verra small.”

  Heat crawled up his neck, and Lachlan adjusted his plaid. “I assure you, it is quite deadly. And I am an accomplished fencer.”

  She didn’t appear convinced. He tried not to feel offended—there really was no need—but thank God Lana hadn’t been present to witness this exchange. Surely that would have mortified him.

  At the thought of her, his curiosity arose, so as they made their way to the stables Lachlan asked, “Will Lana be joining us?”

  He wasn’t prepared for Lady Dunnet to whirl on him with a savage frown and eye him as though he were a denizen from the bowels of hell. It occurred to him, far too late, that he’d forgotten himself and called her by her given name. And her sister had noticed the familiarity.

  He attempted to cover his gaffe with a smile and a murmured, “It, ah, is a lovely day for a ride.”