Lana and the Laird Read Online Free PDF Page A

cared for her and didn’t revile her for her gifts. She was lucky to have sisters who would always welcome her in their homes, even when she was old and gray and … alone.
    Aye, whoever he was, this dying man, he was not her soul mate. He wasn’t her true love. He wasn’t the one who would accept her, embrace her for what she was.
    There was no such man.
    She was only courting heartbreak to contemplate such things.
    It took a long time for dawn to break. Some nights were like this, longer than others, when she sat vigil over some unseen world. When the first rosy fingers crept over the sill, Lana stood and stretched. Then she made her way to her wardrobe and dressed for the day.
    As was her custom, she headed for the kitchens. As she closed her door, she glanced across the hall at her sister’s rooms and a sadness plucked at her heart. Once upon a time, when the night was too long, she would have gone to Hannah’s room, crawled into her bed, and curled up against her. But Hannah was married now. No doubt Dunnet wouldn’t appreciate a nocturnal visitor.
    Her sister’s husband was a fine and patient man, but not that patient.
    Lana quirked a smile as she entertained the prospect of the scene such a visit might engender. It was a small amusement, but she was easily amused.
    As she made her way down the hall she nodded to Sir Callum, who was on guard. He was a gallant warrior, a wounded soul. Lana liked him because he was so gentle—an odd trait in a warrior. He’d died in this hall, long ago, protecting his lady love. It was a great tragedy that he had failed in his quest and his beloved Loreli had been taken by the enemy. Though she was long dead as well, Callum still kept his watch. Lana prayed at some point he would be able to forgive himself for his failure. It really hadn’t been his fault. He and his men had been tremendously overpowered.
    On the staircase, she stepped to the side to keep from disturbing young Katie who was, as always, leaning against the balustrade and weeping. There was no need to greet Katie. Because she was so wrapped in her grief, she never noticed anyone or anything. She’d been seduced by her laird sometime in the fifteenth century and found herself with child. To avoid the shame, and perhaps to punish her lover for his disinterest, she’d thrown herself from the balcony.
    Ah, and then there was Dermid. Lana didn’t care for Dermid in the slightest. She averted her eyes as she passed the library and pretended not to hear his shouting. Dermid was a shouter, and the foulest words issued forth from his railing spirit.
    It was a relief to reach the kitchens, to step into a warm, welcoming world filled with fragrant scents and happy memories. She shot a grin to Una, who was supervising Morag’s work. “Good morning,” she said. Lana spent most mornings with the sisters in the kitchen. It was a haven for her. The castle ghosts tended to avoid these rooms, as Una was far too territorial.
    Morag turned, a bright smile on her usually dour face. “Good morning, lass. And how did ye sleep?”
    Lana selected an apple and bit into it before she answered. “Wonderfully.” There was no need to tell the truth. No one really wanted to know.
    â€œI’m making bannocks,” Morag said as she stirred the contents in a crockery bowl.
    Una blew out a breath. “She’s stirring too much,” she complained. Una was one to complain.
    Lana set her hand on Morag’s. The stirring ceased. “If you over-stir, they will be hard,” she murmured.
    Morag closed one eye and studied her through it, then set the bowl to the side. “This wouldna be a problem if she had written down her recipes,” she muttered.
    Una snorted. “She should have paid more attention when I tried to teach her.”
    Lana nodded, but she said nothing. She’d had a difficult night and she had no inclination to get embroiled in