Lord Keeper

by Tarah Scott

  Chapter Five

  Iain strode across the courtyard, headed for the comfort of his hearth.

  His cousin fell into step beside him. “An intriguing woman. I could not help but notice the fine brocade of her dress.”

  “What of it?”

  “Not so common for women in monasteries. You do not find it unusual?”

  “A woman in a monastery?”

  Thomas clasped his hands behind his back. “Was she taking the vows?”

  Iain scowled. “Even I would not have gone that far.”

  “She is unattached then?”

  “She has no husband.”

  “Hmm.” They reached the castle’s postern door and Thomas opened it, then stood aside.

  Iain entered. The aroma of wild boar met his senses, and he took in the welcome sight of the spit that hung over the fire at the far end of the room. A familiar bark echoed from the upper floor, and Iain swung his gaze upward. The paws and head of a hound appeared over the edge of the balcony.

  Iain whistled and the dog disappeared from view, then reappeared a moment later, lunging from the narrow staircase. The dog halted beside Iain, and he paused to scratch the animal behind the ears before heading for his seat at the head of the table. He moved his saddlebag from the chair to the table and lowered himself into the seat. The hound, giving a final sniff to Iain’s kilt, threw himself at his master’s feet. Iain motioned to a lad for ale.

  “She does not have a father then, or a brother?” Thomas asked.

  “Eh?” Iain removed his gaze from the dog. “Ah, the lass. Nay.”

  “Hmm.” Thomas seated himself in his usual place at Iain’s right. “She has no one who might object to your…” he trailed off.

  Iain frowned. “My what?”

  “Your abrupt courtship.”

  “She is a widow in a monastery. Who is to object?”

  The lad approached, ale in hand. Iain accepted the mug and took a sip. Settling the mug on his lap, he stretched out his feet, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the chair’s high back.

  “You did not ask?” Thomas persisted.

  “She said her husband was dead.”

  “Hmm…and her family?”

  Iain opened his eyes and studied Thomas. “Why the sudden interest in my personal life?”

  “Why the sudden interest in the lady?”

  “She is…unusual.”

  “You hardly know her. How can you be sure?”

  Iain sat upright and placed his mug on the table. He picked up the saddlebag, retrieved a book from inside, and handed it to Thomas.

  “Commentaries on Mathematical and Astronomical Topics, by Hypatia.” Thomas looked at him. “Where did you get this?”

  “She was reading it.”

  Thomas’s brows rose. “Interesting woman, indeed.” He thumbed through the book. “I wonder that Father Brennan might lament losing such a fine work.”

  Iain shook his head as Thomas handed the book back to him. “I do not recall seeing any copies while at university in Glasgow, nor am I aware of any existing in Scotland. It must belong to her.” He balanced the book on his knee and opened the cover. “Such a valuable work would likely be in a museum or a private library. I have never seen a complete work by Hypatia—excerpts, but never the complete book. Have you?”

  “Nay. She must come from an educated family to be able to comprehend the book. Most likely nobility.”

  Iain reached for his ale. “Aye,” he agreed before finishing it off.

  “I think I see now,” Thomas said in a thoughtful tone. “You saw her reading this and decided you must have the woman who possessed such a fine mind. Hmm.”

  “Would you quit saying that,” Iain rumbled.

  “What?”

  “Hmm. You sound like a damn physician about to advise I call a priest for the last rites.”

  “Ah, forgive me, mon ami. It is the French in me. You know we are very contemplative.”

  “What you are is very annoying.”

  “You must admit, it is rather remarkable,” Thomas said, openly ignoring his irritation. “I have never known you to be concerned with a woman's mind.” His head tilted in an exaggerated fashion. “Do you wish to study Hypatia’s commentaries? Is that why you took her?”

  “Do not be ridiculous. I had no idea what she was reading. Although, I was curious what held her attention. She was oblivious to our presence.”

  “Ahh,” Thomas said, as if all had become clear.

  “I am going tomorrow to pay a visit to our new allies,” Iain said. “I have something for them.”

  Thomas’s mood sobered. “Our friend out there. What happened?”

  “He kidnapped the lass.”

  “Mother of God. Did he harm her?”

  “They,” Iain corrected. “There were two of them, and I do not think so.”

  “You are not certain?”

  “Fairly certain,” Iain replied. “There was little time. Though it would not take much.” His jaw tightened, and he threw out a curt order for another ale. “They took…liberties.”

  A picture of the lass held like a rag doll by her would-be rapist jumped forward from where it hovered like a parasite on the edge of his mind. Once again, Iain considered keeping the bastard and watching him die a death that spanned several days.

  “Not a fine way to begin. She is well?” Thomas asked.

  “They gave her a scare,” Iain replied. “Skittish,” he added.

  “You killed the other?”

  “Aye, he was the one who had his hands on her at the time.”

  “How did you discover what was happening?”

  “She managed a cry for help.”

  Thomas leaned back in his chair and whistled through his teeth.

  “They would have had her if not for that,” Iain said.

  A yelp from the hound sleeping at his feet sounded when Hypatia’s Commentaries thudded to the floor. He recovered the book and set it on the table.

  “She survived, Cousin,” Thomas said.

  “But she made it clear I was at fault for taking her in the first place.”

  “That is natural.”

  Iain looked him in the eye. “Do you ever wonder if my father was right?”

  “About what?”

  “Perhaps there was more to the feud with the Frasers than just his hatred of Liam Fraser? Still, the killing went on too long. Thirty years too long.” Twelve years was all his mother had been able to endure before she died.

  “I believe most MacPhersons would agree,” Thomas said. “Mayhap even some Frasers, oui? It was a blood feud that should have stayed between the two men. A shame so many men died for one man’s jealousy.”

  “Even my father would have admitted to being a bastard,” Iain said. “I suppose Liam cannot be blamed for being suspicious of the truce.” Iain gave a harsh laugh. “Despite the years of restraint it took to get him to talk.”

  Thomas raised a brow.

  “All right,” Iain said with a wry lift of his mouth, “we were not wholly restrained, but we did not react to every strike from them.”

  Thomas nodded. “Their attacks did lessen with time.”

  Iain propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and rubbed his chin with the back of his fingers. “Those Fraser bastards openly defied me.” He still couldn’t believe it. “The one will not make that mistake again, and the second will be an example to the rest.” Iain met Thomas’s gaze. “If Liam does not deal with his kinsmen, I will.”

  * * *

  Victoria ignored the women gathered in the cottage doorway and centered her attention on the housekeeper.

  Maude paused in smoothing a blanket on the mattress she bent over and said, “You look as if you could use a hot meal and a bath.”

  Victoria angled her head in agreement.

  Maude straightened and scooted around to the other side of the bed. “Food first.” She pounded the pillow. “It will take longer to heat the bath water.”

  “T
hank you, madam.”

  “Maude, lass. I told you, my name is Maude. Go on,” she ordered the gawkers, and Victoria nodded in polite response to the stares that were a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

  “We do not have too many visitors staying in the cottages,” Maude apologized as the last of her kinswomen turned away. “Ladies such as yourself are wanting the comfort of the castle.”

  “Nay.”

  Maude’s shrewd gaze swung onto her face, and Victoria realized she’d answered too quickly.

  The housekeeper gave the blanket a final tug at the corner, then straightened. “Fortunately, this cottage was empty. They do not stay vacant long, but no one had the heart to move in since Nathaniel died.”

  Victoria glanced at the bed that jutted from the opposite wall into the middle of the room.

  Maude laughed. “There was another bed yon.” She motioned to the farthest corner of the room. “His daughter slept in this bed. The other was burned. Dorothy was going to stay here, but some young lad took her off.”

  “Took her off?” Victoria blurted.

  Maude paused. “Is something wrong, lass?”

  “How much taking goes on here?”

  Maude gave her an odd look. “He married her.”

  “And she went willingly?”

  “Aye, and why not?”

  Victoria remarked softly, “Why not, indeed?”

  * * *

  After a light supper of pheasant, peas, bread, and wine, a bathtub as fine as any Victoria was accustomed to arrived. Maude instructed the girl Nellie to assist with the bath while she seated herself at the table located between bed and hearth. The housekeeper’s benign smile didn’t fool Victoria. Behind the woman’s soft manner beat the heart of a hunter.

  “You must be tired after such a journey,” Maude said. “How long did you travel?”

  “Four days.”

  Nellie knelt beside the tub and began soaping her hair.

  “Did you enjoy the fine weather?” the housekeeper asked.

  Victoria nodded.

  “Though we do not like to admit it,” Maude said in a confiding tone, “even the summers here can be a might cold.”

  Such comments went on and exhaustion edged its way past thoughts of captivity and freedom.

  “I expect you will sleep better in this bed than you did in Iain’s arms,” Maude said.

  Victoria bolted upright. Water sloshed over the top of the tub.

  Nellie shot to her feet. “Look what you did!” She shook out her wet skirts.

  “’Tis only water,” Maude recriminated before focusing on Victoria. “Is something wrong?” she asked, causing Victoria to wonder how many more times she would be forced to hear that infernal question before anyone understood being forced into captivity was what was wrong.

  Victoria pursed her lips, but Maude’s expression didn’t waver. Victoria hesitated, pride warring with the knowledge that news of her arrival would be idle gossip before morning—along with lewd speculation of the four days spent with Iain MacPherson. A new thought surfaced. If she told the truth of how he kidnapped her, might there be others as outraged as she?

  What would they think of his tenderness? Victoria startled at the unbidden memory of how he’d held her after killing the unluckiest of her attackers. Gone was the fury he’d unleashed on the man, in its place a gentle touch that was as different from their violent treatment as light was from day. Her jaw tensed. That part of the tale would remain untold. He had taken her against her will. No need of comfort would have been necessary had he left her in peace. Despite the quiver in her stomach, Victoria took a deep breath and began the tale.

  Twenty minutes later Maude gave into the laughter she had obviously been grappling with from the beginning of the story, and Victoria wondered if all MacPhersons were afflicted with some sort of mental deficit.

  “You mean he just rode off with you?” Nellie asked, wide-eyed.

  Victoria tensed with the memory of her failure to secure freedom. “’Twasn’t so easy for him.”

  “What do you mean?” Maude asked.

  “I spurred his horse on.”

  “You incited the beast?” Maude asked in astonishment.

  Victoria nodded. “I did not wish to go with him.”

  “I do not understand,” Nellie said. “If the laird asked me to go, I would, and without a peep.”

  “Nellie,” Maude said.

  “Well, ’tis the truth,” the girl replied. “Not a woman alive would refuse him.”

  “Enough,” Maude said.

  “Faith, but the man is mad,” Victoria muttered.

  “Mad?” The housekeeper’s brow rose in question.

  “What man kidnaps a woman and expects her to swoon at his feet?”

  Surveying the confused expressions of the two women, Victoria realized they thought Iain MacPherson was that man.

  * * *

  Iain approached the cottage where his captive slept. Dawn was still an hour away, but thoughts of her had lingered through the night, pushing aside the good sense that told him it was better to leave her sleeping.

  He eased open the door and peered into the shadows. Embers cast faint light and the bed lay in near darkness. Iain slipped inside and crept across the room to the bed. Dark hair spilled across slim shoulders and onto the white cover. His body hardened. She should be in his bed. Christ, but the English were too proper.

  Glancing up, he caught sight of a patch of ivory chemise sticking out from beneath the dress hanging over a chair at the table. He looked back at her and realized the bare shoulder was but a sample of the rest. Images of the supple body hidden by a thin blanket flooded his mind and he whirled, headed for anywhere away from her.

  Iain found Thomas, feet propped up on the table in the great hall. “I am leaving,” Iain informed him.

  Attention on the apple he was peeling, Thomas nodded.

  “Is everything ready for my departure?”

  Thomas nodded again.

  “I expect you to watch everything closely.”

  Again, a casual incline of Thomas’s dark head.

  Iain scowled at the lack of attention. “Have you nothing to say?”

  Thomas’s casual shrug was the final straw.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  Thomas still didn't look up from the apple. “I believe, mon ami, you are cheating.”

  “Cheating?”

  The apple was finally peeled. Thomas quartered it and popped a slice into his mouth. He looked up. “You have learned her name?”

  Iain crossed his arms over his chest. “I do not need to.”

  Thomas lifted a piece of apple in salute. “Every woman likes to hear her name, particularly in the dark.” He slid the apple into his mouth with a loud slurp.

  Iain regarded him. “You have been acting strange since I returned. I do not know what you are up to, but take heed. Watch things while I am gone, but do not get too close.” He turned and strode to the door. Hand on the handle, Iain looked over his shoulder. “Why do you say I was cheating?”

  “It has been some time since you went to say your farewell to the lady this morning.”

  “Why not? She is mine.”

  “But she has not yet said yes.” Thomas observed him with mild curiosity. “Unless I am mistaken?”

  “Nay,” Iain pulled the door open, “but I can be quite convincing.”

  * * *

  The chirping of birds brought Victoria to a slow awareness of unfamiliar surroundings. She pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. Muted sun filtered through the window, and the clouds looked as if the smallest breeze would bring them plummeting to earth. Was that an indication of what lay outside the cottage walls? She bolted upright. Her keeper could appear any moment to find her still in bed.

  Ten minutes later, Victoria emerged from the grove that separated the cottages from the main courtyard and halted at sight of the unexpected activity in the compound. She scanned the goings on until she spotted a fami
liar face.

  “Sir.” She hurried across the compound. “A moment, please.”

  Iain’s cousin turned as she reached his side. “At your service, my lady.” He gave a courtly bow.

  Victoria tilted her head. “You are most gallant.”

  He flashed a broad smile. “You are most kind, chérie.”

  “We were not properly introduced last night.”

  His eyes lit with mischief. “You made that impossible.”

  She shook her head. “I will not tell you my name.”

  “Do you believe it will matter to him?”

  “Nay,” Victoria answered with a resignation she hadn’t expected. Shaking off the disturbing feeling, she regarded the cousin. “Forgive my curiosity, but I cannot help noticing you are not like the other men here.”

  “Oh? How would that be, my lady?"

  “Your speech is educated.” She ignored the amused raise of his brow. “You speak French. Is that common?”

  “Not so common.”

  “Then you are not Scottish?”

  “That depends on who you ask. My mother was French and my father a Highlander.”

  “Then you are Scottish.”

  He laughed. “The Highlanders do not consider themselves Scottish, and the Scots tend to agree.”

  Victoria frowned. “Ridiculous.”

  “It is the way of things.”

  “Was your mother also stolen and forced to marry your father?”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “Nay. She married him of her own free will.”

  Victoria made a face. “Oh.”

  “Is it difficult to believe a woman would freely choose to wed a Highlander?”

  “It seems unlikely,” she replied. “But your mother was allowed a choice?”

  He nodded. “Everyone has choices, chérie.”

  “That is easy for you to say. You are a man.” Before he could comment, she said, “What is your name, sir?”

  He cocked a dark brow. “You think it fair to know my name when you will not tell me yours?”