Lord Keeper

by Tarah Scott

  Thomas flashed a broad grin.

  She nodded. “It is a fine library.”

  “Indeed.” He straightened and strolled to the desk near her. “Particularly for an uncivilized Highlander.” He picked up the book lying on the desk.

  Her cheeks warmed and she cursed the faint curve of the rogue’s mouth. Should she reveal the knowledge of his part in her abduction?

  “There are those among us who have found their way into a book or two,” Thomas continued as he thumbed through the volume.

  Nay, she decided. The information would be better left for a time when she might demand a favor in return. “Do you have an interest in art?” she asked, noticing the Italian text he perused that referenced the great da Vinci.

  Thomas smiled. “I am a simple man, but do, on occasion, find use for such information.”

  “This is your library?” Victoria bit her tongue, unsure why she’d asked a question she knew the answer to. Thomas’s face was turned slightly away from her, hiding his features as he studied a page.

  “Nay.” He shook his head, giving away a smidgen of the laughter Victoria knew was at her expense. “Eric insisted Iain attend university in Glasgow, therefore it was necessary to have a proper library here.” He waved a hand indicating the wall of books.

  “There is a university in Scotland?”

  Thomas looked at her. “It rivals even your Oxford and Cambridge. Iain’s father sent him there when he was sixteen. He studied there eight years.”

  For a moment Victoria forgot about the man who had kidnapped her and thought only of the boy who had been taken from his parents. “So young,” she murmured.

  “’Tis not uncommon.” Thomas shrugged. “And he is an intelligent man. You have noticed. Oui?”

  She blew out a short breath. “It would be impossible to miss.”

  Swinging a thigh onto the corner of the desk, Thomas leaned against the wood. “As it would be impossible to miss about you, chérie.”

  Victoria gave him a polite smile, while wondering how her intelligence would fare against the canny mind of the uncivilized Highlander.

  * * *

  Once again, the postern door opened and Iain glanced in that direction. When MacPherson men filed in, he rubbed his chin and shifted his attention to the kitchen door.

  “Why do you not go and ask?” Thomas asked.

  “What?” Iain broke out of his reverie.

  “She has developed a friendship with the women in the kitchen.” Thomas spooned more food from the trencher onto his plate. “Perhaps they know where she is.”

  Iain rose. “You may be right.” He made his way to the kitchen and found Maude stirring some sort of brew in a large kettle hanging over the fire. “Have you seen the lass?” he asked.

  “Vi—uh—oh, aye, the lass.” She shook her head. “Nay, she hasna’ been here tonight.”

  Iain frowned. “Is something amiss, Maude?”

  She glanced up. “What do you mean?”

  Iain studied her. “Never mind. How has she been during my absence?”

  “She seems to be settling in well.”

  A wave of relief swept through him. “Does she not take her meals in the great hall?”

  “Aye.”

  “But you have no idea where she is?”

  Maude shook her head. “It is early, she may yet show up.”

  Before Iain could respond, his attention was captured by muffled voices coming from the pantry. It was Joanna’s voice he discerned first.

  “I tell you, the tale will be told,” she said.

  The response was spoken too softly for Iain to distinguish.

  “Do you think it a hard puzzle to unravel?” Joanna asked, laughing. “You know what they say, ‘oh what a tangled web…’” She stopped mid-sentence, lending the impression the other party knew what she meant.

  Her companion raised her voice loud enough for Iain to realize it was another of the kitchen maids, Catherine.

  “No doubt,” Catherine said. “Things are bound to spice up a bit. Which is what she had in mind, I wager.” Both women giggled.

  “A stroke of genius,” Joanna added. “I would never have thought of it myself, and Vi—”

  Iain cursed softly when Maude called out instructions to another of the serving girls, and he caught only the last words of the unsuspecting women, “…and she went along with it.”

  “Laird,” Maude’s insistent voice put a stop to his eavesdropping, “is something amiss?”

  Iain scowled at the two women as they emerged from the scullery. “Nay,” he answered, throwing a suspicious glance in their direction. “Is she in the habit of being late?”

  Maude looked confused.

  “The lass—have you no idea why she is not here?”

  “Ah.” Maude’s nod turned into a shake of her head. “Nay. She comes and goes as she likes.”

  “She will not avoid me the whole night,” Iain muttered.

  Turning on his heel, he headed back to his seat in the hall. The resolution to seek the lady out later was overshadowed by the giggles that lingered in his ears after his exit from the kitchen.

  * * *

  All is lost, all is lost. The words from the song rang in Victoria’s mind and she awoke, uncomfortably, from a sleep she hadn’t meant to take. Focusing on the familiar surroundings of the cottage, another moment passed before the remnants of her dream fell into place. Only it hadn’t been a dream, she realized, but a replay of her life.

  Bitterness scalded the memory. She had learned the truth too late. Things such as love and trust were nothing more than the foolish musings of a child. Yet, even now, the question remained: If not love, what then? Her father had said, for a man, there was honor. For a woman, it was duty.

  Duty.

  The watchword her mother had lived by. It was a woman’s duty to follow the dictates of her lord. Victoria made the mistake of thinking her future lord would be as kind as her father. When her father died and her mother betrothed her to Richard Hockley, Victoria followed duty and married him.

  Fifteen years her senior, Richard seemed the answer to what had been missing since her father’s death. Foolish child that she’d been, she believed Richard was sent by God to take her father’s place.

  Richard appeared as though he would treat her with the tenderness a young bride required, but the moment he rendered her powerless with the marriage vows, the man behind the handsome mask emerged. The memory of their wedding night brought with it another, more recent recollection when she’d been handled no less roughly. She forced aside the picture of the Fraser men leering at her only to have it meld with one of her husband giving her much the same look.

  She laughed, the sound harsh to her own ears. The Frasers she could understand, but even now, after all these years, her comprehension of Richard was almost nonexistent. It wasn’t the fact that he took his cousin as mistress that confounded her. Nay, it was the relationship between the two that was incomprehensible. Victoria shivered. Richard had displayed no embarrassment that long-ago evening when she happened upon them one evening in his bed. He had even laughed when his lover invited her to join them.

  “Come now, love,” Lucinda’s voice had moved like silk over Victoria’s skin. “Do not act as if you are shocked.” Her throaty laugh had been that of a woman accustomed to pleasure. “You are an enlightened woman. You understand the benefits of our situation. If I instruct your husband well, you will benefit.” Lucinda then cast a sultry glance at Richard, who pulled the coverlet down and began kneading a full breast. “Perhaps we will both receive some benefit.”

  Victoria felt as if Lucinda had actually touched her when the woman’s lustful look trained on her. “It seems to me,” Lucinda said, her voice more breathless, “we both could benefit now.” She drew back the blanket in invitation as the other hand slid downward to fondle his arousal.

  Victoria winced, recalling the beating she had received for having fled. Memories, she reminded herself. Nothing more. Richa
rd was gone, and she need never again fear his cold touch. Nay, it was Iain MacPherson, the phantom of a man, who now decreed her future.

  A gurgle from her stomach brought her back to the present. The thought of dinner elicited another loud growl. She sighed. Her plan to avoid the present was no more successful than her efforts to forget the past. Grabbing for the tartan that lay on the bed, Victoria headed for the kitchen.

  “There you are,” Maude said when Victoria slipped in the back door. “We were beginning to wonder if you were not going to have any supper tonight.”

  “I thought not to,” Victoria replied, again unsure she could believe this woman capable of any guile. Why had she lied and said she saw Iain leaving her cottage?

  Maude crinkled her nose. “Why would you be thinking that?”

  Victoria’s shrug was met with a merry twinkle on the part of the housekeeper. “You might like to know—” she was interrupted by the clatter of pans in the scullery.

  “I told you not to stack the pans so high.” Joanna’s voice dripped with righteous indignation. “Now look what you have done.”

  “It was not my fault,” came Catherine’s small reply. “If you hadna’ backed up against them they would not have fallen.”

  Victoria sent a considering look in the direction of the pantry where the two women continued to argue. “I suppose I should make myself useful.”

  Maude sighed. “Those two are forever fighting over something foolish.”

  A short time later, Victoria reappeared in the kitchen carrying a large pot. She blew at the tendril of hair that had fallen loose from the tie binding her hair.

  “Good lord, what happened?” Maude frowned. “Only a little while ago you looked as fresh as heather in springtime.”

  Victoria glanced from her soiled dress back to Maude, but the housekeeper seemed intent on something on Victoria’s face. Victoria rubbed shoulder to cheek. “Joanna and Catherine were not quite finished with their—er—discussion.” She laughed. “Catherine decided she would tolerate Joanna’s pestering no more and threw a handful of grease at her. She missed.”

  Victoria turned her head, allowing Maude to survey the grease smeared across her cheek. Maude’s frown warred with a twitch playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Catherine has a way of making point.” Victoria gave into laughter, drawing her companion in with her.

  “She does,” Maude agreed, between hiccups.

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, Victoria crossed to the table. She pulled the small stool sitting by the fire and stepped on it to hang the pot on the hook. As she extended her arm to connect the pot with the hook, a cry of dismay from Joanna yanked her attention over her shoulder. Victoria startled at sight of Iain MacPherson striding toward her from the doorway connecting the kitchen to the great hall.

  She wobbled. The stool tipped beneath her. Iain leapt for her as she covered her head to fend off the pot that had missed the hook. His arm shot out, deflecting the pot and he caught Victoria around the waist with the other. A crash of metal against stone rang in the kitchen as Iain yanked her into his arm. For a long moment her fingers refused to release their grip on his sash.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  Victoria nodded, her attention focused on something she detected in his tone. Gone was the arrogance that had characterized the days spent traveling to Fauldun Castle and, in its stead, a carefully banked fire warmed the tenor of his voice. Memory of the night she had cried herself to sleep in his tender embrace caused her belly to do a flip.

  “I told you there was safety in my arms,” he whispered in her ear.

  She stilled, the words recalling the shocked reality that this was her long-lost captor who had returned to claim his prize. She willed her arms to shove him from her, but his softly spoken “Are you sure you are well?” immobilized her.

  His head lifted and he met her gaze. She startled when he scowled. “Why are you dressed like this—and what are you doing in the kitchen?”

  Victoria broke free of him and took an unsteady step back. “I am helping with the evening meal.”

  “’Tis not your job.” He shot Maude a recriminating look.

  “Now, Iain, Vi—we—uh—well, the lass wanted something to do. She helps us now and again.”

  His brows snapped downward and a question appeared in his eyes. “She will not be working in the kitchen again. In the future, she will take her meals in the hall with me.”

  “But I do not wish to take my meals in the hall with you,” Victoria said.

  He looked at her. “Why?”

  “It is noisy and messy, and I have no desire to share my supper with animals.”

  Iain raised an indignant brow.

  Victoria shook her head. “I am speaking of the hounds, my lord, not your men.”

  “And what of me?”

  “What of you?”

  “You do not wish to eat with me?”

  “I have no desire, one way or the other.”

  “Aye, but I think you do,” Iain murmured. “Have desire, that is.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks. “You know little of me.”

  “True,” he replied. “But I am trying to learn more. Yet you are determined to make it hard for me.”

  “Not nearly so hard as I will in the future,” she muttered.

  His gaze turned masculine. “Do you have any idea how hard you are making me now, sweet?”

  She gasped. “’Tis not my concern to know such things.”

  “Do you regret what you already know?” he asked.

  Victoria glanced in the direction of the women who stood watching, certain they could hear every syllable of their whispered conversation. “Oh, aye, my lord,” she raised her voice. “What is there to regret? The knowledge that I remain a prisoner is sufficient, would you not agree?”

  “I have been gone too long.” He stepped closer and stroked her cheek with the back of a long finger.

  The action startled Victoria. He winked, causing her to blink, then he sauntered over to the hearth and made a great pretense of examining the contents of the pot boiling over the fire.

  “If you do not like the way things are done in the great hall, lass, change them.”

  Victoria felt an odd desire to laugh at the loud voice he had used to make the announcement.

  “What in the name of the devil is cooking in this pot, Maude?”

  “’Tis something special Vi—er, the lassie here taught us to make.”

  It wasn’t Maude’s bumbling of words that gripped Victoria, but Iain’s eyes as his head snapped in the housekeeper’s direction. The serene smile she had plastered on her face could have fooled Saint Peter himself, but Iain’s eyes narrowed on her just the same. Victoria hurried to the hearth and looked down into the pot.

  “It is a fish chowder for tomorrow’s meal. Would you care to try some?”

  Iain glanced down at her, then back to Maude. Quiet laughter from the pantry drew his attention, and Victoria was sure the jest was up.

  At last, he looked back at Victoria. “Nay, lass. I will wait until tomorrow.” His expression softened as he fondled the lock of hair that had fallen loose from her hair tie. “I will come to you later, sweet.”

  She opened her mouth to threaten dire consequences should he come anywhere near her, but stopped at the unexpected sound of another feminine voice approaching the kitchen.

  “It is her right if she chooses.” The kitchen maid Rachel’s voice was clear.

  “Aye,” a voice Victoria didn’t recognize agreed, “but, fire is a dangerous thing to play with. She would do well to pray to the Holy Mother for merc—” the two women stepped into the kitchen and stopped short.

  Iain stared expectantly at them. Rachel murmured a greeting and elbowed the other girl, who stood staring.

  The girl broke from her trance and said, “Laird.” The room grew quiet as they made their exit from the kitchen into the scullery.

  Victoria held her breath until he faced her again
. Muffled laughter emanated from the scullery and he glanced in that direction, then turned back to her.

  “I missed you, lass.”

  Before she could consider a response, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. The dark passion in his embrace rose greedily to the surface, and Victoria felt him stir against her abdomen. The impulse to fend him off was quelled by the embarrassment of having to do so in front of the women, who made no pretense of ignoring the fact their laird was making love to her.

  “You cannot miss something you have never had,” she answered.

  Iain’s laughter filled the room as he released her. He turned to go and Victoria breathed with relief, then remembered the women’s accusations that she had bedded him the morning of his departure.

  “My lord, did you know a ghost walks the grounds of Fauldun Castle?”

  Iain halted and turned.

  Victoria spared a smug glance for Maude, who stood near the sink, then said to him, “Were you aware of this?”

  “Nay.”

  Victoria sauntered over to Maude. “Maude saw him the day you left.”

  Iain’s eyes shifted to the housekeeper, who stared at Victoria as if she’d lost her mind.

  “The ghost looks very much like you,” Victoria said.

  “A ghost is it, now?” Maude said in a soft voice.

  Victoria looked down at where the smaller woman now leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her stomach as if she hadn’t a care in the world. An unsettling sense that Maude was the cat and she was now the mouse gave her pause, but she looked at Iain and added, “What else could it have been? Unless that was you leaving my cottage the morning you left?”

  Iain’s expression darkened and Victoria startled when Iain took three steps and stopped in front of her. “What mischief are you up to?”

  She stared, confused.

  “Come now, lass,” Maude put in. “Why go on with this ruse?”

  “Ruse?” Victoria split a glance between her two adversaries. “He is standing before us and yet you continue with your tale?”

  Maude gave her an odd look, then turned to Iain. “Laird, what happened the morning you visited V—er, the lass?”