by Tarah Scott
* * *
Standing in the modest bedchamber, Iain shifted his attention between the woman who sat on the edge of the bed a foot from him and the woman who now lay sleeping as a result of one of Rachel’s potions. The girl’s light brown hair, washed and brushed, lay against crisp white sheets. Her torn garments had been replaced with a simple night shift. The steady rise and fall of her breasts beneath the covers gave evidence of the strong spirit that commanded the battered body. Iain’s chest tightened. His woman could have fallen prey to the men who committed this atrocity had he not found her when he did.
Thomas’s discourse with the Robertsons when he encountered them hadn’t revealed their real reason for being on MacPherson land. As the MacPhersons enjoyed little trouble from their southern neighbors, and because Thomas had been frantic to locate his charge, he hadn’t questioned the explanation that they were just riding through. But there was little doubt they were responsible for the girl’s condition.
With her asleep, Iain’s patience came to an end. He nudged the lass, but she waved him off. When he nudged her again, she shook her head, and he leaned down saying, “Do not test me. I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.”
With a sigh, she rose. When they reached the great hall, she started toward the dining table, but Iain took her hand and led her outside. Her hesitation became resistance when he started across the courtyard.
“Release me.” She tried to tug free of his grasp.
Ignoring her, Iain dragged her along behind him. She dug her heels into the ground, pulling even harder. Iain whirled, hauled her over his shoulder, and continued forward.
“How dare you!” She pounded her fists against his back.
Iain passed a group of warriors, who laughed. She ceased beating him and lifted herself just enough so that it was clear she was looking in the direction of the laughter. Her body clenched and she growled. When he entered the grove, she began flailing her legs about in an attempt to kick him. Iain clamped down on her legs.
“You will pay for this, you brute.” She wriggled in a vain attempt to free herself.
Iain broke out of the grove and started down the open path that led to her cottage.
“Mamma, look,” a little girl called from a cottage porch.
His charge stilled.
A woman appeared in the door. “Sweet God in heaven.” The woman grabbed her daughter, yanked her back into the cottage, and slammed the door shut.
More laughter rang out in the wake of Iain’s path until they disappeared into the privacy of her cottage. He tossed her onto the bed. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off by coming down on top of her.
“I warned you,” he whispered in a harsh breath. “Now, little bird, how do you plan on escaping the wrath of your keeper?”
Her cheeks colored. “I—I was not trying to escape.”
The desire to believe her did nothing to quash the tide of emotion that heaved through his chest. “You would have me believe such drivel?”
“I have never lied to you. Had I resolved to escape, I would not deny it.”
Iain raised a brow.
“Do not worry, Lord Keeper,” she flashed a reckless smile, “you will someday understand I speak the truth.”
“Aye?”
A disquieting frown appeared on her face.
“Am I to understand you will one day succeed in escaping?” he asked.
“I have no intention of remaining your prisoner, and when that time comes…”
“Your words imply I will catch you.” He leaned closer and added, “Just as I did today.”
“Nay.”
Iain lifted a brow. “Why not save yourself the trouble and admit the truth? You want to stay.”
She began to struggle. Her thrashing ended, however, when Iain met the thrust of her hips with a slow movement against her as he had wanted to the day he stole her from the abbey. She must have understood the connection, for she said, “Are you to finish the job, then?”
Anger pricked at the implication that he would take her as any barbarian would, though, in truth, he wanted to. “Finish what I began? I suppose so.”
Her expression moved from surprise to fear, then her eyes narrowed. “Father Brennan warned you.”
“And I warned you about thinking you could defy me. It would seem I have been too lenient.”
“Would you prefer I left that poor girl where I found her?” Victoria cut in.
“Leave her?” His gut tightened. “You should not have been there in the first place. Do you realize the danger?” But he knew she did. He remembered the stark fear on her face.
“What would you have had me do?” she demanded. “If I had shown myself, we both would have been discovered.”
“The point is not your courage, but that you ran off in the first place. It could have been you.” The last came out in a whisper.
Strong fingers gripped his shoulders as she brought her face to within a hair’s breadth of his. “I care nothing for what you say. I would not have left her there.” She emphasized every syllable, leaving him with no doubt that any threat he made would mean little in light of her conviction.
“You will learn to care, my lass,” he promised. “There is plenty of time yet for that, especially since you will not again leave the safety of the keep.”
Her grip on him tightened. “Get—” she grunted with the effort of pushing him away from her, “—off—me.”
She gave a mighty push and Iain rolled away, ending in a sitting position. She reared onto her knees and swung at him, but halted mid-stroke.
Iain lifted a corner of his mouth. “I see you are quite capable of learning, little bird.”
Her slim fingers curved into a fist and Iain nodded with understanding. “Here.” He made a fist and hit himself on the shoulder. “If you think you can do any better than you did yesterday, go ahead, love. I will not do a thing.” She glared and he smiled slowly. “I see. You would rather give me a good knock on the head. Try, if you like.”
“Does your thick skull comprehend I have done nothing wrong?” she asked in a calmer manner than he expected.
He studied her. “You are sure?”
“I know my own mind.”
Iain gave a single nod. “As you say, then.” He rose and began straightening the sash that had slipped from his shoulder. “Never let it be said I questioned the word of a lady.”
Her gaze sharpened. “The matter is finished?”
He looked up from the sash. “I never said that.”
“Sweet Jesu, but you are a contrary man. Which is it to be, Lord Keeper?”
“You need not worry, lass, you swear you have done nothing wrong.”
“But you just said—”
“Aye,” he interrupted. “It is not you I will deal with, but the one I entrusted you to.”
Iain remained motionless as she crawled across the bed toward him, still on her knees. She stopped in front of him.
“You do not mean Thomas?”
“I do.”
“But he has done no wrong.”
“But he did.”
“What?”
“Tell me,” Iain said, “how is it you escaped him?”
She flushed. “We—I—I simply—he did no—” she faltered, then there was silence.
With a finger under her chin, Iain tilted her bowed head upward. “This is no light matter. Our fate often lies in the hands of those we trust. Today, it was Thomas who held your life.” He stroked her cheek with a thumb. “Do you think I would have a hair on your head harmed?”
She tried to look away, but he held her, forcing her to face him.
“Can you deny there is fault to be found?”
“But Thomas only allowed me free rein.”
“Ah.” Iain released her. “Then his fault was in trusting you.”
“I will not remain your prisoner,” she insisted.
“What if we had not found you when we did? Nay!” he said when she ope
ned her mouth to reply. “Consider before you speak. You know full well I am asking you what would happen had you been discovered by the men who beat that girl.”
“You think to keep me prisoner by convincing me there is no safety outside these walls?”
Iain snorted. “What I expect is for you to use some sense.” He started to say more but a knock on the door stopped him. He stepped to the door and swung it open. A grim-faced MacPherson stood in the doorway.
“The Robertsons have come calling, Laird,” was all he said.
Iain nodded, then turned and strode back to where Victoria stood. Her face had paled. “They cannot harm you.” He paused. “Or her, for that matter. Oh, and lass, once you resolve to escape,” he tapped her forehead with a finger, “you will then try in earnest?” With that, he left.
Across the compound, he met Thomas. “What have they to say?” Iain asked.
“They want the woman.”
“Did they offer an explanation for her condition?”
“Aye,” Thomas replied. “They say she is a murderess.”
Iain halted. “Murderess?”
“Her betrothed,” Thomas added.
“Sweet Christ,” Iain said under his breath. “What in the name of the devil have we gotten ourselves into?”
Chapter Eleven
Iain finished the last drop of ale and set the mug on the table as the postern door opened and Kevin Roberston entered the great hall. One look at him, hand on the hilt of his sword, confirmed the matter went far beyond a murder between lovers.
“Do not deny you have her, MacPherson,” Kevin said as he neared. “Wallace spoke with your man while we were searching for the criminal. We are not such fools as to think you did not have her. I will take her now.” Kevin’s hand shifted on his sword, bringing the guards behind Iain forward.
“Not such fools as to think I do not have her,” Iain replied, “but fools enough to come into my home with threats.”
A moment passed when Iain wasn’t sure the man understood, but Kevin’s hand dropped from his weapon.
“She was nearly dead when I found her,” Iain said.
“’Tis not your business, MacPherson,”
Iain raised a brow. “Did you come alone?”
Kevin blinked. “Nay.”
“Did you bring enough men to come here without invitation?”
“We never needed one before,” Kevin said, suddenly appearing to notice the warriors who lined the nearby wall.
“True,” Iain agreed. “But then, you never beat a woman half to death before—on my land, that is.”
“She belongs to us,” Kevin responded in genuine amazement.
“That gives you the right to beat her within an inch of her life?”
“She is a murderess.”
Iain caught the defensive note in his voice. “Mayhap,” he replied, “but it is an ungodly way to treat even a murderess.”
“Are you going to return her?” Kevin demanded.
“I will have to think on it.”
“Nay!”
Iain jerked his head in the direction of the familiar female voice. The lass stood in the kitchen doorway, eyes blazing.
“Murderess or not,” her voice rang throughout the room, “he will not return her. You are no better than a murderer yourself for treating her thusly.”
Kevin’s lips curled into a derisive frown. “Be gone woman. You have no place in this.”
Iain shot out of his chair. “Do you think to come into my home and order my women about?”
Kevin looked at the occupants of the room as if he’d entered an insane asylum. “She is a woman, man. You will allow her to interfere?”
“You seem to forget, ’tis not England we live in, but Scotland. Here, at least on MacPherson land, women are treated with respect. Listen carefully. I will hear the accusations and speak with the girl’s protectors. Who are they?”
Kevin hesitated.
“Answer my question or leave.”
“I do not know the details,” Kevin replied.
Iain recognized the lie. “Then bring me someone who does.” He started for the kitchen, indicating the meeting was at an end.
“You have no right to interfere!”
Iain pivoted on his heel, facing Kevin. “I have the right to do anything I please.”
“If you have the power,” Kevin sneered. “The MacPhersons are not so vast.”
“The Clan Chattan is vast, indeed,” Iain said. “And my comrades will not take lightly to your threats. That is, if there is anything left to find offensive.”
“I warn you, MacPherson, we will have our justice.”
“Justice?” The lass strode to where he stood. “What sort of man metes out such justice to a woman? That is not a man, but a coward.”
“Who are you, woman, to interfere in the business of men?” Kevin demanded.
“She is to be my wife,” Iain answered.
“Your wife?” Kevin’s astonished gaze flicked from Iain to Victoria. “She is Sassenach.”
“That is better than being a cruelhearted Scot,” she countered.
“Cruel?” Kevin looked confused. “’Tis not cruel to seek justice.”
“Back to that again are we?” She snorted in contempt. “I wager you would not think it justice were I to beat you in the same manner.”
“Are you daft, woman?” Kevin’s face contorted with scorn and anger. “You could no more beat me than you could a dog.” He turned his attention away from her and focused on Iain. “You will not return Jillian?”
“Now I think it is you who are daft,” she cut in again. “That is exactly what he said. Or are you too dull to understand simple English?”
Kevin’s hand clenched. Iain shoved her aside and slammed his fist into Kevin’s jaw. The man crumpled to the floor, sending dust motes shooting upward from the dried rushes that lay about him.
“Throw him out,” Iain yelled to the nearby men. He faced the lass, seized her arm, and shoved her into the arms of the closest warrior. “Take her to her cottage and see that she stays there.” He strode across the room and out the postern door.
Dark clouds scudded beyond the castle towers as he scanned the battlements for Thomas. His cousin stood talking with two men on the west ramparts and Iain motioned him down.
“I want you to deliver a message,” Iain said as Thomas took the last steps down the narrow staircase. “Make sure the Robertsons understand that, while they may mistreat their women, they do not enjoy the same perverse privilege with MacPherson women.”
“Mon Dieu. What happened?”
Iain couldn’t halt the working of his fists at his side. “He thought to strike the lass.”
Thomas stared. “Why?”
The hard lines around Iain’s mouth softened. “I suppose you could say he does not care for outspoken women.”
* * *
Iain’s even strides didn’t falter until he stood outside the lass’s cottage. He halted, hand against the thick wood of the door and listened for any sounds. No noises filtered through.
Perhaps his long-time friend and kinsmen Johannas wasn’t sequestered in the lady’s cottage as he’d been told. It wouldn’t be the first time gossip was in error. The possibility that Johannas would betray him had seemed inconceivable even while Iain had listened to the tale of how the two had been alone the entire afternoon. Still, the lack of sound was no proof of anything. With a hard push, he shoved the door open.
With the resounding bang of the door as it hit the wall the lass gave a small cry. Iain narrowed his eyes on Johannas, who was sitting far too close to her. Johannas’s gaze moved from Iain, to her, then back to Iain again. Understanding formed on his friend’s face, and Johannas stood as Iain advanced.
A wary look crept into her eyes, and Iain feared that the gossip was on the mark this time.
“Is there something you want, my lord,” she asked when he stopped beside them.
“What are you up to?” He looked at Johannas.
“I am working,” the lass replied.
The short response wasn’t what he’d expected, but a quick assessment of the document she held confirmed she was, indeed, immersed in something. Iain took the document, startled to see the plans for the waterwheel Johannas had left on his desk two days ago.
Though curious when they’d mysteriously disappeared that same day, recent events had forced the mystery to the back of his mind. His attention snagged on the notations, and he realized he was looking at the final stage of the plans. A quick total of a few of the calculations that outlined the placement of the wheel in the water told him the mind that had created them was keen indeed, far keener than the one that had dabbled in the earlier version.
“Please.” She tried snatching the document from him.
When Iain dodged her efforts, he was well aware her wariness increased, but his own curiosity drove him. He turned a questioning eye on Johannas, who shrugged, saying, “You might want to let the lass finish, Iain.”
Iain shoved the paper back into her hands and motioned Johannas toward the door.
“What is going on here?” he demanded once they were outside.
Iain listened to the story of Johannas discovering her in the library already well on her way to correcting the problems in the original plans. In his mind’s eye, Iain saw her bent over the large desk in his library, Johannas leaning over her much in the same manner he had been when Iain discovered them. Iain broke from the mental picture when Johannas’s voice grew insistent.
“What?” Iain asked.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Aye,” he replied. “You found her in the library.”
Johannas gave him an odd look. “You know Rory’s death left us without an engineer?”
Iain nodded.
“Franklin had not studied enough to know a cursed thing. To tell the truth, I did not think the lad is worth a pile of horse dung. Although,” Johannas made a clicking sound with his tongue, “he did draw the second set of plans a might better than the first.”
