by Tarah Scott
“Would have come sooner if I knew you were here,” Samuel said.
“I imagine so,” Iain replied. “Will you have a drink?”
The older man glanced at the bottle of whiskey. “Dawilneh’s finest?”
“Nothing less.” Iain filled a glass and handed it to him.
In one quick swig, the liquid disappeared down Samuel’s throat. He let out a long whistle. “Still the best in all of Scotland.” He slammed the glass down on the table. “You know why I have come?”
Iain nodded. “Aye, Samuel. Though I had not expected you tonight.”
Samuel gave him a questioning look.
“I was told you were up north.”
“Come back early,” Samuel said with a grimace. “I am not overly fond of that side of the family, if you know what I mean?”
“Family can be a nuisance,” Iain agreed.
Samuel looked around the room. “I see you brought men with you. Expecting trouble?”
“Should I be?” Iain asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“A man gets what he gives.”
“Only if he has given it.”
Samuel studied him. “Havena’ seen Kayleigh in some time.”
“You know what I have to say on that matter,” Iain said. “What is done is done. The girl is happy. Would you have me tear her from her husband?”
“The lass is a Menzies,” Samuel answered heatedly. “She should have married one.”
“’Tis five years passed, man,” Iain said. “How long will you plan on carrying a grudge?”
“Until the debt’s paid.”
“You and I both know your daughter wanted to marry John,” Iain said with a weary sigh.
“Nay,” the old man argued. “The lad took her. She had no choice.”
The clatter of a bowl hitting the floor brought everyone’s attention to the corner where the lass snatched the offending item from where it had landed. Iain shot her a quelling look before returning his attention to Samuel.
“There have been plenty of opportunities over the years for you to find a lass to replace Kayleigh.”
Samuel looked around the room. “There are plenty of women here tonight. Seems only fair they should have an opportunity to choose.”
Iain didn’t bother to glance at the women he knew were familiar with the old man’s ritual of finding a substitute for the daughter he sorely missed. “Be my guest. Ask away. Any who wish to leave, have my blessing.”
With a loud show of clearing his throat, Samuel straightened. “Listen, lasses. I offer the protection of the Menzies clan. Come with me and you will want for nothing.”
The room was silent for a moment before one voice spoke up. “Any woman?”
Iain shot to his feet as the owner of the voice stepped forward. Samuel’s gaze fixed on the lass as she stepped from behind the table back to Iain.
“I find this offer interesting,” she said, elbowing her way past the women and coming to stand next to Samuel.
“Lass,” Iain thundered, “you have no idea what you are doing. Sit down and be quiet.”
She shook her head. “You said any woman who wished to leave had your blessing.”
“Any woman but you.”
“That is not what you said.”
“You know full well you cannot leave.” Iain’s raised voice quieted the voices that had grown louder.
“What the devil?” Samuel walked around Victoria, surveying her with a critical eye. “You are Sassenach.”
“And she cannot leave,” Iain confirmed again.
Samuel’s eyes narrowed on Iain. “Eh, and why not? She is right. You did say any woman could leave, and with your blessing, no less.”
“Any but this one,” Iain growled. “Do not try me on this, Samuel. Up until now the game has been in fun, but this woman stays.”
“Why?”
“Because she is mine.”
“Yours?” Samuel split a doubtful look between the two of them, then said, “Ahh, a tasty wench, is she?” He nodded. “Well, I suppose if she already belongs to you…”
“But I do not.”
Her objection came in such a reasonable tone, Iain could only stare.
“But Iain has said you do,” Samuel said.
“’Tis only his delusion,” she said. “I do not belong to him. Oh, aye, he stole me and thinks that gives him ownership, but…” she shrugged.
Samuel’s dumbfounded gaze swung to Iain. “You stole her?”
“She is a guest,” Iain said between clenched teeth.
“Guests can come and go as they please,” she interjected.
Iain narrowed his eyes on her. “I warn you, do not meddle in things you know nothing about.” He jerked his head, and her guard appeared at her side. “Take her to her room—nay, take her to my room. And do not leave the door until I arrive.” He shifted his focus to her. “I will attend to you later.” He gave her a severe look before turning back to the old man. “Your business here tonight is finished, Samuel.”
“So you will play it that way, then?” Samuel countered in an aggrieved tone. “’Tis a fine thing to change the rules as you please.”
“Ha!” The lass’s voice cut in as the guard struggled to lead her to the door. “You do not know the half of it.”
“Seems to me,” Samuel went on, “you are not playing fair with the lassie.”
“You know nothing of it,” Iain said, throwing himself back into his chair. “So I would offer you the same advice I did her: do not meddle in things that are not your concern.”
“Well, now,” a dark brow rose, “a lady in distress is always a man’s business.”
“She is not in distress. Yet.” Iain muttered. “As to the other matter, if you have a problem with John MacPherson, speak with him. But,” Iain held up a finger, “if you make trouble for those two, you deal with me. They have another child, you know,” he added more gently.
Samuel nodded. “Aye, Sylvia told me. But Kayleigh hasna’ once asked me to come.”
“Only because she fears you will kill her husband,” Iain said, for once not feeling one wit of compassion for the old fool. “Cannot say I blame her.”
Samuel motioned to his men. “I do not need to waste more time here. But I still say—”
“I know, I know.” Iain waved a hand. “One of these days a MacPherson lass will wed a Menzies,” he repeated the phrase exactly as he’d heard it the past five years. “There is nothing I would like better.” He sighed. “But for now, off with you. I have had a trying day.”
Half an hour later, feet propped up on his chair, Iain had just begun a second scotch and was in full sail planning retribution for his spoilt evening when the front door once again burst open. At the sight of the lass’s guard—fear on his face and a smattering of blood on his forehead—Iain swung to his feet and was standing when the man reached his side.
“They took her, Laird.”
“Bog Mor,” Iain cursed loudly, earning himself more than a few recriminating looks from the women present for the guttural curse. Samuel Menzies picked a devil of a time to make good on his threat.
* * *
At first, it seemed a godsend, but now, surrounded by strangers, a hard ride on a moonless night cast serious doubt on the wisdom of her judgment.
Samuel maneuvered his horse up alongside Victoria. “Are you all right, lass?”
She nodded.
“Can you ride the night?” He glanced around the open countryside. “Iain will not waste any time coming after us once he discovers you are gone. If need be, I can have you ride with one of the lads.”
Victoria shook her head. “I doubt I will sleep a wink.”
Samuel grinned. “Nervous?”
“I suppose,” Victoria said, surprised he understood.
“Do not worry. Iain will have no claim on you once we reach Glecairne.”
Memory rose of Iain’s muscled chest beneath her fingers. Her pulse skipped a beat. She would be truly beyond his reach? “You ar
e sure?” she asked.
“Of course,” Samuel said. “Once you are married to Grant even the MacPherson cannot touch you.”
Victoria nearly fell from the saddle. Fumbling with her grip on the pommel, she regained her balance. “What in Hades?”
“Are you all right?” Samuel asked.
Groaning, Victoria slumped forward, causing him to call a halt. “What do you mean, married?” she almost shouted once her feet were on solid ground.
Samuel eyed her. “You are to marry my son, Grant.”
“Sweet Jesu.” Victoria dropped down onto the tall grass. “What have I done?”
“What is amiss?” He squatted beside her.
“I have no wish to marry your son.”
He frowned. “Then why did you come with me?”
“How was I to know you intended marriage?” She leaned over, sure she would be ill.
“Every MacPherson woman knows that,” he said.
“I am not a MacPherson woman.”
Samuel studied her with a considering air, then said, “Who are you?”
“I am English. You noticed that,” Victoria answered peevishly. “And it was no lie when I said Iain MacPherson took me. He thinks to make me his wife.”
Samuel’s frown deepened. “A Sassenach wife for the MacPherson?” He wagged his head. “I do not believe it.”
“Neither did I,” Victoria mumbled.
“You are a pretty thing.” His gaze moved over her in a masculine manner. “You would make a fine mistress.”
Victoria shot him an indignant look. “I promise you, sir, I would not.”
Samuel winced. “Perhaps not. You would prefer to be wife, then?”
A quiver rippled through her stomach. Iain MacPherson’s wife? She shoved aside the thought. “If you are asking whether I would prefer to be wife or mistress, I say neither.”
Bushy brows drawn together, Samuel took on a look of polite bewilderment. “You cannot have it both ways, lassie. It will be one or the other. Hmm.” He paused, and Victoria had the feeling the studious look on his face didn’t bode well for her. “I could save Iain a great deal of trouble and have you wed Grant anyway. I cannot believe the MacPherson is in his right mind. Then again, if Iain is anything like his father, that could prove a mistake. His mother ran off with another man, you know.”
Victoria needed no reminders of that story. The churning of her stomach was interrupted by the sound of fast approaching riders. She and Samuel looked up as one of his men appeared.
“Riders.” The man pointed in the direction he had just come. “Ten minutes away.”
Samuel jumped up. “How did they find out you were gone so quickly?” He shot her an accusing look and motioned for his horse. “Mayhap it would be best if we left you here, lass.”
Victoria’s heart jumped to a gallop. Left to her own devices she could make for the castle she had learned lay no more than thirty minutes to the north. Reaching for the reins of her horse, she lifted her foot to the stirrup.
“Nay,” Samuel said. “We will take the horse. Never mind,” he went on, his voice all reassurance, “you are in no danger. Iain will find you quick enough.”
“But the horse belongs to him,” Victoria shouted to their backs.
She took a few steps toward the band as it disappeared into the darkness before the sound of their retreating hooves were drowned out by the approach of horses behind her. Victoria looked frantically for any form of refuge. Gathering her skirts, she hurried down the hillside, hoping to reach the bushes that lined the bottom of the hill. She hadn’t yet reached them when a shout went up. Victoria dropped to the ground, but a moment later, she was surrounded by her pursuers.
Iain vaulted from his horse and yanked Victoria to her feet. Their eyes met for a dangerous second, then he took a single step forward, bringing their bodies thigh to thigh. His arm shot around her back and, clutching her waist, he lifted her from the ground. Victoria knew an instant of lightheadedness when the wind was squeezed out of her as Iain jerked her hard against his midsection.
She tensed, an unexpected rush of cold air on her legs bringing the comprehension that he was yanking her skirt up. There was no time to protest the breeze against her bare bottom when the sound of a hard slap registered the stinging on her rear end.
“How dare you,” she screamed, but another slap answered. Victoria thrashed. Iain held her tighter, leaving her gasping for breath. “Nay!” The choked shriek was followed by yet another slap, and another, and another. Iain planted her feet back on the ground.
Victoria staggered, but he steadied her, eyes blazing. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “The next one will be with my belt against your bare ass.” Iain turned to his men. “Bring Samuel Menzies back,” he shouted.
The men whirled and, in the next instant, Victoria found herself alone with her captor. Iain pulled her to his side and stepped into his saddle. She yelped when he hauled her across his lap, her stomach across his hard thighs. Iain urged his horse forward, the motion jarring Victoria, causing the pommel to dig into the soft flesh of her stomach.
“Oooh!” She twisted, kicked, and screamed, but Iain responded with a deliberate tug on her skirt, bringing it an inch higher with every threat she threw at him. An attempt to slide off his lap ended with his elbow deep in her derriere.
“Brute,” Victoria screamed against the shoulder of his horse. “Let me go!”
She thrashed even harder and found her skirt over her head. A hard pinch was felt on bare skin in almost the same spot his elbow had been. Her temper slipped past reason and, gripping the thing nearest her—Iain’s leg—Victoria bit down on his calf. He let out a warrior’s yell and his leg shot out in defense, nearly knocking her senseless. Spots raced across her vision. Iain pulled back on the reins and, yanking Victoria into his arms, slid from the saddle. He set her on her feet. She wobbled and he caught her before she toppled over.
“Get your hands off me,” she hissed.
He released her and she fell with a heavy thud to her backside.
“Sweet Jesu.” She reached back to rub the rise of her derrière. “You are a barbarian.”
“A barbarian would beat you, which you deserve.”
“You did,” she said, with vehemence.
“Nay, my lass. That was a gentle warning. Try such foolishness again and you will learn what a real beating is.”
Victoria stopped massaging her back and looked up at him. As his voice had indicated, no remorse showed in his expression. “I do not know why you are angry with me,” she said, suddenly understanding why Samuel had no wish to face him. “It is not my fault.”
“Not your fault! This whole affair is your doing. If you had kept your mouth shut—nay,” he raised a finger when she started to interrupt. “If you had kept quiet, Samuel would have made his posturing, just as he always does, then left without incident. It has gone on five years, and this is the first attempt to make good on that ridiculous threat.”
Heedless of the sudden throb in her head, Victoria scrambled to her feet. “Do not think to blame me for this—this—”
“This what?”
“This habit you Scots have of thinking you can make off with a female without so much as an introduction.”
“Nay, lass, this is not the same, and do not think I am ignorant of your part in this scheme.”
“I did not tell him to come for me.”
“You need not have said the words,” Iain’s voice rose a notch, and he took a step in her direction. “You as much as invited them to while I looked on.”
“I only wanted to escape you,” Victoria shouted with a quick step toward him before retreating again.
Iain’s hands worked at his sides. “So, then, you would rather marry Grant?”
“Nay,” she said. “That would not do at all.”
“Then, by God, we will end this once and for all.” Iain yanked her to him. “More than once you have driven me to the fire and left me there to burn. Tonight we bu
rn together.”
One arm around her waist, Iain pushed her downward. A sense of falling assailed Victoria and she threw her arms around his neck, leaving not a hair’s breadth between their bodies as the force of his weight pinned her to the ground.
“What—” Her protest was cut off when his lips captured hers.
Her head spun and she tried to shake him off, but Iain moved his hips against her, bringing the dizzying recognition of his arousal. She shoved against his shoulders, but her grip weakened at the feel of the rhythm between them. She heard herself groan as his hand slid from her waist to tug on the sleeve of her dress. A quiver began deep inside her when his lips moved from her mouth, along her cheek, and down to where her shoulder now lay bare. Victoria twisted in his hold at the feel of her skirt again inching upward.
She gasped. “Nay—we cannot—”
Iain’s mouth came to her ear. “We can,” he whispered against the pulse in the hollow of her throat.
She tightened her grip on his shoulders. “This—” she breathed. “I cannot think.” Victoria pushed at him, and he lifted his head to look at her. “You…you are angry.” She realized an urge to cry…and the need to have him wrap his arms around her. “You only wish to punish me.”
“Angry?” he repeated. “Aye, I am angry—angry that your foolish pride nearly took you from me. As for punishment, I am the one who has suffered these past weeks. But no more.” He looked hard at her. “You want me.” His tone, somehow so sure, elicited a shiver.
“I—I do not know.” She shook her head as much out of an effort to clear her mind as to discourage him. And perhaps deny the truth?
She opened her mouth to deny the unbidden thought, but Iain kissed her. His hands worked at the laces of her bodice. The cloth parted and his head dipped to take a nipple between his lips. Vague awareness that his hand was again rucking up her skirt rang a dull bell in her head. She moved beneath him, but escape became a muddled thought with the warmth of his knee wedging itself between her thighs.
Another instant, and his kilt came up, their bodies now in intimate contact. He gripped her legs and urged her knees up in a motion that was gentler than expected. Iain settled between her thighs, and her fingers curved into his shoulders when a wave of dizziness overtook her.
