Lord Keeper

by Tarah Scott

  Murder appeared on her face. “She is a child.”

  Iain looked at Katherine. Even the shadows of night couldn’t disguise the fact that she looked full grown, and he didn’t hesitate to say so.

  “He cannot have her,” Victoria said through clenched teeth. “As my stepdaughter, she falls under your protection. Tell Riley to release her.”

  Iain said nothing, and Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Surely, there are some advantages to being your wife.”

  Trapped, said the hare to the fox. “Surely there are,” he said. “Riley, release her.”

  “Laird,” the young man protested.

  Iain shook his head. “Nay, lad.”

  Riley reluctantly released her, and she flung herself into Victoria’s arms. Iain wasn’t surprised when his wife didn’t bother with a backward glance as she led the girl away. Watching the two of them, it occurred to him his wife was even less alone in the world than he had imagined just that afternoon.

  “Thomas,” Iain said. “See to it that the English do not leave the courtyard.”

  Thomas smiled and faced Edwin’s men. “Well, lads,” he said as Iain turned back toward the castle, “do you wish to dance more tonight?”

  Iain returned to the great hall. Sight of Hockley snapped him from the amusing memory of Victoria’s outraged expression when she’d stated that Riley intended on keeping the girl.

  “Where is Victoria?” the earl demanded.

  “She is otherwise engaged.” Iain crossed the room and seated himself in his chair. “You have delivered your message, Hockley, what else do you want?”

  “I am aware of the circumstances of your marriage, MacPherson.”

  “Are you now?”

  “You cannot hold her.”

  The words were spoken in a low voice, but Iain recognized the threat. “An Englishman with the gift of second sight.” He paused as if to consider. “Interesting.”

  “A forced marriage will not be upheld in a court of law. English or Scot.”

  “Did she looked forced?”

  “I know Victoria quite well,” Edwin stated. “She is adept at hiding things.”

  Iain’s fingers tightened around the arm of his chair. “It is in your best interest to go back where you came from. I have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to the ramblings of yet another Sassenach.”

  “My only concern is her happiness,” Edwin said. “A brother could do no less.”

  “A brother can do a great deal less.” Iain came to his feet, bringing the guards to attention. “It might interest you to know, the announcement of your imminent arrival made her decision all the easier.”

  A muscle in Edwin’s jaw worked. “If I find she is being held against her will, I will come for her…and you.”

  Iain shook his head. “You come into my house and threaten me? I must look the fool.”

  “Whether or not you are a fool, only time will tell.”

  “I am not such a fool as to leave you to roam free on my land,” Iain interjected. “Take your men and be gone tonight.”

  “You would keep me from speaking with her?” Edwin’s tone was calm, the sort of calm spoken by a man who knew his position to be unimpeachable.

  “She has expressed no desire to see you. In fact, she appears to be avoiding you.”

  “She could do nothing less when you stand nearby like a bird of prey.”

  Iain recognized the ploy, but he also knew, as yet, he had no marriage certificate and, as mighty as Clan Chattan was, they would not look kindly on having their confederate brought low by an English sovereign. King James would, no doubt, comply with England were Iain found to be in fault.

  “I will allow you to speak with her, but not tonight. You may return tomorrow. That is,” Iain paused, “unless you fear entering Fauldun Castle alone.”

  A corner of Edwin’s mouth twisted as he answered, “And if she wishes to return home?”

  “She is home.”

  * * *

  Victoria took Katherine to her cottage. Not until Maude and a group of women arrived to fetch her did Victoria realize her absence from the bridal chambers.

  “You did not think to stay in that little cottage, did you?” Maude asked with a devilish wink as the women scurried to gather her meager belongings.

  Victoria offered little more than a nod, her thoughts on the night that lay ahead, as well as every night she knew would follow with Iain MacPherson.

  Her silence as they set out on the path back to the castle did nothing to daunt her companions’ merriment. They nattered away, much to Victoria’s discomfort, their giggles a reflection of the very things she was unable to keep from her thoughts. Katherine was tucked away for the night, and the women settled in the solar for a final cup of tea.

  Victoria had avoided this room. It was the place the lady of the manor inhabited the few hours of the day she wasn’t running the household, the place she entertained, hid from her lord when he displeased her. This place belonged to that lady—and now that lady was her.

  “You seem distraught, mistress.”

  Victoria jerked from her thoughts and looked at Jillian. “Distraught?”

  Jillian nodded. “Though I cannot see why. It is clear you should be mistress of Fauldun Castle.”

  Heat crept up Victoria’s cheeks. She had not forgotten the girl’s assumption that she was mistress of Fauldun Castle. Neither had Victoria forgotten the lie she told that day. She hadn’t bothered to speak to Jillian about it, so there was little doubt the girl wondered at the outrageous story.

  Maude broke the quiet. “Why do you say that, lass?”

  Jillian glanced in surprise around the room. “Can I be the only one who sees it?”

  “Sees what?” Maude prodded.

  “That she cares for the laird.”

  Victoria flushed.

  Jillian angled her head in Victoria’s direction. “And ’tis obvious he has a tenderness for her.”

  Victoria stared at Jillian, whose eyes stared unfocused at the sewing in her lap.

  “A man’s love is a rare thing.”

  Sorrow stabbed at Victoria. Jillian was speaking of the man she had loved, the man who had so obviously loved her, the man she had lost. Victoria hadn’t loved Richard, so hadn’t mourned him. Would she mourn Iain MacPherson?

  Jillian looked up, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “I believe our guest speaks the truth,” Maude remarked.

  Murmured agreement passed through the room. Only Victoria remained silent.

  “Time for you to be off,” Maude said. “It will not do to have Iain searching for his bride on his wedding night as if it were the dinner hour.”

  Victoria cursed the housekeeper’s observant eye as Maude whisked her off to the room she now shared with her husband. Victoria understood well enough where the bath, new linens, and fresh flowers would lead, but sight of the sheerest nightrail she’d ever laid eyes on tightened the knot in her stomach.

  Maude slipped the garment over her head then with a knowing smile, bid her good night.

  At last, alone in Iain’s large bed, Victoria studied her surroundings, searching for the smallest thread of reality. But a thorough inspection left her wondering who would wake her to say that this was a dream.

  Her breath stilled with the sound of approaching footsteps. The man she now called lord and master had arrived. Why did the notion frighten her? It wouldn’t be the first time they had lain together. Because, her heart whispered, this time, he will claim you as his, with every right to do so until the day you die. And perhaps you are glad?

  Victoria watched in a mesmerized stupor as the door opened and Iain filled the opening. His eyes dropped to where her fingers twisted the colorful plaide that covered the bed.

  “All is well?” His mouth twitched when the fire in the hearth crackled and she jumped. “You need not be afraid, love. I am your husband.”

  The smile never left his face, and it seemed he moved in slow motion as he app
roached. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Victoria stiffened to keep from tilting toward him when the mattress shifted beneath his weight. His back to her, Iain leaned forward and grasped a boot. Muscles strained against his shirt. Victoria’s heart jumped in an erratic beat and she jerked her gaze onto the wall where played shadows cast by the bedside candle.

  With each tug of his boot, the bed danced in unison with the light on the wall. When a boot hit the floor, she threw herself on her side facing away from him, yanking the covers over her head.

  A long moment of silence followed, and the bed lifted when he stood. The rustling of material confirmed he was discarding his clothes. A tug on the covers, ghostly light, and he slipped into bed beside her. A gentle arm wrapped around her waist, and his warmth covered the length of her from behind. His hard length pressed into her buttocks. She tried to halt the tremor in her belly, but couldn’t. He wanted her, was ready for her. Light kisses trailed along the side of her neck. His arm unfolded from around her and fingers traced an airy line along her side, past her waist to the gentle arc of her hips. She shivered. Warm breath bathed her neck and her heart jumped into an erratic pattern.

  His hand sought the soft flesh of her thigh then pulled her leg back toward him and a finger dipped into the unguarded core of her body. Tender warmth spread through Victoria. He ceased stroking her to tug her onto her back. Coming to his knees, Iain pulled her into a sitting position. She didn’t realize his intention until, in one easy motion, he had her nightrail over her head.

  A shocking tide of desire swept through her when he came down on top of her. His lips met hers. Soft and pliable, they contrasted the hard part of him that moved in hot need against her thigh then, just as demanding, along the surface of her folds. She raised her hips to accommodate him, and he entered her in one quick thrust. Her intake of breath startled her, and a ripple of something deep within her radiated outward as he nipped at her ear.

  “Sweet Victoria.”

  Her heart leapt. He knew her name, had claimed her. Tears threatened and the unexpected need to push him away caused her grip on his shoulders to tense. As if sensing her intention, he moved faster, meeting her need with a heat grown fierce with knowledge of its prey. His face lifted from her neck and his gaze met and held hers as he thrust harder…faster. A quiver began deep in her core and, like a moth to flame, she gave into the rhythm.

  * * *

  Victoria lay awake, her thoughts centered on the even breathing of the man asleep beside her. Waning candlelight flickered across his features as if in harmony with every breath he took. She eased onto her side and, with a tentative hand, traced the muscles of his arm. He stirred and she drew back, closing her eyes in feigned sleep.

  When his breathing again evened out, she relaxed and a sudden weariness overtook her. A weariness she knew had as much to do with the appearance of her relatives as it did with Iain MacPherson. At the thought of Edwin Hockley, Victoria rolled to the other side of the bed with the intention of rising.

  “Where are you going?”

  She paused. “To look in on Katherine.”

  Iain reached out, his arm going round her waist, and tugged her to him. He nuzzled her ear. “This is our wedding night and already you are trying to escape me?”

  She ignored the quiver in the pit of her stomach. “I have been thinking, my lord.”

  “Thinking is the last thing you should be doing tonight,” he said, his voice husky.

  “I am wondering,” she forged on despite his romantic efforts, “if Edwin would allow Katherine to stay.”

  Iain’s amorous advances halted. “Stay? You mean here?”

  She winced at the boom of his deep voice in her ear. “She was never welcome in Richard’s household, and I doubt it is any better in Edwin’s house.”

  Iain leaned away and looked at her. “Did Hockley treat you as your husband did?”

  She shook her head. “Nay.”

  “He never hurt you?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then why do you fear him?”

  “I do not fear him,” she answered. “I simply have no great love for him.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated before saying, “I thought you said tonight was not a night for such things.”

  Iain grunted. “Aye, and this conversation bears out the logic. Still, you insisted, so here we are. Tell me what you know of him.”

  “I know very little.” Victoria eased her conscience with the logic that she had, indeed, found out just how little she knew of him. “When I was married to Richard I seldom saw him.”

  “And after his death?”

  “Edwin was away when Richard died. By the time he received word, Richard was long buried, and I had gone.”

  “Is that when you fled to Montrose Abbey?”

  Victoria regarded him. “I retired to Richard’s country estates after his death.”

  “You did not see Hockley at all?” Iain asked.

  “He returned when he received word that Lord Grayton wished my hand in marriage.”

  Iain bolted upright. “What—who is Lord Grayton?”

  “No one.”

  Iain’s mouth thinned. “How many others are there?”

  “Others?”

  “Aye, other men.”

  Victoria stiffened. “I do not comprehend your meaning.”

  Iain swung his legs over the edge of the bed and took a candle from the box of unlit tapers and held the tip to the flame of the guttering candle. “I am wondering how many more men will come calling for you.”

  “How many more—” Fury shot to the surface. “Well, Lord Keeper” —Iain’s head jerked in her direction— “if you like, in the morning, I shall create a list for you. But I warn you, it will take the better part of the day.” Victoria snapped her fingers. “I must remember to add your name to the list.”

  “Christ!” Iain slammed the new candle into the holder and threw himself onto her. “There will be no lists,” he growled with a fierceness that startled her. “And no additions to any imaginary list.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lying on his stomach, Iain began drifting into a peaceful sleep when Victoria broke the quiet.

  “My lord?”

  He grunted.

  “I do not jest about Katherine remaining here.”

  He opened an eye. “You believe Hockley will allow it?”

  “He might be convinced.”

  “If you mean by killing him, I am agreeable.”

  “Killing him?”

  Something in the quick reply roused him in a way he didn’t like, and Iain rose and crossed to the hearth.

  “You cannot be serious?” she asked.

  “I will do what must be done. But tell me,” he reached for the poker leaning against the fireplace, “what have you in mind?”

  “We must be crafty.”

  Iain faced her. She was on her knees, sheet clutched to her breast. Her eyes fell to his naked groin and she yanked them back up to his face, cheeks red.

  He pulsed, but ignored the sensation. “What would you know of craftiness?”

  “Only that we cannot ask Edwin if she can stay. He would see it as…”

  “Weakness?” Iain faced the hearth.

  “Aye. He knows I care for her. So, to act otherwise would create suspicion. However, with the right incentive, he may agree.”

  Iain tossed another log on the fire and poked at the embers. “What sort of incentive could I possibly offer Hockley?”

  “Not you. Me.”

  “You?” Iain turned and leaned on the poker. “What have you to give? Everything you have belongs to me.”

  “True,” she answered with a freezing civility that should have made him regret the words, but didn’t. “But what use have you of property in England?”

  “Property?”

  “The one-third of Richard’s holdings I received as inheritance after his death.”

  Here was the reason King Henry wanted his countess back in England.
He wouldn’t countenance English land falling into the hands of a Highlander. Neither would Hockley. Though neither he nor his king could have known of Iain’s plans to marry her. Iain studied his wife. Only one person could have given any clues to her whereabouts. Who did she inform of her plans before she left England?

  “Well, my lord,” she pressed.

  “The girl means that much to you?” he asked.

  A shadow crept across her features. “She has little hope of happiness with Edwin.”

  As little hope as his wife would have had? Here was the chance to show her he was nothing like Hockley or her dead husband. “Do as you wish,” he said.

  Iain barely registered her dazzling smile before she was off the bed and flung herself into his arms. Dropping the poker, he staggered back a step in order to regain his balance while holding her close.

  “Thank you,” she whispered into his chest, then stepped back.

  Victoria crossed to the bed and retrieved her nightshift from the floor. She slipped it over her head, allowing the sheet to fall to the carpet. Rosy nipples shone like tiny buds through the sheer material, and Iain dropped his gaze to the curls between her legs. He pulsed in response to the erotic picture and she drew a sharp breath. He met her gaze. Red flooded her cheeks. Grabbing the robe that still lay across the foot of the bed, she hurried in the direction of the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  Without looking back, she waved her hand over her head and said, “To see Katherine.”

  Iain had just lowered himself onto the bed, when five minutes later the door swung open and Victoria rushed in.

  “My lord.”

  He leapt to his feet.

  “She is gone.”

  Victoria’s voice shook, and Iain wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. Taking her by the shoulders, he eased her onto the edge of the bed. “What has happened?”

  “Katherine—she is not in her chambers.”

  “Perhaps she could not sleep. She may have gone to the library, or to the kitchen for some warm milk,” he said, though, in truth, he doubted the girl would dare tramp past the men sleeping in the great hall. He released Victoria and reached for his breacan. “No harm can come to her within the castle walls.” If she’d been wise enough not to leave the castle.