by Tarah Scott
“Madeline?” Victoria tugged to free her arm.
“Nay,” the woman hissed. “’Tis time you received your just rewards.”
The fury behind her words lit a fire, hot and just as dark in Victoria’s ragged nerves. Rearing back, she threw her clenched fist hard against Madeline’s cheek. She fell back into the nearest women, and Victoria hurled herself through the throng toward Iain.
Reaching his side, she grabbed his arm. “My lord, please, do not do this.”
He started to yank free, but stopped. “You care for him that much?”
She shook her head. “Nay. I simply do not want bloodshed.”
Iain’s lip curled derisively. “Mine or his?”
She stared, tears so close to the surface, she couldn’t speak.
He shook her off and faced Edwin. “By what right have you to approach my wife alone?”
“You speak of rights when you took her against her will?” The deadly calm in Edwin’s voice sent gooseflesh racing up her arms.
Iain took a menacing step toward him. “She consented to be my wife of her own accord and lest you forget,” he paused, clear and unrelenting malice in his eyes, “with the knowledge you were coming.” A cold smile twisted his mouth when Edwin’s eyes shifted to her. “Leave now, Hockley, and I will not kill you.”
Edwin looked back at Iain, his gaze steady. “If she wishes to leave with me?”
“She does not.”
“You are afraid to let her speak?”
All eyes, including her husband’s, turned on her. She didn’t hesitate this time. “I will stay.”
“You need not fear him,” Edwin said. “I can protect you.” His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
Anger shot through her. “I told you, I will not leave.”
Iain stepped in front of her. “You have your answer.” His savage tone was reflected in the ferocity of his touch when he grabbed her wrist with an iron grip and dragged her toward the castle.
* * *
Victoria awoke the following morning to find the place beside her empty. She laid a shaky palm on the smooth sheet. As expected, cool as the morning breeze that wafted in through the window. Iain hadn’t slept there.
Her pulse jumped. Had he gone to Madeline as she’d feared when he left her yesterday afternoon? Her wait for his return had ended with her crying herself to sleep deep into the night. Tears rose to the surface again. Could she live with another man who kept a mistress only minutes away? What if he decided to bring her into their bed? Unlike in England, there would be no retreat from Fauldun Castle and Iain MacPherson—or a mistress whose anger bordered on insanity. Pain twisted her heart. She had endured Richard’s rejection because she knew he was incapable of love. But Iain was different. Or was he? Mayhap returning to England with Edwin was the better choice.
Victoria threw back the covers and rose. Upon encountering Thomas in the hall after she’d dressed twenty minutes later, Victoria learned Iain had departed early that morning.
“Where has he gone?” she asked with a nonchalance she wasn’t feeling.
“He had business in Dawilneh.”
Dawilneh. The opposite direction Edwin would have gone—if, indeed, Iain went to Dawilneh.
Victoria started to turn away, but halted. “Did he go alone?”
“Aye, my lady, he did.”
With a nod of thanks, Victoria hurried to the stables. Dawilneh was but twenty minutes away. People rode from the keep to the village often. But a woman alone, the lord’s wife, could raise question. Would the guards let her pass?
Gilbert saddled a mare and she set out for the gate. She smiled grimly when the guards let her pass without so much as a nod. It would seem her husband hadn’t lied when he said the wife of Lord MacPherson enjoyed the privileges of free men.
* * *
In the hours that passed when Victoria watched Dawilneh from the hill overlooking the village, she saw no sign of Iain. What had she hoped to gain by coming here? What had she thought to say to him? Whether a day, a year, or a century, I could not betray you because…because what? She loved him? Could she love a man who had taken her captive? Her heart squeezed. Could she love any man?
The time drew near to return home, but she could muster no heart to go. Velvety cool grass enveloped her as she eased onto her back and closed her eyes. Tears threatened and she squeezed her eyes shut only to see Iain’s face when he’d said “You care for him that much?” She choked back a sob. He believed she cared for Edwin. The sound of a metal clank jerked her upright. She cried out at sight of the wall of men surrounding her. Recognition of the Fraser plaide was immediate and her heart leapt to a gallop.
“’Tis plain to see ye are havin’ a bad day, lassie.”
Victoria swung her gaze onto the aging warrior who had spoken.
“Surely it canna’ be as bad as all that?” he asked.
His thick brogue confounded her. She stared in silence and he cocked his head.
“Are ye all right, lass? Are you lost?”
She shook her head, and a frown creased his craggy brow.
“Are you saying no to being all right, or being lost?”
His quandary brought an uncertain smile to her lips and he grinned in response.
“Much better. ’Tis no’ good to see a fine lass such as yourself shedding tears.”
A roll of thunder brought both of their gazes upward.
“It will be pouring very soon,” he said, looking back at her. “Do you think you should be getting on home?”
Victoria glanced at the men who accompanied him.
“Dinna’ worry.” He smiled gently. “They will do you no harm. Where is your home?”
Victoria stood and brushed off the grass that clung to her dress. “I can find my way from here, sir.” As feared, the surprise on his face said he wasn’t expecting an Englishwoman.
He scratched his beard in a thoughtful manner. “You wouldna’ be headed for Fauldun Castle?” When she didn’t answer, he went on. “You are in luck.” He winked. “That is exactly where we are going.”
Victoria studied him. “Who are you, sir?”
“Liam Fraser. Mayhap you have heard of me?”
Mist had begun to fall when Fauldun Castle came into view. Spotting Thomas on the battlement, Victoria wasn’t surprised when he met them as the gate swung open.
“Good afternoon, sir.” She dismounted and handed her reins to a nearby warrior who reached for them.
Thomas nodded to Liam, then angled his head in her direction with a slight raise of his brow. “It is nearly evening, my lady.”
She glanced around.
“Iain is not here,” Thomas said, and extended his hand to Liam. “Liam, good of you to escort my lady home.”
“Good of me?” He grunted. “I had little choice.” He pointed toward the gate, and Victoria startled to see three MacPherson warriors ride in.
She looked back at Thomas.
He gave her an inquiring smile. “Were three guards not enough?”
Before she could reply, his gaze shifted past her. She glanced over her shoulder and her stomach flipped at sight of her husband riding through the gates. Iain reined his horse to a stop beside them, dismounted, and threw the reins to a nearby man. After a curious look at her, he faced Liam.
“What brings you to Fauldun Castle, Liam?”
“The news of your unusual visitors,” he replied. “I could not resist learning how you fared.”
Victoria half expected some sort of recrimination from Iain, but he simply said, “They gave us no real trouble. You will stay for the night?”
“Aye, with pleasure,” Liam said.
Victoria started at the feel of Iain’s hand on hers as he slipped it into the crook of his arm and began toward the castle.
“This is the first time I can recall the English leaving so quietly,” Liam said, falling into step beside them.
Iain looked at him. “You sound as if you would have preferred a fight.”
/> Liam laughed. “Expected one, would be more the like. You will have to forgive me, lad, I am a suspicious sort.”
“Perhaps you are in good company,” Thomas said.
Victoria thought she felt the muscle in Iain’s arm tighten, but they had reached the postern door and he opened it, allowing her to pass before him. He then entered, followed by Liam and Thomas.
She halted at the table and began to unclasp her cloak, but Iain brushed aside her hand and reached for the clasp. Warmth of his fingers against her neck elicited a quiver in her belly. She thought his touch lingered, but discarded the notion when he tossed the garment to a serving lad and withdrew her chair for her without a passing glance.
Katherine appeared from the stairs. Victoria met her eyes and read in them the satisfaction that she knew all was not well between her and Iain. The postern door opened and Riley entered. Katherine’s head jerked in his direction. Victoria winced at the haughty look the girl shot him before she whirled and headed back up the stairs. Perhaps she and Iain had done the lad an injustice by forcing Katherine on him.
Iain seated himself beside Victoria and took a long drink of ale from the cup before him. “I see you have met my wife,” he said to Liam as he sat the mug down.
“Wife?” Liam’s eyes widened. “I didna’ know you were wed.” Looking at her, he grinned. “You did not tell me that you had married the MacPherson.”
“You did not ask, my lord.”
Liam burst into hearty laughter. “True.” He transferred his attention to Iain. “You have a fine wife.”
Iain nodded, though Victoria doubted he agreed.
“But I am surprised you would let her go riding alone.”
Iain’s gaze shot to her, and Victoria froze.
“’Twas fortunate we came upon her,” Liam went on. “The lass was in a sad state when we found her.”
Iain’s mouth thinned. “A sad state?”
“My lord,” Victoria began, but he silenced her with a hard look, then addressed Liam.
“What do you mean?”
“She was crying. ’Tis sad to find a woman that way.”
“Christ,” Iain exploded softly, and emptied the contents of his mug in one long gulp.
As the evening passed, it didn’t escape Victoria’s notice that her husband directed his attention to Liam throughout the meal. Neither did she miss the fact that everyone at the table seemed as aware of this as she. The mood lightened when Katherine appeared and introductions were made. When Victoria finally rose, making her excuses for the night, she almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Iain’s chair scraping across the stone floor as he shoved it back.
“I will retire for the night as well,” he said.
She caught the fine edge of tension in his voice and heat rose to her cheeks. She managed to reach the stairs as he offered Liam accommodations and was well up the steps when he bound up after her.
Chapter Twenty
Iain took the stairs two at a time, the recollection of Victoria during dinner driving him to close the distance between them. The smile she had given in response to one of Liam’s comments had captured his attention during the meal. She had incited his lust when she licked the wine from her lips.
He quickened his pace in response to her rushed steps along the corridor, then halted behind her where when she hesitated at the door. He reached past her, shoved open the door and urged her inside. She flinched with the scrape of the door as he closed it. A tide of primitive emotion swept through Iain, thick and hot. It mattered not if she was unable to decide between him and Hockley. She belonged to him.
“Do what you will, my lord,” she blurted. “I have had worse.”
The unexpected image of the beating she expected snapped Iain from the fury that had begun when he learned of her assignation with Edwin. Even desire evaporated as his mind raced with memories of promises to protect her, and the vow—privately made—to show her that she would never again suffer at another man’s hand, least of all his. Iain shook off an uneasy tug to his gut.
“I have no intention of beating you.” he said.
“You might as well. This is no better.” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders as though to ward off a chill in the warm room. “You think yourself better than those men you hold in contempt for mistreating women?”
He stepped toward her, but she shook her head.
“What would you have me say?” he asked.
She blanched as if struck physically. “What did you say when I saw you with Madeline?”
The veracity of the question startled him, but it was the hurt in her eyes that roused a whisper of dread in his soul. “It is not the same.”
“Of course.” She gave a grim nod. “A man’s logic.”
“Nay.”
“But it is. You say I should trust you, that I need not fear you. Yet, with the first rumblings against me, you send me to the gallows a condemned criminal. Aye, you will not beat me—nay, not Iain MacPherson—you are too civilized for that. But the condemnation is there in your voice, your eyes—” She halted, fighting tears that pooled in her eyes.
Iain grasped her shoulders.
Victoria shoved his arms away. “You think those rebukes hurt any less than the ones I received at Richard’s hand? You condemn me just as Jillian’s clan did her.” She swiped at the tears that slipped past her eyelids. “They were judge, jury, and hangman. How is this any different? Even Jillian was allowed to know who condemned her, but not I.”
“I did not think it of any consequence. You confessed to the meeting.”
“I confessed no such thing.”
Iain narrowed his eyes. “You did not deny meeting him.”
“Aye, we spoke. Surely your spy could tell you that—as well as the fact that he followed me there.”
“’Twas not my spy,” Iain responded with heat. “Hockley followed you? By God.” Iain clenched his hands in an effort to keep from grabbing her. “What did he want?”
“He insisted I return home with him. Where I belong.”
Iain stopped cold at the realization that this moment was the first time she wondered if England, along with Edwin Hockley, might indeed be where she belonged.
Victoria stared. “You thought I planned to return with him—and less than a day after we wed? Who told you this lie? Who holds such power over you?”
The question stood between them as wide as any chasm, and Iain realized what the truth would do to her. But to refuse an answer meant sure death for their union. Fool, he cursed. Why hadn’t he seen it? The informer had gone out of her way to set him against his wife and, as Victoria pointed out, with little resistance on his part.
“’Twas Madeline,” he said.
Victoria stared in stunned silence. He stood, unable to move as the distance between them widened with every passing second. All those years he had arrogantly believed that the ghosts haunting his father couldn’t touch him. But they had. It was true. The sins of the father were visited upon the children. Odd, that this realization should bring understanding of his father’s obsession with his mother.
The face of every MacPherson sacrificed in a feud waged to wreak vengeance on God and mankind slammed Iain’s senses. And to think he believed himself above the chaos, thought to avoid his part in his father’s battle. Never would he forget the woman who rocked him when he cried, or sang him to sleep despite the tears she shed. Only a lad of twelve when his mother had died, he had been old enough to understand his father had killed her with his jealous and possessive nature.
The realization brought Iain to his knees before Victoria.
“Nay!” She stepped back, but Iain caught her, pulled her to him, and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“My wife,” he whispered against her body.
Victoria stiffened, but he held her, until, at last, he felt a teardrop fall on his arm. He rose and led her to the bed. She stood motionless while he methodically untied the lace on her bodice. He slipped the dress from her sh
oulders, then pulled back the covers and laid her between the cool sheets. Stripping off his own clothes, Iain crawled in beside her, wrapped his arms around her, and did the only thing he could: held her close, knowing the tears she shed this time were his doing.
* * *
Iain awoke in drowsy arousal and reached beside him in the bed. His fingers closed around cool linen sheets. He came fully awake and turned to confirm that he was alone.
“No less than you deserve,” he muttered, but in the next instant was standing and wrapping his breacan around himself. Then he was out the door in search of his wife.
Iain paused in the great hall at sound of her voice among the other women in the kitchen and gave thanks she could partake in so mundane a daily exercise. The deadly quiet that ensued when he crossed the line between the province of men and that of women brought with it the inescapable feeling he was to suffer the rest of his life in celibate solitude.
“Good morning, love,” he smiled at Victoria, then made greeting all around. Cool civility. Iain sighed. “I will be in my study.”
No comment followed. He nodded and, with a final glance at his wife, made his way to the study.
* * *
Iain’s attention riveted onto the pounding of boots in the hallway headed toward his study that afternoon. He was on his feet even as the warrior appeared in the doorway.
“Thomas said I should tell you laird,” he panted, “you might want to come to the courtyard. ’Tis your mist—er, Madeline. Your wife and her are having—”
“Christ.”
Iain glanced at the clock as he rounded the desk. Two o’clock. Madeline should have been gone long ago. What sort of fool had he been to allow her the privilege of leaving Fauldun Castle as any free woman? He pushed past the warrior and raced down the hall to the steps, taking them two at a time. Across the great hall in an instant, he flung open the postern door and rushed out into sunlight. Madeline’s gaze tore through the crowd as Iain shoved through the throng.
“You would take her in as if she were kin?” She pointed at Victoria. “Traitors!” Her mouth contorted into a snarl. “She is Sassenach.”
