by Tarah Scott
Victoria’s calm voiced stopped him. “Sassenach, aye.” She looked around as more than a few people lowered their gazes and a brave soul or two nodded. “I know some feel I have no right to be here. But, remember, it is not a Sassenach who bears the guilt in this deception, but one of your own.”
She turned and the crowd parted for her. Madeline gave a scream of fury and leapt forward. Iain lunged for her, but skidded to a halt when Victoria whirled and swung her fist into Madeline’s jaw. Blood spurted from Madeline’s lip and she stumbled backward. The crowd backed up, allowing her to fall to the ground. Iain took two steps, seized her arm, and yanked her to her feet. Ignoring her surprised snarl, he held her as he marked Victoria’s steady stride toward the castle. Today, his wife had become the true mistress of Fauldun Castle.
* * *
Victoria ceased playing the harpsichord and glanced toward the window of the north tower. Waning rays of sunlight poured through the stained glass and cut in translucent color through the room. The evening meal would soon be served. She rose, knelt beside the music bench, and opened the top.
One by one, she lifted the thin books and sheets of music inside, examining each, then leaning them against her abdomen before going on to the next. Pausing to look closer at a piece of handwritten music, Victoria ran her fingers across the faded paper.
“Thirty years old, if a day,” she murmured.
She grasped the papers and leaned on the bench lid, shoving to her feet. The lid creaked and a loud crack followed as it broke free of the bench and crashed to the floor. She fell to her backside, sending papers sliding across the floor.
“Sweet Jesu.”
Victoria scrambled to her knees and began gathering the music. Once the sheets were piled beside her, she picked up the lid with the intention of fitting it back into place, but halted at sight of papers visible from inside the broken lid. She tugged the first sheet from between the crack and stared at the handwritten sheet of paper.
I believed I could keep the secret. I see now, Eric has always known. Fool that I am, I took his disdain of Iain as his way of punishing me.
Victoria stopped reading the journal page and tilted the subsequent pages toward the candle she had lit when the sunlight gave out an hour ago. She shuffled through the papers until finding the desired date, June 1482, and compared the page with the one she had been reading.
“Tell me why the boy’s eyes are brown,” was Eric’s demand. “My father has blue eyes, I have blue eyes. But the—” the text ended and Victoria turned to the original page she held in her hand “—boy’s eyes are brown.” Foolish as his reasoning was, I could not deny it. I have seen it myself. Perhaps it is just a mother’s fancy, wanting to see the father in the son. But I can see all of my beloved in Liam, and none of Eric. I wonder, does Liam know? He has never seen Iain. Yet, how can he not know?
A quick calculation told Victoria Iain would have been about four years old at the time of the entry in his mother’s diary. Tears rushed to the surface. Only a babe, yet his father didn’t want him. But Eric MacPherson wasn’t his father. What did that mean for Iain…for the clan? Victoria brushed tears from her cheeks and continued reading.
I grow more weary by the day. Eric returned today from a raid on a Fraser village. The death toll in his holy war increases with each ride he makes from Fauldun Castle. I was in the great hall when he entered. His look of triumph was undeniable. At first, I felt only relief that Iain was not present to witness the homecoming. But my prayer of thanks had but passed my lips when he appeared. I did not see him; it was Eric who gave away his presence behind me. Even as I watched Eric’s eyes darken, I knew why. I turned, saw Iain turn his back to him and leave.
The lad’s open rebuff enraged Eric, as it always does, so I sent Iain to Dawilneh. At first, he refused to go. He is already too wise. He understands why I wished him away from here. Thankfully, he is still too young to refuse his mother, and—the writing grew unsteady and Victoria was forced to slow her pace and read he went. A silly sense of relief rushed through her at the picture of the boy giving into his mother’s wishes, and she took a steadying breath before going on.
Iain no longer cries. The sentence, written in a flourish, startled Victoria, yet she recognized the need Lily must have had to compose her chaotic thoughts. How I wish he would, she went on. It is preferable to the resentment I know festers inside of him.
Victoria paused in reading, struck by the realization that she hadn’t seen any of the resentment in Iain that his mother spoke of. Had he come to terms with Eric’s actions? Did he know Liam was his father? Did the recent peace with the Frasers have anything to do with the possibility he might know? Another thought struck. Maude had said there was no likeness between Victoria’s situation with Iain and that between Eric and Lily. Yet Eric couldn’t forgive Lily for loving another man, and less than a day into their marriage, Iain believed she wanted another man. A chill swept through her. How alike were father and son? Victoria reread the last of line she had just read…the resentment I know festers inside of him. The resentment that had festered inside the child had transformed into a man’s suspicion. Her gaze caught on the next line. He is still a boy. He tells me he is a man, but what does the world hold for him as a man? Victoria traced a finger across the words what does the world hold for him as a man? Had the father poisoned the son?
The door to the north tower swung open.
With no time to hide the tears rolling down her cheeks, Victoria stared at Liam, whose dark expression was the Devil come to do battle with the angels of heaven. He scanned the room as if he expected to see some sort of specter. His eyes came back on her, and they stared at one another for a dozen heartbeats before she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“The music,” Liam whispered, again glancing around the room as if in anticipation of the imminent swoop of a ghost. “It was so much like—who was playing?” he demanded, his eyes back on her. “I heard it earlier. Started to come up when—” He stopped, the already familiar frown creasing his brow. “What is amiss? Has the scoundrel hurt you that badly, lass? What a shame the son so easily follows in the father’s footsteps.”
Victoria couldn’t halt a gasp at how closely the old chief had hit the mark.
His expression further darkened. “Tell me what he did and I swear it will be set right. Even if it means beating it into his stubborn hide.”
Liam took a step inside the room, hesitated, then strode toward her. The papers lying beside Victoria rustled when he dropped to one knee in front of her. His fingers closed on a single sheet, then froze, his gaze fixed on the feminine script.
“Where—” his voice cracked and he tore his gaze from the papers to look at Victoria. “Where did you find this?”
“Mixed with the music.” She pointed to the broken hinge of the bench.
Liam ran a hand across the page. “It never occurred to me Lily might keep a journal. She was a sentimental woman.” The soft look turned grim. “’Tis like seeing a ghost.”
Victoria watched with mixed emotions as he gathered each page, then took those she still held and began to read.
With each passing moment, Victoria grew tenser. She knew Liam must be left to read in silence, but the quiet bore down on her.
At last, he spoke without looking up from the paper. “You cannot imagine what it is like for a man to love a woman, knowing she loves another.” Liam ran fingers across the sheet he’d been reading. “Even after all these years, I can still remember the feel of her hand in mine, the taste of her sweet—” His head snapped, his bearded cheeks red. “Well, the memories lasted a lifetime. Do not misunderstand, I have a fine wife.” He smiled again, a fond expression in his eyes. “I suppose it is my own fault as well.”
Victoria frowned. “I do not understand.”
A smile twitched his mouth. “Iain and I are more alike than you know.”
She stared, unable to say a word.
“You do not understand,” he said. “I stole L
ily from the people who trusted me.” Victoria blinked, and he laughed. “Course, there was a bit of difference.” He winked. “She knew I would come for her, and I believed her father would understand.”
Victoria visualized him as a young man, the same determination she had seen in his son when he had taken the woman he wanted. Her heart pounded. Why had Iain wanted her? Liam knew Lily. She had been a complete stranger to Iain.
“He did understand,” Liam went on. “But Eric threatened war. I went to him, but he refused to release her from the promise of marriage. In the end, it was Lily who stopped us from killing one other. I see now why she chose him.”
“I do not see,” Victoria said with a surge of passion. She would have chosen the man she loved.
Liam shook his head. “If Eric had been the victor, Lily would have been forced to wed the man who killed the father of her child. If I had won, it would have meant war. The tender heart of a woman.” He sighed. “Her efforts were for naught. Eric’s anger festered into a thirst for revenge that reached even beyond the grave. In a way, I cannot blame him.”
Victoria gave him an incredulous look. “How can you say that?”
Liam shrugged. “A man cannot live with a woman if she loves another. I was half out of my mind when I found out Lily had wed, but it was done and there was nothing going to change it.” His hands bunched at his sides. “Had I known about the lad…” He closed his eyes, whether to gather his emotions or caress an old memory, Victoria couldn’t be sure, but when he opened them again, he smiled wistfully.
“Poor Iain, the man he called father treated him with less respect than a common guard. It was well known the lad wanted nothing to do with the feud. After Lily died, he openly refused to be part of it.” Liam gave a harsh laugh. “Eric called him a coward. When Eric died, Iain had to fight. There was too much bad blood between us and,” Liam paused, “I didna’ give him a choice.”
“A terrible reason to spill so much blood,” Victoria said.
“Aye,” he answered. “Eric ought to have let Lily go. Instead, he was willing to sacrifice her on the altar of his pride and keep a son he was not willing to claim.” Liam’s fist came down hard on the harpsichord. “If I could raise the bastard, I would run my sword clear through his hellish soul.”
And what would she do now that she had glimpsed inside Iain MacPherson?
* * *
Iain’s hand stilled on the goblet of ale he reached for at sight of Victoria, followed by Liam, emerging from the stairs into the great hall. Liam took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. His fingers covered hers and he murmured something to her as they approached. Iain’s heart leapt at the soft smile she bestowed upon him. Liam nodded to him as she seated herself, then he took his seat next to Thomas.
Iain looked at Victoria, whose somber expression sent a rush of fresh alarm through him. “All is well, lass?”
“Aye,” she murmured into her dinner plate.
Iain reluctantly shifted his attention to Liam. “I expected you would have returned home by now.”
“You tire of my company already, lad?”
“Nay.” Iain gripped his mug. “I find your company most stimulating.”
A short while later, Victoria said, “If you do not mind, my lord, I will retire for the evening?”
Iain nodded. She rose and bid good night to Liam and Thomas, then started toward the stairs. Iain watched until she disappeared up the narrow staircase.
Some time and a fair amount of ale later, Iain made his way to his chambers. He arrived to find the bath that had been prepared for Victoria cold and the bed empty. His quick return to the great hall clearly surprised Thomas and Liam.
“My wife is not in our bedchambers.” Iain looked at Liam and caught the startled flicker in the old chief’s eyes.
“Mayhap she is in the north tower.” Liam gestured in the direction of the staircase. “She was there earlier. The room seems to hold some comfort for her.”
Something in the Liam’s voice, coupled with the suspicion that this man, a veritable stranger to his wife, knew more about her than he did, haunted Iain as he made his way through the labyrinth of hallways and stairs to stand before the telling quiet of the north tower.
Chapter Twenty-One
Morning light streamed through the bedchamber window. Iain blinked, his eyes focusing on splotches of white that played havoc across his vision. He reached across cool sheets and discovered the space next to him empty. He released a slow breath. So, despite the fact his wife had accompanied him to bed when he at last discovered her in a favored spot overlooking Fauldun Castle, he’d woken up in very much the same state in which he’d gone to bed: alone. Iain fought the notion that her absence from his bed was an indication of an absence of heart.
He rose, wrapped his tartan around his waist in practiced haste, then made his way to the kitchen where Maude stood over a kettle boiling in the hearth.
“Have you seen my wife?”
Maude looked up. “She was here earlier. You may find her in your library.”
“Is she—did she—” Iain halted.
Maude gave him an amused look. He shook his head and headed for his library.
Once at the door, Iain opened it slowly and saw Victoria, lounging on the sofa in front of the fireplace, feet tucked beneath her. Their eyes locked for a moment before he broke the silence.
“Good morning, love.”
She angled her head. “Morning, my lord.”
“I was hoping you would give me the pleasure of your company on a ride this morning,” he said.
“A ride?”
Iain nodded. “Johannas sent word they are ready to place the wheel in the water. He asked for you, and I—”
“The wheel is ready?” Victoria jumped from her seat. “I would very much like to go.” Her expression turned pensive. “He asked for me?”
“Aye.” Iain crossed striding to where she stood.
“Oh.”
“Is something wrong?”
Victoria gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Nay, I just…”
“Just what?” Iain demanded.
“Why did he ask for me?”
“He thought perhaps you might like to see the results of your work, and there is the chance your guidance will be needed.” Iain drew her close so that the side of her face almost touched his chin. “Should there be another reason?”
She looked up at him, her brows drawn. “Another reason?”
“You were expecting something else.”
She blushed and Iain’s senses jolted with a combination of lust and jealousy.
“I…I did not expect…that is, it did not occur to me they would think me of any further use.”
“Any further use?” The words came out harsher than intended, and she jumped.
“If you would prefer I not go…you did ask me to come. Have you changed your mind?”
“Christ,” Iain muttered. “Do you mean to say, you are surprised they would ask for your help?”
Her face reddened, but Iain comprehended it was out of anger and not modesty.
“I am not saying anything.” She gave her arm a good yank, but he held tight.
Iain shook his head. “Fool that I am. Come along, my lass.” He began leading her in the direction of the door. “A waterwheel awaits you.”
* * *
Iain stiffened. His balance, one foot on land and the other on a rock three feet out into the water, teetered at the pressure of Victoria’s fingers sliding up his back and over his shoulder. The rope he held slipped an inch, and the branch that hung out over the water creaked with the weight of the waterwheel hanging there. The wheel swung at his attempt to twist around in an attempt to see what his wife was doing.
“There is something wrong.” Her gaze shifted from the wheel to the water. “It should slip in. Steady now.” Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. “Push it down into the water,” she instructed the men who were in the small boat in front of the whe
el.
Her leg brushed Iain’s thigh as she stepped over the water to place her foot next to his on the rock. She wrapped an arm around his waist. Ducking beneath the arm he had extended to steady the wheel, Victoria peered down into the water.
“Ahh.” She moved as if to slip past him and step onto the boat.
“Collin,” Iain yelled to the man who stood on the bank, “grab her!”
Collin pulled her back before her foot made contact with the bottom of the boat, and Iain motioned for one of the other men to take his place. He handed the rope to the man who came forward, then stepped from the rock and strode to where Collin stood with Victoria. Collin winced as she worked to pry his fingers from her arm. Iain clamped a firm hand around her wrist. Collin shook his head and, with a compassionate look for Iain, wasted no time in leaving the two alone. Iain pulled her several feet away, then rounded on her so quickly she ran into him. He grasped her shoulders, but she twisted her head around in an effort to watch the men.
“What were you doing?” he demanded. The question had no obvious effect, so Iain added a hard shake for good measure.
“Cease pestering me,” Victoria muttered as if to a disobedient child, still not looking at him.
“How long do you plan on ignoring me?”
Her head snapped around. “What?”
“I said, how long do you plan on ignoring me?”
A general round of cursing went up amongst the men, and Victoria again twisted in an effort to see what was happening.
“Oh, no.” Iain cupped an arm beneath her buttocks, lifted her from the ground, and started toward the village.
She swayed backward with the force of gravity and threw her arms around his neck to keep from toppling over. Iain wrapped his other arm around her neck and buried her face in his chest.
“Release me this instant,” she said into his breacan.
“Nay. I believe I like this.”
