Lord Keeper
Page 29
“Served you right,” Victoria retorted.
Her answer, given so unexpectedly and with such obvious relish, stopped him cold. He threw his head back and laughed. “Aye, love, I suppose it did.” His mirth vanished. “It would also have served me right had you had not returned. You would have been rid of me, and as free as a bird. Thomas,” Iain called, “bring me the finest mare we have—saddled.”
A low murmur rippled through the crowd, but Iain kept his gaze on Victoria until Thomas returned moments later and handed him the reins to a fine chestnut.
“I can have men ready in fifteen minutes,” Iain said. “They will escort you anywhere you wish. Montrose Abbey. England. You no longer have anything there to fear.”
Pain flickered cross her face, and Iain knew she would struggle with the knowledge that she had distracted Edwin, allowing Glen to deliver the final, fatal blow that had killed him.
Iain dropped the reins to the ground and went down on one knee before her. “Every day, every hour, every one of us, stands on a cliff. The decision lies not in the choice to jump or stay,” he paused, feeling himself spiraling downward, arms out, heart, at last, open wide, “but whether we go in fear or anticipation.” He paused again, these final words the hardest of his life. “It is your choice now, Victoria.”
She uttered a low laugh. “Even now, you seek to chain me to you, my lord. What a funny game you play.”
“I do not jest,” he replied. “I offer freedom, plain and simple. I will not renege, no matter the answer. You have my word.”
“How can I be freed from these bonds? It matters not how many miles lie between us, or how much time passes. Mayhap even death cannot break these chains. Yet, you act as if I can shake them off by simply riding through those gates.”
Iain stared.
She sighed. “Iain, stand up.”
He did as she said, but remained mute as a child awaiting instruction.
She leaned toward him. “I believe this is where you should declare your undying love.”
Iain shook from the spell. He took her hand in his. “How shall I best tell you that I can do naught but love you forever? Shall I speak of your beauty?”
“I would not mind,” she replied.
“Perhaps your sweet charms?” He traced an invisible line along her cheek. “Or the fire…the innocence?”
Victoria blushed.
“Perhaps, I could speak of a woman who, of her own free will, chose to give the only thing she had: herself. A woman of courage. One who was a far better friend to me than I was to her. Aye, I shall love you always, and count myself fortunate you were in my arms even a short while. But any more days that pass between us will be by your choice.”
“You will give me a divorce?” Victoria asked.
“I will give you anything you desire,” Iain answered, his voice shaking.
“Aye, then,” she said. “Give me your hand.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Iain glanced up when Thomas entered the library.
“You asked to see me,” Thomas said.
Iain nodded, and Thomas threw himself into the high backed wing chair that sat opposite the desk.
“What have you there?” Thomas nodded to the parchment Iain held in front of him.
“See for yourself.” He handed it to his cousin.
Thomas showed no emotion when his eyes fell on the letter written in his own hand. He laid it on the desk.
“I wondered how Hockley discovered she was here.” Iain studied him. “Do you deny the letter was written by you?”
“Nay.”
Iain picked up the letter that was addressed to England’s King Henry and read it aloud.
Be it known, sire, that, though word may have reached you to the contrary, the Countess of Landsbury of her own accord, sought out the safety of one Iain MacPherson, chief protector of the MacPherson clan.
Rest easy knowing she is in the best of health and enjoys every luxury available within the MacPherson home.
Your Most Obedient Servant,
A Friend
“This goes too far, even for you,” Iain said.
“Aye,” Thomas agreed.
“I am in no mood for games,” Iain shot back.
“Forgive me, mon ami. I understand how you feel, and I agree. I wrote the letter, but I did not send it.”
Iain frowned. “But the letter.”
“Until you found it, it remained where I left it,” he said, regret in his voice.
“You regret not having sent it?”
“I regret having left it there. While writing it, I…well, you know how I love French brandy. When I awoke the next morning, I thought I had done away with the evidence. Where did you find it?”
“Behind the sideboard.”
Thomas shrugged. “As I said, you know how I love French brandy.”
“If you did not send it, then who contacted Hockley?”
“There was only the one copy.”
“A mystery.”
“Indeed.” Thomas’s lips drew together thoughtfully.
“It was not, by chance, your cohort?”
A flash of surprise crossed Thomas’s face. “Cohort? Jesu, Iain, are you sure you are not gifted with second sight?”
Iain leaned back in his chair. “There were things our good priest said. To be honest, it was your part in the matter that remained unknown to me. Had you not left this letter, I might never have known.” He paused. “I assume you will not consider giving up the brandy?”
Thomas shrugged.
“Aye, then,” Iain said. “You may as well pour us both one.”
* * *
“Nay,” Victoria whispered with a stern shake of her head as Liam opened the door to her chambers. She stepped inside the antechamber, waited until he entered, then closed the door behind him. “I will not keep it from him. God help me if he ever found out. I have already kept silent too long. Either you tell him, Liam Fraser, or I will do it for you.”
“Now, lassie—”
“Do not think to soothe me with your sweet talk, Father. And you had best make short work of the matter, or you will be explaining to my husband why I call you that in public.” She ignored the flush that rose in his cheeks.
“You would not do that,” he said in a near whisper.
Victoria crossed her hands beneath her breasts. “I would, and very soon.”
He turned even paler.
“Liam, if you had not been there the day I made the discovery, I would have confessed all to him.” She smiled gently. “You cannot expect me to keep the knowledge from him?”
“Do you realize this could shake not only the foundation of the Fraser and MacPherson clans, but Clan Chatten as well?”
“I understand ’tis powerful.” She crossed to the chaise lounge near the window and sat down. “There is no denying that.”
“Aye. And that being the case—”
“Liam,” she cut in, “do you think we have the right to keep it from him?”
Liam strode to where she sat and sank down beside her. He sighed. “I suppose you are right.”
“It is not so bad as all that, is it?”
“The lad will be pleased to hear the news. We have been enemies a long time.”
“Nay,” Victoria said. “You and Eric were enemies.”
“Aw, lassie,” he said, “’tis the same thing.”
* * *
Victoria watched the two men from the solitude of the couch. Liam sat motionless in the chair opposite Iain’s desk. Iain hadn’t moved, other than to turn the pages of the journal. At his muttered, “Christ,” she knew he understood the full meaning of the document.
A muscle in his jaw jumped and he looked up.
“I am sorry, Iain,” Liam said.
“Why?” Iain asked. “Because the man I thought was my father was not, or because the one who is my father I have been fighting my entire life?” He shook his head. “I cannot regret the first. Eric was never a father to me.”
“And the latter?”
Iain laughed harshly. “Seems fate has found her revenge.”
“We have all paid,” Liam said.
“Including Eric,” Victoria said, drawing the attention of both men. “He threw away the most precious thing of all.”
Iain smiled grimly. “He did, but I will not. My life is yours. They belong to you, every one.” He extended a hand.
“They?” She rose and came to him.
He took her hand in his.
“Aye, love. All my tomorrows.”
~ End ~
~ About the Author ~
Award winning author Tarah Scott grew up in the dusty part of Texas. She now lives in Westchester County, New York, where dust still thrives under her bed in the form of dust bunnies, and as cobwebs in her brain. When not working, writing, or reading—who are we kidding? She's always working, writing, or reading. Oh! There is her daughter. They do manage to spend time together.
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