Lord Keeper

by Tarah Scott

  “This is need,” Iain said against her throat.

  He lifted her skirt and tried to slip his knee between her legs. She remained firm, so he slid a hand downward, his fingers seeking and finding her moist warmth.

  “Why deny this?” He stroked gently, feeling the tension loosen in her body. “Why?” he demanded. “By all that is holy, you will, once and for all, glimpse true fire.” Breaking away, he knelt before her. Fisting her skirt, he wrapped an arm around her hips and drew her to him.

  Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she pushed hard. “Sweet Jesu, y-you are not serio—” Her words turned into a soft cry when his mouth connected with her womanly flesh.

  He probed gently and was rewarded with her intake of breath. Her hands moved to steady herself on his shoulders as he flicked his tongue in a quick motion against her sex. Iain drank long and deep of the sensual intoxicant, alternating between slow swipes of his tongue between her folds and flicks against her most sensitive place. Her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders. He drove her further, finally sucking with gentle pulls, then harder until she cried out in unison with the tremor that ran through her body, and a deafening roar filled his head.

  Iain stood. Her knees buckled. He caught her to him, and she gave him a halfhearted shove. Lifting her with one arm, Iain yanked up his kilt. He locked gazes with her as he wrapped her legs around his waist, then settled her just above his erection. In one quick motion, he brought her down onto him. She shuddered and her head dropped onto his shoulder.

  “Christ,” Iain muttered when her hot breath on his neck sent a thundering shock through him.

  Staggering forward until the wall was behind her, he sought her mouth, starved for the taste of her. He began to move inside her and her fingers tensed around his arms as she gave into the rhythm. He bent his head and closed his lips over a nipple as he quickened his thrusts. Dim awareness of the rough wood of the wall digging into his knuckles played in the back of his mind, but pain mingled with pleasure, and where one began and the other ended Iain had no reckoning.

  Her breath came in short spurts. Realizing she was nearing her release, Iain stopped. She lifted her head from his shoulder. Her brow furrowed and Iain recognized the look of confusion that crept into her eyes. He bent, his mouth almost touching hers, and eased himself out of her, then back in with a calculated surge. She stiffened, sucked in breath, and Iain knew it was pleasure she experienced, not fear. Her body trembled as he repeated the motion while kissing her.

  The soft kiss turned hard when her grip tightened and she arched, giving a small cry with her climax. Iain’s heart pumped wildly as her softness constricted around him and his body convulsed. His final thrusts brought with them the residue of gratification and he drove deep, the last waves of pleasure scorching the very roots of his senses.

  Iain held her, not moving, until both their pulses beat to a more natural rhythm. Finally, she relaxed, and he lifted her off him, then lowered her feet to the ground. Stepping back, he looked down at her. Her eyes were hidden beneath lowered lashes, but the soft flush of red in her cheeks told him she was more than a little surprised by her reaction to his lovemaking. He adjusted her bodice, tied the strings, then placed her hand through the crook of his arm and led her in a leisurely walk back to the great hall.

  Speculative glances gave way to knowing looks and grins when Iain seated Victoria next to him. He hid a smile, thankful she had no idea her tousled hair and disheveled dress bore testimony she had just risen from her lover’s bed. Father Brennan’s appearance from the staircase turned the table’s attention away from the lass, and her face lit. She rose.

  “Good evening, Father.” she greeted the priest. “I had not expected to see you.”

  Father Brennan took the hand she extended and clasped it between his palms. “I told Iain I would stay to perform the ceremony.”

  “Ceremony?” she repeated.

  Iain heard the shock in her voice and pushed to his feet.

  “When is the wedding to take place?” Father Brennan asked.

  Iain strode toward them. “Directly after supper,” he replied, then to her, “Lass, there is some—”

  She faced him and he stopped short at sight of the betrayal he read in her eyes. His heart jumped to a gallop. She could only feel betrayal if she cared.

  “The wager was not well done of you, my lord.” She whirled, narrowly missing a serving maid who had stopped and was watching the discourse with open interest.

  Iain took two paces forward. “Remember what I said? No denying the truth.” Her eyes snapped onto him, and his heart twisted at the pain he saw there. Christ, he had handled this badly.

  “You speak of truth, yet toy with me.” Her gaze shifted to Father Brennan. “And you. I would not have believed a priest capable of plotting in such a manner.”

  Father Brennan’s face turned ashen. “I-I-did not—that is—”

  She again headed for the door.

  Iain reached her in an instant and grabbed her arm. He ignored the wince that flashed across her face and pulled her closer. “Marrying me is repugnant, yet you have no qualms about letting me between your legs?”

  “You take liberties and I am to thank you for using it against me?”

  “I should have told you about Ho—”

  “Nay.” She yanked free. “’Tis Father Brennan you should not have told. Faith, how does a priest instruct a man to seduce a woman?”

  Iain stared. “You think me in league with your priest?”

  “You have said it.”

  He leaned to within a hair’s breadth of her nose. “And you believe he instructed me to—” Iain swore. She colored, and he looked at Father Brennan. “Tell her.”

  Father Brennan gave them both an uncertain look. “Your brother-in-law came to the abbey looking for you.”

  “My—Edwin?”

  “Aye,” Father Brennan confirmed. “He is on his way here even as we speak, and he brings men-at-arms.”

  She swayed.

  Iain steadied her. “Are you all right, lass?”

  She nodded. “’It is just…a surprise. That is all. A surprise.”

  Iain studied her. “This has been an eventful night for you.”

  “It has,” she said.

  “You understand why we must marry, then?” he asked.

  “Marry?” Her eyes cleared. “You tricked me.”

  “I did not,” Iain answered with genuine feeling. “You were the one who threw down the gauntlet. It is not my fault you were unable to carry it.”

  “No one in their right mind would be expected to pay a debt in this manner.”

  He gave her an assessing look. “I recall you saying a woman had just as much honor as a man.” Her mouth thinned, but she said nothing, and Iain addressed Father Brennan. “Tonight, Father.”

  Iain turned and started toward the table. From the corner of his eye, he saw the object fly toward him. A chorus of warning shouts rang out as he ducked and a pitcher crashed into the wall behind him. A roar of protests followed when ale showered him, Thomas, and several others sitting nearby. Stunned, Iain looked at Thomas, who looked back at him with just as much shock. Iain glanced at the lass, and the maid who stood stone still, the pitcher she’d been carrying gone.

  Iain looked back at Thomas, feeling a comical lack of concern. “Seems I made the mistake of forgetting the lady’s love of throwing things.”

  The din halted when he turned and strode toward the retreating woman. Step by deliberate step he moved closer, his eyes conveying the command that her passion should be saved for the wedding night, when he was stopped by a single word.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Victoria!” Father Brennan’s shout brought with it a silence as deafening as the earlier clamor had been.

  Victoria winced, but Iain suspected it was due to the priest’s betrayal and not the reprimand the single word held.

  “You go too far,” Father Brennan said. “Come here.” When she did
n’t move, he added, “Victoria.”

  “Aye, Victoria,” Iain echoed. “Come here.”

  Undaunted by the stubborn shake of her head, Iain again advanced on her. She retreated several paces, then stopped and cast a glance at the interested onlookers. Iain drew her close. She shoved at his chest, but he lifted her hand and pressed the delicate fingers to his lips.

  “Victoria MacPherson. A fine name. What say you, Father?” he asked without looking away from her. “Have we time for a wedding?”

  A shadow entered her eyes that startled him. “I will not be trapped into marriage.”

  He squeezed her hand. “This is no trap. We must marry without delay.” Determination displaced the fear in her expression, and he added, “Unless you prefer England and your only living relative?”

  She stilled and he wondered if he shouldn’t kill the earl, then dare King Henry to venture into the Scottish Highlands in search of him. Being a hunted man would save Victoria from being shackled to him, a man she considered little better than the devil that was now on his way to claim her. What had Hockley done to incite such fear in her?

  Her brow furrowed with indecision and all resolve vanished. He couldn’t live without her. Iain pressed the advantage. “Our union cuts all ties with him. Do you understand?”

  “Aye.”

  Her quick acquiescence didn’t bring the expected jubilation. Instead, when they drew together and Iain accepted the solemn vow to care for her the remainder of his days, Victoria lowered her head so that he couldn’t see her face.

  Her gaze remained downcast as she began repeating her vows. “I, Victoria Hockley, take you, Iain MacPherson, to be my husband—” she faltered.

  Dread tightened his gut. What she was hiding? With a finger, Iain tipped her face upward. Their eyes met and a tinge of red colored her cheeks.

  Father Brennan leaned forward and gave her an encouraging look. “You must finish before I can name you man and wife.”

  She nodded, and Iain released as she said, “In the presence…”

  “…of God,” Father Brennan said.

  “…of God,” she repeated, “and before these witnesses I promise to be a loving, faithful…”

  “…and loyal wife.” Father Brennan nodded.

  “…and loyal wife to you, for as long as we both shall live.”

  “Dhuitsa, gus an dèan Dia leis a' bhàs ar dealachadh…to you, until God shall separate us by death,” Iain ended. He claimed her lips with his own, gentle, so as to keep his passion in check, then broke the embrace and hugged her to his side as he faced the assembly gathered in the great hall. “My wife.”

  Victoria jumped with the loud cheer that resounded in the room, and Iain decided they could both use some of the mead now being passed around. He started for the table when a guard entered the room and whispered something in Thomas’s ear. Thomas motioned to Iain. Iain seated Victoria, then strode to where Thomas stood a few feet away.

  “A company of English men-at-arms wait outside the gate,” Thomas informed him.

  Iain cursed. “They pushed on ahead.”

  “Be glad it was not twenty minutes ago.”

  “It would not have mattered,” Iain said. “They would have waited. Send a man out to inquire what they want. I will meet you on the wall momentarily.”

  Iain returned to the table where mugs and goblets were already filled for the toasts to follow. The room quieted when a man stood and raised his goblet, saying, “May joy and peace surround you both, contentment latch your door. May happiness be with you now. God bless you evermore.”

  Another round of shouts went up, and the women who had jammed into the kitchen doorway during the ceremony surrounded Victoria’s chair. Pleasure rippled through him at sight of his new wife blushing over questions and advice that flowed as easily as the wine.

  Iain leaned over and whispered, “I must go, love, but I will come to you later.”

  She blinked, then her eyes widened. Iain smiled confirmation and, with a kiss meant to linger until that later meeting, he left her to deal with the well-wishers.

  Embossed in gold wax, the crest of Edwin Hockley, Earl of Lansbury, remained unbroken on the missive Iain held ten minutes later. He shifted his attention from the document and looked over the walls at the English soldiers gathered below. A white flag whipped in the wind, high above their ranks.

  “Father Brennan was right,” Iain told Thomas. “There are but fifty of them. No threat if they mean mischief.”

  “Aye,” Thomas agreed. “Which probably means their mischief comes in a more sinister manner.”

  Iain shot him an accusing look. “You have a bad habit of pointing out the obvious. Have you been told that before?”

  Thomas appeared thoughtful. “Nay. I feel certain this is the first I have heard of it.”

  “Well, you do.” Iain broke the seal on the parchment and read the contents.

  Iain MacPherson

  By order of King Henry VII you are commanded to release Victoria Hockley, Countess of Lansbury, to her brother-in-law, Edwin Hockley, Earl of Lansbury.

  Signed by King Henry VII, sovereign ruler of Great Britain, this twenty-ninth day of August, year of our Lord fifteen hundred and eight.

  “Short and to the point,” Iain murmured. He handed the note to Thomas.

  Thomas read it, then said, “A man of decisive action.”

  Iain accepted the document back from him, glanced down at it, and sighed. “Let the games begin.”

  * * *

  All merry-makers were cleared from the hall and Iain sat at the table, half a dozen warriors at the wall nearest him when the door opened and Edwin Hockley was escorted into the great hall. Iain recognized the Italian rapier strapped to Hockley’s thigh. Though not as elaborate a sword as many in the noble caste wore, the delicately engraved, blackened hilt spoke of a simple elegance that said functionality was more important than ostentatious trappings. Thomas had been right. Edwin Hockley was a man of action.

  Hockley halted in front of him, and Iain said, “What business has the king ordering my wife from her home?”

  Surprise flickered in the earl’s eyes. “Wife?”

  “Wife.”

  “I was not aware my sister-in-law had intentions of remarrying.”

  “Intentions?” Iain repeated. “She is married.”

  “I was not aware she was married,” Edwin said, adding, “Neither was her king aware she was married.”

  “You will inform him.”

  “You understand if I feel compelled to see the wedding certificate.”

  Iain barked a laugh. “You understand if I do not feel compelled to show you anything.”

  “Where is she that I may offer my felicitations? As a member of her family, I would see her well off.”

  “I am her family now,” Iain countered.

  “You would send me home without seeing her?”

  “Being able to return home is privilege enough.”

  “We have come in peace,” the earl answered so skillfully, Iain knew the answer was practiced.

  “So the English have said for centuries,” he replied. “We have learned to mistrust first and ask questions later.”

  A look of speculation commingled with arrogance crossed Edwin’s face. “How does that philosophy extend to Victoria?”

  “My wife,” Iain used the word he noticed Hockley had avoided, “does not concern you. What should concern you is your safe passage home.”

  The postern door opened and Iain cursed at sight of his wife. “My lord—” Her gaze met Hockley’s and she halted. Her flushed face melted into cool civility. “Edwin.”

  The earl strode toward her. “Victoria.” He reached her side, then took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “It is good to see you. You are well?”

  Iain’s interest sharpened when Victoria disengaged her hand. Blatantly ignoring her brother-in-law’s greeting, she hurried to Iain’s side.

  “My lord, I must speak with you at once.”r />
  He motioned for everyone to vacate the room, but Victoria shook her head. “Nay, outside.” She inclined her head closer. “Do not allow Edwin to follow.”

  Iain nodded to the nearby guards to remain in the hall with the earl, then accompanied Victoria to the postern door. He opened the door, stood aside for her to pass ahead of him, and caught sight of the half dozen MacPherson men, swords drawn, opposite the five men allowed in with Hockley, their swords also drawn.

  Iain took two large steps and grabbed Victoria’s arm and yanked her to a halt. “Return to the castle, at once—my chambers—and lock the door.” He scanned the group, saw Thomas, his back toward he and Victoria, then shoved her toward the castle. “Go.”

  “Not until you make them release her.”

  “Do as I say—” He jerked his gaze onto Victoria. “Her?”

  She pointed at the group and Iain blinked at sight of a woman at young Riley’s side. She was small and tucked close to the opposite side of the young warrior. Iain hadn’t seen her at first glance.

  “Order Riley to release her.” Victoria tugged on his arm.

  “Who is she?”

  “My stepdaughter.”

  His head gaze snapped onto her. “Step—”

  Victoria started forward.

  Iain grabbed her arm. “Cease running into battle.” He yanked her to his side and approached the men. When they neared the band, he said, “It does not appear Riley is hurting her.”

  “He thinks to keep her,” Victoria said.

  “Keep—Sounds—” Iain choked, “—like a fine idea to me.” Through a badly managed fit of laughter, he added, “I have known such situations to come to a good end.” He released Victoria and stepped in front of Riley to study the girl closer. “She is a fine looking lass.” He stopped at the scowl on Victoria’s face. “For Riley, that is,” he added.

  Tears spilled over the girl’s lashes.

  Victoria patted her arm. “Courage, Katherine. All will be well.”

  “Aye,” Iain said, recalling Victoria’s own reaction to those very same words. “All will be well.”