Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  “You must be tired after such a journey,” Maude said. “How long did you travel?”

  “Four days.”

  Nellie knelt beside the tub and began soaping her hair.

  “Did you enjoy the fine weather?” the housekeeper asked.

  Victoria nodded.

  “Though we do not like to admit it,” Maude said in a confiding tone, “even the summers here can be a might cold.”

  Such comments went on and exhaustion edged its way past thoughts of captivity and freedom.

  “I expect you will sleep better in this bed than you did in Iain’s arms,” Maude said.

  Victoria bolted upright. Water sloshed over the top of the tub.

  Nellie shot to her feet. “Look what you did!” She shook out her wet skirts.

  “’Tis only water,” Maude recriminated before focusing on Victoria. “Is something wrong?” she asked, causing Victoria to wonder how many more times she would be forced to hear that infernal question before anyone understood being forced into captivity was what was wrong.

  Victoria pursed her lips, but Maude’s expression didn’t waver. Victoria hesitated, pride warring with the knowledge that news of her arrival would be idle gossip before morning—along with lewd speculation of the four days spent with Iain MacPherson. A new thought surfaced. If she told the truth of how he kidnapped her, might there be others as outraged as she?

  What would they think of his tenderness? Victoria startled at the unbidden memory of how he’d held her after killing the unluckiest of her attackers. Gone was the fury he’d unleashed on the man, in its place a gentle touch that was as different from their violent treatment as light was from day. Her jaw tensed. That part of the tale would remain untold. He had taken her against her will. No need of comfort would have been necessary had he left her in peace. Despite the quiver in her stomach, Victoria took a deep breath and began the tale.

  Twenty minutes later Maude gave into the laughter she had obviously been grappling with from the beginning of the story, and Victoria wondered if all MacPhersons were afflicted with some sort of mental deficit.

  “You mean he just rode off with you?” Nellie asked, wide-eyed.

  Victoria tensed with the memory of her failure to secure freedom. “’Twasn’t so easy for him.” “What do you mean?” Maude asked.

  “I spurred his horse on.”

  “You incited the beast?” Maude asked in astonishment.

  Victoria nodded. “I did not wish to go with him.”

  “I do not understand,” Nellie said. “If the laird asked me to go, I would, and without a peep.” “Nellie,” Maude said.

  “Well, ’tis the truth,” the girl replied. “Not a woman alive would refuse him.” “Enough,” Maude said.

  “Faith, but the man is mad,” Victoria muttered.

  “Mad?” The housekeeper’s brow rose in question.

  “What man kidnaps a woman and expects her to swoon at his feet?”

  Surveying the confused expressions of the two women, Victoria realized they thought Iain MacPherson was that man.

  * * *

  Iain approached the cottage where his captive slept. Dawn was still an hour away, but thoughts of her had lingered through the night, pushing aside the good sense that told him it was better to leave her sleeping.

  He eased open the door and peered into the shadows. Embers cast faint light and the bed lay in near darkness. Iain slipped inside and crept across the room to the bed. Dark hair spilled across slim shoulders and onto the white cover. His body hardened. She should be in his bed. Christ, but the English were too proper.

  Glancing up, he caught sight of a patch of ivory chemise sticking out from beneath the dress hanging over a chair at the table. He looked back at her and realized the bare shoulder was but a sample of the rest. Images of the supple body hidden by a thin blanket flooded his mind and he whirled, headed for anywhere away from her.

  Iain found Thomas, feet propped up on the table in the great hall. “I am leaving,” Iain informed him.

  Attention on the apple he was peeling, Thomas nodded.

  “Is everything ready for my departure?” Thomas nodded again.

  “I expect you to watch everything closely.” Again, a casual incline of Thomas’s dark head.

  Iain scowled at the lack of attention. “Have you nothing to say?”

  Thomas’s casual shrug was the final straw. “What is wrong with you?”

  Thomas still didn't look up from the apple. “I believe, mon ami, you are cheating.”

  “Cheating?”

  The apple was finally peeled. Thomas quartered it and popped a slice into his mouth. He looked up.

  “You have learned her name?”

  Iain crossed his arms over his chest. “I do not need to.”

  Thomas lifted a piece of apple in salute. “Every woman likes to hear her name, particularly in the dark.” He slid the apple into his mouth with a loud slurp.

  Iain regarded him. “You have been acting strange since I returned. I do not know what you are up to, but take heed. Watch things while I am gone, but do not get too close.” He turned and strode to the door.

  Hand on the handle, Iain looked over his shoulder.

  “Why do you say I was cheating?”

  “It has been some time since you went to say your farewell to the lady this morning.”

  “Why not? She is mine.”

  “But she has not yet said yes.” Thomas observed him with mild curiosity. “Unless I am mistaken?”

  “Nay,” Iain pulled the door open, “but I can be quite convincing.”

  * * *

  The chirping of birds brought Victoria to a slow awareness of unfamiliar surroundings. She pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. Muted sun filtered through the window, and the clouds looked as if the smallest breeze would bring them plummeting to earth. Was that an indication of what lay outside the cottage walls? She bolted upright. Her keeper could appear any moment to find her still in bed.

  Ten minutes later, Victoria emerged from the grove that separated the cottages from the main courtyard and halted at sight of the unexpected activity in the compound. She scanned the goings on until she spotted a familiar face.

  “Sir.” She hurried across the compound. “A moment, please.”

  Iain’s cousin turned as she reached his side. “At your service, my lady.” He gave a courtly bow.

  Victoria tilted her head. “You are most gallant.”

  He flashed a broad smile. “You are most kind, chérie.”

  “We were not properly introduced last night.”

  His eyes lit with mischief. “You made that impossible.”

  She shook her head. “I will not tell you my name.”

  “Do you believe it will matter to him?”

  “Nay,” Victoria answered with a resignation she hadn’t expected. Shaking off the disturbing feeling, she regarded the cousin. “Forgive my curiosity, but I cannot help noticing you are not like the other men here.”

  “Oh? How would that be, my lady?"

  “Your speech is educated.” She ignored the amused raise of his brow. “You speak French. Is that common?”

  “Not so common.”

  “Then you are not Scottish?”

  “That depends on who you ask. My mother was

  French and my father a Highlander.”

  “Then you are Scottish.”

  He laughed. “The Highlanders do not consider themselves Scottish, and the Scots tend to agree.”

  Victoria frowned. “Ridiculous.”

  “It is the way of things.”

  “Was your mother also stolen and forced to marry your father?”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “Nay. She married him of her own free will.”

  Victoria made a face. “Oh.”

  “Is it difficult to believe a woman would freely choose to wed a Highlander?”

  “It seems unlikely,” she replied. “But your mother was allowed a choice?”


  He nodded. “Everyone has choices, chérie.”

  “That is easy for you to say. You are a man.” Before he could comment, she said, “What is your name, sir?”

  He cocked a dark brow. “You think it fair to know my name when you will not tell me yours?”

  “You are at a disadvantage, my lord, as there is no one to enlighten you.”

  “Am I now?”

  Something in his manner gave her pause. “Unless you find yourself possessed of second sight.”

  “I have been told I have an uncanny way.”

  Victoria smiled. “Oh, aye, I can see, ’tis the truth. A French Scot, er, French Highlander…uncanny would be the word.”

  He threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “Come, my lady.” He slipped a hand under her arm, moving her in the direction of the castle. When they reached the kitchen door, he bowed again. “Thomas

  MacPherson, at your service.”

  Victoria smiled. She had been right. He was a handsome devil. Almost as tall as Iain MacPherson with similar dark hair, but his eyes were a deep green instead of the brown ones belonging to the devil who was her captor.

  A ruckus in the vicinity of the gate caught her attention and she turned along with Thomas. A dozen men were entering the front gate. Victoria noticed a slight difference in the green of their tartans.

  Thomas must have caught the question on her face, for he said, “They are the Hyram MacPhersons. Soltion Castle is little more than an hour’s ride to the north.”

  Victoria glanced at him. “There is another castle close by?”

  He nodded. “There is a village forty-five minutes northwest, and Dawilneh is the closest, only twenty minutes to the north. You thought we alone occupied the land?”

  “I—I had not thought of it.”

  “Twenty minutes alone in these hills is a lifetime,” he remarked.

  “With all these MacPhersons running about, how dangerous could it be?”

  A smile curved his full mouth. “Ahh, but not all of them are Iain MacPherson.”

  She snorted. “Aye, well, one must take what one can get.”

  “You would prefer a Fraser?”

  Her blood chilled. “I would guess not all Frasers are the same, either.”

  “Just as all MacPhersons are not the same.”

  “If that is intended to discourage me, your efforts are wasted.”

  “There are MacPhersons who would not hesitate to act just as the Frasers did. Though Iain would not let such actions go unanswered.”

  Victoria gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “So, the MacPherson lord will not tolerate rape, but has no qualms about holding a woman against her will until she consents?”

  “Aye,” he agreed with obvious amusement. “There is a world of difference.” His expression sobered. “A difference you have already learned firsthand.” Giving her a push in the direction of the door, he turned.

  Her name, as if whispered on the wind, met Victoria’s ears. She whirled, nearly colliding with a tall warrior. She fell back in unison with his sidestep, and he shot her a frustrated look. Another man following close behind said something low in Gaelic.

  They passed from view, and she saw Thomas striding toward the well. As if sensing her scrutiny, Thomas looked over his shoulder. Their eyes met and she searched his face, but found nothing to indicate he had just called to her. With a polite nod, she turned and entered the kitchen.

  Victoria halted inside the door. Preparations for the day’s meals were in full swing and the bustle made the courtyard seem almost deserted.

  “Come in, lass.” Maude said.

  Victoria hesitated and the housekeeper patted the chair beside hers with a flour-covered hand. The women made no effort to hide their interest as she crossed the room, and Victoria realized she’d been right; her story was already common knowledge.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Maude said once Victoria seated herself.

  Victoria glanced at the bread the housekeeper pounded on the table and nodded a thank you to the young girl who set a cup of tea in front of her. “What about?” Victoria lifted her cup and blew across the top of the steaming liquid.

  “The lasses and I think you ought to tell us your name.” Victoria started to respond, but Maude cut her off. “You need not worry, we will not tell Iain. In fact, we think that is the best part.”

  Victoria looked over her cup at Maude. “What do you mean?” She sipped the tea.

  “We find it interesting that you do not want to tell him your name.”

  “I explained last night.”

  “Aye, and we understand. But if you want revenge, the best thing would be to tell everyone but him. Well, not everyone,” Maude amended as she pounded the bread. “You could not tell any of the men.” She winked. “Cannot trust any of them.”

  Victoria set her cup on the saucer. “You mean to play a trick on your lord?” What sort of women were these? “He has a temper. What will you do when he

  discovers the truth?”

  “Aye, he has a fierce temper,” Maude said with what Victoria recognized as genuine glee. “But he would never raise a hand against a woman. So,” she dusted her hands on her apron, scooted her chair closer, and leaned on the flour-covered table, “what do you think?”

  The other women gathered closer. The sparkle in Maude's eye was contagious, and Victoria couldn't deny the thrill at the thought of thrashing the man a little.

  “Now listen,” Maude said, “those of us here are the only ones you can trust, and we won’t tell anyone else. In order to have our fun, we do a few things no one will be able to put their finger on, but will make

  the laddies wonder.”

  The thought that joining in the jest might form a connection with the women struck Victoria as a strong prospect for freedom. “Such as?” she asked, careful to keep her interest noncommittal.

  “Little hints, like when someone asks where you might be, we start to answer, but then pause and answer as if we thought of something better.”

  “As if you were about to say one thing, then changed your mind.”

  Maude nodded and Victoria noticed something played in her eyes. A deep love of mischief, she realized, and almost laughed.

  “We must be careful,” the housekeeper went on. “If anyone asks us outright do we know your name, we will not lie. Instead we say something like, ‘what a funny idea, has she told you her name?’ or some such thing. That way no one can say we lied.”

  Victoria surveyed the women. “’Tis an interesting idea, but, I would not have thought…” She left off and understanding flickered in Maude's eyes. “Aye, there is no love lost between the

  Highlanders and the English, eh?”

  “I did not mean to offend,” Victoria murmured.

  “Never mind. You did not say anything we have not all thought. Now, what do you think?”

  Victoria surveyed the eager faces. “Ladies, we shall teach these men not to toy with us.” And, perhaps, find a friendship that might hold the key to escape from Fauldun castle.

  Chapter Six

  Victoria stared at Maude, unable to believe what the housekeeper had just said.

  “’Tis no jest,” Maude said. “Before Lily married

  Iain’s father, she was carried off by another man.”

  Victoria squinted against the sun that hovered beyond the morning mist and surveyed the women assembled around her. “Is stealing women an illness

  among Scottish men?”

  The task of gathering kindling came to an abrupt halt as a round of laughter went up.

  “I had not thought of that,” Maude said as she plopped her small behind against an oak tree. Dropping the bundle of twigs she held, the housekeeper turned twinkling eyes on Victoria. “Though, I do not think you can say Scots, the lowlanders havena’ the bollocks for such things. Now a Highlander…” The merry note in her voice trailed off, leaving silence in its wake until she spoke again. “It is strange in its own way. Men do have a way of getting what they
want. But Liam did not get his way. Iain’s father forced him to give Lily back. Everyone was surprised.”

  “Why?” Victoria asked.

  “The worst was assumed, of course.”

  Victoria inhaled the scent of pine mingled with the heather that grew beyond the grove. The women again grew quiet, and she knew some sort of response was required from her. “What do you mean, ‘the worst was assumed?’”

  “It was not so bad for Lily,” Nellie cut in with a wicked grin. “But then, you understand how she felt, eh, Victoria?”

  “Nellie,” Maude admonished. “You know nothing of it. You were not yet even a gleam in your father’s eye.”

  “It does not matter,” Nellie pouted. “Everyone knows Liam was a handsome man. Still is. Not so different from Iain.” The girl cast Victoria a knowing look.

  “How should I understand how his mother felt? She must have been pleased to return home. In that, I can imagine her feelings.” Cold silence followed her statement, and she realized her mistake. Victoria squeezed Maude’s hand. “Surely you understand I miss my own home?”

  “Your home?” Nellie snorted. “Montrose Abbey is home to men who have taken a vow to no longer be men. No woman has taken the vow of celibacy there, and you are no exception, mistress.”

  “True,” Victoria answered, “I did not take the veil, but what has that to do with this situation?”

  “Well, now, ’tis curious you should say that,” Nellie said.

  “Och, Nellie,” Maude interrupted. “Have you no sense at all?”

  “Sense?” Nellie’s voice turned petulant, and Maude wasn’t the only one who rolled her eyes heavenward. “What can you mean? She is acting innocent.” Nellie turned back to Victoria. “You mean to tell us that was not Iain MacPherson leaving your cottage the other morning?”

  Victoria looked at Maude. “Is the child insane?” Maude looked sheepish and Victoria frowned. “What is wrong with all of you?”

  “Lass,” Maude said, “we saw Iain leave your cottage the morning he left.” At Victoria’s gasp, Maude grasped her hand. “No need to be embarrassed. None of us blame you. He is a charmer, and we all know he would have you, if he had not already.”