by Tarah Scott
Victoria rose onto her knees, blanket clutched to her breast. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
She jumped when a boot hit the floor with a thud. “You—you cannot be serious. It would not be proper.”
He grunted with the effort of removing the second boot. “You believe it proper to lock a door against me?”
“It is my right.”
“You were not against my coming to you earlier this evening.”
“I never agreed,” she said.
“You showed no signs of disagreeing.”
“You are mad!”
A low chuckle was followed by, “Probably.”
“I am no more interested in your company tonight then I was when you paid your last visit,” she said.
Iain was quiet for a moment, then said in a thoughtful tone, “This visit was not unannounced.
That was your complaint?”
“You do not own me, Iain MacPherson. I am not your possession to dally with at your leisure.”
“Possession?” Iain shifted and strong fingers clamped around her bare shoulders. She found herself sitting across hard thighs, his breath hot on her face. His mouth came down on hers in a rough kiss. He pulsed beneath her bottom. Her pulse accelerated. Awareness that her cotton chemise offered no protection against his unyielding body sent a shiver through Victoria, and she was sure the wail of the dark storm she had glimpsed earlier moved across her captor’s soul.
He caught her lower lip between his teeth and nibbled it with just enough force to hold her motionless. A tremor rippled through Victoria. Iain released her. She pushed herself from his lap and scrambled to the other side of the bed, heart hammering.
“Is that how a man treats a possession?” he demanded.
Warmth still lingered where his mouth had touched hers, and a ghost feel of him beneath her buttocks caused a quiver in her stomach. Desire?
Tears rushed to the surface.
“I am not your mistress,” she blurted, “or your wife—to take you into my bed when you’ve just come from another woman’s bed.”
Deadly silence followed. “Nay, lass, you are not.” The reasonable tone of his voice confused her.
“But why do you think I would ask that of you?” he asked.
Victoria hesitated, then realized there was no reason to withhold the truth. “I saw you tonight…at the cottage.”
“Ahh,” he said in the same reasonable voice.
“Providence has seen fit to punish me.” “What?”
“I was not in her bed,” he said.
“Not in her bed—I am no fool. I saw her welcome you.” And his reception of that welcome.
“Love, I did not bed her. I went to tell her I would not be bedding her anymore.”
Victoria’s heart hammered. “What—that is ridiculous. You—you cannot need me when you have her.”
“I never said I needed both of you,” he shot back.
Victoria stiffened at recognizing annoyance in his voice. “It is your right to do as you please…” She trailed off, cheeks unexpectedly heating at the thought of what he might please to do with his mistress.
“If I did what I pleased, sweet, we would not be talking. You understand, I will have you.”
Panic roared to life and she backed up.
“Nay, love,” he said. “I only meant, I would wed you. Have I forced myself on you?”
Unease rustled inside her at the recollections that question called forth. “You—you took liberties…you forced me to come with you.”
“Aye, and perhaps that was not the wisest course of action. Still, what is done is done.”
Had she heard correctly? Was that regret in his voice? “You may yet make it right, my lord.”
“I intend to.”
Relief washed through her. “I can be ready to return to the abbey tomorrow morning.” An ominous
stillness followed and Victoria realized the miscalculation. “Nay.” She shook her finger in his face as if speaking to a child.
“Lass.”
“Nay.” This time the word was spoken in a near shout.
“I meant what I said,” he interrupted.
“You said you would make it right.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes.
“Aye, and I will. With marriage.”
“I will not marry.”
“Why?”
The query was not what she’d expected, and Victoria found herself at a loss how to describe the prison that had been her marriage. “Let me go home,” she insisted. “That is the only way to make this right.
Perhaps then…”
“I think not, love.”
“Why?”
A deep sigh came from his side of the bed. “I am certain once out of my reach, you would cheerfully consign me to the devil.”
“What makes you think it will be different if I remain?”
“My considerable charm. Do not worry, lass. I will give you time to adjust.”
“To what, your charm?”
“Aye,” he answered with an air of gentle regret,
“and to the idea of sharing your charms with me.”
* * *
Victoria pushed the library door ajar and peeked in. Finding the room empty, she slipped inside and started toward the bookshelves behind the desk. A sound outside the room stopped her. She waited, heart pounding, until the noise passed into a distant part of the hallway. Frustration seized her. A single night had passed since her captor’s return and she crept about the castle like an errant child trying to avoid her schoolmaster. Mayhap he might again take leave of Fauldun Castle. Irritation deepened. His absence left her in no better position than did his presence.
“Sweet Jesu,” she muttered and hurried forward. “You wanted him to return and your wish has been granted.”
At the desk she paused, her attention snagged on figures scratched helter-skelter on the top sheet of a stack of papers. She picked up the document, ran her gaze across the page, and realized she was looking at engineering equations. She glanced at the second page and grimaced at the sight of another tangled mess of figures. Whoever made these calculations had rushed through them—or was an idiot.
She skirted the desk to the chair, started to sit, then cast a nervous glance at the door half-expecting Iain MacPherson to throw it open. Shaking off the feeling, she lowered herself into the chair.
The discomfort in her neck told Victoria she’d been leaning over the plans of the proposed waterwheel far too long. She glanced at the clock sitting on the mantle. Two hours, and still no success in reconciling the calculations. Someone had made a terrible error—not just one, but several. What sort of engineer made such obvious mistakes?
She blew out a slow breath, set the drawings to the side, then turned over one of the pieces of paper and began working in earnest.
It seemed but a moment later when the creak of the door intruded upon her concentration. Victoria looked up and startled at sight of a tall, dark-haired stranger in the doorway.
His sharp gaze swept over her and her work, then swung back to her face. “Good evening, lass.”
The soft greeting didn’t disguise the razor sharp mind behind the face, but Victoria quelled the disquiet that quivered in her stomach and gave a gracious nod. “Good evening…” she let the words trail off in question.
Surprise flicked across his face and Victoria realized he’d discerned her English accent. She glanced past him at the open door, then cursed herself for the wish that Iain MacPherson would make one of his unannounced appearances.
His expression turned speculative. “I am Johannas,” he said. “Who are you?” But before she could answer, he strode toward her.
She froze when he rounded the desk and stopped behind her. When he glanced from the papers penned by her hand to the originals, her unease grew.
He reached past her shoulder and picked up the sheet she’d been writing on. “This is yours?”
Victoria twisted and met hi
s gaze. He stared, eyes intent on her face. She gave a single nod.
He studied her. “The MacPherson did not tell me he had an engineer—and a woman no less.”
“I am not his engineer.” She pushed her chair back in a manner that should have forced him back, but didn’t.
“I did not know the English educated their women so well,” he commented, making it clear he was unsure whether he found the idea a good one or not. “Can you explain this?” He thrust the paper in her face.
Victoria accepted the paper as he leaned over her.
* * *
Victoria entered the kitchen.
“There she is, looking all bright this morning.” The smile Nellie gave Victoria was followed by a knowing look at the rest of the women.
“Good morning,” Victoria said, not feeling bright at all. A restless night spent waking at every sound outside her door had done nothing for her mood. Neither had a cold dinner, she noted, smelling deeply of the bread that was already baking.
“Did you have a good evening?” Nellie asked.
Victoria shrugged as she took a cup from the table then crossed to the hearth where water steamed in a kettle over the fire. “As well as can be expected.” She unhooked the hot pad hanging over the hearth, grasped the kettle hand with it, and poured hot water into her cup.
“No sleep, eh?” Nellie said. “Iain wear you out, mistress?”
“Wear me out—” Victoria jumped when hot water sloshed onto her hand. She hung the kettle back over the fire, transferred the cup to her other hand, and shook the burned hand in the air. “What is she saying?”
“You were not here last night,” Maude replied. “Neither was Iain.”
So that was why she hadn’t been summoned to the dinner table last night. She walked to the table and set her cup down. “So you assume…”
Maude eyed Victoria. “You are saying ’tis not true?”
“Aye.”
Nellie snorted, but Maude shrugged and went back to shelling the broad beans piled on the table before her.
After a few more civilities, Victoria left the kitchen, its occupants, and her untouched tea. If ever a day existed where the need for freedom pounded against her brain, she couldn’t name it. Three weeks within the walls of Fauldun Castle had taken its toll. Though she knew full well the problem was the last two days, not to mention the last few minutes that drove the desperate need to cast off her confinement. She had to take action.
Victoria wasted no time in discovering Thomas’s location. Once through the courtyard and over the hill on the east side of the compound, she spied the men training in the field to the rear of the keep. Thomas stood talking with another man.
“Sir.” She greeted him with a smile.
Thomas bowed as she approached. “To what do we owe the honor of your company? Have you an interest in watching our warriors sharpen their skill?” He motioned to the men sparring.
Victoria shook her head. “Another time. Sir, I have been cooped up within these walls too long.” “There are many here who do not step outside these walls in a year. You have been here not yet a month.”
She raised a brow. “Need we examine the difference?”
Thomas smiled. “As you please, my lady.”
So, the rogue was not so easily had. “I ask one small favor,” she said.
“To be outside the castle walls?”
“A ride. Surely that is not too much to ask?”
“Have you spoken to Iain?”
“It is a simple matter, why must I petition him?”
“He alone can grant that favor.” “Why?” she demanded.
“I believe it is because he fears you will run away at first chance.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“The great hall, last I saw him. You did not find him there?”
She had noticed him outside the door of the great hall and had avoided him. The memory of her jailer’s jealous expression when Thomas had jested with him the night they arrived flashed in memory. What would Iain do if he thought her attention was focusing on his cousin?
Victoria frowned. “Are you feeling well?” She felt his forehead with the back of her fingers. “You look flushed. A moment’s rest would do you good.” Without waiting, she pulled him from where the men worked and started down the hill.
“The guards will not open the gate even for me, my lady.” His tone was casual, but Victoria detected just enough curiosity that she hoped would delay his resistance until she had incited her captor’s jealous nature.
She led him down the hill and into the courtyard. As they approached the castle, Victoria caught sight of Iain standing in the postern door speaking with some men. She turned her attention to Thomas and guided him to the well in the middle of the courtyard. With a push, she seated him on the stone bench beside the well.
“A respite from the sun will do you good.”
Glancing up at the great oak that shadowed the spot, she pretended to miss Iain’s gaze as it moved past the men he conversed with to rest on her and Thomas. She lifted the tin cup that rested on the well’s stone wall and scooped water from the bucket there. She allowed her fingers to brush Thomas’s arm as she handed him the cup. Once he drank the water, she refilled the cup.
Iain arrived a moment later, his companions in tow.
Victoria turned an innocent gaze on them.
“Would you join us for a bit of refreshment?”
He remained quiet while his companions declined.
She nodded. “It is a warm day and one cannot be too careful of this heat.”
“I see you have found a new way to make use of your time,” Iain said.
“I must do something with myself,” Victoria replied. “This does not please you?”
“I think you could find other amusement.”
Indeed, she could. Victoria gave him an innocent look. “What would you suggest, my lord?”
“Have you nothing else you would rather be doing?”
Thomas shifted and Victoria realized he had surmised her trap. “Only a moment ago, I happened to mention what a beautiful day it is for a ride.” She looked at Thomas for confirmation. Pushing aside the strong desire to throttle him when he declined to comment, she glided into her next statement. “Mayhap that is the very thing I need, as I am unaccustomed to this lack of freedom.”
“You may have all the freedom you like.”
She snapped her head in his direction. “Truly?”
He nodded. “As my wife, you would be as free as you please.”
She scowled. “Otherwise, I am naught but your prisoner?"
“I do not like living with the fear that you might run away,” Iain answered with startling honesty.
“Aye,” she retorted. “’Tis always better to remind a woman of her status, is it not, my lord?”
“That was not my meaning and you know it,” he replied.
She shook her head. “That is exactly what you meant.”
Iain gave a low growl and threw his hands in the air. “Have your ride. Thomas will accompany you.” “I never asked to go alone,” she said. “And it may interest you to know, if I wished to run away, I would find a more clever ruse than a simple ride.”
“Oftentimes, the simple plans are the best.”
“Mayhap you should remember, I am but a simple woman.”
Iain's deep laugh was followed by, “Nay, lass, such good fortune was not to be mine.”
Victoria narrowed her eyes, eliciting a round of laughter from the men, but she turned and bestowed a gracious nod on Thomas. “If you please, sir, I will meet you in the stables in ten minutes.”
She started for her cottage and bit her tongue when Iain called, “Do not be gone longer than an hour.” The words, spoken in an offhanded manner, held a command she knew would be heeded by her companion.
Chapter Ten
Once free of the trees, Victoria sank her heels into the belly of her horse and the mare surged past Thomas’s horse into the clear
ing. He kept his mount at a walk, but she knew the stallion could overtake her in seconds.
Victoria breathed deep of the wind that whipped gently at the blue and red plaid cloak clasped around her neck. Peace settled around her in easy rhythm with the animal’s gait. She closed her eyes and raised her face heavenward. Thin, gray clouds inched past sunlight, yet her cheeks warmed with a delicious heat not found within the confines of Fauldun Castle. She laughed. Sunlight shone inside the MacPherson keep just as it did here, but it was freedom that made it all the more precious.
“Chérie,” Thomas called.
She sighed, her imaginary solitude gone, and glanced over her shoulder. Thomas waved, indicating she should slacken her pace. Inspiration struck, followed by a nudge from the Devil himself. With a slow smile Victoria faced ahead, hunkered down, and spurred her horse.
The mare shot forward. Thomas shouted a command to stop and hooves pounded behind her. It was a childish satisfaction—he would be upon her before she reached the trees—but she couldn’t deny the thrill of giving him a scare.
His stallion’s piercing cry jerked her head around in their direction. Thomas was turning the animal toward four men who broke from the trees to the south. Their plaid was mixed with far more red than the MacPherson plaid. Were the newcomers cousins or maybe part of the Clan Chattan Maude had mentioned?
Victoria pulled sideways on the reins, bringing her horse around in a wide circle. Thomas now faced the men, and she drew in a sharp breath at sight of the hand that lay on his sword hilt in obvious warning. She yanked her gaze onto the men. Thomas would not challenge allies. She and Thomas had left Fauldun Castle but fifteen minutes ago. What would enemies be doing so close to the keep? He glanced at her and Victoria wasted no more time. She nudged her horse and the mare lunged toward the trees.
A moment’s ride beneath the foliage brought a sharp bend in the path. She yanked the reins. The horse cried out and Victoria suppressed an urge to do the same. She was alone.