by Tarah Scott
His mouth twitched. “As many as it takes, love. I assume you prefer to get it right the first time?”
“Oh, aye. That is my intention.”
“Fine, then. Do as I say and all will go smoothly.”
“For whom, sir?”
“Both of us, if you listen to me.”
Victoria sighed. “If you feel the need to instruct me to such detail, what in Hades do you hope to gain?”
Iain made a noise between a groan and a laugh.
“Never mind, just do as I say.”
“Faith, but you are mad.” She started to remove her hands from his shoulders, but he stopped her with a tight grip around her wrists. “You promised not to touch me,” she said, suddenly realizing freedom meant nothing more than being out of the disturbing presence of Iain MacPherson.
“Only while you are kissing me.”
He replaced her hands with a slight adjustment.
They were now on his chest. She dropped her gaze. His hands still covered hers, and it seemed he pressed her palms closer to his hard muscle. She had the unexpected urge to knead the dark flesh. A dizzying current swept through her.
“Have you the courage to finish what you started?” Iain said.
She jerked her head up. His face snapped into focus, and she read the satisfaction in his eyes. Panic rushed to the surface. She had to get as far away from him as possible. “I am not such a fool as to fall for such thin reasoning.” She started to pull away, but he held her firm.
“How badly do you wish to go to Dawilneh?”
She gave him a push. “Loathsome, loathsome man. You know exactly what you are doing.” And exactly the affect he was having on her. What in God’s name was wrong with her?
“Aye, love,” he said. “My expertise will give you great comfort and no little pleasure, I promise.”
Victoria blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “Have you anything more to say before we begin?”
“Kiss me as I have you.”
“If I do that, I will spend the next week in confession.”
Iain smiled. “Aye.”
Victoria glanced from the hands that still held hers, then back to him. Only then did he release her, leaving her sorry for the lack of support. She hesitated, her heart still pounding. She could do this—had to do this before it was too late. With a deep breath, she leaned into him. Lifting onto her toes, she touched her lips to his. The shock of their soft warmth nearly caused her to pull back, but he encouraged with a tiny sway of his body in her direction. She could have been wrong. Nay, he was still as stone. Though God knew, those lips weren’t made of granite.
Eyes closed and fingers clutching his sash, she slanted her head beneath his. The hard line of his jaw pressed against her face. He moved another fraction of an inch, allowing her to fit more snugly against him. His mouth parted and the heat of him seeped through her. She leaned into him. Did he want more?
Did she?
She remembered he had used his tongue with her and realized the invitation in his open lips. Warmth flushed through her. Invitation or command? It was impossible to tell, but with the flick of his tongue against her lips, Victoria knew he understood her hesitancy. Another brush of his tongue against her lips, and she extended her tongue into his mouth. The feel of him was immediate. Cool, yet hot. His flavor was masculine just as the scent of him always was. Her tongue moved of its own accord across the top of his, eliciting a deep groan from him. The sound woke her from the trance. Swaying, she slid her hands up and gripped his shoulders. They swayed, then started to fall.
Victoria tensed for the hard thump of contact, but Iain broke the impact, his body beneath hers, arms wrapped around her. She gasped at the hard ridge of arousal that dug into her belly, but was even more startled at the realization that heat had settled between her legs. She lay unmoving, torn between the fear of further inciting his desire by moving against him and the possibility that her legs wouldn’t hold her weight.
The heavy rhythm of his heart beat in unison with hers for another long moment before Iain rolled her onto her back. His weight pressed her into the moist ground. The flame in his eyes quickened her breath.
Dread tightened her stomach. She pushed at his chest. He stilled. She shook her head and he released her.
Iain stood and hauled her to her feet. Victoria commanded each step to remain steady as she started back toward the castle. A kiss was a small price to pay for freedom.
* * *
“How lovely,” Victoria cried at sight of the small waterfall that trickled into a pool at the base of the hill they rounded.
Iain called a halt, then whirled his horse around and rode up beside her. “A moment’s rest?” he asked.
They had been riding only ten minutes, and her insides buzzed with anticipation at seeing the village that lay so close to the keep, but she inclined her head in ascent as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “That is kind of you, my lord.”
He gestured with his hand and the handful of men and women that had accompanied them dismounted as he stepped from his horse. Victoria allowed him to lift her from the saddle, then went to stand at the water’s edge.
The pool was little more than a deep puddle. Barely six feet across, it was fed by water that splashed down a cascade of stones, each one jutting out to form a tiny waterfall. A woman bent, cupped the cool water in her hand, and drank. It had been a relief when Iain granted an open invitation for any who wished to journey with them to the village. Originally, half a dozen warriors had been assigned to accompany him, but a dozen more men, six women, and even a child joined the group for what was clearly considered a holiday.
Victoria caught Iain looking in her direction and she quickly knelt beside the woman.
“The truth beneath the surface, eh?” the woman said.
Victoria gave her a puzzled look.
“The water.” The woman pointed to the pool.
“’Tis a veil between this world and worlds beyond.
Through its magic we learn the wisdom of the
Otherworld.”
A shadow fell across them. Victoria looked up at
Iain. “Shall we go, my lord?”
“If it pleases you.”
Ten minutes later, they looked down on turf and timber cottages scattered in the valley below. The territory through which they traveled had grown barren. Still, green moss covered the rocky mountainside, softening the harsh Grampians surrounding the village.
The cottages drew closer together the nearer they came to the village. Gardens ripe for the picking flourished in between the homes while laundry flapped from ropes strung between trees. Open doors revealed lathes in the process of making, chests, ambries, and stools. Victoria frowned at what looked like a trestle-table in one of the barns, but before she could identify the unusual table her attention riveted onto grubby children racing between the horses as they rode down the main street. She breathed deep and surveyed the crowd gathered on the side of the road. Iain said their party was to lodge the night in the village. God willing, it would be enough time.
Chapter Fifteen
Iain repressed a laugh at the distracted nod the lass gave the woman who placed the supper plate on the meeting hall table in front of her. While it was impossible to hear her words from where he sat across the room, her polite, but preoccupied, expression was nothing new that day. Her attention was clearly divided between studying her surroundings, the crowd gathered for the evening and, most important, the MacPherson warrior whom she had come to understand was her guard. As her attention slid passed Iain, he caught the telltale flicker of her eyes and knew she realized he had been watching her. Her attention dropped to her food, confirming her wish to hide the fact she had been thinking of the very thing she had promised not to: escape.
“Where would you escape to, lass?” he wondered in a low voice.
“What is that you say?” Johannas asked from across the table.
Before Iain could respond, the door of the meeting hall swun
g open. The crowded room quieted and Iain turned. Samuel Menzies stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room until meeting Iain’s gaze. Samuel started forward, followed by three men, and stopped just short of Iain’s chair.
“Would have come sooner if I knew you were here,” Samuel said.
“I imagine so,” Iain replied. “Will you have a drink?”
The older man glanced at the bottle of whiskey.
“Dawilneh’s finest?”
“Nothing less.” Iain filled a glass and handed it to him.
In one quick swig, the liquid disappeared down Samuel’s throat. He let out a long whistle. “Still the best in all of Scotland.” He slammed the glass down on the table. “You know why I have come?”
Iain nodded. “Aye, Samuel. Though I had not expected you tonight.”
Samuel gave him a questioning look.
“I was told you were up north.”
“Come back early,” Samuel said with a grimace. “I am not overly fond of that side of the family, if you
know what I mean?”
“Family can be a nuisance,” Iain agreed.
Samuel looked around the room. “I see you brought men with you. Expecting trouble?”
“Should I be?” Iain asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“A man gets what he gives.”
“Only if he has given it.”
Samuel studied him. “Havena’ seen Kayleigh in some time.”
“You know what I have to say on that matter,” Iain said. “What is done is done. The girl is happy.
Would you have me tear her from her husband?”
“The lass is a Menzies,” Samuel answered heatedly. “She should have married one.”
“’Tis five years passed, man,” Iain said. “How long will you plan on carrying a grudge?”
“Until the debt’s paid.”
“You and I both know your daughter wanted to marry John,” Iain said with a weary sigh.
“Nay,” the old man argued. “The lad took her.
She had no choice.”
The clatter of a bowl hitting the floor brought everyone’s attention to the corner where the lass snatched the offending item from where it had landed. Iain shot her a quelling look before returning his attention to Samuel.
“There have been plenty of opportunities over the years for you to find a lass to replace Kayleigh.”
Samuel looked around the room. “There are plenty of women here tonight. Seems only fair they should have an opportunity to choose.”
Iain didn’t bother to glance at the women he knew were familiar with the old man’s ritual of finding a substitute for the daughter he sorely missed. “Be my guest. Ask away. Any who wish to leave, have my blessing.”
With a loud show of clearing his throat, Samuel straightened. “Listen, lasses. I offer the protection of the Menzies clan. Come with me and you will want for nothing.”
The room was silent for a moment before one voice spoke up. “Any woman?”
Iain shot to his feet as the owner of the voice stepped forward. Samuel’s gaze fixed on the lass as she stepped from behind the table back to Iain.
“I find this offer interesting,” she said, elbowing her way past the women and coming to stand next to Samuel.
“Lass,” Iain thundered, “you have no idea what you are doing. Sit down and be quiet.”
She shook her head. “You said any woman who wished to leave had your blessing.”
“Any woman but you.”
“That is not what you said.”
“You know full well you cannot leave.” Iain’s raised voice quieted the voices that had grown louder.
“What the devil?” Samuel walked around
Victoria, surveying her with a critical eye. “You are
Sassenach.”
“And she cannot leave,” Iain confirmed again.
Samuel’s eyes narrowed on Iain. “Eh, and why not? She is right. You did say any woman could leave, and with your blessing, no less.”
“Any but this one,” Iain growled. “Do not try me on this, Samuel. Up until now the game has been in fun, but this woman stays.”
“Why?”
“Because she is mine.”
“Yours?” Samuel split a doubtful look between the two of them, then said, “Ahh, a tasty wench, is she?” He nodded. “Well, I suppose if she already
belongs to you…”
“But I do not.”
Her objection came in such a reasonable tone, Iain could only stare.
“But Iain has said you do,” Samuel said.
“’Tis only his delusion,” she said. “I do not belong to him. Oh, aye, he stole me and thinks that gives him ownership, but…” she shrugged.
Samuel’s dumbfounded gaze swung to Iain. “You stole her?”
“She is a guest,” Iain said between clenched teeth.
“Guests can come and go as they please,” she interjected.
Iain narrowed his eyes on her. “I warn you, do not meddle in things you know nothing about.” He jerked his head, and her guard appeared at her side. “Take her to her room—nay, take her to my room. And do not leave the door until I arrive.” He shifted his focus to her. “I will attend to you later.” He gave her a severe look before turning back to the old man.
“Your business here tonight is finished, Samuel.”
“So you will play it that way, then?” Samuel countered in an aggrieved tone. “’Tis a fine thing to change the rules as you please.”
“Ha!” The lass’s voice cut in as the guard struggled to lead her to the door. “You do not know the half of it.”
“Seems to me,” Samuel went on, “you are not playing fair with the lassie.”
“You know nothing of it,” Iain said, throwing himself back into his chair. “So I would offer you the same advice I did her: do not meddle in things that are not your concern.”
“Well, now,” a dark brow rose, “a lady in distress is always a man’s business.”
“She is not in distress. Yet.” Iain muttered. “As to the other matter, if you have a problem with John MacPherson, speak with him. But,” Iain held up a finger, “if you make trouble for those two, you deal with me. They have another child, you know,” he added more gently.
Samuel nodded. “Aye, Sylvia told me. But
Kayleigh hasna’ once asked me to come.”
“Only because she fears you will kill her husband,” Iain said, for once not feeling one wit of compassion for the old fool. “Cannot say I blame her.”
Samuel motioned to his men. “I do not need to waste more time here. But I still say—”
“I know, I know.” Iain waved a hand. “One of these days a MacPherson lass will wed a Menzies,” he repeated the phrase exactly as he’d heard it the past five years. “There is nothing I would like better.” He sighed. “But for now, off with you. I have had a trying day.”
Half an hour later, feet propped up on his chair, Iain had just begun a second scotch and was in full sail planning retribution for his spoilt evening when the front door once again burst open. At the sight of the lass’s guard—fear on his face and a smattering of blood on his forehead—Iain swung to his feet and was standing when the man reached his side.
“They took her, Laird.”
“Bog Mor,” Iain cursed loudly, earning himself more than a few recriminating looks from the women present for the guttural curse. Samuel Menzies picked a devil of a time to make good on his threat.
* * *
At first, it seemed a godsend, but now, surrounded by strangers, a hard ride on a moonless night cast serious doubt on the wisdom of her judgment.
Samuel maneuvered his horse up alongside
Victoria. “Are you all right, lass?” She nodded.
“Can you ride the night?” He glanced around the open countryside. “Iain will not waste any time coming after us once he discovers you are gone. If need be, I can have you ride with one of the lads.”
Victoria shook her head. “I doubt
I will sleep a wink.”
Samuel grinned. “Nervous?”
“I suppose,” Victoria said, surprised he understood.
“Do not worry. Iain will have no claim on you once we reach Glecairne.”
Memory rose of Iain’s muscled chest beneath her fingers. Her pulse skipped a beat. She would be truly beyond his reach? “You are sure?” she asked.
“Of course,” Samuel said. “Once you are married to Grant even the MacPherson cannot touch you.”
Victoria nearly fell from the saddle. Fumbling with her grip on the pommel, she regained her balance. “What in Hades?”
“Are you all right?” Samuel asked.
Groaning, Victoria slumped forward, causing him to call a halt. “What do you mean, married?” she almost shouted once her feet were on solid ground. Samuel eyed her. “You are to marry my son,
Grant.”
“Sweet Jesu.” Victoria dropped down onto the tall grass. “What have I done?”
“What is amiss?” He squatted beside her.
“I have no wish to marry your son.”
He frowned. “Then why did you come with me?”
“How was I to know you intended marriage?” She leaned over, sure she would be ill.
“Every MacPherson woman knows that,” he said. “I am not a MacPherson woman.”
Samuel studied her with a considering air, then said, “Who are you?”
“I am English. You noticed that,” Victoria answered peevishly. “And it was no lie when I said Iain MacPherson took me. He thinks to make me his wife.”
Samuel’s frown deepened. “A Sassenach wife for the MacPherson?” He wagged his head. “I do not believe it.”
“Neither did I,” Victoria mumbled.
“You are a pretty thing.” His gaze moved over her in a masculine manner. “You would make a fine mistress.”
Victoria shot him an indignant look. “I promise you, sir, I would not.”
Samuel winced. “Perhaps not. You would prefer to be wife, then?”
A quiver rippled through her stomach. Iain MacPherson’s wife? She shoved aside the thought. “If you are asking whether I would prefer to be wife or
mistress, I say neither.”