Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  “A terrible reason to spill so much blood,” Victoria said.

  “Aye,” he answered. “Eric ought to have let Lily go. Instead, he was willing to sacrifice her on the altar of his pride and keep a son he was not willing to claim.” Liam’s fist came down hard on the harpsichord. “If I could raise the bastard, I would run my sword clear through his hellish soul.”

  And what would she do now that she had glimpsed inside Iain MacPherson?

  * * *

  Iain’s hand stilled on the goblet of ale he reached for at sight of Victoria, followed by Liam, emerging from the stairs into the great hall. Liam took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. His fingers covered hers and he murmured something to her as they approached. Iain’s heart leapt at the soft smile she bestowed upon him. Liam nodded to him as she seated herself, then he took his seat next to Thomas.

  Iain looked at Victoria, whose somber expression sent a rush of fresh alarm through him. “All is well, lass?”

  “Aye,” she murmured into her dinner plate.

  Iain reluctantly shifted his attention to Liam. “I expected you would have returned home by now.”

  “You tire of my company already, lad?”

  “Nay.” Iain gripped his mug. “I find your company most stimulating.”

  A short while later, Victoria said, “If you do not mind, my lord, I will retire for the evening?”

  Iain nodded. She rose and bid good night to Liam and Thomas, then started toward the stairs. Iain watched until she disappeared up the narrow staircase.

  Some time and a fair amount of ale later, Iain made his way to his chambers. He arrived to find the bath that had been prepared for Victoria cold and the bed empty. His quick return to the great hall clearly surprised Thomas and Liam.

  “My wife is not in our bedchambers.” Iain looked at Liam and caught the startled flicker in the old chief’s eyes.

  “Mayhap she is in the north tower.” Liam gestured in the direction of the staircase. “She was there earlier. The room seems to hold some comfort for her.”

  Something in the Liam’s voice, coupled with the suspicion that this man, a veritable stranger to his wife, knew more about her than he did, haunted Iain as he made his way through the labyrinth of hallways and stairs to stand before the telling quiet of the north tower.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Morning light streamed through the bedchamber window. Iain blinked, his eyes focusing on splotches of white that played havoc across his vision. He reached across cool sheets and discovered the space next to him empty. He released a slow breath. So, despite the fact his wife had accompanied him to bed when he at last discovered her in a favored spot overlooking Fauldun Castle, he’d woken up in very much the same state in which he’d gone to bed: alone. Iain fought the notion that her absence from his bed was an indication of an absence of heart.

  He rose, wrapped his tartan around his waist in practiced haste, then made his way to the kitchen where Maude stood over a kettle boiling in the hearth.

  “Have you seen my wife?”

  Maude looked up. “She was here earlier. You may find her in your library.”

  “Is she—did she—” Iain halted.

  Maude gave him an amused look. He shook his head and headed for his library.

  Once at the door, Iain opened it slowly and saw

  Victoria, lounging on the sofa in front of the fireplace, feet tucked beneath her. Their eyes locked for a moment before he broke the silence.

  “Good morning, love.”

  She angled her head. “Morning, my lord.”

  “I was hoping you would give me the pleasure of your company on a ride this morning,” he said.

  “A ride?”

  Iain nodded. “Johannas sent word they are ready to place the wheel in the water. He asked for you, and

  I—”

  “The wheel is ready?” Victoria jumped from her seat. “I would very much like to go.” Her expression turned pensive. “He asked for me?”

  “Aye.” Iain crossed to where she stood.

  “Oh.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Victoria gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Nay, I just…”

  “Just what?” Iain demanded.

  “Why did he ask for me?”

  “He thought perhaps you might like to see the results of your work, and there is the chance your guidance will be needed.” Iain drew her close so that the side of her face almost touched his chin. “Should there be another reason?”

  She looked up at him, her brows drawn.

  “Another reason?”

  “You were expecting something else.”

  She blushed and Iain’s senses jolted with a combination of lust and jealousy.

  “I…I did not expect…that is, it did not occur to me they would think me of any further use.”

  “Any further use?” The words came out harsher than intended, and she jumped.

  “If you would prefer I not go…you did ask me to come. Have you changed your mind?”

  “Christ,” Iain muttered. “Do you mean to say, you are surprised they would ask for your help?”

  Her face reddened, but Iain comprehended it was out of anger and not modesty.

  “I am not saying anything.” She gave her arm a good yank, but he held tight.

  Iain shook his head. “Fool that I am. Come along, my lass.” He began leading her in the direction of the door. “A waterwheel awaits you.”

  * * *

  Iain stiffened. His balance, one foot on land and the other on a rock three feet out into the water, teetered at the pressure of Victoria’s fingers sliding up his back and over his shoulder. The rope he held slipped an inch, and the branch that hung out over the water creaked with the weight of the waterwheel hanging there. The wheel swung at his attempt to twist around in an attempt to see what his wife was doing.

  “There is something wrong.” Her gaze shifted from the wheel to the water. “It should slip in. Steady now.” Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. “Push it down into the water,” she instructed the men who were in the small boat in front of the wheel.

  Her leg brushed Iain’s thigh as she stepped over the water to place her foot next to his on the rock. She wrapped an arm around his waist. Ducking beneath the arm he had extended to steady the wheel, Victoria peered down into the water.

  “Ahh.” She moved as if to slip past him and step onto the boat.

  “Collin,” Iain yelled to the man who stood on the bank, “grab her!”

  Collin pulled her back before her foot made contact with the bottom of the boat, and Iain motioned for one of the other men to take his place. He handed the rope to the man who came forward, then stepped from the rock and strode to where Collin stood with Victoria. Collin winced as she worked to pry his fingers from her arm. Iain clamped a firm hand around her wrist. Collin shook his head and, with a compassionate look for Iain, wasted no time in leaving the two alone. Iain pulled her several feet away, then rounded on her so quickly she ran into him. He grasped her shoulders, but she twisted her head around in an effort to watch the men.

  “What were you doing?” he demanded. The question had no obvious effect, so Iain added a hard shake for good measure.

  “Cease pestering me,” Victoria muttered as if to a disobedient child, still not looking at him.

  “How long do you plan on ignoring me?”

  Her head snapped around. “What?”

  “I said, how long do you plan on ignoring me?”

  A general round of cursing went up amongst the men, and Victoria again twisted in an effort to see what was happening.

  “Oh, no.” Iain cupped an arm beneath her buttocks, lifted her from the ground, and started toward the village.

  She swayed backward with the force of gravity and threw her arms around his neck to keep from toppling over. Iain wrapped his other arm around her neck and buried her face in his chest.

  “Release me this instant,” she said into
his breacan.

  “Nay. I believe I like this.”

  “You like this?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps because a man married but four days should take exception to the fact that his wife has not even bothered to kiss him.”

  “’Tis a kiss you want, then?”

  His groin pulsed. “For a start.”

  “I see,” she said in a voice that revealed she knew exactly what he meant. “A kiss is not enough. You want more?”

  “Aye, lass, I want more.”

  “What is it you want?”

  The question surprised him, and Iain wondered if he had been mistaken in thinking she comprehended his meaning. “I want you,” he said in all honesty.

  “What happens when you cease wanting me?”

  He halted as though hitting a stone wall and lowered her to the ground. She gazed up at him and, for the first time in his life, he felt the desire to put as much distance between himself and a beautiful woman as possible.

  “You are my wife,” he answered. “I will always want you. If I had not, I would not have married you.” He started toward the village. A sense of unease settled deeper in the pit of his stomach when she hurried alongside him.

  “’Tis not always so.”

  The reply startled him, and all he could manage was “Huh?”

  “Husbands often do not want their wives. Oh, at first,” she gestured with her hand, “they often appear content. But after a while they spend less time in their wives’ company, less time in their beds and, before long, the women are forced to content themselves elsewhere.”

  Iain spun in her direction. “Elsewhere?” He reached for her, but this time she sidestepped him, hurrying several paces ahead.

  “You never told me why you wanted me in the first place,” she said. “It is clear you decided from the beginning to marry me—or so you said.”

  A rush of indignation propelled him forward.

  “Are you saying I lied?” Victoria shrugged.

  “I made good on my promise,” he answered with genuine heat.

  “Aye.”

  Her tone was far too noncommittal.

  She stopped and faced him. “There are any number of women who would have welcomed you as their husband. Why me?” Her gaze bore into him, and he couldn’t escape the feeling he was being stalked in much the same manner that he had stalked her.

  “Why not?” he asked for lack of anything better to say.

  “Why not, indeed?” she murmured.

  Iain was close enough to see the shrewd glint that appeared in her eyes and wasn’t pleased with it. He drew abreast of her and lengthened his stride so that she was forced to run in order to keep up with him.

  “I think my question—”

  Iain whirled and yanked her against him. “I believe, sweet, we were discussing my wanting you.”

  “But—”

  He cut her off with a kiss. She still tried to speak, but he slid his tongue into her open mouth. She started to pull back, but he slid a hand down to cup her derriere and pressed her against his erection. Her body melted against his, and he knew all silly questions were forgotten.

  He drew back and leaned his forehead against hers. “I think the real question is, how soon can we find a place to be alone?”

  Victoria raised her head. “Nay, my lord, the question is, why will you not answer me?”

  A woman’s shriek sounded around the bend ahead of them. Victoria’s eyes widened. Iain released her, and they raced around the corner in time to hear a round of shouts go up. A crowd of people stood around a watering hole, and Iain elbowed his way through them. He stopped short at sight of two women rolling in the mud, locked in womanly combat. Iain watched in fascination, intrigued by the grunts and growls made by the combatants before turning to one of the bystanders.

  “What started it?”

  The man leaned close, never taking his eyes from the spectacle. “Sally caught Rita there,” he pointed to the woman currently on top of her opponent, “with

  Phillip.”

  “Hyram’s son?” “Aye.” The man nodded.

  Iain snorted. “I wonder if Sally knows Rita is not the only lass young Phillip has been known to dally with.”

  The old man grunted. “Aye, she knows. Sally is no fool. But I expect Phillip has no chance of escaping her anyway.”

  Iain sent a questioning look at the man.

  The man shrugged. “Only the good Lord knows what makes a woman decide she wants a man, but heaven help the fool if he tries to flee once she has.”

  The shouting grew louder and the crowd began making bets on the winner. Iain turned to leave the domestic fight to its own end when a firm hand on his back sent him sprawling into the mud hole. Cool, thick mud enveloped him. A collective gasp went up, then the sound was drowned out by a heavy weight rolling over him. Iain reared up out of the mud, sending the two women on top of him flying backward.

  He shook the mud from his hands, then wiped his eyes and began scanning the crowd with an intensity that nearly gave him a headache. The throng had grown quiet, the eyes staring back at him frozen with palpable fear. There wasn’t a soul he could place that would have dared take such action against him. Then it struck him that the one person who should have been outraged wasn’t in sight. He climbed out of the mud, parting the crowd, and spotted Victoria in the back of the throng.

  “My lord.” She circled him, a look of horror on her face. “What in Hades has happened? Did you slip?” She tilted her head, looking up at him with wide-eyed innocence.

  “Nay,” he answered.

  Victoria glanced at the women who, though they had ceased fighting, hadn’t ventured from the mud.

  “Was something amiss?”

  “Nothing of consequence,” Iain replied.

  Her mouth dipped. “Then why jump into that mess? Have you nothing better to do?” “Nay,” he answered once more.

  Her frown took on an accusing quality. “What sort of game are you about, my lord?”

  “’Twould seem a very dangerous one, my lass.”

  * * *

  Iain looked down at Victoria. She sat on the grass, eyes closed, face turned up toward the setting sun. He dropped his gaze to the slow rise and fall of her breast as she breathed deep of the fresh autumn air. He privately congratulated himself on insisting they stop in the meadow on the way back to Fauldun Castle. She had put up a small argument, but the feeble excuse that the hour grew late didn’t disguise the fact she feared being alone with him.

  “Do you regret having married me?” he asked.

  Her eyes flew open, and Iain couldn’t help a mental laugh at the obvious quandary in her eyes. On the one hand, she would just as soon consign him to the devil, but on the other hand—and he thanked God for that other hand—the bruised heart longed to answer the stirrings of her body. He lowered himself to the ground and pulled her onto his lap.

  “Perhaps, sweet, I should remind you of at least one of my more redeeming qualities. I thought perhaps to do that earlier, but my little…mishap—” Iain was sure he felt a quiver in her body “—forestalled that moment.”

  Pushing back the hair that tumbled down her shoulders, he nuzzled her neck with velvet like caresses. Despite the subtle stiffening in her body, the embers that had burned since waking that morning flared to life in him. Iain ignored the vision of her rising to her knees and bringing her supple body down onto his erection. He shifted her off his lap, pulled her into the crook of his arm as he stretched out on the cool grass, and laid her hand over his heart.

  She began tracing tiny circles on the clean white shirt he had changed into after a quick bath at the village. Warmth wound through him and he closed his eyes. Memory drifted back to Montrose Abbey, to the fire in her hair, the gentle sway of her hips…and the startled look in her eyes when he bore down upon her.

  He had taken her by force, then compounded the folly by making her choose between him and the other man she had
fled. He had trapped her—and she knew it. His chest tightened. Could she forgive him…love him, or would she remember only the brute who had torn her from refuge?

  “What happens when you cease wanting me?” she’d asked, but what if she had never wanted him?

  Sun blurred his vision as he propelled back in time to a soft voice that warned against unseen shackles, forced marriages, and the withholding of the thing dearest to any man or woman: freedom.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A chill washed over Iain and he shuddered. At the sound of voices, he snapped open his eyes. A shadow fell across his body. He blinked, the setting sun blaring in red streaks behind the figure standing over him. His arm curled around thin air where Victoria should have lain beside him. Alarm shot through him and he started to rise, but halted at the sword point that appeared a hair’s breadth from his heart.

  “Iain!”

  He jerked his head in Victoria’s direction. She struggled in the hold of a Robertson warrior. His heart pounded against his chest as if to break free. Iain pushed upward. The sword bit through the thin fabric of his shirt, gashing the flesh above his breastbone. He jerked back and dropped his attention to the wound, confused by the lack of pain despite the red spreading in a small circle on the snowy-white shirt.

  Iain startled from the strange trance at sight of riders emerging from the trees. How had they approached without so much as the snap of a twig?

  He sneered upon recognizing the lead man. “David Robertson.” The sword dug into his flesh. He shifted his gaze onto the sword’s owner, the lack of pain almost comical. “Take care, laddie.”

  The Robertson chieftain halted his horse beside Iain. “You had best be the one to take care. You may find yourself impaled on Callium’s sword and that would leave the lass to him.”

  David motioned to another man who stepped forward and withdrew the sword from Iain’s scabbard. Callium removed his weapon from Iain’s chest, allowing him to rise. Iain gave Victoria an assessing look. She had ceased her struggles, but appeared undaunted.