The Iron Earl

by K. J. Jackson

  She’d known her stepfather owned lands in Scotland. But she’d never imagined this—that he was the one that owned the lands Lachlan’s brother died on. Mr. Molson had her stepfather’s full authority to do whatever was necessary to handle the clearings of her stepfather’s lands. But it was her stepfather. His express order to clear the lands that had sent Jacob and an innocent family to their graves.

  Revenge.

  The word pulsated in her mind and with each breath her insides shriveled deeper into a dark abyss.

  She’d thought Lachlan was an honorable man. She’d thought she’d been miraculously delivered to the one man that could see her. That could listen to her.

  She’d been so stupid.

  Lachlan only wanted her for revenge.

  Revenge, and then what? He’d send her off to that dower house? Divorce her? When was he to do it? Maybe he’d just abandon her at Vinehill with its twisty corridors and people that spit on the ground as she walked past.

  Or maybe he’d always planned to ruin her beyond the pale and then send her back to her stepfather.

  Her stomach churned, threatening to upend itself.

  She’d save him the blasted trouble.

  Her sight out of focus for the blood that pounded in her head, she sent her feet flying, spinning and running as fast as she could along the path. The impact of every step ripped at the scabs on her feet, the leather of the boots scraping along her heels. Pain. But pain she couldn’t even feel, couldn’t place past the staggering crushing of her chest.

  She didn’t even make it around the upcoming bend before Lachlan’s arm clamped around her middle and her feet swung out in front of her.

  “Stop, Eva. For heaven’s sake, stop.”

  She twisted in his arm, her hands curled into claws, pushing, shoving at him with all her strength.

  It was nothing against his iron clamp on her.

  It was never enough, her strength.

  The searing fury of that fact sent her screeching, her hands swinging at him with every last drop of power she possessed.

  It wasn’t enough.

  It was never enough.

  He withstood the onslaught, second after second, drawing her closer and closer to his body. Closer until the length of her was pressed against him, her arms wedged into submission between them.

  “Stop.” The word was barked down at her, a growl so terrifying that she stilled, bracing herself.

  Lachlan lifted his left hand, his thumb and forefinger gripping her chin and forcing her face upward.

  “Look at me, Eva.”

  He could force her face up, but he couldn’t force her to look at him.

  The hand under her jaw tightened. “Evalyn, look at me.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Fine.” The word hissed out. “Don’t look at me. But you bloody well will hear what I’m to tell you.”

  Double the cad. She couldn’t free her arms. Couldn’t cover her ears.

  “Your stepfather—yes, it was the reason. The reason for everything. The reason I allowed you to come north with us. The revenge of it was all I considered—we would take you from him—ruin you—all in the name of retribution. He’s done so much harm to so many innocent people here—Jacob’s death was a result of what he ordered—but just the last in the long line of devastation he’s unfurled across the land. So taking you…”

  He paused, a long exhale breaching his lips. “It was perfect and brilliant—the vengeance upon him. It wouldn’t bring Jacob back—but it was something. Something to twist a knife into your stepfather’s gut.”

  His hand dropped from her face, his voice sinking into a low rumble. “But all that was before.”

  Silence.

  His arm around her waist fell away, releasing her, and he stepped backward, cool air rushing between them.

  She cracked her eyes open.

  He stood three steps away, his shoulders lifting and descending in heavy heaves. The blue streaks in his hazel eyes burned hot—seared—almost as though he couldn’t stand the thought of touching her for another moment.

  Her lips parted, breathless words escaping. “Before what?”

  “Before you ran from the camp when Colin hit you—and a strike of fear cut into me so harshly all I could think of was dragging you back to it. Before you saved Rupe with that stupid dead rabbit in your hand. Before you fell in the river and my heart stopped. I was always meant to protect you, Eva, even though I fought it every step of the way.”

  “You fought it?”

  “Until you let me strip you. You were freezing. But you let me. You let me touch you when you could have resisted. But you didn’t. And my need for revenge vanished in that instant my fingers touched your skin.” His words stopped and he swallowed hard as his hazel eyes lifted to the sky for a long moment. His gaze dropped to her. “In that moment, revenge was replaced with nothing but a visceral need to keep you safe. Even then, I didn’t know what I was going to do with you. But I admitted to myself that I wanted you. Wanted you like no other.”

  For all the fervor behind his words, for all she wanted to believe it was more, Evalyn couldn’t ignore the fact that she was still an object. For revenge or for lust, she was still nothing but a pawn. “And lust is better than revenge?”

  His eyebrow cocked at her. “You need to understand, Eva, it became much more than lust without me even realizing it.” His gravelly voice dipped even lower. “You were mine from that moment my fingertips slid down your spine. Domnall knew it. Rupe knew it. Hell, the whole camp knew it. I was just late to the realization.”

  He took two long strides to her, closing the distance between them. His hands lifted, settling onto her shoulders as his hazel eyes pierced her. “The revenge was everything, until it was nothing. You ask me why I married you? Here is my answer—I didn’t marry you because of who your stepfather is. I married you in spite of who your stepfather is. I married you for you.”

  She exhaled breath she didn’t know she held and her gaze dropped to his chest. For as much as she could reconcile it, he was telling her the truth.

  Telling her she needed to start trusting him.

  She nodded, unable to move sound past the lump wedged in her throat.

  “So you need to stop running, Eva. Stop running from me. You’re making my life increasingly more complicated every time you do.”

  Her gaze lifted. The edges of his eyes crinkled, shifting the serious countenance of his face into a wry tease. She had no defense against it—the irresistible magic when humor lifted his eyes like that.

  A small smile curved onto her lips. “The last thing I want to do is complicate your life, Lachlan.”

  His lips descended onto hers, soft with resolute undercurrents of bridled promise. He pulled slightly away, his lips brushing against hers with his murmured words. “Then no more running. If you’re mad at me. Scared of me. Want to throttle me. You stay. You plant your feet and fight, come what may.”

  “Is that permission to throttle you for using me as a vessel for your revenge?”

  He chuckled, his head diving down, his lips trailing down her neck. “I’ll take it, as it’s what I deserve. Call it a temporary stretch of madness on my part.”

  Her head fell back, his tongue on her skin sending delicious fire sparking through her veins. “Then the throttling will commence once we get back to your chambers.”

  Lachlan’s hands slipped down her backside, yanking her body into his, his member pressing hard into her belly. “I don’t know if I can make it to the room without being properly throttled.”

  She leaned back against his hold, pulling her neck away from his lips. “And maybe that’s part of your punishment. A tortuous walk up to the castle.”

  The growl expelling from deep in his lungs sent birds squawking, flying away overhead.

  But she wouldn’t be swayed. The man needed to be punished, and if a stiff-legged stroll was what she could muster, it would have to be his due comeuppance.

  ~~~
/>
  They didn’t make it to his chambers.

  Lachlan looked down at his wife’s pink cheeks, her upsweep askew with wild tendrils as they walked through the labyrinth of corridors in the castle. He should have just ripped out all the pins and let her long hair fall to the wind, but that would have interfered with his tongue drinking in her skin when he sank into her.

  A grin that hid nothing of what they’d just done in the forest danced across her lips. He should find out if she played whist—she’d be horrible at it. Strip whist.

  Her smile widened as her gold-green eyes lifted to him and it sent a jolt through his cock. He needed to get her up to his chambers, as he didn’t think he’d been duly punished quite yet. Only rewarded.

  She dragged a lock of hair across her right temple, securing it in place. Her scar wasn’t visible—even so, it bothered him that she felt the need to constantly make sure the ragged skin was hidden.

  They’d lost her bonnet at some point on the trail. He wasn’t exactly sure where, only that he’d stripped it from her head and dropped it as she led him on a merry chase.

  The ancient oak tree that sat along the eastern moor would never be the same. Not with her back wedged against it, her fingernails digging into the bark as he lifted her skirts and drove into her, rutting against a tree like common animals.

  He was waiting with trepidation for the moment he would be satiated of her body. For the moment when he didn’t come in her and instantly want to be hard again, sending her through the very same paces. But it refused to be tamed—his appetite for his wife.

  If anything, he wanted her more today than he did the previous day. It’d been that way since the night he’d married her and he was no force against it.

  To his gratification, he thought he was finally starting to chip away at the massive walls she’d ensconced herself in. Yet even after what he told her on the forest trail—confessing all of why he took her from Wolfbridge—he knew she didn’t fully trust him.

  Not that he deserved it.

  It vexed him—the portion of her that she still held away from him, wary to his words. Still waiting for her world to collapse—for him to make her world collapse.

  Maybe it would always be so, his wife’s lack of trust. Or maybe it would merely take time. Time where she was given no reason to doubt him.

  It may very well take until he was on his deathbed for the moment that she finally trusted him with everything she was. A sobering thought. But if he made it that far without giving her reason to doubt him, he would venture their lives together a success.

  They rounded one of the five bends in the corridor on the third level of the castle en route to his chambers, and the mass of Domnall almost barreled into them.

  Domnall stepped back, his look going from Lachlan to Evalyn. His gaze returned to Lachlan, a suppressed smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Lach—I was just looking for you. Your grandfather has been demanding your presence.”

  Lachlan’s back stiffened, his thoughts sobering as his hand that had been wrapped along Evalyn’s shoulder dropped to his side. “He knows the outcome of the trial? It ended as predicted?”

  “It did.” Disgust curled Domnall’s lip. “Mr. Lipinstein is on his way to Newgate as we speak. A smuggler, but not a murderer.”

  A brutal wave of outrage swept through his gut. It was expected. But to actually hear it—that the bastard was escaping justice for his murderous ways—it cut deeply into his soul and tore at the raw, bloody wound that had festered deep in his soul since Jacob had died.

  Done. It was done.

  “And my grandfather?”

  “Reacted as expected. Anything within his cane’s reach was broken.”

  Lachlan nodded. “You were outside his reach?”

  “My shin caught the first blow.” Domnall shrugged. “Not but a scratch.” His look went to Evalyn. “Shall I escort ye back to your chambers, lass?”

  She looked up at Lachlan. “Do you wish me to accompany you?”

  Lachlan studied her face. She looked almost hopeful at the prospect. Sweet, but now was not the time to set her in front of his grandfather, not with the fury that would be filling the room. “No, this I best tackle alone.”

  She nodded, a frozen smile on her face. “I understand.” Her look swung to Domnall. “Thank you, Domnall, but I recognize where I am—I can make it to the rooms without a problem.”

  Domnall inclined his head to her and Evalyn stepped around him to move down the hall.

  Lachlan motioned to his friend as he turned. “Dom, I wanted to speak with you anyway. Walk with me?”

  Five minutes later, Domnall left him at the heavy oak door with its straps of ancient black hinges that led to the Vinehill library—effectively, his grandfather’s living chambers, since he could no longer move up and down the stairs to his rooms.

  He stared at the weathered rough grain of the door, ordering his thoughts. With a deep breath to steel himself, he shoved the heavy door open. “Boy, that you? Where have ye been?” His grandfather twisted his body in his wingback chair, craning his neck to see the doorway. “Ye should’ve been here, boy, what with the news—sending Dom to tell me.”

  Lachlan closed the door behind him. “I was taking care of a matter on the way back from the trial, Grandfather.”

  “A matter like that English chit ye dragged home? And why in the hell haven’t I seen ye since ye’ve been back?”

  “I stopped in the last two nights, Grandfather.” Lachlan moved to the center of the room, settling his hands in a clasp behind his back. “You were asleep both times. I’ve been at the trial during the day.”

  “Asleep—phew—ye know I don’t sleep, not when I’m this close to death. Yet Dom managed to find his way in here to tell me the news.”

  “We took the carriage, Grandfather. Dom rode to and from the trial.”

  “Ye think I don’t know the carriage has been back for two hours, boy?”

  Of course he knew. Even at seventy-one he knew everything that happened at Vinehill.

  Lachlan inclined his head. “We walked back to the castle on the woodland trail. I needed to order my thoughts after the trial.”

  His cane slammed against the ottoman in front of him. “Ye don’t need to think, boy, ye need to do. Thinking is weakness—ye should know what ye stand for the second it comes into yer head.”

  Lachlan stifled the instant argument bubbling in his throat. If he’d done that he’d be on his way to murdering Mr. Molson at this very moment. And he would have already sent Mr. Lipinstein to hell. Instead, he nodded. “Yes, Grandfather.”

  His grandfather’s wiry eyebrows slanted together, the stiff white hairs an umbrella above his hawk eyes. “This better not be about that wretched Englishwoman you brought into Vinehill.”

  “She’s not some random wretched girl. She’s my wife.”

  His cane swung, striking the ottoman. A puff of dust flew from the top of the dark mossy green velvet. “She’s the daughter of the man that killed your brother, Lach. Have ye lost all yer loyalty?”

  “I haven’t lost a damn thing.” Lachlan’s right hand curled into a fist, the fresh scabs over his knuckles popping free. “You think I don’t dwell on that fact every day? Dwell on that fact in the moments I’m with her? The betrayal that I’m committing?”

  “Ahhh, boy.” His grandfather cackled, leaning back into the wingback chair. His madcap eyebrows arched. “Ahhh, well done. Well done. Ye married her for revenge, didn’t ye, boy? What’s the game afoot—why didn’t ye tell me? Is the plan to drop her—ruined—on the doorstep of that devil father of hers? Hold her for ransom?”

  Lachlan’s head dipped forward, his glare piercing his grandfather. “Hold her for ransom?”

  “Of course, boy, it’s one of the best ways to exact revenge—hold the key to the future, to his standing in society, just out of reach. Better yet, hold her for ransom and then once ye get it, still ruin the girl. Divorce her and sell her. She’s a bonny lass—would fetch
a pretty coin.”

  Lachlan’s look lifted to the upper right corner of the room where the dark portrait of his largest ancestor held up a severed head. Brutality immortalized forever. He stifled a sigh. Ransoms? Selling his wife? How had his grandfather become so warped? Had he always been so and Lachlan had just never noticed, or had his grandfather’s grip on reality slipped, creeping along so quietly, so sneakily, he didn’t notice it until this very moment?

  His gaze dropped, centering on his grandfather. “Holding a woman for ransom may have been done in your time, Grandfather, but it is a very long time past that.”

  “Piddle that.” His hand flung out, his skeletal fingers flashing an eerie white in the glow of the fire. “We still sell wives. Don’t tell me we don’t, boy. Wiggin in the village just put his up for sale not but three weeks ago.”

  Lachlan shook his head. Maybe his grandfather wasn’t as mad as he thought. Wiggin had just put his wife up for sale. Of course, her lover had bought her and the whole affair was a gentlemanly transaction.

  But still. Selling his wife?

  “Evalyn will not be put up for sale, Grandfather.

  “A divorce then? Simmons is working on the papers as we speak.”

  “He can put down his quill.” Lachlan took a step toward his grandfather, his voice a harsh granite rock. “A divorce won’t be necessary, as I have no intention of ending this marriage—no intention of abandoning my wife.”

  “What do ye intend to do with her then, Lach?”

  “Quite simply, grandfather, I intend to keep her.”

  “Ye don’t know what yer doing, boy.” His cane crashed onto the ottoman again. “What about yer brother?”

  “On the contrary, I know exactly what I’m doing. And I beg you to respect that.” Lachlan spun, exiting his grandfather’s room in six long strides.

  The old buzzard was never going to understand.

  And Lachlan couldn’t explain.

  { Chapter 17 }

  Just before the bend in the stone corridor, Evalyn’s steps slowed as she heard approaching footsteps echoing against the stone. During the last week since the trial she’d tumbled into more than one person around the crooked bends in these halls and knew enough now to slow her gait.