Page 328 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Aye.”

“Does she look abused to you?” Iain demanded.

“Nay,” came the grudging reply. There was a moment of silence. “You want her—and you know what I mean,” the priest added with a narrowing of his eyes.

Iain answered with a slow nod.

“I suppose we should talk, then.” Father Brennan turned toward the monastery. “If you wish to go any further, you will come and sit like a civilized man.” He glanced at the darkening sky. “Looks to be a bit of rain.” He was on the grounds now. “The world was not created on your terms, Iain MacPherson, and ’tis time you acted accordingly.”

Admiration surfaced and Iain tossed the reins to one of his men. In one easy motion, he slid from the saddle, then stepped onto holy ground.

* * *

It came as no surprise to learn that Thomas had hit the mark. The lady’s father had been the Marquess of Washburn. Iain couldn’t help regretting that the marquess no longer lived. It would have been interesting to learn what manner of man allowed his daughter to follow the masculine pursuits of science and mathematics. The picture of father and daughter, heads huddled together across a desk, debating the Commentaries on Mathematical and Astronomical Topics, vanished as Father Brennan’s story ventured into a dark element.

“’Tis plain her husband hurt her.” Father Brennan shook his head.

Iain focused on the smaller man behind the desk.

“What do you mean, hurt her?”

“He beat her.”

“She appears fit.”

“I do not think he made a habit of it, and she is a strong woman. But I am of a mind that was not the worst of it.” The priest hesitated another moment before saying, “He was not good to her in the marriage bed.”

Iain felt a hard tug at his gut. “Can you elaborate?”

Father Brennan sighed. “You know I cannot speak of what goes on in the confessional.”

Iain frowned. “She has confessed some terrible sin?”

“Nay. At least, none I believe are her doing.”

“Christ, man, you speak in riddles. Get to the point.”

“He kept his cousin as a mistress.”

With a faint shake of his head, Iain said, “I cannot imagine wanting one when a man had her, but it is a common enough thing.”

“Not so common—the woman lived in his house.”

Iain lifted a brow. “By God, and they call us heathens.” Sensing things had not quite come to an end, he added, “There is more?”

“I was wondering if you plan on keeping

Madeline?”

Caught off guard, Iain was unable to conceal his surprise. “What do you know of Madeline?”

Father Brennan grunted a laugh. “I am a priest, but that does not make me dull witted. I have been coming to Fauldun Castle for many years. I hear what goes on.”

Iain scowled. “Aye, but who is speaking to you of my mistress?”

The priest shrugged. “A man hears things, even if he is a priest. Are you afraid to answer my question?”

Iain regarded him. “I am of a mind you jest, but if it eases your mind, I have no intention of keeping Madeline now that I have—what did you say her name was?”

Father Brennan’s bushy brows rose.

“Well,” Iain drawled, “the lady then.” He grimaced. “God in heaven, I would not have the energy, even if I tried.”

“You do not seem unhappy with the prospect.”

“Nay,” Iain agreed. “I am not.”