Page 336 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Nine

Victoria pulled the tartan close around her shoulders as she slipped from the main entrance of the castle out into the darkness. She hurried across the empty courtyard, then slowed upon reaching the cover of trees. When the grove opened into a small glen, she continued up the hill until, at the top, she lowered herself onto the ground. Like the waters of a shallow pool, the cool grass caressed her. Victoria ran her hand across the top of the velvet cover of grass.

“No finer refuge have I ever known.”

She shifted her gaze to the courtyard below and scanned the wall until the outline of the warriors on watch became visible against the moonlight. Those men were the keepers of her prison, yet from the moment she entered the fortress a sense of security had surrounded her that never existed in Richard’s home.

Unlike the castle they had occupied in England, there was no moat surrounding Fauldun Castle. That seemed peculiar until she learned that the keep butted up against the imposing foothills of the Grampians. An enemy attacking by the south or west walls would be forced to descend several hundred feet of sheer cliff. Victoria could visualize the defeat of any foe foolish enough to attempt the deed.

That left the north wall—the wall nearest her— and the eastern wall as the two most vulnerable. But even in that apparent vulnerability lie hidden strength. Instead of the customary outer bailey, a second wall had been built within a few feet of the original wall. It took twenty men an entire year to build the wall, but over time it had proven a worthy stratagem. Any enemy able to breech the outer wall found themselves trapped between the two walls, easy prey for the archers, not to mention the wrathful sword of any MacPherson close enough to wield a blade. A shiver rippled through Victoria at memory of having seen such a swordsman at work.

She lay back and stared at the sky. A balmy, sweet breeze whistled past. Though her sojourn in the Highlands had been but a few short months, she had come to admire the sky that peered down over the rugged land. Even the dark clouds that so often hung above the hills had a fierce beauty. The upward reach of the hills strained as if to touch the heavens. The force of such a union was often demonstrated in windswept storms, which seemed to shake the heavenly regions as deeply as they did the earthly realm.

Victoria rubbed her arms, warding off a shudder. Just such a storm had flashed in Iain MacPherson’s eyes earlier that evening, though it wasn’t clear at what point the storm had intensified. Had it been when he demanded an answer to the ridiculous question of who might come to her cottage or with his promise to visit her that night?

The chill in the air deepened. A closer look at the stars confirmed the night was venturing toward early morning. Her jailer must be abed by now. No doubt dreaming of ways to make her pay for having been absent from her cottage when he came calling. Victoria rose and began her way down the hill. Near the bottom, on the outskirts of the path, light spilled from a cottage door. Victoria slowed at sight of the man standing at the entrance but it was the woman who appeared in the doorway that halted her descent. The woman threw her arms around Iain MacPherson. Pulling him inside, she slammed the door shut behind her.

The scene in the kitchen a few days ago, when the angry woman had confronted Victoria, now made sense. Maude had been convincing in dismissing the incident as the woman’s dislike for the English. But now, the woman’s identity, as well as her purpose, was clear: she was Iain’s mistress.

Victoria stared at the empty spot where he stood a moment earlier. Anger flashed through her. When he found her cottage empty, he simply sought out another woman. She frowned. There was no logical reason for the surprise she felt. After all, like those lights twinkling down from the sky, a man’s nature was constant. And a man such as the MacPherson lord wouldn’t deprive himself of the silky feel of long dark hair, the curve of full breasts, dusky blue eyes so perfectly set in a beautiful face…or the sparkling welcome those eyes held.

Victoria startled at the realization that he had needed no other woman in his bed.

Yet, he took you, nonetheless.

* * *

Victoria jarred awake at a soft knock that was followed by the thwarted attempt to open the cottage’s locked door.

“Lass,” Iain called in a low voice. “Open the door.”

She froze. What was he doing here? After seeing him with his mistress she hadn’t expected him to come to her cottage.

The door jiggled harder. “Is something wrong?” he demanded. “Open the door. I know you can hear me. Christ, the neighbors can hear me.”

A pounding on the hard wood caused her to bolt upright. “Go away!”

Silence followed her outburst, then the demand, “What is amiss?”

The concern that had replaced the impatience in his voice infuriated her. “All that is amiss, my lord, is that you refuse to go away.”

“I warn you, my lass, open this door.”

“And I warn you, leave me be.” A prickle of dread ran up her spine when he gave the door a hard push.

“You best tell me what this is about, woman, or I will fetch an axe and chip away at this door until it splinters into tiny pieces. Then, by God, we will sleep together in that bed until you agree to move into my bedchambers—and I have no intention of just sleeping with you beside me, door or no.”

Stunned by the outrageous threat, she faltered. Then she remembered he had just left his mistress’s bed. “Do as you wish, sir, but be warned, I will not sleep with you in any bed.”

Another silence followed and Victoria released a shaky breath at having won the battle. Wood splintered. She cried out and shrank deeper into the bed when a shaft of moonlight appeared in the room as the fur that hung over the window was pushed aside. She stared in horror as Iain hoisted himself up to the window, slung his legs over, and dropped to the floor.

Maude’s claim that Iain MacPherson was not a violent man ran through her mind. Yet, as he advanced in the darkness, Victoria realized she was trembling. The unexpected weight of his body as he sat down on the edge of the bed sent her rolling toward him and she pulled back. Fear gave way to surprise, then wariness, as she discerned by the shift of the bed that he had reached down to tug at his boots.

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.”