Page 338 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Nay, love,” he said. “I only meant, I would wed you. Have I forced myself on you?”

Unease rustled inside her at the recollections that question called forth. “You—you took liberties…you forced me to come with you.”

“Aye, and perhaps that was not the wisest course of action. Still, what is done is done.”

Had she heard correctly? Was that regret in his voice? “You may yet make it right, my lord.”

“I intend to.”

Relief washed through her. “I can be ready to return to the abbey tomorrow morning.” An ominous

stillness followed and Victoria realized the miscalculation. “Nay.” She shook her finger in his face as if speaking to a child.

“Lass.”

“Nay.” This time the word was spoken in a near shout.

“I meant what I said,” he interrupted.

“You said you would make it right.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes.

“Aye, and I will. With marriage.”

“I will not marry.”

“Why?”

The query was not what she’d expected, and Victoria found herself at a loss how to describe the prison that had been her marriage. “Let me go home,” she insisted. “That is the only way to make this right.

Perhaps then…”

“I think not, love.”

“Why?”

A deep sigh came from his side of the bed. “I am certain once out of my reach, you would cheerfully consign me to the devil.”

“What makes you think it will be different if I remain?”

“My considerable charm. Do not worry, lass. I will give you time to adjust.”

“To what, your charm?”

“Aye,” he answered with an air of gentle regret,

“and to the idea of sharing your charms with me.”

* * *

Victoria pushed the library door ajar and peeked in. Finding the room empty, she slipped inside and started toward the bookshelves behind the desk. A sound outside the room stopped her. She waited, heart pounding, until the noise passed into a distant part of the hallway. Frustration seized her. A single night had passed since her captor’s return and she crept about the castle like an errant child trying to avoid her schoolmaster. Mayhap he might again take leave of Fauldun Castle. Irritation deepened. His absence left her in no better position than did his presence.

“Sweet Jesu,” she muttered and hurried forward. “You wanted him to return and your wish has been granted.”

At the desk she paused, her attention snagged on figures scratched helter-skelter on the top sheet of a stack of papers. She picked up the document, ran her gaze across the page, and realized she was looking at engineering equations. She glanced at the second page and grimaced at the sight of another tangled mess of figures. Whoever made these calculations had rushed through them—or was an idiot.

She skirted the desk to the chair, started to sit, then cast a nervous glance at the door half-expecting Iain MacPherson to throw it open. Shaking off the feeling, she lowered herself into the chair.

The discomfort in her neck told Victoria she’d been leaning over the plans of the proposed waterwheel far too long. She glanced at the clock sitting on the mantle. Two hours, and still no success in reconciling the calculations. Someone had made a terrible error—not just one, but several. What sort of engineer made such obvious mistakes?