Page 345 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Iain remained motionless as she crawled across the bed toward him, still on her knees. She stopped in front of him.

“You do not mean Thomas?”

“I do.”

“But he has done no wrong.”

“But he did.”

“What?”

“Tell me,” Iain said, “how is it you escaped him?”

She flushed. “We—I—I simply—he did no—” she faltered, then there was silence.

With a finger under her chin, Iain tilted her bowed head upward. “This is no light matter. Our fate often lies in the hands of those we trust. Today, it was Thomas who held your life.” He stroked her cheek with a thumb. “Do you think I would have a hair on your head harmed?”

She tried to look away, but he held her, forcing her to face him.

“Can you deny there is fault to be found?”

“But Thomas only allowed me free rein.”

“Ah.” Iain released her. “Then his fault was in trusting you.”

“I will not remain your prisoner,” she insisted.

“What if we had not found you when we did?

Nay!” he said when she opened her mouth to reply. “Consider before you speak. You know full well I am asking you what would happen had you been discovered by the men who beat that girl.”

“You think to keep me prisoner by convincing me there is no safety outside these walls?”

Iain snorted. “What I expect is for you to use some sense.” He started to say more but a knock on the door stopped him. He stepped to the door and swung it open. A grim-faced MacPherson stood in the doorway.

“The Robertsons have come calling, Laird,” was all he said.

Iain nodded, then turned and strode back to where Victoria stood. Her face had paled. “They cannot harm you.” He paused. “Or her, for that matter. Oh, and lass, once you resolve to escape,” he tapped her forehead with a finger, “you will then try in earnest?” With that, he left.

Across the compound, he met Thomas. “What have they to say?” Iain asked.

“They want the woman.”

“Did they offer an explanation for her condition?”

“Aye,” Thomas replied. “They say she is a murderess.”

Iain halted. “Murderess?” “Her betrothed,” Thomas added.

“Sweet Christ,” Iain said under his breath. “What in the name of the devil have we gotten ourselves into?”