Page 384 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Victoria took Katherine to her cottage. Not until

Maude and a group of women arrived to fetch her did Victoria realize her absence from the bridal chambers. “You did not think to stay in that little cottage, did you?” Maude asked with a devilish wink as the women scurried to gather her meager belongings.

Victoria offered little more than a nod, her thoughts on the night that lay ahead, as well as every night she knew would follow with Iain MacPherson.

Her silence as they set out on the path back to the castle did nothing to daunt her companions’ merriment. They nattered away, much to Victoria’s discomfort, their giggles a reflection of the very things she was unable to keep from her thoughts. Katherine was tucked away for the night, and the women settled in the solar for a final cup of tea.

Victoria had avoided this room. It was the place the lady of the manor inhabited the few hours of the day she wasn’t running the household, the place she entertained, hid from her lord when he displeased her. This place belonged to that lady—and now that lady was her.

“You seem distraught, mistress.”

Victoria jerked from her thoughts and looked at

Jillian. “Distraught?”

Jillian nodded. “Though I cannot see why. It is clear you should be mistress of Fauldun Castle.”

Heat crept up Victoria’s cheeks. She had not forgotten the girl’s assumption that she was mistress of Fauldun Castle. Neither had Victoria forgotten the lie she told that day. She hadn’t bothered to speak to Jillian about it, so there was little doubt the girl wondered at the outrageous story.

Maude broke the quiet. “Why do you say that, lass?”

Jillian glanced in surprise around the room. “Can

I be the only one who sees it?” “Sees what?” Maude prodded. “That she cares for the laird.” Victoria flushed.

Jillian angled her head in Victoria’s direction.

“And ’tis obvious he has a tenderness for her.”

Victoria stared at Jillian, whose eyes stared unfocused at the sewing in her lap.

“A man’s love is a rare thing.”

Sorrow stabbed at Victoria. Jillian was speaking of the man she had loved, the man who had so obviously loved her, the man she had lost. Victoria hadn’t loved Richard, so hadn’t mourned him. Would she mourn Iain MacPherson?

Jillian looked up, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I believe our guest speaks the truth,” Maude remarked.

Murmured agreement passed through the room.

Only Victoria remained silent.

“Time for you to be off,” Maude said. “It will not do to have Iain searching for his bride on his wedding night as if it were the dinner hour.”

Victoria cursed the housekeeper’s observant eye as Maude whisked her off to the room she now shared with her husband. Victoria understood well enough where the bath, new linens, and fresh flowers would lead, but sight of the sheerest night rail she’d ever laid eyes on tightened the knot in her stomach.

Maude slipped the garment over her head then with a knowing smile, bid her good night.

At last, alone in Iain’s large bed, Victoria studied her surroundings, searching for the smallest thread of reality. But a thorough inspection left her wondering who would wake her to say that this was a dream.

Her breath stilled with the sound of approaching footsteps. The man she now called lord and master had arrived. Why did the notion frighten her? It wouldn’t be the first time they had lain together. Because, her heart whispered, this time, he will claim you as his, with every right to do so until the day you die.

And perhaps you are glad?

Victoria watched in a mesmerized stupor as the door opened and Iain filled the opening. His eyes dropped to where her fingers twisted the colorful plaid that covered the bed.

“All is well?” His mouth twitched when the fire in the hearth crackled and she jumped. “You need not be afraid, love. I am your husband.”