Lord Keeper (21 page)

“Thomas,” Iain mumbled and emptied the mug.

* * *

Iain leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his desk. A bittersweet smile touched his lips. The resemblance between his wife and the woman who had arrived brandishing a tongue as sharp as any sword he’d had the misfortune to encounter was unmistakable. That the Englishwoman had weathered the dangers of the Scottish Highlands was but one more indication the aunt was kin to the niece. Bertrice Hall, great aunt to the Countess of Lansbury, clearly considered herself nothing less than avenging angel to her niece.

She eyed him. “A man who would allow his wife to flee into the arms of another man while she carries his child is no man at all.”

“Enough, madam,” Iain said.

“Nay, sir,” she replied in a brusque voice, “it is not.”

He rose. “But it is.”

Bertrice looked as if she would say more, but instead rose and quit the room.

Iain sank back into his chair. Christ, Victoria carried his child.

* * *

“Hockley land,” Bertrice said.

Iain didn’t reply or look at the woman who rode alongside him, and she fell quiet. The soft pad of hooves against English soil wore on his nerves. He kicked his horse and galloped ahead.

At last, time was on his side. The long journey had passed with no real memory and brought with it the belief that Victoria would return home with him where she belonged. He crested a hill. The sudden view of Hockley’s castle in the distance sent a jolt through him. He caught sight of his wife standing just ahead, absorbed in the view.

Iain pulled on the reins and gave himself a mental shake to combat the strange sensation that it had been but a moment since they had lain together in the meadow. The memory forced him to curb an impulse to charge forward and capture her as he had that day at Montrose Abbey. The horse that grazed nearby said she wasn’t the prisoner he had convinced himself she was. The possibility that the role of jailer had been his and his alone seemed the only real truth.

Victoria turned and looked in his direction. The imposing presence of the castle melted into the background, and his breath caught at sight of her stomach, still flat. He shifted his gaze to her face. Her brow furrowed. He waited in tense silence for a long moment before urging his mount forward.

Her hand covered her belly and she glanced about. Anger rose. Why was she alone outside the safety of her home? When he neared, her expression changed from confusion to recognition. Iain halted and slid to the ground, surprised when she retreated a step. Although he hadn’t expected a hero’s welcome, neither had he anticipated fear.

“You need not be afraid, love. I know of the child.”

She seemed about to deny the statement, but her gaze flicked past him and he glanced over his shoulder. Surrounded by his men, Bertrice had turned the bend behind him.

Iain looked back at Victoria to find her staring at him.

“You should not have come,” she said.

The quiet words awakened a fresh stab of alarm. “You expect me to walk away?” He glanced meaningfully at her midsection.

The sound of fast approaching riders filled the air. Iain’s warriors shot forward in his direction as a dozen men lead by Hockley topped the hill behind Victoria. Iain gripped the hilt of his sword as Edwin pulled up twenty feet from them. English men-at-arms jumped from their horses and faced Highland warriors.

“What do you think to gain by coming here?” Hockley’s gaze flicked to Bertrice. “Of course.” His mouth curved into a derisive smile. “I should have guessed.” He swung his gaze back to Iain and dismounted. “You warned me about coming to Scotland.” He reached for his sword. “Now taste of
my
warning.”

Iain pulled his sword free of the scabbard just as Edwin’s weapon cleared its sheath. The two lunged for one another, but Iain’s thrust went askew at the last possible moment when Victoria stepped between them.

“Nay!” he cried, but the warning came too late. Edwin’s sword pierced her midsection.

Time slowed. The earl’s mouth moved without sound, and Iain shook his head as if his ears were faulty, not Hockley’s vocal chords. Hockley’s sword slipped from his grasp and fell noiselessly to the grass as Iain threw his own weapon aside.

“Sweet God in heaven. No!” Iain caught Victoria before she hit the ground.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A wind kicked up around Iain, but from where he lay in the darkness he couldn’t determine its direction. Speculation as to what ill-mannered spirit had deigned to cross his path seemed answered by a nudge in his side. He slid open an eyelid, then snapped it shut against the bright light that shadowed a dark figure standing over him. He shook his head, willing the ungodly apparition away. Another nudge brought a hard oath from him. Laughter followed, and the vaguely familiar tone of the voice stilled Iain. Christ. To know a son of Satan so well as to recognize his voice must mean he should have given more heed to the priests after all.

Daring another look at his tormentor, Iain blinked his eyes into focus. What he saw once they accustomed themselves to the sun’s bright light shook him far more than if he were standing before the ruler of Hell himself.

* * *

Victoria watched from the hill as men surrounded her husband. Perhaps it had been no accident that she had awakened to discover her horse missing. She needed the animal to reach Fauldun Castle in the ten minutes it would take to ride, instead of the hour it would take to walk. She crouched behind the oak tree she peered around and waited.

* * *

Iain shook his head—hard. The people, the place—the place should have been England with Hockley’s castle in view, not the meadow where the
end
had begun. He bolted upright, unable to control the shaking in his hands as he turned each one from palm to backside, to palm. His adversaries muttered amongst themselves as, again and again, Iain scrutinized his hands.

“No blood.” He looked up, shifting his stare from one to the other of the men. “No blood, at all.”

Iain jerked his gaze past them and scanned the forest, beginning left, then circling the entire woods. He twisted and looked behind him, but his wild-eyed search found things just as they had been when he and Victoria had fallen asleep. He glanced at the sky. Had it been but an hour?

Victoria. His gut twisted.
Where are you?

“He is touched with the fever,” a man said.

“Get up.” David Robertson shoved Iain with a booted foot.

Iain blinked up at him.

“Are you deaf?” David demanded. Still, Iain didn’t move. David reached down and hauled him to his feet. Surprise twisted his features when Iain didn’t resist. “What trick is this?” the Robertson chieftain hissed.

“Christ,” Iain whispered, “that it be not a trick.”

Was this the dream, or was the place he had just come from the dream?

“Bah!” David growled and shoved Iain in the direction of their horses.

Iain glanced around the meadow once more.
How many second chances did a man receive in a single lifetime?

* * *

Victoria pitched forward, the toe of her
rullion
catching on a rock. Her hands instinctively reached to break the fall. Her body jolted upon impact and pain shot through her hands and arms. Her knee smashed against a rock and she bit back a cry. Victoria gritted her teeth and forced herself to her feet. Blood seeped from gashes that streaked her hands and she wiped them on her dress and started forward again.

At last, she broke free of the forest and Fauldun Castle came into view against a dusky sky. An indistinguishable shout went up when she came within sight of the guards on the battlement. A moment later, the gates swung open and a lone rider shot toward her. Even before he was close enough to distinguish his features she knew it was Thomas.

“My lady,” he said, sliding from his horse before the animal stopped moving.

“They have him, Thomas.” Victoria faltered. He gripped her shoulder, steadying her. “Nay.” She pushed away. “There is no time. David Robertson has captured him.”

“Where?”

“The meadow this side of the mountain, before the ascent up to Dawilneh.”

Thomas hoisted her into the saddle, vaulted up behind her, and sent his horse in a gallop toward the keep.

* * *

A steady murmur rippled through the great hall as the men left behind to guard the castle ate in relative quiet while awaiting word from the party gone in search of their lord. At the sound of the postern door opening, Victoria hurried from the kitchen. Liam’s eyes met hers and she stood motionless as he strode toward her.

“Do not worry, lass,” he said. “It is early yet.”

“It is past midnight.”

“Aye.” Taking her hand, he led her to the table. “But it is unlikely they will harm him just yet.”

Victoria allowed herself to be gently pushed into a chair. “That is not so, and you know it.”

Liam seated himself and looked away, calling for ale.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Hide your expression as you will, my lord. That does not change the facts.”

Liam sighed and squeezed her hand. “Do not give up on him just yet. Never a more stubborn lad graced God’s earth.”

She laughed, despite her worry. “Aye. Let us pray it works to his advantage.”

They both looked up when the postern door again opened. At sight of Thomas, Victoria rose.

“We lost the trail, my lady,” he said when he neared. Thomas clasped Liam’s hand. “The party split in two a few miles south of the meadow. Our men separated, but the trail east was lost in the rain.”

“And the other party?” she asked.

“I do not know,” he answered. “We rode back as far as we could, but their trail, too, is gone.”

A surge of dizziness assailed Victoria. A strong arm encircled her waist, and Liam eased into her the chair.

“Do not despair yet,” Thomas said. “If the others do not return by sunrise, we will begin again.”

Liam nodded. “I will fetch men from Talturn to help.”

“We must talk.” She stood so quickly, a spasm of pain knotted her knee.

“What is amiss?” Liam demanded.

Victoria gave a harsh laugh. “How am I to answer that?” She looked at Thomas. “You are cold and wet and surely hungry.” She motioned to a lad leaning against the wall. “Fetch Thomas a bath.”

“My lady—” Thomas began.

“Nay,” She held up a hand. “The refreshment will stand you in good stead through the night. When you finish, we will speak in the library.”

An hour later, Victoria sat with Thomas and Liam in Iain’s study. She fixed her gaze on Thomas, who sat behind Iain’s desk. “What are the chances he still lives?” she demanded.

“Good. They must have plans. Otherwise, they would have killed him immediately.”

“Then he is in no real danger?”

Thomas’s expression grew cautious. “I did not say that. I only meant you need not despair—just yet.”

“The bastards have hatched a plot in revenge for the lad keeping their kinswoman,” Liam cut in.

Thomas leaned forward on the desk, pushing aside the plate of food that lay untouched. “I agree.”

“Do they mean to ransom one for the other?” Victoria asked.

Thomas shook his head. “They know Iain would retaliate once he was free.”

“I do not understand,” Victoria said. “If they plan to make him pay, why not kill him when they found him?”

“Lass,” Liam said, “mayhap you should let us deal with this.”

“Nay.”

Liam sighed. “All right, then.” Taking her hand in his, he said, “Chances are they did not kill him because they mean to make the most of the task.”

Victoria swallowed, but the action did nothing to halt the wave of nausea sweeping through her. “You mean they intend to torture him.” She looked at Thomas. “Thomas.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“My horse has not returned,” she said.

“I was not aware of that.”

“Would she not have come home?”

Thomas nodded. “Unless something stopped her.”

“Or someone,” Liam interjected.

“Is it possible they knew I was there?” Victoria intercepted a look that passed between the two men. “You think they wanted me as well—why did they not search for me?”

“They probably feared being too close to the keep,” Liam said.

“If only Edwin were here.” Victoria felt Liam’s fingers tighten around her hand. “My lord.” She pulled free and rubbed her hand vigorously. “How far could he have gotten?” She looked at Thomas.

“He?”

She frowned. “Do not be obtuse, sir. Edwin. Where is he now?”

“I have no idea.”

She ceased rubbing her fingers. “I assume you mean you have no notion where he is at
this
moment. However, that does not mean you do not know where he was last seen.”

For the first time in their association, Thomas’s eyes reflected suspicion.

She lifted her chin. “It is a simple question, sir.”

“What does that matter?” Liam thundered. “We have no time to worry about where the English dog is.”

“That is where you are wrong,” she said. “Edwin may be the one person who can help us. After all, who else but an Englishman with a grudge against Iain MacPherson would David Robertson trust?”

Thomas raised an amused brow, but it was Liam who broke the hushed silence once Victoria finished outlining her plan minutes later. “A perfect example of the very reason women should not involve themselves in such matters.” His gaze moved to Thomas, who only shook his head, clearly not about to embark into the hazardous waters Liam was charting.

She met the aging warrior’s gaze. “You have no say in the matter.” This statement won her a startled look from him. He opened his mouth to respond, but Thomas interjected.

“She is right, Liam. This is to be dealt with by MacPhersons.”

“Nay,” Liam said, his mouth drawn in a hard line. “I have as much right as anyone, and you know it.” He held Victoria’s eyes for a moment, then added, “Not to mention, I do not relish facing your husband after allowing such foolhardy behavior. No doubt, he will renege on the treaty between us, after separating my head from my body, that is. Besides,” he paused, “it is not your place, but mine.”

Victoria took his hand in hers, leaned in close, and whispered, “No one blames you, Liam. You had no way of knowing. No one did.” Except Lily, she thought, and knew he understood. “No one knew David would take him,” she said in a louder voice, hoping to allay the question Thomas’s bemused expression indicated.

He nodded. “Even I had not anticipated so bold a move. They must have acted on their own. I cannot believe William would allow such provocative action. I sent word to the Robertson. If things are as I think, David’s actions will not set well with him, nor with Clan Chatten, for that matter.”

Victoria nodded. “But we will deal with David Robertson now.”

* * *

Faint fingers of light streamed over the horizon. They would arrive at Edwin’s camp anytime. As Victoria had suspected, Thomas knew his precise location. Despite the MacPherson men she knew who lay in hiding about the hills, the trepidation she felt upon learning Edwin was only three hours away increased as they drew nearer. The two men who rode beside her were in no better mood than she.

“It will not be long now,” Victoria addressed Liam, who had maintained a stubborn silence throughout the morning.

He growled an unintelligible answer and Victoria felt sure he was further commenting that she should be back in her room, the door barred from the outside. Thomas had seen things differently and, until Iain MacPherson returned, there existed no higher law on MacPherson territory than Thomas MacPherson.

“It will do you no good to remain in such a foul mood,” Victoria said, but any comment Liam might have made went unsaid when Edwin’s camp became visible in the distance.

“They have seen us,” Thomas said. He looked from Victoria to Liam. “I will go on ahead alone, as planned.”

“Thomas—”

“Nay, my lady. We are agreed,
oui
?”

She recognized the resolve behind the soft answer and sighed. “Aye. If you are sure.”

“He is sure,” Liam said with much more fervor.

Thomas spurred his horse into a canter until entering the midst of the armed men who stood in front of the camp. Victoria’s heart jumped when one man turned and hurried to the middle of the compound where the largest tent stood. A moment later, Edwin emerged. He paused outside the entrance and glanced in her direction, then strode to where Thomas waited. The two men spoke for what seemed too long before Thomas whirled his horse around and headed back toward them.

Moments later, he reined up alongside her and gave a nod. Victoria took a deep breath and nudged her horse into a walk.

When she reached the camp, Edwin had disappeared, and one of his men escorted her into the tent she had seen him emerge from earlier.

“Thank you,” she murmured when the man pointed to the pile of thin cushions scattered on a carpet located on the opposite side of the tent. A low table with wine and goblets sat beside the cushions. Another group of larger cushions covered with furs lay to the far left.

Once she lowered herself onto the cushions the man had indicated, he left. The moments she waited seemed an eternity until the tent flap drew back and Edwin stood in the opening. Despite his guarded expression, Victoria knew he hadn’t expected her. He released the flap and strode to the table where he wordlessly poured two glasses of wine. Edwin handed one to her, then lowered himself onto a cushion beside her.

“I know how you despise lengthy explanations, my lord,” Victoria said without preamble, “therefore, I will speak plainly.”

He looked over his glass. “In this case, I find the notion of a lengthy explanation interesting.”

A tremor ran through her midsection. “I have come to ask for your help.”

“So I understand.” With a quick flourish, Edwin finished his wine, placed the goblet on the ground beside him, and looked expectantly at her.

“My husband has been kidnapped.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, but he said smoothly, “Who has your illustrious husband offended this time?”

“David Robertson,” Victoria replied. She dropped her gaze to the full goblet she held and, against her better judgment, took a drink.

“What is to keep me from taking you home with me?” Edwin asked.