Lord Keeper (8 page)

He studied her. “The MacPherson did not tell me he had an engineer—and a woman no less.”

“I am not
his
engineer.” She pushed her chair back in a manner that should have forced him back, but didn’t.

“I did not know the English educated their women so well,” he commented, making it clear he was unsure whether he found the idea a good one or not. “Can you explain this?” He thrust the paper in her face.

Victoria accepted the paper as he leaned over her.

* * *

Victoria entered the kitchen.

“There she is, looking all bright this morning.” The smile Nellie gave Victoria was followed by a knowing look at the rest of the women.

“Good morning,” Victoria said, not feeling bright at all. A restless night spent waking at every sound outside her door had done nothing for her mood. Neither had a cold dinner, she noted, smelling deeply of the bread that was already baking.

“Did you have a good evening?” Nellie asked.

Victoria shrugged as she took a cup from the table then crossed to the hearth where water steamed in a kettle over the fire. “As well as can be expected.” She unhooked the hot pad hanging over the hearth, grasped the kettle hand with it, and poured hot water into her cup.

“No sleep, eh?” Nellie said. “Iain wear you out, mistress?”

“Wear me out—” Victoria jumped when hot water sloshed onto her hand. She hung the kettle back over the fire, transferred the cup to her other hand, and shook the burned hand in the air. “What is she saying?”

“You were not here last night,” Maude replied. “Neither was Iain.”

So that was why she hadn’t been summoned to the dinner table last night. She walked to the table and set her cup down. “So you assume…”

Maude eyed Victoria. “You are saying ’tis not true?”

“Aye.”

Nellie snorted, but Maude shrugged and went back to shelling the broad beans piled on the table before her.

After a few more civilities, Victoria left the kitchen, its occupants, and her untouched tea. If ever a day existed where the need for freedom pounded against her brain, she couldn’t name it. Three weeks within the walls of Fauldun Castle had taken its toll. Though she knew full well the problem was the last two days, not to mention the last few minutes that drove the desperate need to cast off her confinement. She had to take action.

Victoria wasted no time in discovering Thomas’s location. Once through the courtyard and over the hill on the east side of the compound, she spied the men training in the field to the rear of the keep. Thomas stood talking with another man.

“Sir.” She greeted him with a smile.

Thomas bowed as she approached. “To what do we owe the honor of your company? Have you an interest in watching our warriors sharpen their skill?” He motioned to the men sparring.

Victoria shook her head. “Another time. Sir, I have been cooped up within these walls too long.”

“There are many here who do not step outside these walls in a year. You have been here not yet a month.”

She raised a brow. “Need we examine the difference?”

Thomas smiled. “As you please, my lady.”

So, the rogue was not so easily had. “I ask one small favor,” she said.

“To be outside the castle walls?”

“A ride. Surely that is not too much to ask?”

“Have you spoken to Iain?”

“It is a simple matter, why must I petition him?”

“He alone can grant that favor.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“I believe it is because he fears you will run away at first chance.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“The great hall, last I saw him. You did not find him there?”

She had noticed him outside the door of the great hall and had avoided him. The memory of her jailer’s jealous expression when Thomas had jested with him the night they arrived flashed in memory. What would Iain do if he thought her attention was focusing on his cousin?

Victoria frowned. “Are you feeling well?” She felt his forehead with the back of her fingers. “You look flushed. A moment’s rest would do you good.” Without waiting, she pulled him from where the men worked and started down the hill.

“The guards will not open the gate even for me, my lady.” His tone was casual, but Victoria detected just enough curiosity that she hoped would delay his resistance until she had incited her captor’s jealous nature.

She led him down the hill and into the courtyard. As they approached the castle, Victoria caught sight of Iain standing in the postern door speaking with some men. She turned her attention to Thomas and guided him to the well in the middle of the courtyard. With a push, she seated him on the stone bench beside the well.

“A respite from the sun will do you good.”

Glancing up at the great oak that shadowed the spot, she pretended to miss Iain’s gaze as it moved past the men he conversed with to rest on her and Thomas. She lifted the tin cup that rested on the well’s stone wall and scooped water from the bucket there. She allowed her fingers to brush Thomas’s arm as she handed him the cup. Once he drank the water, she refilled the cup.

Iain arrived a moment later, his companions in tow.

Victoria turned an innocent gaze on them. “Would you join us for a bit of refreshment?”

He remained quiet while his companions declined.

She nodded. “It is a warm day and one cannot be too careful of this heat.”

“I see you have found a new way to make use of your time,” Iain said.

“I must do something with myself,” Victoria replied. “This does not please you?”

“I think you could find other amusement.”

Indeed, she could. Victoria gave him an innocent look. “What would you suggest, my lord?”

“Have you nothing else you would rather be doing?”

Thomas shifted and Victoria realized he had surmised her trap. “Only a moment ago, I happened to mention what a beautiful day it is for a ride.” She looked at Thomas for confirmation. Pushing aside the strong desire to throttle him when he declined to comment, she glided into her next statement. “Mayhap that is the very thing I need, as I am unaccustomed to this lack of freedom.”

“You may have all the freedom you like.”

She snapped her head in his direction. “Truly?”

He nodded. “As my wife, you would be as free as you please.”

She scowled. “Otherwise, I am naught but your prisoner?"

“I do not like living with the fear that you might run away,” Iain answered with startling honesty.

“Aye,” she retorted. “’Tis always better to remind a woman of her status, is it not, my lord?”

“That was not my meaning and you know it,” he replied.

She shook her head. “That is exactly what you meant.”

Iain gave a low growl and threw his hands in the air. “Have your ride. Thomas will accompany you.”

“I never asked to go alone,” she said. “And it may interest you to know, if I wished to run away, I would find a more clever ruse than a simple ride.”

“Oftentimes, the simple plans are the best.”

“Mayhap you should remember, I am but a simple woman.”

Iain's deep laugh was followed by, “Nay, lass, such good fortune was not to be mine.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes, eliciting a round of laughter from the men, but she turned and bestowed a gracious nod on Thomas. “If you please, sir, I will meet you in the stables in ten minutes.”

She started for her cottage and bit her tongue when Iain called, “Do not be gone longer than an hour.” The words, spoken in an offhanded manner, held a command she knew would be heeded by her companion.

Chapter Ten

Once free of the trees, Victoria sank her heels into the belly of her horse and the mare surged past Thomas’s horse into the clearing. He kept his mount at a walk, but she knew the stallion could overtake her in seconds.

Victoria breathed deep of the wind that whipped gently at the blue and red plaide cloak clasped around her neck. Peace settled around her in easy rhythm with the animal’s gait. She closed her eyes and raised her face heavenward. Thin, gray clouds inched past sunlight, yet her cheeks warmed with a delicious heat not found within the confines of Fauldun Castle. She laughed. Sunlight shone inside the MacPherson keep just as it did here, but it was freedom that made it all the more precious.

“
Chérie
,” Thomas called.

She sighed, her imaginary solitude gone, and glanced over her shoulder. Thomas waved, indicating she should slacken her pace. Inspiration struck, followed by a nudge from the Devil himself. With a slow smile Victoria faced ahead, hunkered down, and spurred her horse.

The mare shot forward. Thomas shouted a command to stop and hooves pounded behind her. It was a childish satisfaction—he would be upon her before she reached the trees—but she couldn’t deny the thrill of giving him a scare.

His stallion’s piercing cry jerked her head around in their direction. Thomas was turning the animal toward four men who broke from the trees to the south. Their plaide was mixed with far more red than the MacPherson plaide. Were the newcomers cousins or maybe part of the Clan Chattan Maude had mentioned?

Victoria pulled sideways on the reins, bringing her horse around in a wide circle. Thomas now faced the men, and she drew in a sharp breath at sight of the hand that lay on his sword hilt in obvious warning. She yanked her gaze onto the men. Thomas would not challenge allies. She and Thomas had left Fauldun Castle but fifteen minutes ago. What would enemies be doing so close to the keep? He glanced at her and Victoria wasted no more time. She nudged her horse and the mare lunged toward the trees.

A moment’s ride beneath the foliage brought a sharp bend in the path. She yanked the reins. The horse cried out and Victoria suppressed an urge to do the same. She was alone.

Was escape possible?
Her keen eye sighted thick brush growing from the side of the mountainside large enough to conceal her and the mare. Guilt surfaced. What of Thomas and the strangers? What of them? She would be no help. In fact, she would be a liability. That had been proven on her journey home with Iain MacPherson.

She flicked the reins against the steed’s rump. The mare balked but, with a heavy hand, Victoria drove her through the dense vegetation. The branches thinned, then opened up a few feet from bushes that grew in a tenacious tangle across a rocky wall. Victoria halted, uncertain by the darkness she discerned beyond the foliage. Why wasn’t light showing through the leaves as it had through the bushes she’d seen from the path?

She dismounted and, one hand gripping the reins, parted the branches. A large cavern opened up before her. Dull sunlight filtered through from an opening in the top of the cave. Victoria stared, unable to believe her good fortune. She could remain here until all search parties had given up hope of finding her. The sound of hooves on moist ground broke the spell.
Thomas.

Indecision gripped her. The need for freedom was one thing, being alone in the wilds of Scotland was another. She’d already gotten a taste of the men who roamed the lawless countryside. Dawilneh lay twenty minutes to the north. An easy ride if she was careful. Would they lend aid or hand her over to Iain MacPherson? How long could that devil hold her? How long would Father Brennan allow it? Movement inside the cave snapped her attention to the denser shadows beyond her.

Victoria remained motionless, uncertain what creature was there, yet unwilling to give up her hiding place. A soft whimper startled her. What was this? She eased inside the cave’s mouth and squinted into the depths. Her eyes adjusted and she made out a human form huddled against the back wall. More soft whimpers emanated from the creature, and she realized it was a woman. How was it possible two women had discovered the same hiding place? Dropping the reins, Victoria started forward, but halted when the girl’s whimpers turned to a sob. She hesitated. What had the girl so frightened?

Victoria took one step forward. “Do not fear, lass. I will not hurt you.”

The girl continued to whimper as she drew nearer. Victoria’s eyes adjusted and she discerned the tartan that hung in shreds about the girl’s shoulders and the arm protruding from a torn sleeve was swollen. Once at her side, Victoria knelt. She bit back a gasp at the sight of the bruising that marred the girl’s cheek and jaw. The lass had been badly beaten, and not so long ago by the look of the matted blood dried on the side of her mouth.

Victoria’s chest tightened. Even in the dim light she could see that one eye was swollen beyond its normal size. It had, indeed, been an animal that had beaten the poor wretch, but none other than the two-legged variety was capable of such inhumanity. Who had done this? Even her captor presented no such threat. Victoria started to ask what had happened, but the sound of approaching horses yanked her attention in the direction of the cave’s opening. She glanced down at the sudden grip on her arm.

“Shh,” she soothed. “I will see who it is.”

The girl trembled.

“Nay, child,” Victoria whispered, “do not worry. I, too, have no wish to be discovered.”

With a firm but gentle touch, she pried the girl’s fingers from her arm, then crept forward, whispering to the mare until she reached the animal. With a firm hand on the horse’s neck, Victoria edged her aside and bent low as she tried to peer out at the men who had stopped beyond their hiding place.

The thick foliage blocked her view, and the Gaelic words spoken by the men left Victoria in the dark. Her heart lurched when her protector’s voice joined the foreign babble. She quelled the urge to jump from the cave. Thomas wasn’t alone. They must wait until he returned—if he returned this way. Fear shot through her. What if the men noticed the cave opening as she had? No, she hadn’t noticed anything strange until she’d pushed her way through the foliage. Still… The conversation ceased and the pounding of horses’ hooves on the soft ground indicated the men were leaving. When Victoria could no longer hear the horses, she returned to where the girl lay shivering in the corner. Victoria lowered herself to the ground, and the girl rested her head on Victoria’s lap. Victoria laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She gave a small cry, and Victoria yanked her hand away.

She cursed her stupidity, then said in a gentle voice, “Lie still, lass.”

The girl did as instructed, allowing Victoria to trace fingers over shoulder and arm for injuries. No broken bones or cuts were discernible, and Victoria released a sigh of relief when it appeared her attackers had inflicted injury more in the way of the back of their hands than with any sort of weapon. She grunted. Given the girl’s size, little else had been needed. Victoria pictured her keeper, sword in hand as it had been the day she’d been attacked, only now pointed at the
men
who would beat a woman. Seeing them face an opponent their own size would be worth her imprisonment.

* * *

It seemed eons had passed, but Victoria estimated it to be no more than an hour when she decided to venture from the cave. She sent up a prayer of thanks when, despite a limp, the girl was able to stand. Victoria led her to the mouth of the cave where she refused to go any farther.

“They may yet return,” Victoria said. The girl began to trembling again and tried to shrink back into the shadows. “Nay.” Victoria barred her path. “They will find you. Even if they do not, do you wish to die here?” The girl paled. “You must trust me,” Victoria said. “Our safest course is to leave.
Now.
”

The girl slumped against her, and Victoria urged her to lean against the wall while she led the horse to her. Victoria steadied the mare, but try as the girl might she hadn’t the strength to pull herself into the saddle. With an injured arm, she couldn’t grasp the pommel, and her leg had little strength for lifting even her small weight. Left with no choice, they struggled through the foliage to the mouth of the cave. Victoria parted the bushes and scanned the area for anything that might do as a makeshift stool. She spied a fallen log. Gathering the girl close, Victoria helped her to the log. The mare proved cooperative and they were both soon mounted, the girl in front of Victoria.

Victoria flicked the reins against the flank of their steed and the horse bolted forward.

A few minutes after they set out, the sound of hoof beats came from the direction they were headed. Victoria yanked back on the reins. The horse snorted and danced about as Victoria rounded her in a circle, seeking any form of refuge. Her companion began to whimper and struggled to dismount.

“Calm yourself,” Victoria ordered. She gripped the pommel, which pinned the girl and steadied her own hand. Victoria spurred the mare into action. East, around the men, instead of north where Fauldun Castle lay.

A moment later, the sound of a warrior’s cry filled the air. Victoria leaned forward, covering the body of her companion. The deafening sound of hooves surrounded them and a line of men appeared. Victoria yanked back on the reins. The horse squealed and would have reared but for her keeping their weight forward on the steed’s powerful neck, urging her back onto all fours.

A haze of plaide confronted Victoria, followed by a wave of dizziness at recognition of the soft MacPherson colors she had longed to escape only a few hours ago. Iain MacPherson came to a skidding halt beside her. Her gaze flew to his and a stillness gripped the onlookers. She realized that he, along with everyone else, knew she had run away. Even his appalled expression when his stare took in the young woman cradled in her arms did nothing to soften the steel in his voice when he addressed her.

“What has happened?”

The simple words nearly finished Victoria’s assent into the abyss she teetered on. Iain appeared unmoved by her stuttered explanation, and his gaze once again settled on the girl. Victoria felt the last of her courage falter and tears mingled with her words, bringing Iain’s attention back onto her. He motioned for one of the warriors to take the woman from Victoria, but the girl shrank from the man’s touch.

“You need not worry,” Victoria whispered. “He will not hurt you. It is best you ride with him.”

Still she resisted. Iain urged his stallion closer and, at the brush of his thigh against her legs, the girl’s fear transformed into weeping. He leaned forward as if to forcibly take her from Victoria, and Victoria steadied the horse’s reins when the animal scooted back at the intrusion of his stallion. She shot Iain a beseeching look. He swore, but turned his horse from hers with a hard yank on the reins and gave the command to ride.

* * *

Standing in the modest bedchamber, Iain shifted his attention between the woman who sat on the edge of the bed a foot from him and the woman who now lay sleeping as a result of one of Rachel’s potions. The girl’s light brown hair, washed and brushed, lay against crisp white sheets. Her torn garments had been replaced with a simple night shift. The steady rise and fall of her breasts beneath the covers gave evidence of the strong spirit that commanded the battered body. Iain’s chest tightened. His woman could have fallen prey to the men who committed this atrocity had he not found her when he did.

Thomas’s discourse with the Robertsons when he encountered them hadn’t revealed their real reason for being on MacPherson land. As the MacPhersons enjoyed little trouble from their southern neighbors, and because Thomas had been frantic to locate his charge, he hadn’t questioned the explanation that they were just riding through. But there was little doubt they were responsible for the girl’s condition.

With her asleep, Iain’s patience came to an end. He nudged the lass, but she waved him off. When he nudged her again, she shook her head, and he leaned down saying, “Do not test me. I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.”

With a sigh, she rose. When they reached the great hall, she started toward the dining table, but Iain took her hand and led her outside. Her hesitation became resistance when he started across the courtyard.

“Release me.” She tried to tug free of his grasp.

Ignoring her, Iain dragged her along behind him. She dug her heels into the ground, pulling even harder. Iain whirled, hauled her over his shoulder, and continued forward.

“How dare you!” She pounded her fists against his back.

Iain passed a group of warriors, who laughed. She ceased beating him and lifted herself just enough so that it was clear she was looking in the direction of the laughter. Her body clenched and she growled. When he entered the grove, she began flailing her legs about in an attempt to kick him. Iain clamped down on her legs.

“You will pay for this, you brute.” She wriggled in a vain attempt to free herself.

Iain broke out of the grove and started down the open path that led to her cottage.

“Mamma, look,” a little girl called from a cottage porch.

His charge stilled.

A woman appeared in the door. “Sweet God in heaven.” The woman grabbed her daughter, yanked her back into the cottage, and slammed the door shut.

More laughter rang out in the wake of Iain’s path until they disappeared into the privacy of her cottage. He tossed her onto the bed. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off by coming down on top of her.

“I warned you,” he whispered in a harsh breath. “Now, little bird, how do you plan on escaping the wrath of your keeper?”

Her cheeks colored. “I—I was not trying to escape.”

The desire to believe her did nothing to quash the tide of emotion that heaved through his chest. “You would have me believe such drivel?”

“I have never lied to you. Had I resolved to escape, I would not deny it.”