Four strokes of the clock chimed as Iain lifted the quill to tap the feather down noiselessly on his desk. The quill didn’t rise again as he stared at where his fingers gripped the nib.

“So, the lass is not so alone,” he said. “Edwin Hockley, Earl of Lansbury, brother of the lady’s dead husband, has come to claim his sister.” Iain shifted his gaze past Father Brennan to Thomas, who stood near the fireplace. “Mayhap you are gifted with second sight.”

His cousin shrugged. “It is said I have an uncanny way.”

“Uncanny is one word for it,” Iain murmured before looking again at Father Brennan. “I must thank you, Father, for sending Hockley and his men through Kalhurn pass. That gives us valuable time.”

“Thank the Lord I arrived at Fauldun Castle ahead of them.” He made the sign of the cross over his chest, then his mouth dipped into an almost vicious frown. “You cannot let him take her.”

“Never fear. I will not.”

“He is a cold one, that Sassenach,” Father Brennan bit out. “If his brother was anything like him, she is better off without either of them. Though, he is no fool. Do not mistake that.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. It is clear why the lass was at Montrose Abbey. You were right, Father.”

Father Brennan scowled. “You know I said nothing concerning the matter.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“You think yourself clever, do you not, man?”

“Perhaps not so clever,” Iain replied, “but not a fool, either. It was simple enough to deduce. A woman such as she would not sequester herself in remote Scotland for naught. She is full of life, passion, not the withering flower that so often craves convent life.”

“Not every woman who takes the veil does so out of a need for solace,” Father Brennan’s voice took on a disgruntled edge. “In some ways you are no different than that Sassenach,” he muttered.

“What is that you say?” Iain said.

“You have no more reverence for the church than he does. Likened it to a garbage heap.”

“A garbage heap.” Iain’s jaw clenched. “I never said such a thing. What exactly did he say?”

“I asked him if he would desecrate holy ground. He said, ‘One man’s holy ground is another’s garbage heap.’ ”

The quill snapped in Iain’s hands. “A threat, plain and simple.”

“Of course it was a threat. I am no more a fool than you,” Father Brennan replied acidly. “Though, that isna’ saying a great deal. Anyway, he knows you took her, Iain.”

“So it seems. One wonders how that is possible.” “Aye, one wonders,” Father Brennan said.

Iain slid his gaze onto Thomas. “Has my seer anything to say?”

Thomas shrugged. “This is beyond my scope, Cousin. Perhaps I have been nothing more than lucky.”

“Perhaps,” Iain said.

Father Brennan stood. “What do you plan to do?” The priest’s voice was hard, but Iain didn’t miss the unsteadiness.

Iain leaned forward, placing his arms on his desk. “I cannot think of a finer time for a wedding, can you?”

There was silence before Thomas roared with laughter. Father Brennan shot him a reproving glance, then said to Iain, “I know you want her, Iain, but is that all you can think about?”

Iain cocked a brow. “I would have thought you in favor of avoiding another feud.”

“Blast it, you should not be enjoying this half as much as you are.” The priest crossed the room to the sideboard. He yanked the top off one of the bottles and poured a hefty drink before facing Iain. “You would force her?” He snorted. “I would not have

thought it of you.”

“I have not used trickery with her,” Iain answered.

“But you do not mind taking advantage of the situation, eh?”

“What would you have me do, ask him to leave me to my courtship? The English do not take kindly to their women being sullied by the likes of me. The only thing that will end this matter is if she is my wife. Did she ever mention this man to you?”

The distress on the priest’s face confirmed the gnawing feeling in his gut even before Father Brennan said, “Nay, never. I thought her family was dead.”

“Yet, she never appealed to him.”

Father Brennan sighed. “I mistook her being at Montrose Abbey for wishing to avoid another marriage.”

“I thought the same,” Iain said. “It would be difficult for King Henry to command her to marry when he did not know where to find her. As her only living relative”—Iain gave a harsh laugh— “if Hockley is her only living relative, the role of protector would fall to him. Odd, she never played that card.”

“One would almost think it was him she wished to avoid,” Thomas said.

“It would,” Iain agreed. “I was willing to give her time to understand that I am not like her husband, but things have changed. As you are wont to say, Father, God works in mysterious ways. Who are we to question His methods?”

“You are a fine one for quoting scripture when it suits you,” Father Brennan grumbled.

Despite the situation, Iain smiled. “I have the makings of a fine priest, eh?”

Father Brennan groaned. “Lord, have mercy on us all.”

Iain straightened. “Thomas, find out where they are. If all goes well, they should not arrive until tomorrow.” He addressed Father Brennan. “You will perform the wedding?”

Father Brennan finished his drink in one gulp, then placed the glass on the sideboard. “Hockley will be furious once he learns I am here, but if you feel ’tis best, I will do it.”

“Hockley will do no more or less either way,”

Iain said. “It is the lass I am concerned with.”

“Aye, well, God be with you on that mission,” Father Brennan walked toward the door. “You will

need all the help you can get.”

* * *

Iain waited no more than fifteen minutes before deciding his future bride had no intention of attending the evening meal. She was getting better at hiding. The stables hadn’t been his first choice to search. Yet, another half an hour passed before he found her tucked away in one of the stalls. Filling the small doorway, Iain braced a hand against either side of the frame and gazed down at her, legs stretched out before her, ankle crossed over ankle.

“Did you need something, my lord?” she asked without looking up from her book.

“The evening meal is being served.” He had meant to harden his voice, but found no heart for it.

“I am not hungry,” she replied, turning a page.

“That is not the point.”

“Nay?”

“Do not push me too far tonight, love. I am in no mood for games.”

“You need not worry about my games, sir, if you would cease trying to force me to do something I have no wish to do.”

“You belong beside me,” he said. “Or was last night not enough to teach you that?”

She slammed the thick volume shut with a quick flip of her wrist and jumped to her feet. “Teach me? What do you think to teach me?” Her cheeks flushed, and Iain realized she had learned even more than he suspected. “You need not worry that I will fall into temptation again,” she added in a rush of words.

A silence lingered before Iain dropped his hands from the doorway and took two paces, halting in front of her. He reached forward and wound a lock of her hair around a finger.

“Temptation, nothing more?” he asked.

She remained quiet.

“You not only want me, love, but need me.”

Her lips tightened into a righteous line. “Would you care to wager?”

Iain stilled. “Beware, sweet. I am a man who would take such a wager seriously.”

“You think that because I am a woman I am any less honorable?”

He regarded her. “What would you wager?”

“Whatever you wish,” she replied with a haphazard shrug.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Iain nodded, his attention again on her hair.

“Would you admit the truth?”

“That is a useless wage,” she retorted. “There is nothing to admit.”

He dropped her hair and inclined his head in ascent. “As you wish, my lass. An hour of your time, then?”

She frowned. “I do not understand.”

“It is simple enough. You promise to do anything

I ask for a single hour.”

“Agreed. And if I win?”

“The same.”

“I do not know,” she mused. “An hour of your time is not overly valuable.”

“Two hours, then,” he offered.

“Nay, I think I would like to visit another

MacPherson stronghold.” “Done,” Iain answered.

“As to the rules—”

Iain yanked her to him. “There are no rules— save, you cannot deny the truth once it is finished.”

He sealed her mouth beneath his and, in two steps, backed her against the wall. She seized his shoulders, and a thrill raged through him when he understood her hold was in order to keep from crumbling beneath his advance. Her palms flattened against his chest and she pushed at him. Her mouth twisted free of his.

“Foul play, my lord. I—I am not prepared.”

“If I leave it to you, lass, you will never be prepared. Ready or not, the time is now.”

He cupped her neck and again covered her mouth with his as he yanked at the ties on her bodice. The string loosened, and Iain grasped a taut nipple as a breast spilled into his palm. She dragged in a sharp breath, and Iain slipped his tongue past her lips and into her mouth while he rolled the pink fruit between his fingers. He reached around her and cupped her buttocks. Pulling her to him, Iain moved her hips in a circular motion against him.

She broke her lips free. “Please,” she said in a choked voice. “’Tis not need you intend” —she broke off, her breath quickening—“but lust.”

“This is need,” Iain said against her throat.

He lifted her skirt and tried to slip his knee between her legs. She remained firm, so he slid a hand downward, his fingers seeking and finding her moist warmth.

“Why deny this?” He stroked gently, feeling the tension loosen in her body. “Why?” he demanded.

“By all that is holy, you will, once and for all, glimpse true fire.” Breaking away, he knelt before her. Fisting her skirt, he wrapped an arm around her hips and drew her to him.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she pushed hard. “Sweet Jesu, y-you are not serio—” Her words turned into a soft cry when his mouth connected with her womanly flesh.

He probed gently and was rewarded with her intake of breath. Her hands moved to steady herself on his shoulders as he flicked his tongue in a quick motion against her sex. Iain drank long and deep of the sensual intoxicant, alternating between slow swipes of his tongue between her folds and flicks against her most sensitive place. Her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders. He drove her further, finally sucking with gentle pulls, then harder until she cried out in unison with the tremor that ran through her body, and a deafening roar filled his head.

Iain stood. Her knees buckled. He caught her to him, and she gave him a halfhearted shove. Lifting her with one arm, Iain yanked up his kilt. He locked gazes with her as he wrapped her legs around his waist, then settled her just above his erection. In one quick motion, he brought her down onto him. She shuddered and her head dropped onto his shoulder.

“Christ,” Iain muttered when her hot breath on his neck sent a thundering shock through him.

Staggering forward until the wall was behind her, he sought her mouth, starved for the taste of her. He began to move inside her and her fingers tensed around his arms as she gave into the rhythm. He bent his head and closed his lips over a nipple as he quickened his thrusts. Dim awareness of the rough wood of the wall digging into his knuckles played in the back of his mind, but pain mingled with pleasure, and where one began and the other ended Iain had no reckoning.

Her breath came in short spurts. Realizing she was nearing her release, Iain stopped. She lifted her head from his shoulder. Her brow furrowed and Iain recognized the look of confusion that crept into her eyes. He bent, his mouth almost touching hers, and eased himself out of her, then back in with a calculated surge. She stiffened, sucked in breath, and Iain knew it was pleasure she experienced, not fear. Her body trembled as he repeated the motion while kissing her.

The soft kiss turned hard when her grip tightened and she arched, giving a small cry with her climax. Iain’s heart pumped wildly as her softness constricted around him and his body convulsed. His final thrusts brought with them the residue of gratification and he drove deep, the last waves of pleasure scorching the very roots of his senses.

Iain held her, not moving, until both their pulses beat to a more natural rhythm. Finally, she relaxed, and he lifted her off him, then lowered her feet to the ground. Stepping back, he looked down at her. Her eyes were hidden beneath lowered lashes, but the soft flush of red in her cheeks told him she was more than a little surprised by her reaction to his lovemaking. He adjusted her bodice, tied the strings, then placed her hand through the crook of his arm and led her in a leisurely walk back to the great hall.

Speculative glances gave way to knowing looks and grins when Iain seated Victoria next to him. He hid a smile, thankful she had no idea her tousled hair and disheveled dress bore testimony she had just risen from her lover’s bed. Father Brennan’s appearance from the staircase turned the table’s attention away from the lass, and her face lit. She rose.

“Good evening, Father.” she greeted the priest. “I had not expected to see you.”

Father Brennan took the hand she extended and clasped it between his palms. “I told Iain I would stay

to perform the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” she repeated.

Iain heard the shock in her voice and pushed to his feet.

“When is the wedding to take place?” Father Brennan asked.

Iain strode toward them. “Directly after supper,” he replied, then to her, “Lass, there is some—”

She faced him and he stopped short at sight of the betrayal he read in her eyes. His heart jumped to a gallop. She could only feel betrayal if she cared.

“The wager was not well done of you, my lord.” She whirled, narrowly missing a serving maid who had stopped and was watching the discourse with open interest.

Iain took two paces forward. “Remember what I said? No denying the truth.” Her eyes snapped onto him, and his heart twisted at the pain he saw there.

Christ, he had handled this badly.

“You speak of truth, yet toy with me.” Her gaze shifted to Father Brennan. “And you. I would not have believed a priest capable of plotting in such a manner.”

Father Brennan’s face turned ashen. “I-I-did not— that is—”

She again headed for the door.

Iain reached her in an instant and grabbed her arm. He ignored the wince that flashed across her face and pulled her closer. “Marrying me is repugnant, yet you have no qualms about letting me between your legs?”

“You take liberties and I am to thank you for using it against me?”

“I should have told you about Ho—”

“Nay.” She yanked free. “’Tis Father Brennan you should not have told. Faith, how does a priest instruct

a man to seduce a woman?”

Iain stared. “You think me in league with your priest?”

“You have said it.”

He leaned to within a hair’s breadth of her nose.

“And you believe he instructed me to—” Iain swore. She colored, and he looked at Father Brennan. “Tell her.”

Father Brennan gave them both an uncertain look. “Your brother-in-law came to the abbey looking for you.”

“My—Edwin?”

“Aye,” Father Brennan confirmed. “He is on his way here even as we speak, and he brings men-atarms.”

She swayed.

Iain steadied her. “Are you all right, lass?”

She nodded. “’It is just…a surprise. That is all. A surprise.”

Iain studied her. “This has been an eventful night for you.”

“It has,” she said.

“You understand why we must marry, then?” he asked.

“Marry?” Her eyes cleared. “You tricked me.” “I did not,” Iain answered with genuine feeling. “You were the one who threw down the gauntlet. It is not my fault you were unable to carry it.”

“No one in their right mind would be expected to pay a debt in this manner.”

He gave her an assessing look. “I recall you saying a woman had just as much honor as a man.” Her mouth thinned, but she said nothing, and Iain addressed Father Brennan. “Tonight, Father.”

Iain turned and started toward the table. From the corner of his eye, he saw the object fly toward him. A chorus of warning shouts rang out as he ducked and a pitcher crashed into the wall behind him. A roar of protests followed when ale showered him, Thomas, and several others sitting nearby. Stunned, Iain looked at Thomas, who looked back at him with just as much shock. Iain glanced at the lass, and the maid who stood stone still, the pitcher she’d been carrying gone.

Iain looked back at Thomas, feeling a comical lack of concern. “Seems I made the mistake of forgetting the lady’s love of throwing things.”

The din halted when he turned and strode toward the retreating woman. Step by deliberate step he moved closer, his eyes conveying the command that her passion should be saved for the wedding night, when he was stopped by a single word.