“Victoria!” Father Brennan’s shout brought with it a silence as deafening as the earlier clamor had been.

Victoria winced, but Iain suspected it was due to the priest’s betrayal and not the reprimand the single word held.

“You go too far,” Father Brennan said. “Come here.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Victoria.”

“Aye, Victoria,” Iain echoed. “Come here.”

Undaunted by the stubborn shake of her head, Iain again advanced on her. She retreated several paces, then stopped and cast a glance at the interested onlookers. Iain drew her close. She shoved at his chest, but he lifted her hand and pressed the delicate fingers to his lips.

“Victoria MacPherson. A fine name. What say you, Father?” he asked without looking away from her. “Have we time for a wedding?”

A shadow entered her eyes that startled him. “I will not be trapped into marriage.”

He squeezed her hand. “This is no trap. We must marry without delay.” Determination displaced the fear in her expression, and he added, “Unless you prefer England and your only living relative?”

She stilled and he wondered if he shouldn’t kill the earl, then dare King Henry to venture into the Scottish Highlands in search of him. Being a hunted man would save Victoria from being shackled to him, a man she considered little better than the devil that was now on his way to claim her. What had Hockley done to incite such fear in her?

Her brow furrowed with indecision and all resolve vanished. He couldn’t live without her. Iain pressed the advantage. “Our union cuts all ties with him. Do you understand?”

“Aye.”

Her quick acquiescence didn’t bring the expected jubilation. Instead, when they drew together and Iain accepted the solemn vow to care for her the remainder of his days, Victoria lowered her head so that he couldn’t see her face.

Her gaze remained downcast as she began repeating her vows. “I, Victoria Hockley, take you,

Iain MacPherson, to be my husband—” she faltered.

Dread tightened his gut. What she was hiding? With a finger, Iain tipped her face upward. Their eyes met and a tinge of red colored her cheeks.

Father Brennan leaned forward and gave her an encouraging look. “You must finish before I can name you man and wife.”

She nodded, and Iain released as she said, “In the presence…”

“…of God,” Father Brennan said.

“…of God,” she repeated, “and before these witnesses I promise to be a loving, faithful…”

“…and loyal wife.” Father Brennan nodded.

“…and loyal wife to you, for as long as we both shall live.”

“Dhuitsa, gus an dèan Dia leis a' bhàs ar dealachadh…to you, until God shall separate us by death,” Iain ended. He claimed her lips with his own, gentle, so as to keep his passion in check, then broke the embrace and hugged her to his side as he faced the assembly gathered in the great hall. “My wife.”

Victoria jumped with the loud cheer that resounded in the room, and Iain decided they could both use some of the mead now being passed around. He started for the table when a guard entered the room and whispered something in Thomas’s ear. Thomas motioned to Iain. Iain seated Victoria, then strode to where Thomas stood a few feet away.

“A company of English men-at-arms wait outside the gate,” Thomas informed him.

Iain cursed. “They pushed on ahead.”

“Be glad it was not twenty minutes ago.”

“It would not have mattered,” Iain said. “They would have waited. Send a man out to inquire what they want. I will meet you on the wall momentarily.”

Iain returned to the table where mugs and goblets were already filled for the toasts to follow. The room quieted when a man stood and raised his goblet, saying, “May joy and peace surround you both, contentment latch your door. May happiness be with you now. God bless you evermore.”

Another round of shouts went up, and the women who had jammed into the kitchen doorway during the ceremony surrounded Victoria’s chair. Pleasure rippled through him at sight of his new wife blushing over questions and advice that flowed as easily as the wine.

Iain leaned over and whispered, “I must go, love, but I will come to you later.”

She blinked, then her eyes widened. Iain smiled confirmation and, with a kiss meant to linger until that later meeting, he left her to deal with the wellwishers.

Embossed in gold wax, the crest of Edwin Hockley, Earl of Lansbury, remained unbroken on the missive Iain held ten minutes later. He shifted his attention from the document and looked over the walls at the English soldiers gathered below. A white flag whipped in the wind, high above their ranks.

“Father Brennan was right,” Iain told Thomas. “There are but fifty of them. No threat if they mean mischief.”

“Aye,” Thomas agreed. “Which probably means their mischief comes in a more sinister manner.”

Iain shot him an accusing look. “You have a bad habit of pointing out the obvious. Have you been told that before?”

Thomas appeared thoughtful. “Nay. I feel certain this is the first I have heard of it.”

“Well, you do.” Iain broke the seal on the parchment and read the contents.

Iain MacPherson

By order of King Henry VII you are commanded to release Victoria Hockley, Countess of Lansbury, to her brother-in-law, Edwin Hockley, Earl of Lansbury.

Signed by King Henry VII, sovereign ruler of Great Britain, this twenty-ninth day of August, year of our Lord fifteen hundred and eight.

“Short and to the point,” Iain murmured. He handed the note to Thomas.

Thomas read it, then said, “A man of decisive action.”

Iain accepted the document back from him, glanced down at it, and sighed. “Let the games begin.”

* * *

All merry-makers were cleared from the hall and Iain sat at the table, half a dozen warriors at the wall nearest him when the door opened and Edwin Hockley was escorted into the great hall. Iain recognized the Italian rapier strapped to Hockley’s thigh. Though not as elaborate a sword as many in the noble caste wore, the delicately engraved, blackened hilt spoke of a simple elegance that said functionality was more important than ostentatious trappings. Thomas had been right. Edwin Hockley was a man of action.

Hockley halted in front of him, and Iain said, “What business has the king ordering my wife from her home?”

Surprise flickered in the earl’s eyes. “Wife?”

“Wife.”

“I was not aware my sister-in-law had intentions of remarrying.”

“Intentions?” Iain repeated. “She is married.”

“I was not aware she was married,” Edwin said, adding, “Neither was her king aware she was married.”

“You will inform him.”

“You understand if I feel compelled to see the wedding certificate.”

Iain barked a laugh. “You understand if I do not feel compelled to show you anything.”

“Where is she that I may offer my felicitations? As a member of her family, I would see her well off.” “I am her family now,” Iain countered.

“You would send me home without seeing her?”

“Being able to return home is privilege enough.”

“We have come in peace,” the earl answered so skillfully, Iain knew the answer was practiced.

“So the English have said for centuries,” he replied. “We have learned to mistrust first and ask questions later.”

A look of speculation commingled with arrogance crossed Edwin’s face. “How does that philosophy extend to Victoria?”

“My wife,” Iain used the word he noticed Hockley had avoided, “does not concern you. What should concern you is your safe passage home.”

The postern door opened and Iain cursed at sight of his wife. “My lord—” Her gaze met Hockley’s and she halted. Her flushed face melted into cool civility.

“Edwin.”

The earl strode toward her. “Victoria.” He reached her side, then took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “It is good to see you. You are well?”

Iain’s interest sharpened when Victoria disengaged her hand. Blatantly ignoring her brother in-law’s greeting, she hurried to Iain’s side.

“My lord, I must speak with you at once.”

He motioned for everyone to vacate the room, but Victoria shook her head. “Nay, outside.” She inclined her head closer. “Do not allow Edwin to follow.”

Iain nodded to the nearby guards to remain in the hall with the earl, then accompanied Victoria to the postern door. He opened the door, stood aside for her to pass ahead of him, and caught sight of the half dozen MacPherson men, swords drawn, opposite the five men allowed in with Hockley, their swords also drawn.

Iain took two large steps and grabbed Victoria’s arm and yanked her to a halt. “Return to the castle, at once—my chambers—and lock the door.” He scanned the group, saw Thomas, his back toward he and Victoria, then shoved her toward the castle. “Go.” “Not until you make them release her.”

“Do as I say—” He jerked his gaze onto Victoria.

“Her?”

She pointed at the group and Iain blinked at sight of a woman at young Riley’s side. She was small and tucked close to the opposite side of the young warrior. Iain hadn’t seen her at first glance.

“Order Riley to release her.” Victoria tugged on his arm.

“Who is she?”

“My stepdaughter.”

His head gaze snapped onto her. “Step—” Victoria started forward.

Iain grabbed her arm. “Cease running into battle.” He yanked her to his side and approached the men. When they neared the band, he said, “It does not appear Riley is hurting her.”

“He thinks to keep her,” Victoria said.

“Keep—Sounds—” Iain choked, “—like a fine idea to me.” Through a badly managed fit of laughter, he added, “I have known such situations to come to a good end.” He released Victoria and stepped in front of Riley to study the girl closer. “She is a fine looking lass.” He stopped at the scowl on Victoria’s face. “For Riley, that is,” he added.

Tears spilled over the girl’s lashes.

Victoria patted her arm. “Courage, Katherine. All will be well.”

“Aye,” Iain said, recalling Victoria’s own reaction to those very same words. “All will be well.”

Murder appeared on her face. “She is a child.”

Iain looked at Katherine. Even the shadows of night couldn’t disguise the fact that she looked full-grown, and he didn’t hesitate to say so.

“He cannot have her,” Victoria said through clenched teeth. “As my stepdaughter, she falls under your protection. Tell Riley to release her.”

Iain said nothing, and Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Surely, there are some advantages to being your wife.”

Trapped, said the hare to the fox. “Surely there are,” he said. “Riley, release her.”

“Laird,” the young man protested.

Iain shook his head. “Nay, lad.”

Riley reluctantly released her, and she flung herself into Victoria’s arms. Iain wasn’t surprised when his wife didn’t bother with a backward glance as she led the girl away. Watching the two of them, it occurred to him his wife was even less alone in the world than he had imagined just that afternoon.

“Thomas,” Iain said. “See to it that the English do not leave the courtyard.”

Thomas smiled and faced Edwin’s men. “Well, lads,” he said as Iain turned back toward the castle, “do you wish to dance more tonight?”

Iain returned to the great hall. Sight of Hockley snapped him from the amusing memory of Victoria’s outraged expression when she’d stated that Riley intended on keeping the girl.

“Where is Victoria?” the earl demanded.

“She is otherwise engaged.” Iain crossed the room and seated himself in his chair. “You have delivered your message, Hockley, what else do you want?”

“I am aware of the circumstances of your marriage, MacPherson.”

“Are you now?”

“You cannot hold her.”

The words were spoken in a low voice, but Iain recognized the threat. “An Englishman with the gift of second sight.” He paused as if to consider.

“Interesting.”

“A forced marriage will not be upheld in a court of law. English or Scot.”

“Did she looked forced?”

“I know Victoria quite well,” Edwin stated. “She is adept at hiding things.”

Iain’s fingers tightened around the arm of his chair. “It is in your best interest to go back where you came from. I have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to the ramblings of yet another Sassenach.”

“My only concern is her happiness,” Edwin said.

“A brother could do no less.”

“A brother can do a great deal less.” Iain came to his feet, bringing the guards to attention. “It might interest you to know, the announcement of your imminent arrival made her decision all the easier.”

A muscle in Edwin’s jaw worked. “If I find she is being held against her will, I will come for her…and you.”

Iain shook his head. “You come into my house and threaten me? I must look the fool.”

“Whether or not you are a fool, only time will tell.”

“I am not such a fool as to leave you to roam free on my land,” Iain interjected. “Take your men and be gone tonight.”

“You would keep me from speaking with her?” Edwin’s tone was calm, the sort of calm spoken by a man who knew his position to be unimpeachable.

“She has expressed no desire to see you. In fact, she appears to be avoiding you.”

“She could do nothing less when you stand nearby like a bird of prey.”

Iain recognized the ploy, but he also knew, as yet, he had no marriage certificate and, as mighty as Clan Chattan was, they would not look kindly on having their confederate brought low by an English sovereign. King James would, no doubt, comply with England were Iain found to be in fault.

“I will allow you to speak with her, but not tonight. You may return tomorrow. That is,” Iain paused, “unless you fear entering Fauldun Castle alone.”

A corner of Edwin’s mouth twisted as he answered, “And if she wishes to return home?”

“She is home.”

* * *

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.”

The smile never left his face, and it seemed he moved in slow motion as he approached. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Victoria stiffened to keep from tilting toward him when the mattress shifted beneath his weight. His back to her, Iain leaned forward and grasped a boot. Muscles strained against his shirt. Victoria’s heart jumped in an erratic beat and she jerked her gaze onto the wall where played shadows cast by the bedside candle.

With each tug of his boot, the bed danced in unison with the light on the wall. When a boot hit the floor, she threw herself on her side facing away from him, yanking the covers over her head.

A long moment of silence followed, and the bed lifted when he stood. The rustling of material confirmed he was discarding his clothes. A tug on the covers, ghostly light, and he slipped into bed beside her. A gentle arm wrapped around her waist, and his warmth covered the length of her from behind. His hard length pressed into her buttocks. She tried to halt the tremor in her belly, but couldn’t. He wanted her, was ready for her. Light kisses trailed along the side of her neck. His arm unfolded from around her and fingers traced an airy line along her side, past her waist to the gentle arc of her hips. She shivered. Warm breath bathed her neck and her heart jumped into an erratic pattern.

His hand sought the soft flesh of her thigh then pulled her leg back toward him and a finger dipped into the unguarded core of her body. Tender warmth spread through Victoria. He ceased stroking her to tug her onto her back. Coming to his knees, Iain pulled her into a sitting position. She didn’t realize his intention until, in one easy motion, he had her night rail over her head.

A shocking tide of desire swept through her when he came down on top of her. His lips met hers. Soft and pliable, they contrasted the hard part of him that moved in hot need against her thigh then, just as demanding, along the surface of her folds. She raised her hips to accommodate him, and he entered her in one quick thrust. Her intake of breath startled her, and a ripple of something deep within her radiated outward as he nipped at her ear.

“Sweet Victoria.”

Her heart leapt. He knew her name, had claimed her. Tears threatened and the unexpected need to push him away caused her grip on his shoulders to tense. As if sensing her intention, he moved faster, meeting her need with a heat grown fierce with knowledge of its prey. His face lifted from her neck and his gaze met and held hers as he thrust harder…faster. A quiver began deep in her core and, like a moth to flame, she gave into the rhythm.

* * *

Victoria lay awake, her thoughts centered on the even breathing of the man asleep beside her. Waning candlelight flickered across his features as if in harmony with every breath he took. She eased onto her side and, with a tentative hand, traced the muscles of his arm. He stirred and she drew back, closing her eyes in feigned sleep.

When his breathing again evened out, she relaxed and a sudden weariness overtook her. A weariness she knew had as much to do with the appearance of her relatives as it did with Iain MacPherson. At the thought of Edwin Hockley, Victoria rolled to the other side of the bed with the intention of rising. “Where are you going?”

She paused. “To look in on Katherine.”

Iain reached out, his arm going round her waist, and tugged her to him. He nuzzled her ear. “This is our wedding night and already you are trying to escape me?”

She ignored the quiver in the pit of her stomach.

“I have been thinking, my lord.”

“Thinking is the last thing you should be doing tonight,” he said, his voice husky.

“I am wondering,” she forged on despite his romantic efforts, “if Edwin would allow Katherine to stay.”

Iain’s amorous advances halted. “Stay? You mean here?”

She winced at the boom of his deep voice in her ear. “She was never welcome in Richard’s household, and I doubt it is any better in Edwin’s house.”

Iain leaned away and looked at her. “Did Hockley treat you as your husband did?”

She shook her head. “Nay.”

“He never hurt you?”

“Nay.”

“Then why do you fear him?”

“I do not fear him,” she answered. “I simply have no great love for him.”

“Why?”

She hesitated before saying, “I thought you said tonight was not a night for such things.”

Iain grunted. “Aye, and this conversation bears out the logic. Still, you insisted, so here we are. Tell

me what you know of him.”

“I know very little.” Victoria eased her conscience with the logic that she had, indeed, found out just how little she knew of him. “When I was married to

Richard I seldom saw him.”

“And after his death?”

“Edwin was away when Richard died. By the time he received word, Richard was long buried, and

I had gone.”

“Is that when you fled to Montrose Abbey?”

Victoria regarded him. “I retired to Richard’s country estates after his death.”

“You did not see Hockley at all?” Iain asked.

“He returned when he received word that Lord

Grayton wished my hand in marriage.”

Iain bolted upright. “What—who is Lord

Grayton?”

“No one.”

Iain’s mouth thinned. “How many others are there?”

“Others?”

“Aye, other men.”

Victoria stiffened. “I do not comprehend your meaning.”

Iain swung his legs over the edge of the bed and took a candle from the box of unlit tapers and held the tip to the flame of the guttering candle. “I am wondering how many more men will come calling for you.”

“How many more—” Fury shot to the surface. “Well, Lord Keeper” —Iain’s head jerked in her direction— “if you like, in the morning, I shall create a list for you. But I warn you, it will take the better part of the day.” Victoria snapped her fingers. “I must remember to add your name to the list.”

“Christ!” Iain slammed the new candle into the holder and threw himself onto her. “There will be no lists,” he growled with a fierceness that startled her.

“And no additions to any imaginary list.”