Where had Conor gone? Victoria sat on the cot, her legs up against her chest. She'd been there for hours, not daring to go outside, except once in a dash to relieve herself, returning without delay.

She could not stroll about in her current attire. She'd not thought to bring something less colorful along and now she was forced to remain inside Conor's tent until his return.

Finally, the tent flap lifted and Conor entered, his eyes immediately searching for her. He held two bowls of food and a cloth bundle, which he placed on a small table.

Victoria's stomach grumbled and she scrambled over to where he stood. Conor took her by the shoulders and looked down at her. "I apologize for not listening to you earlier."

Her eyebrows lifted and then she lowered them and stepped back with a shrug. "Will you listen to me now?"

"Aye." Conor looked to the food. "While we eat."

They sat. He opened the cloth and took out bread, which he tore apart, and placed a large chunk in her bowl.

She sopped up the broth with a piece of bread and began to eat. Surprisingly, the food was actually delicious.

"Did you mean to tell me Calum plans to give you to Dugan?" Conor's eyes met her gaze without expression.

"Yes and to tell you that I am not going to marry anyone. I am returning to England." She lifted her chin in challenge. "I am not part of your clan; your brother cannot force me to marry against my will."

"He can," Conor said, and then took a breath. "He plans for me to marry, as well."

The air left her chest and Victoria could only stare straight ahead. Was this really their destiny? Her marriage to Darien Turner was a sad disappointment. Although she never aspired to a fairytale ending, she wanted more out of a marriage than a man who bedded maids openly and treated her with disdain. She did not plan to experience a loveless marriage again.

"You may not have a choice, but I do." Victoria pushed away from the table. "I will escape at the first opportunity." She stomped over to where Conor sat and placed her hands on both sides of his face.

"Is this what you want Conor? Do you want to be in a marriage with someone that you don't love? Care for at least?"

He did not reply. Instead, he studied her face as if seeking an answer to the question in her features.

"I refuse, Conor. I was already in one loveless marriage and would rather die than marry a man I do not care for."

"You were married? When, and to whom?"

It was time for him to learn who she truly was. "I am not Victoria Westcott, Conor."

His eyes widened slightly but he waited, seeming to hold his breath.

"I am actually Victoria Turner. You killed my husband, Lord Turner when you raided the house in England."

She held her breath as she waited for his response. Conor stood and paced away from her, his head bent in thought. He turned back to her, his expression searching. "Did you love him?"

Not the response she expected. "No, my husband was a cruel man who mistreated me."

He came to her and wrapped his arms around her. "I don't know what to say to you. I find I can't apologize."

"I understand your reasons for the raid and do not wish to speak of it right now. Tell me you'll help me go home. Please Conor, let me go, return me to my family." She placed her forehead on his chest. "I admit, I have strong feelings for you. I don't expect the sentiment to be returned, but respect how I feel about you enough to allow me to go. Maybe someday I will find happiness elsewhere."

They remained in each other’s arms for a long moment. Victoria looked up at him and for the first time since meeting him, Conor looked to be distraught. "I cannot go against my brother's wishes. He raised my sister and I. Calum rose to the challenge of laird at a young age, when our father perished not long after our mother." He took a breath; she laid her ear against his chest, enjoying his solid comfort. "I admire Calum. His decisions are always with thoughts of what is best for the clan."

Victoria lifted her face and he lowered his, taking her breath away with gentle kisses, lips traveling from one end of her mouth to the other. He continued to kiss her, his arms not moving while he savored her lips. She opened her eyes and saw his were closed, squeezed tight.

It became clear. Although reluctant to let her go, Conor would not go against his brother's wishes.

She slid her hands up his back and kissed him hard. Victoria pulled back. "I'm sorry, I must go then."

"It's not possible Victoria." His face was contorted, as if in pain. "Stay with me tonight. We will discuss what we can do about your situation in the morning, perhaps you can remain in the household."

Her body screamed yes, but she hesitated. Was she willing to once again find paradise in his arms, only to be torn away?

Her options were limited at the moment. She lifted to her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down to her. "All right, I will stay with you tonight. But I will not remain as your whore, I will not stop attempting to escape."

"And I will do what I can to stop you." He pushed her blouse down, and her skirts followed, while she struggled to remove his clothing as well. Soon both were nude.

Conor went to the cot and took the furs off, placing them onto the ground. He then took her hand and led her down to lay with him. He brought her against him, his hand sliding up and down her body, from her back to her bottom. His heated breath across her skin soothed as he held her without speaking.

She slid her palms up Conor's back. The contrast of the smooth skin over his hard, muscular body enthralled her. He tasted delicious; Victoria traced kisses across his chest, flicking her tongue over his nipple when she reached it. His breath quickened and he arched into her mouth. She swirled her tongue over and around it, delighted at how responsive he was to her.

His cock pulsed against her stomach and she reached down to caress it. Conor pushed into her hand and she wrapped her fingers around the thick shaft, allowing it to glide down the length of him.

"Ah." Conor gasped, and lifted her face to him, taking her mouth with his in an ardent assault of lips and teeth. At once his hands were all over her, his body taut, hardened by tension.

She released his cock and cupped his hard buttocks, her nails scoring lightly across them.

Unlike their previous times together Conor did not hurry in taking her. Instead he held her and pressed kisses to her face and throat, each one separate and slow. Then his hands slid down her chest to knead her breasts, he bent to kiss each one.

With one knee pressed between her legs, he positioned himself between them. Once settled, he lifted to his elbows and looked down at her. "Why do I feel I cannot let you go?" He asked, his brows drawn. "I find it impossible to think of you with Dugan or any other."

Victoria did not reply, not wishing to break the spell his admission brought. Instead she maintained eye contact and slid her hand down his ripped stomach and then reached between them and took him in hand again.

Conor closed his eyes and let a breath out. "Guide me to you."

She placed his hardness against her entrance, and he pushed into her with one fluid motion.

He wrapped her legs up around his waist, lifting her so he knelt between them. With his hands on her hips, his eyes locked on her, he pumped in and out, his movements quick and hard.

Victoria fought not to lose control when he tapped deep a special place inside her, threatening to send her to oblivion faster than ever before. She could only hold onto his arms and stare into the grey depths of his long-lashed eyes.

Each of his features perfect to her; she slid her gaze up from the cleft at his chin, to his full lips and sculpted nose. He'd closed his eyes now, lashes fanning down over his strong cheekbones.

His hands held her hips tighter and Conor began to thrust faster, soft grunts escaping his lips.

Victoria cried out, no longer able to hold back. She pushed up against him when her walls constricted around his hardness.

He continued pumping with vigor, his face now contorting with the exertion.

"Ahhh!" Conor called out, and he too, lost control.

His arms encircled her and he kissed her face and slipped out of her. Victoria held on to him fighting the urge to cry once again, but a soft sniffle escaped.

Worried eyes met hers. "Do not cry Victoria, I do not want to be the cause of your tears."

"I'm sorry," she replied and pushed her face into his neck. "I will not weep."

In the nest of furs against his heated strong body, Victoria furrowed deeper against him, enjoying the feeling of protection it brought. Never had she felt so close to someone and so secure than at the moment. Fleeting as it was. "This will be our last time together Conor. I cannot continue to allow this to happen between us."

He cupped her chin and lifted her face, his serious eyes locked to her. "There is something I must do." His lips pressed tight, eyebrows drawn; Conor stood and began to dress. Without speaking, he hurried from the tent, while Victoria sat in the center of the furs and wondered where he went.

Moments later, hooves sounded and Victoria grabbed her clothes to jerk them on.

Just as she reached the opening, Conor returned to the tent. He wrapped her in the furs and lifted her from the floor. With a grim set to his jaw, he carried her out.

"Where are we going?"

Every bit the hardened Highlander again, he did not reply, but threw Victoria upon the horse, then mounted behind her. He guided the steed to a wagon and called out.

"Dugan."

Furs moved, and the Scot rose up, rubbing his eyes. He gawked at them, his eyebrows hitched. "What are you doing?"

"Tear the missive to the McNeil to pieces," Conor told him. "I am riding to the nearest village where I will marry Miss Westcott."

Not waiting for a reply, Conor urged the horse to a gallop.

Victoria remained silent, cocooned in the warmth of the furs between Conor's arms her mind awhirl.