Iain repressed a laugh at the distracted nod the lass gave the woman who placed the supper plate on the meeting hall table in front of her. While it was impossible to hear her words from where he sat across the room, her polite, but preoccupied, expression was nothing new that day. Her attention was clearly divided between studying her surroundings, the crowd gathered for the evening and, most important, the MacPherson warrior whom she had come to understand was her guard. As her attention slid passed Iain, he caught the telltale flicker of her eyes and knew she realized he had been watching her. Her attention dropped to her food, confirming her wish to hide the fact she had been thinking of the very thing she had promised not to: escape.

“Where would you escape to, lass?” he wondered in a low voice.

“What is that you say?” Johannas asked from across the table.

Before Iain could respond, the door of the meeting hall swung open. The crowded room quieted and Iain turned. Samuel Menzies stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room until meeting Iain’s gaze. Samuel started forward, followed by three men, and stopped just short of Iain’s chair.

“Would have come sooner if I knew you were here,” Samuel said.

“I imagine so,” Iain replied. “Will you have a drink?”

The older man glanced at the bottle of whiskey.

“Dawilneh’s finest?”

“Nothing less.” Iain filled a glass and handed it to him.

In one quick swig, the liquid disappeared down Samuel’s throat. He let out a long whistle. “Still the best in all of Scotland.” He slammed the glass down on the table. “You know why I have come?”

Iain nodded. “Aye, Samuel. Though I had not expected you tonight.”

Samuel gave him a questioning look.

“I was told you were up north.”

“Come back early,” Samuel said with a grimace. “I am not overly fond of that side of the family, if you

know what I mean?”

“Family can be a nuisance,” Iain agreed.

Samuel looked around the room. “I see you brought men with you. Expecting trouble?”

“Should I be?” Iain asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“A man gets what he gives.”

“Only if he has given it.”

Samuel studied him. “Havena’ seen Kayleigh in some time.”

“You know what I have to say on that matter,” Iain said. “What is done is done. The girl is happy.

Would you have me tear her from her husband?”

“The lass is a Menzies,” Samuel answered heatedly. “She should have married one.”

“’Tis five years passed, man,” Iain said. “How long will you plan on carrying a grudge?”

“Until the debt’s paid.”

“You and I both know your daughter wanted to marry John,” Iain said with a weary sigh.

“Nay,” the old man argued. “The lad took her.

She had no choice.”

The clatter of a bowl hitting the floor brought everyone’s attention to the corner where the lass snatched the offending item from where it had landed. Iain shot her a quelling look before returning his attention to Samuel.

“There have been plenty of opportunities over the years for you to find a lass to replace Kayleigh.”

Samuel looked around the room. “There are plenty of women here tonight. Seems only fair they should have an opportunity to choose.”

Iain didn’t bother to glance at the women he knew were familiar with the old man’s ritual of finding a substitute for the daughter he sorely missed. “Be my guest. Ask away. Any who wish to leave, have my blessing.”

With a loud show of clearing his throat, Samuel straightened. “Listen, lasses. I offer the protection of the Menzies clan. Come with me and you will want for nothing.”

The room was silent for a moment before one voice spoke up. “Any woman?”

Iain shot to his feet as the owner of the voice stepped forward. Samuel’s gaze fixed on the lass as she stepped from behind the table back to Iain.

“I find this offer interesting,” she said, elbowing her way past the women and coming to stand next to Samuel.

“Lass,” Iain thundered, “you have no idea what you are doing. Sit down and be quiet.”

She shook her head. “You said any woman who wished to leave had your blessing.”

“Any woman but you.”

“That is not what you said.”

“You know full well you cannot leave.” Iain’s raised voice quieted the voices that had grown louder.

“What the devil?” Samuel walked around

Victoria, surveying her with a critical eye. “You are

Sassenach.”

“And she cannot leave,” Iain confirmed again.

Samuel’s eyes narrowed on Iain. “Eh, and why not? She is right. You did say any woman could leave, and with your blessing, no less.”

“Any but this one,” Iain growled. “Do not try me on this, Samuel. Up until now the game has been in fun, but this woman stays.”

“Why?”

“Because she is mine.”

“Yours?” Samuel split a doubtful look between the two of them, then said, “Ahh, a tasty wench, is she?” He nodded. “Well, I suppose if she already

belongs to you…”

“But I do not.”

Her objection came in such a reasonable tone, Iain could only stare.

“But Iain has said you do,” Samuel said.

“’Tis only his delusion,” she said. “I do not belong to him. Oh, aye, he stole me and thinks that gives him ownership, but…” she shrugged.

Samuel’s dumbfounded gaze swung to Iain. “You stole her?”

“She is a guest,” Iain said between clenched teeth.

“Guests can come and go as they please,” she interjected.

Iain narrowed his eyes on her. “I warn you, do not meddle in things you know nothing about.” He jerked his head, and her guard appeared at her side. “Take her to her room—nay, take her to my room. And do not leave the door until I arrive.” He shifted his focus to her. “I will attend to you later.” He gave her a severe look before turning back to the old man.

“Your business here tonight is finished, Samuel.”

“So you will play it that way, then?” Samuel countered in an aggrieved tone. “’Tis a fine thing to change the rules as you please.”

“Ha!” The lass’s voice cut in as the guard struggled to lead her to the door. “You do not know the half of it.”

“Seems to me,” Samuel went on, “you are not playing fair with the lassie.”

“You know nothing of it,” Iain said, throwing himself back into his chair. “So I would offer you the same advice I did her: do not meddle in things that are not your concern.”

“Well, now,” a dark brow rose, “a lady in distress is always a man’s business.”

“She is not in distress. Yet.” Iain muttered. “As to the other matter, if you have a problem with John MacPherson, speak with him. But,” Iain held up a finger, “if you make trouble for those two, you deal with me. They have another child, you know,” he added more gently.

Samuel nodded. “Aye, Sylvia told me. But

Kayleigh hasna’ once asked me to come.”

“Only because she fears you will kill her husband,” Iain said, for once not feeling one wit of compassion for the old fool. “Cannot say I blame her.”

Samuel motioned to his men. “I do not need to waste more time here. But I still say—”

“I know, I know.” Iain waved a hand. “One of these days a MacPherson lass will wed a Menzies,” he repeated the phrase exactly as he’d heard it the past five years. “There is nothing I would like better.” He sighed. “But for now, off with you. I have had a trying day.”

Half an hour later, feet propped up on his chair, Iain had just begun a second scotch and was in full sail planning retribution for his spoilt evening when the front door once again burst open. At the sight of the lass’s guard—fear on his face and a smattering of blood on his forehead—Iain swung to his feet and was standing when the man reached his side.

“They took her, Laird.”

“Bog Mor,” Iain cursed loudly, earning himself more than a few recriminating looks from the women present for the guttural curse. Samuel Menzies picked a devil of a time to make good on his threat.

* * *

At first, it seemed a godsend, but now, surrounded by strangers, a hard ride on a moonless night cast serious doubt on the wisdom of her judgment.

Samuel maneuvered his horse up alongside

Victoria. “Are you all right, lass?” She nodded.

“Can you ride the night?” He glanced around the open countryside. “Iain will not waste any time coming after us once he discovers you are gone. If need be, I can have you ride with one of the lads.”

Victoria shook her head. “I doubt I will sleep a wink.”

Samuel grinned. “Nervous?”

“I suppose,” Victoria said, surprised he understood.

“Do not worry. Iain will have no claim on you once we reach Glecairne.”

Memory rose of Iain’s muscled chest beneath her fingers. Her pulse skipped a beat. She would be truly beyond his reach? “You are sure?” she asked.

“Of course,” Samuel said. “Once you are married to Grant even the MacPherson cannot touch you.”

Victoria nearly fell from the saddle. Fumbling with her grip on the pommel, she regained her balance. “What in Hades?”

“Are you all right?” Samuel asked.

Groaning, Victoria slumped forward, causing him to call a halt. “What do you mean, married?” she almost shouted once her feet were on solid ground. Samuel eyed her. “You are to marry my son,

Grant.”

“Sweet Jesu.” Victoria dropped down onto the tall grass. “What have I done?”

“What is amiss?” He squatted beside her.

“I have no wish to marry your son.”

He frowned. “Then why did you come with me?”

“How was I to know you intended marriage?” She leaned over, sure she would be ill.

“Every MacPherson woman knows that,” he said. “I am not a MacPherson woman.”

Samuel studied her with a considering air, then said, “Who are you?”

“I am English. You noticed that,” Victoria answered peevishly. “And it was no lie when I said Iain MacPherson took me. He thinks to make me his wife.”

Samuel’s frown deepened. “A Sassenach wife for the MacPherson?” He wagged his head. “I do not believe it.”

“Neither did I,” Victoria mumbled.

“You are a pretty thing.” His gaze moved over her in a masculine manner. “You would make a fine mistress.”

Victoria shot him an indignant look. “I promise you, sir, I would not.”

Samuel winced. “Perhaps not. You would prefer to be wife, then?”

A quiver rippled through her stomach. Iain MacPherson’s wife? She shoved aside the thought. “If you are asking whether I would prefer to be wife or

mistress, I say neither.”

Bushy brows drawn together, Samuel took on a look of polite bewilderment. “You cannot have it both ways, lassie. It will be one or the other. Hmm.” He paused, and Victoria had the feeling the studious look on his face didn’t bode well for her. “I could save Iain a great deal of trouble and have you wed Grant anyway. I cannot believe the MacPherson is in his right mind. Then again, if Iain is anything like his father, that could prove a mistake. His mother ran off with another man, you know.”

Victoria needed no reminders of that story. The churning of her stomach was interrupted by the sound of fast approaching riders. She and Samuel looked up as one of his men appeared.

“Riders.” The man pointed in the direction he had just come. “Ten minutes away.”

Samuel jumped up. “How did they find out you were gone so quickly?” He shot her an accusing look and motioned for his horse. “Mayhap it would be best if we left you here, lass.”

Victoria’s heart jumped to a gallop. Left to her own devices she could make for the castle she had learned lay no more than thirty minutes to the north. Reaching for the reins of her horse, she lifted her foot to the stirrup.

“Nay,” Samuel said. “We will take the horse.

Never mind,” he went on, his voice all reassurance, “you are in no danger. Iain will find you quick enough.”

“But the horse belongs to him,” Victoria shouted to their backs.

She took a few steps toward the band as it disappeared into the darkness before the sound of their retreating hooves were drowned out by the approach of horses behind her. Victoria looked frantically for any form of refuge. Gathering her skirts, she hurried down the hillside, hoping to reach the bushes that lined the bottom of the hill. She hadn’t yet reached them when a shout went up. Victoria dropped to the ground, but a moment later, she was surrounded by her pursuers.

Iain vaulted from his horse and yanked Victoria to her feet. Their eyes met for a dangerous second, then he took a single step forward, bringing their bodies thigh to thigh. His arm shot around her back and, clutching her waist, he lifted her from the ground. Victoria knew an instant of lightheadedness when the wind was squeezed out of her as Iain jerked her hard against his midsection.

She tensed, an unexpected rush of cold air on her legs bringing the comprehension that he was yanking her skirt up. There was no time to protest the breeze against her bare bottom when the sound of a hard slap registered the stinging on her rear end.

“How dare you,” she screamed, but another slap answered. Victoria thrashed. Iain held her tighter, leaving her gasping for breath. “Nay!” The choked shriek was followed by yet another slap, and another, and another. Iain planted her feet back on the ground.

Victoria staggered, but he steadied her, eyes blazing. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “The next one will be with my belt against your bare arse.” Iain turned to his men. “Bring Samuel Menzies back,” he shouted.

The men whirled and, in the next instant, Victoria found herself alone with her captor. Iain pulled her to his side and stepped into his saddle. She yelped when he hauled her across his lap, her stomach across his hard thighs. Iain urged his horse forward, the motion jarring Victoria, causing the pommel to dig into the soft flesh of her stomach.

“Oooh!” She twisted, kicked, and screamed, but Iain responded with a deliberate tug on her skirt, bringing it an inch higher with every threat she threw at him. An attempt to slide off his lap ended with his elbow deep in her derriere.

“Brute,” Victoria screamed against the shoulder of his horse. “Let me go!”

She thrashed even harder and found her skirt over her head. A hard pinch was felt on bare skin in almost the same spot his elbow had been. Her temper slipped past reason and, gripping the thing nearest her—Iain’s leg—Victoria bit down on his calf. He let out a warrior’s yell and his leg shot out in defense, nearly knocking her senseless. Spots raced across her vision. Iain pulled back on the reins and, yanking Victoria into his arms, slid from the saddle. He set her on her feet. She wobbled and he caught her before she toppled over.

“Get your hands off me,” she hissed.

He released her and she fell with a heavy thud to her backside.

“Sweet Jesu.” She reached back to rub the rise of her derrière. “You are a barbarian.”

“A barbarian would beat you, which you deserve.”

“You did,” she said, with vehemence.

“Nay, my lass. That was a gentle warning. Try such foolishness again and you will learn what a real beating is.”

Victoria stopped massaging her back and looked up at him. As his voice had indicated, no remorse showed in his expression. “I do not know why you are angry with me,” she said, suddenly understanding why Samuel had no wish to face him.

“It is not my fault.”

“Not your fault! This whole affair is your doing. If you had kept your mouth shut—nay,” he raised a finger when she started to interrupt. “If you had kept quiet, Samuel would have made his posturing, just as he always does, then left without incident. It has gone on five years, and this is the first attempt to make good on that ridiculous threat.”

Heedless of the sudden throb in her head, Victoria scrambled to her feet. “Do not think to blame

me for this—this—”

“This what?”

“This habit you Scots have of thinking you can make off with a female without so much as an introduction.”

“Nay, lass, this is not the same, and do not think I am ignorant of your part in this scheme.”

“I did not tell him to come for me.”

“You need not have said the words,” Iain’s voice rose a notch, and he took a step in her direction. “You as much as invited them to while I looked on.”

“I only wanted to escape you,” Victoria shouted with a quick step toward him before retreating again.

Iain’s hands worked at his sides. “So, then, you would rather marry Grant?”

“Nay,” she said. “That would not do at all.”

“Then, by God, we will end this once and for all.” Iain yanked her to him. “More than once you have driven me to the fire and left me there to burn.

Tonight we burn together.”

One arm around her waist, Iain pushed her downward. A sense of falling assailed Victoria and she threw her arms around his neck, leaving not a hair’s breadth between their bodies as the force of his weight pinned her to the ground.

“What—” Her protest was cut off when his lips captured hers.

Her head spun and she tried to shake him off, but

Iain moved his hips against her, bringing the dizzying recognition of his arousal. She shoved against his shoulders, but her grip weakened at the feel of the rhythm between them. She heard herself groan as his hand slid from her waist to tug on the sleeve of her dress. A quiver began deep inside her when his lips moved from her mouth, along her cheek, and down to where her shoulder now lay bare. Victoria twisted in his hold at the feel of her skirt again inching upward.

She gasped. “Nay—we cannot—”

Iain’s mouth came to her ear. “We can,” he whispered against the pulse in the hollow of her throat.

She tightened her grip on his shoulders. “This—” she breathed. “I cannot think.” Victoria pushed at him, and he lifted his head to look at her. “You…you are angry.” She realized an urge to cry…and the need to have him wrap his arms around her. “You only wish to punish me.”

“Angry?” he repeated. “Aye, I am angry—angry that your foolish pride nearly took you from me. As for punishment, I am the one who has suffered these past weeks. But no more.” He looked hard at her. “You want me.” His tone, somehow so sure, elicited a shiver.

“I—I do not know.” She shook her head as much out of an effort to clear her mind as to discourage him. And perhaps deny the truth?

She opened her mouth to deny the unbidden thought, but Iain kissed her. His hands worked at the laces of her bodice. The cloth parted and his head dipped to take a nipple between his lips. Vague awareness that his hand was again rucking up her skirt rang a dull bell in her head. She moved beneath him, but escape became a muddled thought with the warmth of his knee wedging itself between her thighs.

Another instant, and his kilt came up, their bodies now in intimate contact. He gripped her legs and urged her knees up in a motion that was gentler than expected. Iain settled between her thighs, and her fingers curved into his shoulders when a wave of dizziness overtook her.

Iain groaned, shaking her from the trance, and she realized his body was seeking entrance into hers. He probed, the hard length of him pressing against her. Drawing back, he reached between them to part the moist folds that barred his way. Victoria flinched at the intimate touch. He responded with gentle kisses along her cheek and throat, then once again found the rosy bud of her breast with his mouth. Reality slipped from her, and Iain surged, seating himself firmly inside.

Victoria stilled. There had been no pain as expected. Instead, her body adjusted to the sudden invasion with ease. Iain kissed the valley between her breasts and slid his hand upward to cup her face. He captured her eyes with his, holding her there for a long moment before covering her mouth in a languorous kiss.

Iain eased out of her, then back again with practiced precision. Victoria braced against expected pain. His thrusts quickened, and when his hips banged against her she was reminded of the day before when she’d watched him crushing rocks. She sensed the control in his movements and trembled in response to the power she knew he kept at bay.

“All is well, love,” he whispered as though he understood her fear. “All is…well—forgive me, sweet,” he rasped. “I cannot—” his movements became frenzied.

His arms wound around her shoulders and he pumped wildly into her. An unexpected wave of pleasure coursed through her. Panic gripped her at the unfamiliar sensation. She tried moving, but Iain held her so tight she couldn’t move. Another wave, and she felt the quiver increase. Another, and then another, but before she could grasp the meaning, Iain gave one last thrust, emptying himself into her.

They lay, their hearts moving in furious rhythm together. What had she done? How had she allowed this to happen…and how was it possible she had found pleasure? Her heartbeat slowed. Iain lifted himself onto his elbows and stared down at her. Victoria was glad for the shadows. She feared what she might read in his face. Or was it what he might read in hers?

He brushed aside locks of hair that lay askew on her forehead. “I suppose—”

The sound of approaching horses jerked his head up. He cursed and jumped up, pulling her with him. The cold of the night engulfed Victoria, and she felt as though someone had doused her with a bucket of icy water.

“Christ,” Iain muttered, and Victoria glanced down to see her bodice still lay open.

She reached for the ties, but her hands shook so badly he shoved them aside and made quick work of the job himself. He hustled her to where the horse stood some feet away and hoisted her into the saddle.

Iain mounted even as his men arrived.

“They are long gone,” one reported.

Victoria felt Iain’s fingers tighten around the reins.

“Not surprising,” he muttered. “Seeing as they left their package behind.”

* * *

The village was abed, the excitement of the lass’s kidnapping finally abated, and Iain headed for her room in the small inn. It was near dawn, but he had no intention of waking up without her.

He entered the dark bedchamber and made his way to the table in the corner. Iain lit a candle, then crossed to the bed. Gazing down at her, hair spilled across her shoulders and onto the white cover that surrounded her, Iain’s body responded to the sweet picture. They had come a long way since that simple kiss yesterday. Iain smiled. Perhaps now was the time to teach her the finer points of a proper kiss. He strode to the corner and pulled off his boots. She stirred and he paused. When she didn’t wake, Iain unwound his breacan and tossed it over a chair.

He returned to the bed, placed a hand on either side of her, bent, and brushed the whisper of a kiss across her lips. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on him. With a small cry, she clutched the blanket to her and shrank against the pillows.

“Shh, love, ’tis just me,” Iain soothed, running his fingers along her arm.

“What are you doing here?” She scanned the room as if expecting to find a specter lurking in the shadows.

“You think I would spend the night away from you?” Iain eased into the bed beside her. “I would not have you think me a man who would take his pleasure and forget his duty,” he said, knowing full well his pleasure had been the very thing on his mind.

Her eyes widened as he drew her to him. His body rumbled at the feel of her. Gently, he brought his lips to hers, but kept the embrace feather light, stroking her with his tongue. Her mouth parted just enough to allow the entrance he desired, and Iain detected a small tremor in response to his light sparring.

He slid a hand beneath the blanket and covered a breast. Her gasp urged him to knead the soft flesh before rolling a taut nipple between his fingers. Her grip on the blanket relaxed and Iain tugged it free.

She reached for the cover.

“Nay, love.” Iain eased her back. “You need not feel ashamed, ’tis only you and I.”

Before she could argue, he slid an arm around her and rolled onto her. Feeling the beckoning call of her heart against his, Iain closed his eyes and drank of the harmony between them. The song of her soul pulled him further inward, sinking him deeper and deeper into those misty depths. He wanted to bury himself in her, but the need to hear her soft sighs stayed him taking her, and he captured a nipple between his teeth.

“So soft,” he breathed. “Like silk.”

Iain slid a hand downward and sucked in breath when his palm came in contact with her bare thigh. He cupped his palm around the triangle of curls that surrounded her femininity, and her breath quickened when he probed the sensitive place there, finding moisture. With the knowledge that she wanted him came a new hunger, and the realization enflamed him until thought became impossible.

“Christ, love, you are ready for me even now.”

He slid his hands across her body in heated anticipation, purposely leaving her no time to consider anything but the feel of his body moving against hers. A moan came from deep within her, and Iain lifted his lips from her mouth.

“Aye, sweet, make as much noise as you like.” Her eyes widened, and Iain chuckled. “No need to be bashful, ’tis music to my ears.”

She wriggled, clearly torn between embarrassment and burgeoning desire. With more quiet laughter, Iain slanted his head over hers and continued his caresses. When she moved impatiently beneath him, he trailed hot kisses along her body, finally reaching her stomach. Tangling her hand in his hair, she gave him a tug. Iain smiled against her.

“Patience, love, I always finish what I start.”

His mouth covered the intimate part of her and she bolted upright. “Sweet God in heaven. N-nay, my lord.” She pushed at him. “You must not.”

Without interruption, Iain shoved her onto her back. He thought it ingenious when she tried to gain purchase with her feet and slide away from him, but he wrapped his arms around her legs and trapped her feet beneath his weight. Once again, he brushed her lightly with his tongue. She rocked against him in another obvious attempt to dislodge him, and Iain considered bringing her pleasure to a hard and quick conclusion. The dawning realization that she had no idea what was in store for her opened the door to such interesting possibilities that he paused to look at her.

“Are you ready for a kiss, lass?” He winked. “It is time you learn what a proper kiss is.”

Iain took her fully into his mouth. He teased, tugging and caressing with his tongue, drawing out her pleasure. Her squirming took on the form of a slight rocking of her hips and, at last, she breathed a plea. She gave a low cry, and her body stiffened, then arched in a full climax. When her back relaxed onto the bed, Iain slid up the length of her, his body taut with a fierce anticipation that brought him inside her with a single thrust. Moist heat surrounded him, and the plan to savor her was undone. He caught her bottom with splayed fingers and plunged deep, again and again.

“Sweet, you feel so good, I vow, I can never have enough of you.”

Her hands slid down the length of his back until the gentle pressure against his buttocks nearly sent him over the edge into oblivion. “Aye, love,” he groaned. “Do not stop.”

“Dear God, I never—” she whispered.

“Neither did I, love, neither did I.”

In the end, his own shout of triumph was no less glorious than hers.