Lord Keeper (6 page)

“Aye,” Victoria murmured as she slipped from behind the wardrobe, “all is well in hand.”

Chapter Seven

As expected, Iain didn’t have to wait long before Father Brennan appeared from the confines of the monastery. Iain’s stallion pranced sideways, nudging a warrior’s horse to his left.

“Father,” Iain said as the priest neared where he and his men waited.

“Good day, Iain.” Father Brennan smiled. “What brings you to Montrose Abbey?”

“Unfinished business.”

Father Brennan lifted a hand and shielded his eyes against the glare of the morning sun. “Stealing tends to interfere with a man’s business.”

“No absolution for my sins, Father?” The priest started to answer, but Iain interrupted. “Thomas heard rumblings of trouble from the Menzies clan, but I have seen no sign of them.”

The priest gave his chin a vigorous rub. “I remember you asking me when…well, I have heard of no problems. What made your cousin think there was trouble?”

“You know how it is with Thomas. He has a knack for knowing these things. He instructed me to stop here, so I did.” Iain laughed. “One would think it was not I who led the MacPhersons, but him.”

“Good of you to oblige him,” the priest said with no little amusement. “I will let him know you did your duty.”

“Christ, I would almost accuse the two of you of being in league against me. With him to the north and you in the south, I feel like a puppet being pulled to and fro.”

“You, a puppet?” Father Brennan grunted. “It will snow in hell when I see that.”

Despite the Father’s mirth, Iain didn’t miss the flicker of unnamed emotion on his face. “I assume I missed your visit to Fauldun Castle?” Iain asked.

“You did. I was not sure when you would return and could not tarry long. I will return in a fortnight.”

“How did you find things there?”

“Well enough.”

“A shame the trip was for naught,” Iain said.

“Do not fret.” Father Brennan waved him off, and Iain knew the priest was purposely acting dense. “There is always much to do when I visit Fauldun Castle. It had been some time since I have been on MacPherson land.” He raised a recriminating brow. “Far too many of your men havna’ had confession. Come to think of it, neither have you. God knows you could use it.”

“Perhaps it is too late for me?”

“Mayhap.”

“You saw the lass?”

The priest made a show of searching his memory. “I believe I did.”

“How did you find her?”

“Well enough, considering.”

“Considering?” At the grave shake of Father Brennan’s head, Iain tensed.

“Considering, she is not among those who care for her.”

All fear, along with Iain’s generous mood, vanished. “She is among those who care for her. You would do well not to insinuate otherwise.”

“Aye, well…you know what I mean.”

“I understand what you wish to accomplish, but ’tis unnecessary.”

Father Brennan’s lips tightened. “She wishes to return to the abbey.”

Iain sighed. “I have been away too long. What did she tell you?”

“That is between her and me.”

“I cannot help but notice you never refer to her by name.”

Father Brennan scratched his head. “I had not noticed.”

“What would her name be, Father?” Iain recognized the feigned look of surprise on the priest’s face.

“You mean she did not tell you?” He made a tsking sound. “What a shame.”

“I would be obliged if you told me.”

Father Brennan smiled. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask me outright. She instructed me not to tell you.”

Iain raised a brow. “Instructed? Seems to be a lot of that going around.”

Another laugh. “Aye, she threatened me with the fires of hell should I betray her confidence.”

The twitch at Iain’s mouth tugged hard. “An interesting threat.”

“Thank God she was born a woman. A man with that cunning would be dangerous.”

“What did she do?”

“She asked to make confession, and during confession she told me her name was—” he cleared his throat. “Afterward, she reminded me that everything in the confessional was privileged.”

“Surely you can see through such a ruse,” Iain blurted.

Father Brennan’s mouth puckered. “Mayhap, but you took her, so now you will have to deal with her on her terms.”

“What terms would those be?” Iain asked, though sure he was getting a fine dose of those
terms
now.

The priest chuckled. “Lad, if I knew that, I would be given sainthood.” His expression sobered. “Her pride has been injured.”

“What do you mean?”

“You took her without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“That has nothing to do with pride. It is the way of things.”

“She is a grown woman, not a young maid. She would prefer to make her own choices and not be dictated to by a husband.”

“The choice has been made.”

“That is not the impression she gave,” Father Brennan replied. “You, on the other hand, have not so much as a pang of conscience?”

“I made no secret I wanted her.”

“Aye.”

“Does she look abused to you?” Iain demanded.

“Nay,” came the grudging reply. There was a moment of silence. “You want her—and you know what I mean,” the priest added with a narrowing of his eyes.

Iain answered with a slow nod.

“I suppose we should talk, then.” Father Brennan turned toward the monastery. “If you wish to go any further, you will come and sit like a civilized man.” He glanced at the darkening sky. “Looks to be a bit of rain.” He was on the grounds now. “The world was not created on your terms, Iain MacPherson, and ’tis time you acted accordingly.”

Admiration surfaced and Iain tossed the reins to one of his men. In one easy motion, he slid from the saddle, then stepped onto holy ground.

* * *

It came as no surprise to learn that Thomas had hit the mark. The lady’s father had been the Marquess of Washburn. Iain couldn’t help regretting that the marquess no longer lived. It would have been interesting to learn what manner of man allowed his daughter to follow the masculine pursuits of science and mathematics. The picture of father and daughter, heads huddled together across a desk, debating the
Commentaries on Mathematical and Astronomical Topics
, vanished as Father Brennan’s story ventured into a dark element.

“’Tis plain her husband hurt her.” Father Brennan shook his head.

Iain focused on the smaller man behind the desk. “What do you mean, hurt her?”

“He beat her.”

“She appears fit.”

“I do not think he made a habit of it, and she is a strong woman. But I am of a mind that was not the worst of it.” The priest hesitated another moment before saying, “He was not good to her in the marriage bed.”

Iain felt a hard tug at his gut. “Can you elaborate?”

Father Brennan sighed. “You know I cannot speak of what goes on in the confessional.”

Iain frowned. “She has confessed some terrible sin?”

“Nay. At least, none I believe are her doing.”

“Christ, man, you speak in riddles. Get to the point.”

“He kept his cousin as a mistress.”

With a faint shake of his head, Iain said, “I cannot imagine wanting one when a man had her, but it is a common enough thing.”

“Not so common—the woman lived in his house.”

Iain lifted a brow. “By God, and they call us heathens.” Sensing things had not quite come to an end, he added, “There is more?”

“I was wondering if you plan on keeping Madeline?”

Caught off guard, Iain was unable to conceal his surprise. “What do you know of Madeline?”

Father Brennan grunted a laugh. “I am a priest, but that does not make me dull witted. I have been coming to Fauldun Castle for many years. I hear what goes on.”

Iain scowled. “Aye, but who is speaking to you of my mistress?”

The priest shrugged. “A man hears things, even if he is a priest. Are you afraid to answer my question?”

Iain regarded him. “I am of a mind you jest, but if it eases your mind, I have no intention of keeping Madeline now that I have—what did you say her name was?”

Father Brennan’s bushy brows rose.

“Well,” Iain drawled, “
the lady
then.” He grimaced. “God in heaven, I would not have the energy, even if I tried.”

“You do not seem unhappy with the prospect.”

“Nay,” Iain agreed. “I am not.”

Chapter Eight

A dark haired woman appeared in the outer kitchen doorway, yanking Victoria’s concentration from the potatoes piled before her, the conversation she’d overheard two days before playing in her mind. The heated Gaelic that spewed from the woman’s lips dispelled the ethereal picture created by her silhouette against the low sun in the sky behind her.

Maude’s expression clouded and she stepped forward to return the stranger’s volley in kind. The woman pushed past the housekeeper, her gaze on Victoria. Heat rushed to Victoria’s cheeks when the young woman’s mouth curved into a sneer as she shot another volley of Gaelic at her. Victoria caught the word
Sassenach
and winced at the venom in the woman’s voice. The woman whirled and stormed from the room.

Maude faced Victoria. “Do not let her bother you.”

“She called me
Sassenach
. Does she hate us so?” Victoria asked as she stared out the door after her.

“Aye,” Maude said. “She has no love for the English.”

Victoria sighed. “I have been here two weeks, why seek me out now to be cruel?”

“She has been away.”

“I see. Now that she has returned, she feels it her duty to put me in my place.”

“Well, I wouldna’ say that,” Maude said. “Had Iain been here—”

“I am sorry for the enmity between the English and the Scots,” Victoria cut in, “but I have committed no wrong against a Scot.” Though there was a particular Scot she would have liked to do bodily damage to.

Maude laughed. “You might consider that Highlanders have no more love for the
Scots
than they do the English, yet you persist in lumping the two together. Never mind. Iain will make it right when he returns.”

“By all that’s holy, how is he to do that? Far too much damage has already been done.”

“Has it now?” Maude asked softly.

Victoria slashed away at the potato she was peeling. “Aye.”

“Well, it seems to me if that be the case, you are a very lucky lass, indeed.”

Furious with herself, as well as the man who remained miles out of her reach, all Victoria could think to say was, “Ha!” before bringing the poor potato to a violent end.

* * *

Iain reveled in the sweet song of hearth and home as he stepped from his horse, then waded through the people who paused in their daily work to welcome him home. With a clap on the back to a well-wisher and a final ruffling of little Simmy’s hair, Iain started for the castle. Thomas emerged from the grove and waved.

He lengthened his stride to catch up to Iain. “All went as planned?”

“Aye,” Iain replied.

“You have been gone longer than anticipated.”

“I had business to attend to,” Iain’s attention snagged on Riley trailing along behind one of the kitchen maids. Even the distance between Iain and the couple didn’t disguise the haughty look on the girl’s face as she turned away from the young warrior. Iain smiled when Riley remained undaunted even when she waved him off as if shooing away a fly.

“How did things fair with Liam?” Thomas asked.

“He promised to see to the punishment.” Iain replied, wondering why the vigor of youth was wasted on those who hadn’t the vaguest notion what to do with it.

“So you left it to him, then?”

“Aye. We shall see how the old man deals with such matters.” Cool air gusted across the courtyard and Iain’s dark hair swirled about his shoulders. He looked toward the distant mountain peaks. “A storm is brewing in the north.” His attention lingered on the dark clouds hovering there. “I wonder if—” Soft music brought Iain to an abrupt halt in front of the postern door. “What is that?”

Thomas listened. “I believe that would be your lady.”

Iain blinked. “She plays?”

“Yes,
mon ami
.” Thomas cocked an ear. “And if I am not mistaken, ’tis Josquin.”

Iain slid his gaze up the side of the castle to the tower window. The unearthly notes of the harpsichord that managed to filter through the sealed shutters wrenched at him.

“She plays every day about this time,” Thomas said. “We have been glad for the music again after so many years.”

Iain turned his stare onto Thomas for a long moment, then pushed open the heavy door and headed for the stairs leading to the north tower.

A moment later, he stood outside the room. His hand shook as he pushed the door ajar, and Iain startled at the sight of his mother’s familiar figure seated on the faded bench. He blinked and the apparition fled, snapping his captive back into focus as her deft hands made love to the instrument much like his mother had so many years ago. He stood transfixed as the lass’s voice held him mesmerized.

The cold of November sets your cheeks full of blush,

And the sky’s full of clouds, still, never fear, never fear

Love moves on the wind, so quiet now, hush.

Be still or you'll miss it, that promise so near.

The future that calls will not so long wait.

Though your soul yearns to follow, still you delay.

Be careful, my sweet, before ’tis too late.

Your heart, it knows, as love comes, so it goes,

And if cast away, all is lost, all is lost.

She stopped so abruptly Iain felt as though a whip had lashed out, drawing blood. He stepped back, leaned against the wall, and waited. A moment passed and more music drifted into the hall. How long he stood listening, Iain didn’t know, but when he finally made his way to the great hall, his men were gathered around the table for the evening meal.

* * *

Victoria moved along the dimly lit corridor with startling familiarity. Strange how a lifetime had so easily melted into a few short weeks. Reaching the library, she closed the distance between the door and the far wall. She gazed at the highest shelf, well beyond her reach where the castle plans lay.

“You are fond of books, mistress?” Thomas said.

Victoria whirled. He leaned against the wall just inside the room. Sweet Jesu, the man did have an uncanny way about him. She was faring no better in the light of day than she had the other night when he and Father Brennan trapped her behind the cabinet.

Thomas flashed a broad grin.

She nodded. “It is a fine library.”

“Indeed.” He straightened and strolled to the desk near her. “Particularly for an uncivilized Highlander.” He picked up the book lying on the desk.

Her cheeks warmed and she cursed the faint curve of the rogue’s mouth. Should she reveal the knowledge of his part in her abduction?

“There are those among us who have found their way into a book or two,” Thomas continued as he thumbed through the volume.

Nay, she decided. The information would be better left for a time when she might demand a favor in return. “Do you have an interest in art?” she asked, noticing the Italian text he perused that referenced the great da Vinci.

Thomas smiled. “I am a simple man, but do, on occasion, find use for such information.”

“This is your library?” Victoria bit her tongue, unsure why she’d asked a question she knew the answer to. Thomas’s face was turned slightly away from her, hiding his features as he studied a page.

“Nay.” He shook his head, giving away a smidgen of the laughter Victoria knew was at her expense. “Eric insisted Iain attend university in Glasgow, therefore it was necessary to have a proper library here.” He waved a hand indicating the wall of books.

“There is a university in Scotland?”

Thomas looked at her. “It rivals even your Oxford and Cambridge. Iain’s father sent him there when he was sixteen. He studied there eight years.”

For a moment Victoria forgot about the man who had kidnapped her and thought only of the boy who had been taken from his parents. “So young,” she murmured.

“’Tis not uncommon.” Thomas shrugged. “And he is an intelligent man. You have noticed.
Oui
?”

She blew out a short breath. “It would be impossible to miss.”

Swinging a thigh onto the corner of the desk, Thomas leaned against the wood. “As it would be impossible to miss about you,
chérie
.”

Victoria gave him a polite smile, while wondering how her intelligence would fare against the canny mind of the
uncivilized
Highlander.

* * *

Once again, the postern door opened and Iain glanced in that direction. When MacPherson men filed in, he rubbed his chin and shifted his attention to the kitchen door.

“Why do you not go and ask?” Thomas asked.

“What?” Iain broke out of his reverie.

“She has developed a friendship with the women in the kitchen.” Thomas spooned more food from the trencher onto his plate. “Perhaps they know where she is.”

Iain rose. “You may be right.” He made his way to the kitchen and found Maude stirring some sort of brew in a large kettle hanging over the fire. “Have you seen the lass?” he asked.

“Vi—uh—oh, aye, the lass.” She shook her head. “Nay, she hasna’ been here tonight.”

Iain frowned. “Is something amiss, Maude?”

She glanced up. “What do you mean?”

Iain studied her. “Never mind. How has she been during my absence?”

“She seems to be settling in well.”

A wave of relief swept through him. “Does she not take her meals in the great hall?”

“Aye.”

“But you have no idea where she is?”

Maude shook her head. “It is early, she may yet show up.”

Before Iain could respond, his attention was captured by muffled voices coming from the pantry. It was Joanna’s voice he discerned first.

“I tell you, the tale will be told,” she said.

The response was spoken too softly for Iain to distinguish.

“Do you think it a hard puzzle to unravel?” Joanna asked, laughing. “You know what they say, ‘oh what a tangled web…’” She stopped mid-sentence, lending the impression the other party knew what she meant.

Her companion raised her voice loud enough for Iain to realize it was another of the kitchen maids, Catherine.

“No doubt,” Catherine said. “Things are bound to spice up a bit. Which is what she had in mind, I wager.” Both women giggled.

“A stroke of genius,” Joanna added. “I would never have thought of it myself, and Vi—”

Iain cursed softly when Maude called out instructions to another of the serving girls, and he caught only the last words of the unsuspecting women, “…and she went along with it.”

“Laird,” Maude’s insistent voice put a stop to his eavesdropping, “is something amiss?”

Iain scowled at the two women as they emerged from the scullery. “Nay,” he answered, throwing a suspicious glance in their direction. “Is she in the habit of being late?”

Maude looked confused.

“The lass—have you no idea why she is not here?”

“Ah.” Maude’s nod turned into a shake of her head. “Nay. She comes and goes as she likes.”

“She will not avoid me the whole night,” Iain muttered.

Turning on his heel, he headed back to his seat in the hall. The resolution to seek the lady out later was overshadowed by the giggles that lingered in his ears after his exit from the kitchen.

* * *

All is lost, all is lost.
The words from the song rang in Victoria’s mind and she awoke, uncomfortably, from a sleep she hadn’t meant to take. Focusing on the familiar surroundings of the cottage, another moment passed before the remnants of her dream fell into place. Only it hadn’t been a dream, she realized, but a replay of her life.

Bitterness scalded the memory. She had learned the truth too late. Things such as love and trust were nothing more than the foolish musings of a child. Yet, even now, the question remained: If not love, what then? Her father had said, for a man, there was honor. For a woman, it was duty.

Duty.

The watchword her mother had lived by. It was a woman’s duty to follow the dictates of her lord. Victoria made the mistake of thinking her future lord would be as kind as her father. When her father died and her mother betrothed her to Richard Hockley, Victoria followed duty and married him.

Fifteen years her senior, Richard seemed the answer to what had been missing since her father’s death. Foolish child that she’d been, she believed Richard was sent by God to take her father’s place.

Richard appeared as though he would treat her with the tenderness a young bride required, but the moment he rendered her powerless with the marriage vows, the man behind the handsome mask emerged. The memory of their wedding night brought with it another, more recent recollection when she’d been handled no less roughly. She forced aside the picture of the Fraser men leering at her only to have it meld with one of her husband giving her much the same look.

She laughed, the sound harsh to her own ears. The Frasers she could understand, but even now, after all these years, her comprehension of Richard was almost nonexistent. It wasn’t the fact that he took his cousin as mistress that confounded her. Nay, it was the relationship between the two that was incomprehensible. Victoria shivered. Richard had displayed no embarrassment that long-ago evening when she happened upon them one evening in his bed. He had even laughed when his lover invited her to join them.

“Come now, love,” Lucinda’s voice had moved like silk over Victoria’s skin. “Do not act as if you are shocked.” Her throaty laugh had been that of a woman accustomed to pleasure. “You are an enlightened woman. You understand the benefits of our situation. If I instruct your husband well, you will benefit.” Lucinda then cast a sultry glance at Richard, who pulled the coverlet down and began kneading a full breast. “Perhaps we will both receive some benefit.”

Victoria felt as if Lucinda had actually touched her when the woman’s lustful look trained on her. “It seems to me,” Lucinda said, her voice more breathless, “we both could benefit now.” She drew back the blanket in invitation as the other hand slid downward to fondle his arousal.

Victoria winced, recalling the beating she had received for having fled. Memories, she reminded herself. Nothing more. Richard was gone, and she need never again fear his cold touch. Nay, it was Iain MacPherson, the phantom of a man, who now decreed her future.