Page 409 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Thomas,” Iain mumbled and emptied the mug.

* * *

Iain leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his desk. A bittersweet smile touched his lips. The resemblance between his wife and the woman who had arrived brandishing a tongue as sharp as any sword he’d had the misfortune to encounter was unmistakable. That the Englishwoman had weathered the dangers of the Scottish Highlands was but one more indication the aunt was kin to the niece. Bertrice Hall, great aunt to the Countess of Lansbury, clearly considered herself nothing less than avenging angel to her niece.

She eyed him. “A man who would allow his wife to flee into the arms of another man while she carries his child is no man at all.”

“Enough, madam,” Iain said.

“Nay, sir,” she replied in a brusque voice, “it is not.”

He rose. “But it is.”

Bertrice looked as if she would say more, but instead rose and quit the room.

Iain sank back into his chair. Christ, Victoria carried his child.

* * *

“Hockley land,” Bertrice said.

Iain didn’t reply or look at the woman who rode alongside him, and she fell quiet. The soft pad of hooves against English soil wore on his nerves. He kicked his horse and galloped ahead.

At last, time was on his side. The long journey had passed with no real memory and brought with it the belief that Victoria would return home with him where she belonged. He crested a hill. The sudden view of Hockley’s castle in the distance sent a jolt through him. He caught sight of his wife standing just ahead, absorbed in the view.

Iain pulled on the reins and gave himself a mental shake to combat the strange sensation that it had been but a moment since they had lain together in the meadow. The memory forced him to curb an impulse to charge forward and capture her as he had that day at Montrose Abbey. The horse that grazed nearby said she wasn’t the prisoner he had convinced himself she was. The possibility that the role of jailer had been his and his alone seemed the only real truth.

Victoria turned and looked in his direction. The imposing presence of the castle melted into the background, and his breath caught at sight of her stomach, still flat. He shifted his gaze to her face. Her brow furrowed. He waited in tense silence for a long moment before urging his mount forward.

Her hand covered her belly and she glanced about. Anger rose. Why was she alone outside the safety of her home? When he neared, her expression changed from confusion to recognition. Iain halted and slid to the ground, surprised when she retreated a step. Although he hadn’t expected a hero’s welcome, neither had he anticipated fear.

“You need not be afraid, love. I know of the child.”

She seemed about to deny the statement, but her gaze flicked past him and he glanced over his shoulder. Surrounded by his men, Bertrice had turned the bend behind him.

Iain looked back at Victoria to find her staring at him.

“You should not have come,” she said.

The quiet words awakened a fresh stab of alarm. “You expect me to walk away?” He glanced meaningfully at her midsection.

The sound of fast approaching riders filled the air. Iain’s warriors shot forward in his direction as a dozen men lead by Hockley topped the hill behind Victoria. Iain gripped the hilt of his sword as Edwin pulled up twenty feet from them. English men-atarms jumped from their horses and faced Highland warriors.

“What do you think to gain by coming here?” Hockley’s gaze flicked to Bertrice. “Of course.” His mouth curved into a derisive smile. “I should have guessed.” He swung his gaze back to Iain and dismounted. “You warned me about coming to Scotland.” He reached for his sword. “Now taste of my warning.”

Iain pulled his sword free of the scabbard just as Edwin’s weapon cleared its sheath. The two lunged for one another, but Iain’s thrust went askew at the last possible moment when Victoria stepped between them.

“Nay!” he cried, but the warning came too late.

Edwin’s sword pierced her midsection.

Time slowed. The earl’s mouth moved without sound, and Iain shook his head as if his ears were faulty, not Hockley’s vocal chords. Hockley’s sword slipped from his grasp and fell noiselessly to the grass as Iain threw his own weapon aside.

“Sweet God in heaven. No!” Iain caught Victoria before she hit the ground.