Page 422 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Twenty-Five

Victoria distinguished muffled sounds of battle before the cottage door flew open. She gripped her skirt in readiness to run while David Robertson scanned the dark room. He took a few paces into the shadows that protected her and she dashed for the door. As she tore past him, a hard yank on her hair brought Victoria to her knees, wrenching a cry from her. In one quick motion, David wound a handful of hair around his hand, jerked her to her feet, and brought the back of his hand across her cheek. She reeled, stopped from being thrown back by his hold on her.

“Is striking a woman universally practiced among cowards?” she hissed.

He gave her hair another vicious yank. Despite the flash of light that blurred her vision, Victoria laughed. A foreign taste seeped into her mouth. She spat, realizing it was blood. David released her hair. Gripping her arm, he dragged her out into the night.

Victoria caught sight of the horse he was headed for. She twisted, kicking at him, but her intention to break away was halted by the fighting she glimpsed between the cottages. “MacPherson plaid,” she whispered. Curling her fist, Victoria swung as hard as she could at David Robertson’s face.

“Bloody—” David’s oath died as she shoved away from him.

His grasp slipped downward and closed around her sleeve. A yank was followed by a ripping sound and cold air rushed across her back. David’s fingers tightened, catching the tender flesh of her arm and pinching hard.

He jerked her to him. “Try that again and you will find yourself with naught but rags to cover your body.”

“Preferable to being your prisoner.”

Victoria spat in his face and reared back to swing at him again, but he brought the back of his hand across her mouth in another brutal blow. Pain shot through her. Her knees weakened, then gave away altogether, and she slumped against him as darkness washed over her in a crushing wave.

“Coward,” she mumbled, vaguely aware rough hands had grasped her waist and lifted her from the ground.

She twisted, seeking soft flesh to sink her teeth into, but a final blow across her jaw left her with the memory of the arms that tightened around her like a vise.

* * *

Iain scanned the room for the hundredth time that morning, looking for any clue as to what had become of David Robertson. The cottage, larger than the rest and modestly furnished, was lavish in comparison to the other cottages. Just the sort of abode a man like Robertson would insist on even as an outpost.

Since discovering the disappearance of David Robertson and Victoria last night, they had combed the village and surrounding area a dozen times. Iain fought back panic. This situation was nothing like the dream when she’d fallen by Edwin’s sword. He would find her. Iain forced his thoughts from the memory of Victoria falling lifeless into his arms and focused on Edwin Hockley.

“I warn you, Sassenach, if you know anything about the whereabouts of this dog or my wife…” Iain pinned him with his good eye.

The earl’s expression turned patronizing. “If I knew where she was, would I not be there as well?”

“I am certain,” Iain put in savagely, “you had no intention of being caught here.” He shrugged.

“You are sure this is the cottage David used?” Iain asked again.

“Quite sure,” Hockley replied.

“And you have no idea where my wife was held?”

He shook his head. “They separated us.”

“I am still at a loss as to how you allowed that.”

A slight smile curved one edge of his mouth. “I would imagine, very much the same way you left her to find her way home alone from a meadow.”

The two men glared at one another, and Iain caught the smallest flicker in the earl’s eyes. “It is your choice, Hockley.” Iain hadn’t stripped the Englishman of his sword.

He regarded Iain, then said, “Death is not what you fear most, is it, MacPherson?”

Iain clenched then unclenched his jaw. “Death is the very thing you should fear.”

Thomas stepped through the door, shifting Iain’s attention from Hockley.

“Well?” Iain demanded.

“No sign of her,” Thomas reported.