Lord Keeper Read Online Free Page B

the hand you touched her with?”
    The man’s gaze flicked to his free hand.
    Fool . Even past the haze, Victoria could see the word written on the MacPherson lord’s face. His sword shot out. The man shouted in pain as blood spurted and his hand dropped away from his wrist. In a blinding fury, he raised his weapon, but not quickly enough to avoid the claymore that impaled him in one swift movement. Her eyes refused to move from where Iain MacPherson stared at his opponent for a long moment.
    “You will never touch another woman.” The soft words belied the hard twist Iain gave as he wrenched his sword deeper into the belly of his victim before yanking it from his body.
    The man’s eyes bulged and a loud gurgling noise filled the silence, but Victoria kept her gaze fixed on him even after he crumbled to the ground.
    Firm, but gentle hands clasped her shoulders, pulling her into reassuring warmth. The gag was loosened from her mouth, and she coughed as much out of reflex as the need to spew the rank memory from existence. She jumped when Iain shouted something to one of his men. A moment later, a MacPherson appeared, tartan in hand, and Iain surrounded her with the soft wool. His attempts to coax her back to where her dress lay were met with staunch refusal on the part of her legs to move.
    “Come, love,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “You will feel better after you dress.”
    The tenderness in his voice sparked something undefinable and the dam broke, bringing with it trembling, followed by quiet weeping. Clutching his shirt, Victoria leaned into him. She shook her head over and over. Iain hugged her close, making soft, indistinguishable noises until she shifted to peer through her tears at the body of her attacker. Iain’s fingers caressed her cheek as he forced her face back to his chest. She convulsed and again sobbed against him. The cleansing tears finally slowed and shock gave way to anger.
    “This is your fault,” she railed between hoarse hiccups.
    “Aye,” he agreed all too quickly.
    Victoria looked up at him. Fear shown on his face. She pounded a fist against his chest.
    “You think your penitence absolves you?” Her voice rose and cracked. She leaned away from him and pounded him harder. “ Damn you, you bastard! Let—me—go.” She repeated the words over and over, until at last they drifted into nothing more than a whisper. Her knees gave way and Iain caught her to himself.
    Strength surged through her and she pushed at him. “I would rather you left me than touch me.” But he held her close until her tears again subsided, though her whispered pleas to return home did not.
    When she finally quieted, he placed shaking fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. As though searching for some answer, he held her there for what seemed an eternity before lifting her into his arms and carrying her back to where her dress lay. He set her feet on the ground, his arm around her, and again lifted her tear-stained face up to his.
    “Did they hurt you?”
    She bowed her head. Iain hesitated as if he might press her, then picked up her dress. He loosened the tartan from her fingers. His jaw clenched and he reached in the direction of her bodice. Victoria flinched.
    Iain halted. “What is this?”
    Victoria looked down at a dark red mark that marred the swell of her breast. She yanked the dress from his grasp and held it to her. “You need ask?”
    His gaze dropped to where the garment now covered the bruise, then returned to the unsteady lift of her chin. His eyes hardened, but he turned away, allowing her to dress.
    Iain escorted her back to the camp and left her with two of his men, then disappeared into the forest again. When he returned, she was sitting on a pallet.
    “You are sure he is dead?” Victoria cursed the tremble in her voice.
    “Aye,” Iain answered.
    “What of the other one?”
    “I tied him to a tree.”
    “What if I steal away and kill him?”
    Iain shrugged. “It