The Thief Read online

  ‘A well-planned attack,’ Lachlan said thoughtfully. ‘Nothing like the skirmish we rode into last time we returned from Irvine.’ His wedding night.

  ‘Not the same thieves, then.’ Dair concluded.

  ‘Not the same thieves,’ Lachlan agreed, ‘but we have been returning from Irvine Keep at the time of each attack.’ Could the thieves have known he and twenty of his men had been called to Irvine? The thought twisted his gut and set his blood to pounding. Drawing in much-needed air, he exhaled slowly. ‘Care for a late night ride?’

  They re-saddled their mounts, grabbed a torch each and headed out. Lachlan stopped to see the repairs to the enclosure were almost complete before he turned De Brus in the direction the guards had said the thieves had gone. Keeping their pace slow, Lachlan and his four companions searched the muddied puddles for tracks. Despite the vast number of raiders and stolen cattle, the heavy downpour had washed away most of their trail.

  Frustration crowded his chest. He swallowed it down a moment before the gleam from his flaming torch lit upon faint marks on higher ground where the soil had been reshaped by churning hooves. But some lay to the east, while others were found to the north. It would prove difficult to tell if the soggy imprints were from this night’s foul deed or from long ago.

  By the time they’d scoured Elliot lands from east to north in the continuing drizzle, Lachlan’s fur mantle weighed thrice what it should. But the anger filling his chest weighed more heavily than any other burden.

  After leaving Irvine Keep tonight he’d believed the call for assistance had been a ruse to formally introduce him to Jeanne and to convince him to set Kenzie aside. He’d been outraged by such thoughts, but now Lennox’s cry for help, for the trouble that wasn’t, seemed brutally convenient. Considering the successful raid had occurred a short time after he’d ridden away from Castle Redheugh, his blood now simmered with new fury.

  Lachlan called a halt to their search and they headed back to the castle.

  The damaged barrier had been fixed by the time they returned and his remaining cattle had settled within. Guards manned the enclosure and the walls, and Lachlan hailed the watchmen as they neared the gates. They rode straight to the stables, where they each cared for their mounts before trudging into the Great Hall to find their beds.

  Lachlan was last to enter, and found Murdoch waiting. The steward closed the door before he helped to peel the fur mantle from Lachlan’s shoulders. He handed Lachlan a large length of linen.

  ‘Find anything, laird?’

  As he rubbed the moisture from his skin, Lachlan was fully aware of the older man appraising him. ‘There was very little to find due to the cursed rain.’ He turned and scanned the line of pallets along the left wall. ‘How are the wounded?’

  ‘At ease after Iona’s healing touch.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘The trouble at Irvine wasn’t too fierce, then.’

  ‘There was nae trouble,’ Lachlan said, rubbing the moisture from his hair. ‘At least not the kind we’d prepared to meet.’

  Lachlan ignored Murdoch’s questioning look.

  ‘Has my wife retired?’ Lachlan strode across the room to seek warmth from the fire.

  ‘Lady Elliot settled each of the injured men before I … suggested she find her bed.’ Murdoch draped the fur mantle over a long bench near the flames.

  ‘Suggested?’ Lachlan’s lips twitched.

  ‘Er, strongly suggested.’ His steward looked a mite sheepish. ‘She’d done all she could and appeared worn to the bone. If I hadn’t promised I’d watch over the wounded, I believe your determined lady would be here still.’

  ‘How long?’ Lachlan sat, tossed the wet linen down beside him and pulled off his soggy boots.

  ‘Not too long ago.’ Murdoch walked to the nearby table and returned with a goblet of warmed mead. Lachlan positioned his boots before the fire and accepted the vessel.

  ‘My thanks. Sit, and tell me how she was when I left for Irvine.’

  Murdoch sat with a sigh. ‘Ah! She looked …’

  ‘Happy? Relieved?’ His fingers tightened about the goblet as he took a swig.

  ‘More like worried. Concerned.’

  Lachlan lowered his goblet and knew the warmth filling his chest had nothing to do with his drink.

  ‘I think you caught yourself a good’un, lad.’

  Lachlan looked at his steward. ‘I know it, Murdoch.’

  A pity he couldn’t feel the same about his father-in-law. The marriage was meant to strengthen the ties between their clans but if Lennox had colluded with the English, Lachlan would find out. He’d then find a fitting punishment for the conniving, thieving traitor. Something to ensure Lennox Irvine never even thought to betray Lachlan or his people again.

  Lachlan drained his goblet. ‘Find someone to relieve you and get some sleep, old man.’ He stood, and on bared feet climbed the stairs two by two. He reached for the latch and paused, wondering at his eagerness. He assured himself he just needed to know she was here, due to her penchant for escaping in his absence.

  Opening the door, his gaze swept straight to the bed. Empty. His heart jolted. He scanned the chamber, his fingers tightening around the door latch until the metal bit into his flesh. Where in Christ’s name is she?

  He scanned the room and noted a cup on the table between the two wide chairs positioned before the fire. The tension in his shoulders eased. He relaxed his grip on the latch.

  Closing the door, he crossed the cold wooden boards and spied a dark, silken head nestled among furs and pillows in the chair he’d claimed as his bed. Halting on the rug before the fire, the heat from the flickering flames bathing his back, he peered down at his sleeping bride. Long lashes fanned the soft, creamy skin of her cheeks. Her lips, slightly parted, were pink. Kissable.

  Heat coiled about his heart and gently squeezed. He drew a chest full of air and the pressure grew, turning every slow beat into a pounding thud. Pressing a fisted hand against his chest, he rubbed in a circular motion. A chill must have slipped under his soaked mantle.

  He reached for the leather lacings and stripped free from his vest, hanging it over the back of the other chair. His sleeves were damp but the rest of his linen shirt remained dry. Peering down at Kenzie, he wondered if her worry had been for him, or for the supposed trouble at her old home. Perhaps both, due to her appraisal of him and her sigh of relief when he’d told her the trouble had been resolved.

  His lips thinned. He only hoped his inquisitive wife was satisfied with his response and let the matter lie. He wouldn’t be able to discuss it with her without revealing his seething anger for her father. If she did enquire further, he’d have to find something to distract her. Numerous ideas flashed through his mind and all possessed a common theme: his bride, naked. On a chair. By the window. On her feet. Lying across his bed.

  Blood rushed to his loins. He planted fists on his hips, tipped his head back and sucked in a mighty breath.

  Ah, Kenzie. What am I to do with you?

  Exhaling slowly, he looked down. She appeared comfortable, peaceful. Should he leave her in the chair or take her to bed? He opened his hands and carefully scooped her up. Dark waves of satin skimmed his arms as he secured her against his chest and inhaled the sweet fragrance of her hair.

  She stirred and mumbled as he carried her to his bed. ‘Where …’ she suddenly lifted her head and struck him under his chin. ‘You’re back.’ One slender hand rubbed the top of her head.

  ‘Aye.’ He wriggled and tested his jaw. ‘Unscathed until a moment ago.’

  ‘Forgive me.’ Her fingers traced the underside of his jaw. Her distracting caress left his neck as she asked, ‘What of the wounded?’ She lowered her hand to his chest, her touch burning a hole through the thin fabric of his shirt.

  ‘The wounded are being cared for.’ He sat on the bed, sinking into the inviting mattress. Her warm weight settled in his lap.

  ‘Are you certain they don’t need—?’

&n
bsp; He cupped her face and drew her head against his shoulder. ‘All’s well, lass, get some sleep.’

  No resistance, no more questions. Her body settled and sank into his, her fingers gently curled over his heart.

  Turning, shifting slowly, he lifted his legs onto the bed and pressed his shoulders into the pillow behind him. He breathed in her lavender scent as her softness seeped into his hardness. His muscles relaxed, his blood pulsed warm and leisurely through his veins. He closed his eyes, he her bed, she his blanket.

  Chapter 17

  Kenzie woke, warmth bathing one cheek, the other brushed by cool air. She opened her eyes as the rhythmic waves lifting her up and down almost lulled her back to sleep. Rise and fall. Up and down. Sandalwood. Man.

  Lachlan.

  He’d returned. Was safe. Was in her bed.

  Her eyes shot wide open, her body stiffened as her wits gathered, collided. He wasn’t just in her bed, she was lying on him, curled on her side, soaking in his heat. Closing her eyes, she forced her breathing to calm and willed her pulse to slow to a normal pace. He was asleep. Just be.

  With his heart beating steady and strong in her ear, she relaxed, lifted her lashes and allowed her gaze to wander.

  Loose laces crisscrossed the powerful width of his chest. As he breathed in, she caught a tantalising glimpse of his tanned skin. A powerful arm cradled her back, holding her in place. The other rested on the bed, elbow bent; the sleeve pushed up to reveal the fair hair sprinkling his forearm. She stared at his thumb, his capable fingers. One finger twitched.

  What dreams invaded his slumber?

  There was little more to see without moving and she didn’t want him to wake, not yet. A tiny thrill of wickedness burst inside her belly. Her toes curled. She went still at the feel of wiry hair tickling her great toe. She flexed it again. A smile threatened and a giggle bubbled …

  ‘Did I tell you my shins are terribly sensitive?’ he mumbled in her ear. She froze, blinked, and drew a slow breath.

  ‘How long have you been awake?’

  ‘Hmm, for some time before you found amusement in caressing my leg with your delicious toes.’

  ‘I wasn’t caressing any part of you.’

  Except with her eyes.

  ‘Care to start? I suggest you begin—’

  She pushed herself upright and peered down at his tousled hair, his smiling blue eyes, his sinful lips. ‘You’re a beast.’ She sounded breathless.

  His fingers toyed with her unbound hair trailing over his chest, and then traced gently down her cheek.

  ‘And you, my bonny bride, serve as a delightful blanket.’

  While you, my unwanted husband, make a wondrous bed. Unwanted? Nae! Her heart shivered.

  She sprang from his lap to the cold timber boards and, ignoring his soft grunt, tiptoed past the dwindling fire to the small, narrow window. She pulled open the shutter. Staring out at the glimpse of grey sky the slit afforded, she pressed her palms to the rough stone wall and fought to untangle her jumbled emotions.

  Did she want him as her husband? Did she want to share more than ‘between’? Her body quivered at the thought of knowing his touch. All over. Her mind cried ‘aye’. Her trembling heart … trembled.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Warm fingers wrapped about her arms. She clutched her hands to her chest, closed her eyes, searching for answers.

  ‘Kenzie?’

  ‘Listen. Do you hear it?’ In that moment of silence she found a single truth. She wanted her husband to want her.

  ‘I hear naught.’

  Her eyes opened. She stared out into the gloom and saw nothing but sunlight.

  ‘Precisely. It’s not raining. I believe you spoke of taking me for a ride.’

  His groan stretched, became a chuckle. ‘Ah, so I did.’

  ‘Is it still possible after last night’s raid?’

  His smile slipped. ‘The thieves will not return today, and not without the cover of darkness.’ After a swift tightening of his fingers, he released her. ‘We’d best hurry before the rain returns.’

  She turned, hugging the places where his hands had held her, and watched as he crouched and rummaged through the huge timber chest in the corner. Such a simple task, yet grace and power accompanied his every move. She could happily stare at him for days.

  He straightened, looked her in the eye and threw her a wicked smile. He’d caught her staring. Heat rushed to her face.

  ‘Unless you plan to wear only your blush and nightgown, I suggest you make haste and change.’ Impossible as it seemed, her cheeks burned hotter. ‘Be ready when I return. I’ll not be responsible for my actions if I find you half clothed.’ He winked and left.

  She placed one hand on the wall to steady her spinning senses. He truly was a beast. Her stomach fluttered with glee.

  Certain she’d regained her balance enough to walk a straight line, she crossed to the pile of garments Ailsa had delivered to their chamber a few days past. The day he’d kissed her in the stable. She shook out a grey woollen gown. Too dreary. She draped it across the bed and spied the next garments in the pile: her tunic and hose. The clothes she wore the day Lachlan took her prisoner.

  He was still her captor. He was also her husband.

  She donned her old clothes and tugged on her boots. Lachlan had made it clear he liked her hair down, but the long dark strands would end up a riotous mess while riding. She quickly fashioned a braid and was tying the strip of leather to the end when the door burst open.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Damn.’ His smile belied his curse. ‘My preparations took longer than I’d hoped.’

  Kenzie stood as still as a rock as his gaze travelled over her. What did he see? What did he feel? Did he yearn for her touch as much as she craved his? He made no comment and his face held no expression as he walked toward her. Perhaps she alone suffered such yearnings. Her hands dropped to her sides and her stomach clenched.

  ‘You’ll need this.’

  She studied his face as he wrapped a cloak about her shoulders. He stood so close she could see the whiskers darkening his jaw, smell his manly scent, and feel the heat of his fingers against her neck as he secured the ties of her mantle. Did she sway, or was the sense of movement him stepping away?

  ‘Hmm, something is missing.’ He turned again to rummage through the chest, and held up a scrap of brown wool. Her cap. He’d stored it along with his personal goods.

  She did sway toward him as he approached her. He lifted his hands and carefully fitted her cap on her head. ‘‘Tis cold out. We don’t want your delicious ears to freeze.’

  Warm air brushed her face as he spoke. His fingers lingered, barely touching the tender flesh below her ears. His gaze locked on hers. She fell into the blue. Time passed. God above, she wanted him to kiss her.

  ‘Come, before the weather turns.’ He took her hand and hurried her out of the chamber and down through the bustling hall.

  She glanced at the men propped up on pallets on the far side of the room. Her steps faltered. ‘Wait! What of the wounded?’

  Lachlan turned, but continued pulling her toward the entrance. ‘I have spoken with the two men whose injuries have left them unfit to resume their duties. Both Dorrell and Keddy are in good spirits and are being well cared for. Both were spouting praises of their new lady before I came to fetch you. Now, come.’

  ‘Oh. Very well, then.’

  They stepped outside and the cold air stripped the heat from her cheeks and restored her muddled senses. A stable lad stood at the base of the steps holding their horses.

  ‘Remember Meg?’ Lachlan said.

  Her sides tingled as his strong fingers encircled her waist. She gripped his shoulders as he lifted her into the saddle.

  ‘Of course,’ she finally managed to say once he’d released her. How could she forget the horse she’d borrowed to ride to the cottages? She stroked the pretty grey’s neck as he mounted De Brus. Her hand stilled as s
he glimpsed Lachlan’s exposed, muscular thigh.

  ‘Let’s away,’ he said.

  Kenzie started and tore her attention away from his leg, then followed him out through the gates.

  Under a pale grey sky, Kenzie witnessed the silvered waters of the Solway Firth in the distance to the south, the small pine forest to the west, and to the north, she peered in the direction of the rushing burn and the cluster of skeletal trees and alder bushes she’d hidden amongst the night of her escape.

  She struggled to recall why she’d escaped him at all. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. She was simply glad he’d captured her again.

  Lachlan often stopped and looked at the ground as if he’d dropped something and was keen to find it. He’d then draw De Brus level with Meg and they’d ride on side by side. He was so close she could reach out and touch him.

  To the east he pointed out the grass-spattered ridge where God’s lands ended and Hell began. Here too he studied the earth beneath their mounts’ hooves, then with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he spoke of the times he’d crossed the border when he’d craved the taste of the Devil on his tongue.

  Entranced, she listened to every word as he shared his memories and showed her all that belonged to his people. Her gaze wandered from the sights he described with such pride to the man who’d caught her stealing his horse; the man who, despite her best efforts, had managed to capture more of her since.

  Cold, misty droplets of rain dotted her cheeks and lashes.

  ‘The Almighty deems you’ve seen enough for one day.’ Lachlan’s regard lowered from the sky to her. ‘Enough of Clan Elliot lands at least.’ A wicked smile curved his mouth and he waggled his brows.

  ‘There’s nothing you could show me that I’d find more enjoyable.’

  ‘Is that a challenge, Kenzie?’ One brow slowly rose. ‘If so, you must know I cannot forego such a test.’ He caressed her rain-sprinkled cheek with the backs of his fingers. ‘Nor do I want to. Not when there is so much more you’ve yet to know … and enjoy.’