The Thief Page 19

  ‘Now?’ Her voice was a squeak of disbelief.

  ‘Aye.’ His mouth returned to caress hers. ‘Am I forgiven?’

  ‘You jest? You make me burn then leave and expect forgiveness?’ She felt him smile.

  ‘You are not the only one left wanting, wife.’

  Pleasure shimmered through her at his admission.

  His hands loosened from about her and slid to her waist. She didn’t want him to let go.

  I love you.

  ‘Ride fast,’ she said softly instead.

  ‘As the wind.’ His lips skimmed hers one final time before he stepped away, grasping only her hand.

  As she struggled to slow her racing heart, his long, deep exhalation echoed in the darkness. She smiled. It seemed she wasn’t alone in her fight to regain her composure.

  ‘I’m leaving Duff and Lundy here. Come bid Father Tremayne farewell.’

  ‘Aye,’ she said, and walked back out into the daylight where Cal and Dair stood speaking with the priest. Cold air stung her flushed cheeks. Lachlan lifted her hand and brushed her fingers with his lips. With a pleasing glint in his eyes, he released her and started toward his horse.

  With her whole face now on fire, she turned to Father Tremayne. ‘Thank you,’ she said and kissed his leathery cheek.

  His blush almost glowed as brightly as hers. ‘‘Tis I who gives thanks to you and your laird, for it isn’t often I see a newlywed couple so much in love.’

  Kenzie’s heart skipped at the priest’s words. Did Lachlan love her? She glanced his way and found him standing still, peering back over his shoulder. His unbroken stare held her captive. A muscle ticked along his jaw. How she wished she knew his thoughts. His feelings.

  He turned from her and continued to his horse just as Father Tremayne, Cal and Dair approached theirs. She’d been so caught up trying to decipher Lachlan’s expression, she hadn’t noticed the others had moved away.

  The four men mounted, but she had eyes only for her husband. They headed toward the gates. Three rode through, but Lachlan turned and paused in the opening. She could feel the intensity of his regard. She stood straight and proud and stared right back, giving no hint of the nerves his appraisal set to tingling.

  Her heart sighed at the sight of him, sitting tall and powerful upon his horse. He was like living sunlight. How long they stared at one another she had no clue. By the time he turned and disappeared, she was close to swooning due to lack of air.

  She wrapped her arms about her middle to suppress the giddiness dancing in her belly and fought to breathe. Sweet Mary. Never had she imagined such a feeling of utter elation. Never had she envisioned a man looking at her, really looking at her, as if he couldn’t bear to tear his gaze away.

  Dear God, could he truly have fallen in love with her? He made her feel special in a way she’d never dreamed possible. His constant attention both in and out of the bedchamber must mean he desired her and enjoyed her company. Her freedom when it came to decisions concerning castle matters proved he trusted her judgment, trusted her. Small things to some, but they were precious gifts to her.

  Perhaps it was time for her to share more of herself, trust him with her responsibilities, too.

  Wanting a few moments alone to ponder the thought, and to savour the happiness spiralling through her, she turned and re-entered the quiet, comforting surrounds of the stables.

  ***

  In the end, she stayed longer than she’d planned, petting each horse and then losing herself in the familiar task of cleaning out De Brus’s stall.

  Lifting her arm, Kenzie wiped the moisture beading her brow and surveyed her work with a pleased smile. Fresh straw covered the swept floor and she’d filled the wooden feed trough with oats. Now all that was needed was the pail of water she’d sent one of the lads to fetch. The stablehands no longer remarked on her presence or offered to complete the tasks she took upon herself.

  ‘Here’s the water, my lady.’

  Her title still sounded strange. She wondered if she’d ever get used to hearing it.

  ‘Thank you, Thomas.’ She smiled and accepted the pail from the boy she guessed to be around eight summers.

  ‘Murdoch says to tell you he needs you to come to the hall.’ A huge sigh followed his outpouring of words.

  ‘Thank you for delivering Murdoch’s message,’ she said hiding her grin as she leaned low to set the water down in one corner.

  ‘Murdoch says to tell you, you got visitors.’

  ‘Visitors?’ She turned and stared at the lad. Her mind whirled. Why did they have to come when Lachlan wasn’t here? What did they want?

  Placing the pail down, she gathered the loose, dark strands of her hair and tossed them over her shoulder. ‘Do you know who they are, Thomas?’

  ‘Didn’t see ‘em, but there be two brown horses and one grey what don’t belong here.’

  Three visitors. Three strangers.

  Looking down at her green woollen gown, her stomach clenched at the sight of mud and straw clinging to her hem. With the visitors already within the Great Hall, she had little chance of slipping above stairs to change her attire before greeting them. Grimacing at the dark curtain of windblown hair that had returned to drape each side of her face, she lifted her hands to once again gather the loose locks and froze as she spied the dirt smearing her palms. She groaned.

  ‘You all right, my lady?’

  With a flick of her head she cast her hair aside. ‘Oh, Thomas. I must look a fright.’

  ‘You look fine like to me.’

  His sweet comment eased the tightness of her lips and sparked her determination. ‘Thank you, Thomas. Will you fetch one of the linens from the shelf?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Bending low, she dipped her hands in the pail of cold liquid and scrubbed vigorously as his footfalls rang on the earthen floor. She closed her eyes and splashed her face with the chilled water, sealing her lips to stifle her gasp. Thomas’s footsteps grew louder, announcing his return.

  Accepting the drying cloth, she patted the moisture from her face, wiped her hands and hung the linen over the low barrier. She raked her fingers through her riotous hair and fashioned a loose plait. With no tie to bind the ends, she drew the thick braid forward over one shoulder. Grasping her skirts, she shook the straw from her mud-splattered hem.

  She drew a fortifying breath and silently prayed the scent of the stables didn’t cling too strongly to her person. She offered Thomas what she hoped passed as a bright smile and marched outside.

  Blinking rapidly to adjust her eyes from the stables’ gloomy shadows to the day’s pale grey brightness, she noticed the three unfamiliar mounts being led toward the stables and gnawed her lower lip. She could entertain three guests until Lachlan returned, couldn’t she? She wasn’t the same woman she’d been weeks ago. Lachlan had drawn her out of her self-imposed darkness and shown her the light. She squared her shoulders. Of course she could.

  Chin high, she raised her skirts and climbed the steps to the keep. With a nod to the sentry who opened the door, she ignored her unravelling plait, clasped her hands lightly before her and crossed the threshold into the hall.

  Murdoch met her, turned, and matched his steps to hers.

  ‘You’ve seen to our guests?’ she asked, casting a swift glance about the sparsely populated chamber.

  ‘Aye, my lady. Your guests are by the fire drinking wine.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Relief echoed in her words. ‘I presume you informed them of Lachlan’s absence?’

  ‘They are aware Laird Elliot isn’t here at present—’

  ‘And they are happy to await his return?’ she asked as the nervous fluttering in her belly intensified. She pressed her hands to her middle and concentrated on the stone floor beneath her feet.

  ‘The laird’s presence isn’t necessary,’ Murdoch said in a low voice.

  Kenzie’s puzzled look rose from the flagstones to the steward’s face.

  ‘Lady Johnstone has not come to
see Lachlan, my lady.’

  ‘Lady Johnstone?’ She frowned at the familiar title and searched her memory for a face to match the name. With none forthcoming, she turned and looked beyond the table toward the hearth.

  Her breath stalled. Dread twisted her stomach, squashing any trace of apprehension.

  Lady Johnstone stood before the hearth, her perfect angel’s face framed by long locks of silky golden hair burnished red by the fire’s flickering flames.

  An icy chill swept through Kenzie.

  What in God’s name was Jeanne doing here?

  Chapter 20

  Kenzie halted three paces in front of her sister and five paces from the hearth’s leaping flames.

  ‘Hello, little sister,’ Jeanne said in her usual condescending tone. Familiar piercing blue eyes slowly trailed down Kenzie’s length, appraising her, and Kenzie was suddenly ten summers again, caught in the shadows of Irvine hall on her way to the kitchens, pinned by the same degrading, limb-freezing look. It was as if all her inadequacies were mirrored in those icy-blue eyes. Her unravelling braid weighed heavier at the sight of Jeanne’s sleek, artfully placed locks. The flecks of mud splattering her hem seemed larger beneath the weight of Jeanne’s unblinking study.

  Kenzie stared at the shapely brows, waiting for one to quirk upward in dismissal. Her gaze dropped to the bowed pink lips, expecting to see the half-smile of disdain she remembered so well.

  The lips parted. Her stomach clenched. But even as her entwined fingers tightened, she lifted her chin. She was no longer a child, no longer lived at Irvine Keep, nor in her sister’s shadow. Her dark memories faded, along with the oppressive dimness belonging to her childhood. Light and warmth wrapped about her. Her hands relaxed. Her stomach eased. This was Castle Redheugh, her home, and she was Lady Elliot.

  ‘Have I come at a bad time?’ Jeanne asked, sounding pleased.

  ‘Nae, Jeanne,’ Kenzie finally said in a steady, calm voice. ‘I am merely surprised you’ve come at all.’

  Shock flared in Jeanne’s eyes before they narrowed. Kenzie had never before spoken more than three words to her at once in a voice that wasn’t quiet.

  ‘Aye, well.’ Jeanne’s gaze momentarily slid away before her golden lashes lifted a fraction and then fluttered down in a show of uncertainty. ‘I do not know if you received news of my recent loss.’ Her mouth formed a plump pout. ‘But I needed somewhere to go. Somewhere to escape the sorrow after losing my poor darling Douglas.’

  At the thought of losing Lachlan, a crushing weight settled in Kenzie’s chest. Sadness for Jeanne’s loss chipped away at her determination to remain unaffected by her sister’s sudden arrival. But a lifetime of feeling small and neglected, stirred by Jeanne’s presence, rose up like a cloak of armour, holding her still and silent.

  ‘I didn’t know where to go,’ Jeanne continued with a sniff. ‘Douglas’ eldest son from his first marriage has rightfully claimed Johnstone Castle. I returned home to Irvine.’ She pulled a square of linen from her sleeve. ‘But Father has already started searching for my next husband.’

  Kenzie understood well the desolation suffered when there was no one to offer solace. Anger for their father’s unrelenting greed and dismissiveness simmered in her blood.

  ‘I had nowhere else to go,’ Jeanne whispered and looked up.

  Stunned, Kenzie stared at the droplet of moisture clinging to Jeanne’s lower lashes. Perhaps a trace of warmth lurked in her sister’s icy veins. Perhaps her sister did feel, after all. She watched the teardrop fall and slide down the creamy slope of one cheek. Shameful heat for the cool reception she’d offered her sister filled her own cheeks. Jeanne had come to her. She had no one else.

  Stepping forward, she grasped her sister’s arm and guided her to a bench by the fire.

  ‘Here, sit.’

  Kenzie sank down on the bench beside her and took her slender, soft hand in hers. ‘I am sorry for your loss, Jeanne.’ Eyes downcast, Jeanne sniffed and dabbed the tear from her face. ‘I’m pleased you came to me.’

  Jeanne glanced at her. ‘Truly?’

  Kenzie searched her heart and felt compassion surge and well. She couldn’t ignore her sister, couldn’t turn her back on Jeanne; she was the only sibling she had. But her wariness lingered. Her defences might be a little tattered by the sorrow of Jeanne’s loss, but they could be swiftly mended, if necessary, with well-known stitches made of disappointment and dejection. She nodded.

  Jeanne tilted her head in a thoughtful manner. ‘You are kind, Kenzie.’ Her tone suggested she viewed being kind as a weakness. Kenzie thought of Lachlan.

  ‘Nae kinder than others,’ she said.

  ‘A virtue I’m ashamed to say I have yet to master,’ Jeanne said, bowing her head.

  Flattery, quickly followed by self-censure, left Kenzie staring thoughtfully at Jeanne’s golden crown. What had happened to the scornful beauty who belittled others with a disdainful glance and crushed hopes with a fleeting sneer? Their father had taught Jeanne well. Jeanne was as beautiful as she’d always been but there was a distinct change in her manner. What had happened to alter her sister so drastically, from the cold, harsh woman she’d been to the humbled woman now sitting beside her? Whatever the cause, Kenzie would need to keep her wits about her.

  ‘We have a spare chamber above,’ Kenzie said as apprehension for what she planned to offer skittered about inside her. Jeanne slowly lifted her head. ‘As you are my sister, you’re welcome to use it, if you wish to rest here for a while.’

  ‘But what of your husband?’ Jeanne frowned. ‘I’d hate to be an inconvenience.’

  Lachlan’s kindness again flashed to the forefront of her mind. ‘Rest assured, my husband won’t see you as an inconvenience. If Lachlan were here, he would nae doubt have offered for you to stay.’

  ‘Well, then, if you’re certain.’ Jeanne’s expression cleared. ‘I look forward to seeing your husband.’

  As do I. ‘You will meet him soon enough. He will be returning shortly.’ Her cheeks warmed at the thought of laying eyes on Lachlan. She turned to hide her blush and looked at the two strangers sitting on the far side of the hearth. ‘Are your companions from Johnstone Keep?’

  ‘Aye. They are most loyal and have given me more comfort than even I deserve.’

  Kenzie made a quick study of the two men, one dark-haired, and the other light brown. At first glance both appeared to be of an age with Lachlan, but she couldn’t help noticing a hardness about their eyes and mouths that added years to their faces, and an air of ruthlessness to their appearance.

  ‘They will need to sleep here in the Great Hall.’

  ‘Dalziel and Geordan will happily bed down anywhere I ask them to.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Thank you, Kenzie.’

  Three simple words, much used, much heard. But as they rang softly in Kenzie’s ears, they carried a layer of surprise, sent a ripple of shock through her senses. Not the words themselves, but who had spoken them and to whom they were directed. The unexpected acknowledgement drew her attention from the men back to her sister. All signs of worry and sadness had disappeared from Jeanne’s expression, though Kenzie thought she glimpsed a glint of steel in the blue.

  Jeanne blinked and Kenzie couldn’t find any trace of the hardness in the steady gaze now resting on her face. A wave of restlessness drove her to her feet. She hoped she’d imagined it.

  ‘Please make yourself comfortable while I see to the preparations for your chamber.’ She hurried toward Murdoch, who hovered at the end of the laird’s table.

  ‘Is all well, my lady?’

  ‘Aye, Murdoch. Lady Johnstone and her companions will be staying with us for a few days.’

  Uncertainty flashed in the steward’s faded blue eyes.

  ‘Jeanne is my older sister, Murdoch. She has recently suffered the loss of her husband. I’m sure Lachlan won’t mind.’

  ‘There is much the laird would do to please you, my lady. Is there anything you’re wanting done?�
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  She smiled at his reassuring words. ‘Oh, aye. I’d like to hold back the noon meal until Lachlan’s return.’

  ‘I’ll speak with cook.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She sifted through her jumbled thoughts for everything she needed to do. ‘While you’re in the kitchens, could you ask Ailsa to bring hot water to the guest chamber? Oh, and I’d be grateful if you could offer Jeanne and her companions further refreshments.’

  ‘Consider it done. Anything else?’

  ‘Aye.’ She glanced down at her feet, sucked in a deep breath and looked the steward in the eye. ‘As there is nae longer a bed in the room my sister will be using, I will need the assistance of two men to see one is delivered.’

  Mirth twinkled in Murdoch’s eyes. She knew his thoughts centred on the last mattress that had been brought to that particular chamber, and how she’d set it alight. He gave her a brisk nod, but said naught. No doubt his tightly closed mouth held in the laughter his eyes failed to hide.

  Her own lips twitched at the memory.

  ‘Well, I’d best fetch the linens.’ She lifted her mud-stained skirts and headed for the stairs.

  Pausing on the first step, she peered over her shoulder to where she’d left Jeanne. Despite knowing her sister sat beneath the same roof, by the hearth Kenzie now claimed as hers, the sight still held the power to shock her and make her feel uneasy. As she climbed the steps, she couldn’t help thinking how Jeanne looked too young and beautiful to be a widow. Their mother had been young and beautiful, too, and although she hadn’t been a widow, she might as well have been.

  Thoughts of the misery her mother had suffered for openly loving her father caused Kenzie’s heart to miss a beat; a soul-shattering misery her mother had finally ended when Jeanne was ten and Kenzie just eight. Kenzie now understood the beauty beneath loving another with your heart and soul, but she’d also seen what happened when such a powerful feeling wasn’t returned. If her father were here, now, standing before her, she’d beat him for trampling her mother’s precious feelings with his greed and adultery. He hadn’t deserved her mother’s love. He didn’t deserve anything at all.