The Thief Page 2

‘Ah! You want that kind of wife,’ Lundy said.

  ‘Aye.’ Lachlan accepted the refilled cup pushed toward him as Caelan approached and took his seat beside him. ‘Marrying the daughter of one of our neighbours will strengthen our position on the border.’

  ‘With Jeanne Irvine out, that narrows your choice to either the Armstrongs or the English,’ Cal said thoughtfully.

  ‘We all know I’d rather be strung up by my entrails than wed an Englishwoman,’ Lachlan said.

  ‘You seem to favour William’s young wife well enough,’ Murdoch said, pushing Caelan’s cup toward him.

  Lachlan’s mind filled with the recent memory of attending William Kirkpatrick’s wedding. His friend had appeared content for the first time in many years, and Lachlan had no doubt the change had everything to do with the Englishwoman with red-gold hair who Will had married. Witnessing Will’s marriage had reminded him of his own need to wed. But that’s where any similarities ended. Will had chosen to marry. Lachlan had given his word.

  ‘Lynelle is the exception,’ Lachlan said. ‘And she’s Will’s wife, not mine,’ he added with a grin.

  ‘That leaves the wild Armstrongs then,’ Duff said.

  Caelan lowered his cup. ‘Or you could wed Irvine’s younger daughter.’

  Lachlan turned and looked at his brother. Caelan was his only kin, and until Lachlan married and sired a son, his only heir. Caelan’s fair hair, the same as his own, stuck up at all angles, but his dark eyes were serious.

  ‘Lennox didn’t mention having another daughter.’

  Caelan shrugged. ‘All I know is I saw her in the Irvine stable last winter while you were hunting her sister in Irvine Hall.’

  Lachlan ignored the word ‘hunting’ and cocked a brow at the five men struggling to contain their laughter.

  His attention settled on Caelan once more. ‘How do you know she was Lennox Irvine’s daughter? Did you speak with her?’

  Caelan shook his head. ‘One of the stable lads pointed her out and said who she was, but I didn’t speak with her.’

  Lachlan stared at his brother. The news intrigued and annoyed him. He hadn’t known a second daughter existed. Unless she was too young to marry.

  ‘What age would you guess her to be?’ Lachlan asked.

  Caelan shrugged, again. ‘You’d know better than I.’

  Lachlan frowned at his brother. ‘How so?’

  ‘She’s the lass you carried home this morn after you caught her stealing your horse.’

  Lachlan slowly straightened in his chair. ‘Are you saying the woman locked in the chamber upstairs is Irvine’s younger daughter?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Lachlan sank back into his seat, his mind stirring with promise.

  ‘Is she old enough to marry?’ Murdoch asked.

  It took little effort for Lachlan to recall the thief’s bonny face. ‘I believe so,’ he replied. ‘At a guess I’d say she’d be close to eighteen summers.’ Around ten years younger than Lachlan’s twenty-seven summers, but definitely old enough to wed. He turned to Caelan. ‘Did the stable lad say her name?’

  Caelan frowned in thought.

  ‘If she’s Irvine’s daughter,’ Cal said, ‘Why was she stealing your horse?’

  Lachlan met Cal’s questioning gaze. ‘Good question.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s shy and was seeking an introduction,’ Adair said, straight-faced.

  ‘And perhaps you’ll swear off women for the next year, Dair,’ Lundy said.

  A moment of silence passed before a chorus of masculine laughter filled the Great Hall, drawing many a smiling eye their way.

  Once their merriment eased, Lachlan said, ‘I’d like to know if she’s the one who stole Elliot cattle as well as stealing De Brus.’

  ‘Kenzie. The stable lad called her Kenzie,’ Caelan suddenly said.

  ‘Kenzie.’ Lachlan tested the name on his tongue. ‘My thanks, brother. You’ve done well.’

  Caelan gave a pleased smile.

  ‘Could be Old Lennox didn’t offer the younger one, ‘cause she’s his bastard daughter,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘Aye,’ Lachlan nodded slowly as he glanced at each of his companions, and then looked at his steward. ‘But it would be best to make sure,’ he added, and then drained his cup. Lachlan’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he stood. ‘Get some sleep, lads. We leave for Irvine Keep at noon.’

  ‘Does lads include me?’ Caelan asked, his tone edged with excitement.

  ‘Aye. You’ve given me hope that I’ll not be bound to one of the Armstrong’s wild daughters.’ Lachlan shuddered.

  Caelan’s smile stretched from ear to ear. The other men chuckled.

  ‘I trust you will keep the peace here when we go?’ Lachlan said to Murdoch.

  ‘Aye,’ the older man said. ‘Anything you want done with our “guest”?’

  Lachlan peered at his tended wound. ‘Keep an eye on her, feed her, but be certain nothing sharp is left within her reach. I’ll deal with our thief when I return. I’ll know more then.’

  Murdoch gave a brisk nod.

  Lachlan lifted the pot of salve off the table and strode to the stairs. The weariness that had plagued him lessened with every step he climbed. He knew the cause. With the smell of damp wool filling his nostrils, he paused on the landing outside his chamber. He plucked the woollen cap from his waistband and turned to stare at the solid oak door further along the corridor, wondering if snaring a bride was really going to be so easy. Pushing his doubts aside, he tucked her cap back into his waistband and changed his line of thought. Would Kenzie Irvine swoon at the sight of his naked chest, as she had at seeing his blood?

  A slow smile tugged at his lips. There was only one way to find out.

  Chapter 2

  How in God’s name had she allowed the Elliot laird to catch her? Perched on the end of the pallet with her back against the cold wall, she drew her knees closer to her chest and flattened her feet on the tick mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the sight of the solid stone walls imprisoning her, only to have her captor’s handsome face fill the darkness. Her eyes shot open.

  She knew of Lachlan Elliot. She’d seen him from afar while she’d studied the movement of his herd and the changing of the guards. But he wouldn’t know her—as the unwanted second daughter of a man desperate for a son, few knew Kenzie even existed. Those who did simply ignored her. He’d asked her name. As if she’d tell him; as if it was his right to know. Perhaps in this instance it was, but even if she hadn’t stolen the horse, he was a man in a position of power and he’d still believe he was all-deserving. She’d learned well from her father’s example. Yet she hadn’t told him her name. Nor would she—ever. She needed to escape. People depended on her.

  The door’s latch scraped. Clutching the coarse woollen blanket closed at her throat, she made sure every inch of her near-naked flesh was hidden from view. If the crone and her henchwomen had returned to strip her of her shift, she vowed not to part with it without a fight.

  She glared at the door, as it slowly, almost painfully, creaked open.

  Instead of the ancient, withered woman, a tall, muscular, bare-chested man filled the doorway. She clenched her teeth to stop her mouth falling open. Despite expecting Lachlan Elliot to confront her at some point, she’d never imagined he’d do so almost naked. Was it his habit to deal with his prisoners without his shirt?

  She studied the smooth lines of his shoulders and then continued down the hard-packed length of his stomach. Her heartbeat fluttered like the wings of a trapped bird. She’d seen shirtless men before when her father’s men had trained for battle, but never had she been entranced by the view. Burning heat flamed through her. She should look away. Her eyes refused to obey.

  ‘I am Lachlan Elliot, laird of Redheugh Castle.’

  The deep timbre of his voice drew her attention to his face. Familiar blue eyes stared into hers. She was well aware of who h
e was. Well aware of how he’d covered her with his lean, firm body. Annoyance soared at precisely how aware of him she now was. She tilted her chin. It didn’t matter who he was or how fascinating he looked without his shirt, she’d not tell him who she was—or anything else.

  Pressing her lips together, she held his gaze.

  ‘Still not prepared to offer your name?’ His words were quiet, thoughtful. The glint in his blue eyes suggested he found her puzzling. Good. The only way he could possibly discover her identity was if she told him, and she had no intention of doing so.

  ‘Keep your secrets a while longer, my little thief. But when I next open this door, you will tell me all.’

  The warm smile that curved his full lips and lit his eyes left her believing she would indeed tell him everything he wanted to know, and more. His confidence told her that he always got what he wanted.

  Not this time. Not with her.

  She turned from his inspection, as if the wall of uneven stone held more fascination for her than he did. It was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. Beads of sweat trickled between her breasts as she listened for the sound of the door closing. It seemed she drew a hundred breaths while she waited. The hairs on her nape stood on end a moment before the blessed click of the latch echoed softly around the room.

  She was alone. Relief washed over her. Her body sagged and she felt the rough surface of the pallet against her back as she turned over. The coarse fabric of the pallet cushioned her cheek as she blinked hard several times and stared into the flaming hearth.

  She had to find a way out of here. She needed to escape before he returned.

  ***

  De Brus broke away from the other horses, galloping over the rolling hills that lay between Castle Redheugh and Irvine Keep. The chill wind whistled in Lachlan’s ears and slipped beneath the fur mantle secured about his neck. He welcomed the icy breeze—the cold prickling his flesh banished the lethargy that lingered from his short and far from peaceful sleep.

  How did one find rest when visions of liquid brown eyes haunted your dreams? When images of a shapely feminine form, wrapped tightly within the folds of a woollen blanket, danced behind his closed lids? When a woman’s spirit burned brighter than the fire-lit strands of her silky dark hair?

  She was a beauty. She had courage. She was stubborn.

  Two traits he welcomed in a wife. The third he’d work on.

  Cresting a small rise, he drew his mount to a halt. His destination loomed on the far side of the valley sprawling before him. He studied the fortress while he waited for his companions to reach him.

  The curtain wall surrounding Irvine Keep stood as high as Castle Redheugh’s, but the stones were of a darker hue. Numerous figures walked the battlements, shrunken in size by the remaining distance. This wasn’t his first visit with his neighbouring laird, but if things went as planned, this time the outcome would be very different. This time, he’d win.

  His five companions arrived and together they travelled across the valley.

  Shouting his name to the guards on the wall, Lachlan and his men were granted entry through the massive gates. The bailey was full to bursting with people. Most stopped what they were doing to view the visitors before disappearing into one of the many outbuildings lining the inside wall. Others resumed their tasks. Aware of the many curious eyes upon them, Lachlan turned to Caelan and said, ‘Stay close.’

  Dismounting, mud squelching beneath their feet, they handed their reins to the stable lads. ‘Take care with our ponies,’ Lachlan said.

  The freckle-faced boy who accepted De Brus’s leathers swallowed and nodded. ‘Aye, sir.’

  Lachlan gave the lad a swift smile. With Caelan on his left and Duff, Lundy, Cal and Dair at their backs, he followed the sentry to the two-storey tower, which sat to one side of the bailey, almost hugging the curtain wall. They climbed the stairs and Lachlan paused at the threshold of a large room to stamp the mire from his boots. The delay gave his eyes the chance to adjust to the change in light, for it was like stepping from day into night. Other than the feeble fire in the hearth at the far end of the room, not a single torch or candle lit the vast interior. No groups of men gathered at the tables to dice. No women chatted quietly by the hearth as they sewed. No one shared a cup and a laugh to brighten a dreary autumn afternoon, as they often did at Castle Redheugh once their chores were done.

  Granted, the last time Lachlan had visited, he’d been expected. Spring had been only a handful of days away, and an excessive number of lit tapers had glowed upon the rich tapestries and gilt-framed portraits lining the walls. By far the most beautiful sight in the chamber that day had been Irvine’s eldest daughter, Jeanne, from the glittering jewels on her fingers and dangling at her throat and sparkling in her long, golden locks, to the expensive gown hugging her curvaceous form. But the lavish show of wealth hadn’t been for Lachlan alone. Many men had paid court to Jeanne that day.

  Despite the warmth of his mantle, Lachlan shivered. Today there was but one reason for the lack of life within and the gloom permeating the Great Hall: Lennox Irvine’s greed.

  A tall, wiry fellow entered the chamber through a side arch and hurried toward them, a skinny maid carrying a lit candle following close on his heels. The man approached and waved them inside.

  ‘I am Parlan, Irvine’s steward. Enter, please. The laird will be with you soon.’ He ushered them to the large wooden table before the hearth. ‘Sit, please.’

  ‘We will remain standing until your laird arrives,’ Lachlan said.

  The man’s eyes widened a fraction. ‘As you wish. Please, warm yourselves by the fire.’

  Feeling a twinge of pity for the harried steward, Lachlan nodded and moved closer to the hearth. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll fetch some refreshments,’ Parlan said, and almost ran across the hall.

  Keeping his back to the wispy flames, Lachlan watched as the maid rushed from sconce to sconce, setting torches alight. The many riches, previously hidden in shadows, began to appear.

  As if summoned to view all that was his, Lennox Irvine chose that moment to waddle into the room. The steward followed, taking a stance at the far end of the table.

  Lachlan couldn’t help thinking the Irvine laird had fattened up like a pig before slaughter.

  ‘Welcome, lad,’ Lennox panted as he neared them, wiping a strand of thin, greying hair from his face. ‘What a surprise.’

  ‘Aye. It’s been a while. But you appear hale and hearty, Laird Irvine.’

  ‘We lairds must keep ourselves in good health, else our people would be lost.’

  Lachlan ignored the round of throat clearing at his back and stepped forward to grip the sweaty palm Lennox offered. A thin-lipped smile showed through his host’s jowls, and above the bulging cheeks set on each side of his reddened nose, two dark slits glinted up at him. He thought another year of ‘good health’ would leave Lennox Irvine blind and mute.

  ‘You remember my brother, Caelan?’

  ‘Hmm! Aye,’ Lennox said, sparing a passing glance at Lachlan’s brother. ‘Come. Sit.’ Lennox found his chair, directly in front of the sparse flames.

  Lachlan moved to the opposite side of the trestle, stepped over the long bench and sat. Caelan took his place beside Lachlan, while the other four remained on guard behind them.

  ‘What brings you here today?’ Lennox said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Jeanne, my beauty, remains wed to the Johnstone laird. But the man is old, so don’t despair, lad. She may be free to wed again soon.’

  Lachlan’s gaze narrowed. Had the Johnstone laird won Jeanne’s hand due to his advanced years rather than the number of cattle offered? How many men did Lennox plan to wed her to?

  ‘Women are expensive creatures,’ Lennox continued. ‘Cost me a fortune to keep her in fancy gowns and jewels, but that’s her husband’s problem now. I gained two score of cattle the day she married. A man can never have too many cattle.’ He sagged back into his chair, looking pleased wit
h his efforts.

  Lachlan gritted his teeth. It was clear the man harboured no affections for his offspring.

  A maid set a tray bearing a jug and three gleaming goblets on the table. She bobbed a swift curtsey and made to leave.

  ‘Am I expected to pour my own wine?’ Lennox said.

  The young maid’s eyes glistened as she turned back to face her laird. Her trembling hand reached for the jug.

  ‘I’m certain you have other chores to attend,’ Lachlan said, giving the maid a meaningful look. He grasped the jug’s handle. ‘It would be my honour to pour for you, Lennox,’ Lachlan offered, sounding sincere.

  The maid bobbed another curtsey, and scurried back to the kitchens.

  Lennox’s scowl followed her retreat, his thin top lip curling up at one corner. ‘Useless creatures. They take everything from you and still want more.’ He regarded Lachlan. ‘Take my advice: ensure the woman you marry gives you many sons and ignore the rest.’ Lennox slumped back in his chair. ‘Else marry another.’

  Lachlan had heard of Lennox’s failure in regards to siring a son. Was the man so obsessed with wanting a son that he’d forgotten he had more than one daughter? Despite previous visits to Irvine, he’d had no idea of a second daughter’s existence. Until she’d stolen his horse. Was Lennox aware of his younger daughter’s thieving activities?

  Lachlan filled one vessel to the brim and added a splash to the other two. The absence of more goblets for his clansmen raised his level of contempt for the man another notch. But now was not the time to address Lennox Irvine’s faults. He was here to discover if Kenzie was Lennox’s legitimate daughter and if she was unwed.

  He pushed the goblets toward Lennox and Caelan, ensuring his brother understood the look delivered along with it. Having no intention of tasting a single drop of his wine either, Lachlan toyed with the goblet, while Lennox slurped from his.

  ‘I’m not here to discuss Jeanne’s wedded bliss. I’m here to discuss your other daughter.’

  Lennox slowly lowered his goblet and wiped his mouth on the tight sleeve of his linen shirt. ‘What do you know of my other daughter?’ Caution thickened his voice.