The Thief Read online

  Damned unyielding woman.

  ‘I suggest you move now, Kenzie,’ he said softly, ‘or I will have nae choice but to undress you and tuck you into my bed.’

  She whirled around. ‘Nae.’ Her gaze darted from his face to his naked chest. Wide-eyed, she spun away. ‘Nae,’ she repeated, skirting the foot of the bed and approaching the chairs.

  Through lowered lids he watched as she transferred the bedding to the furthest chair, plumping the pillow to her liking before climbing, fully clothed, into the nest she’d created. He slowed and deepened his breathing, ensuring she remained unaware of his perusal.

  Curled upright on her side, she released the binding from her hair and combed free the tangles from her long tresses with nimble fingers. Firelight splashed the dark strands with red and orange highlights.

  How would her silken locks feel running through his hands? His fingers flexed beneath his head. Desire flared in him. He closed his eyes fully for a moment to block out the sight of his torment. It was no use; he could picture her in the darkness where his mind was free to fulfil the images his body most desired.

  Clenching his jaw, Lachlan recalled Kenzie’s mistaken belief as to why he’d brought Ailsa to Castle Redheugh. Her false accusation momentarily eased his ardour for his new wife.

  Married. A surge of pride rushed through him. He’d finally discharged the first part of his father’s dying wish and married. The weight he’d borne from the promises he’d made his father was suddenly halved. Aside from the need to uphold his word, tonight’s raid pressed home the importance and necessity of making strong and binding alliances.

  As laird, his duties were to secure the keep and protect those within—remaining on guard and always being prepared was paramount. The English reivers would be back, as would others.

  On their recent visit to Irvine, Duff had learned one of the clans to the north had been raided and had lost men as well as cattle, an outcome Lachlan vowed to do all in his power to prevent happening at Castle Redheugh. Marrying Kenzie would aid his cause and allow him to carry out his final promise.

  He opened his eyes to slits and found his wife tying the end of her re-braided hair with a thin piece of leather. She pulled the heavy plait forward where it dangled down the front of her body, and threw a sideways glance toward the bed. His pretense at sleeping must have been convincing, for her stealthy regard became an open study.

  Lachlan managed to lie unmoving until his mind turned her lengthy appraisal of his exposed chest and arms into a bold caress. His heartbeat quickened, as did his body. With a silent groan he rolled on his side, facing her.

  ‘Come to bed and you can explore as well as look your fill,’ he teased.

  She turned away. ‘There is nothing of interest to me in that bed,’ she said, thumping her pillow. ‘And I assure you, Lachlan Elliot, I most certainly wasn’t looking at you.’ She finally lay her head down on the battered, feather bolster.

  Lachlan smiled. His wife’s curiosity pleased him. Given time, he’d encourage her to use her hands to wander over every part of him, just as he planned to explore each of her curves and soft mounds with his.

  Desire flared anew. Gritting his teeth, he recounted the waste and trouble Kenzie had heaped upon his clan since he’d caught her stealing his horse. With his body back under control and no movement from the chair, he climbed out of bed, wrapped his plaid about his hips and removed his dirk from under the bolster.

  Avoiding the one timber board renowned to creak, he tossed his weapon on the vacant seat and stopped in front of the chair where Kenzie finally slept.

  The palm of one small hand cushioned her cheek, while the fingers of the other curled softly under her chin. Her breathing hushed in and out through plump, slightly parted lips. Long, dark lashes fanned the flesh beneath her closed eyes, but couldn’t fully conceal the purple crescents.

  The urge to caress and erase the exhaustion from her face rushed through him. He fisted his hands to stop himself reaching for her. He stared down at the woman he’d sworn to have and to hold from this day forward. The woman who’d vowed to wed no man, yet was now married to him. The woman he needed to satisfy the second part of his father’s dying wish.

  His wife.

  His.

  Lachlan opened and closed his hands until the stiffness left his fingers. He bent and carefully scooped up his slumbering wife, along with the fur and pillow. She stirred for a moment before releasing a sigh. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought to curb the lust sweeping through him at the feel of her warm breath washing over his bare chest and neck.

  Opening his eyes, he inhaled deeply. Damp wool filled his senses and his nostrils flared at the underlying scent of woman. Of Kenzie.

  Should have left her asleep where she was.

  Impossible. He’d had no intention of letting her spend the night in the chair while he slept in his bed. But Christ, there was only so much he could take.

  He strode toward the bed, ignoring the board that groaned beneath his weight. Gently lowering his precious bundle into the exact place where he’d lain a short time ago, he hastened to hide her enticing form with the coverlet as she expelled another tormenting sigh.

  Straightening from his task, Lachlan turned away from the bed and the temptation to join her beneath the covers. He marched to the chair and threw himself into it. With a sigh of his own, he let his head fall against the chair’s back and closed his eyes.

  The rise and fall of his body’s expectations had left him with an almost painful swelling in his loins. He ignored the intense desire gripping him and allowed weariness to rush in to stake its claim. One last heartening thought swept through his mind.

  By week’s end, he’d be sharing his comfortable bed with his wife.

  ***

  Kenzie wanted to reach out and brush aside the hand shaking her shoulder, but she didn’t have the strength.

  ‘My lady, ‘tis time to rise and dress.’

  Go away, let me sleep. Never had her thin pallet seemed so soft and welcoming.

  ‘Please, mistress. ‘Tis almost noon.’

  ‘Shh, Ailsa,’ she murmured.

  ‘Kenzie. You must wake up.’

  The covers disappeared and Kenzie groaned as the chill air swept in to tease her. She curled into a ball to recapture the lost warmth.

  ‘Please, Kenzie. If you don’t let me help you, your husband said he will bathe you and dress you himself.’

  Husband? Kenzie surged upright and blinked the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. Her gaze darted about the large, unfamiliar chamber. Horrid memories flooded back. Fire. Darkness. Running. Captured. Again. I will. Dear God, she was married.

  Ailsa’s familiar face swam into focus. ‘Ailsa!’ she cried, and climbing to her knees, tugged the young maid into her embrace. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘Nae. Why would I be hurt?’

  Kenzie heard Ailsa’s muffled reply, but to be sure, she held her at arms-length and searched her face. Hazel eyes, rounded in surprise, stared back, before relaxing into a smile.

  ‘I’m fine, Kenzie.’

  ‘Truly?’ she asked, skimming her friend’s form for any sign of mistreatment.

  ‘Truly.’ Ailsa nodded.

  The stiffness claiming Kenzie’s limbs and the clattering of her heart eased as relief swamped her. Guilt surfaced instead.

  ‘I’m so sorry they forced you to come here. It’s all my fault. If I had been more careful …’ Kenzie shook her head at her carelessness.

  ‘Nae one forced me to come,’ Ailsa said.

  ‘If I’d been more careful, I wouldn’t have been caught stealing his …’ Kenzie’s voice trailed off as Ailsa’s words registered. ‘If you weren’t forced to come, why are you here?’

  ‘I came because the Elliot laird invited me,’ Ailsa said with a smile. ‘Your husband asked if I’d like to help you settle into your new home. I said, aye.’ Ailsa’s smile widened.

  Kenzie stared at her friend in disbelief. She’d accused Lachlan El
liot of using fear for her friend’s safety to force her to marry him.

  ‘Come, Kenzie. We must hurry and prepare you for your wedding feast.’ Ailsa sprang from the bed and dipped her fingers into a basin positioned on a small table in front of the fire. ‘Good. The water is still warm. ‘Tis all so exciting. The kitchens have been abuzz since dawn.’

  Kenzie’s gaze fastened on the chair she’d curled up in before falling asleep and a wave of alarm silenced Ailsa’s cheerful banter. She’d woken up in his bed.

  Kenzie licked her suddenly dry lips and swallowed past the knot that climbed from her stomach and lodged in her throat. She loathed her uncertainty and the trembling of her hands as she lifted them and placed her palms high on her chest. Staring blindly at the mound of rumpled bedding, she skimmed her hands down the front of her body. Had he touched her breasts? Looked at them with his summer-sky eyes? Had he kissed her again? How could she have missed it if he had?

  I will not lie with you.

  Aye, you will. But not tonight.

  Could he have changed his mind?

  The feel of the woollen gown she wore restored her hope that he hadn’t. He couldn’t have stripped her free of the garment, ravished her and redressed her without her knowledge. Could he?

  Her palms traced her stomach and paused on the dip where her hips met her thighs. She turned her concentration inward, but didn’t feel anything different. She didn’t feel different. But would she? Though her knowledge of what happens when a woman lies with a man was limited to snippets of whispered conversations by blushing Irvine maids and the warnings from women left with bairns clinging to their skirts, she was certain she’d know.

  ‘Men will spout lovelies and lies through their rotten teeth to get their pintle a’tween yer thighs.’ One such warning had come from a weary woman with two children hanging from her skirt and another suckling at her breast.

  But Lachlan Elliot, her husband, hadn’t spouted at all. He hadn’t even bothered to argue. A man like him took what he wanted and ignored the rest. She was blessed he didn’t desire her. Lachlan Elliot didn’t want her, but he’d married her.

  What did he want?

  Chapter 8

  For the first time in five years, Lachlan paused outside the laird’s chamber and considered knocking before entering. His bride of mere hours was inside, his wife in name only.

  Releasing the latch, he threw the door inward and strode into the room. ‘Greetings, ladies.’

  Kenzie sat on a low stool beside the fire, staring straight ahead. She didn’t acknowledge his arrival. But the brush Ailsa was using on Kenzie’s long, dark hair slid from her hand to the floor, the clatter of wood on wood echoing about the hushed chamber.

  Still his stubborn wife didn’t turn.

  It took him a moment to control the slow smile tugging at his lips. Did she imagine he’d allow her to ignore him? He’d have to make sure she was fully aware of him, always.

  He eyed the leaf-green woollen gown encasing Kenzie’s slender form. ‘You’ve done well, Ailsa.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, sir,’ the young maid said, bending to retrieve the brush. ‘It will take but a moment to fix my lady’s … to fix Kenzie’s hair.’

  ‘Leave it,’ he said, his attention resting on his wife’s set profile. ‘I like it down.’ Kenzie’s delicate jaw angled higher, exposing the slender column of creamy skin that rippled as she swallowed. Ah, his bride wasn’t as immune to his presence as she wanted him to believe. ‘You may go and find a place among the hungry horde below, lass.’

  ‘Thank you for your assistance, Ailsa,’ his wife said, her fondness for the maid evident in her tone.

  With a bobbed curtsey, Ailsa left.

  Kenzie stood and finally turned to face him.

  Lachlan was relieved to see the smudges beneath her eyes had all but disappeared. Her direct look and the determination in the dark depths warned him any fondness she felt didn’t extend to him. Something he needed to change if she was to share his bed.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘You’d know better than I.’

  He liked her blunt manner. ‘Aye, I would.’ He smiled. ‘Aye, you did.’

  She arched a fine brow, as if to say, ‘Why bother asking then?’

  Suppressing a grin, Lachlan returned her stare. He liked a challenge and was beginning to believe marriage to Kenzie would be his greatest one yet. But could she take as good as she gave?

  ‘Are you ready to be officially welcomed as an Elliot?’ he said, offering her his arm.

  ‘As ready as any woman forced to marry a complete stranger can be.’ She plucked something from the table before ignoring his proffered arm and heading toward the door.

  He grasped her elbow. She spun to face him, defiance sparking in her eyes.

  ‘We don’t have to remain strangers, Kenzie. The choice is yours.’

  ‘Choice,’ she scoffed, twisting out of his grasp. ‘I’ve had little choice since I met you.’

  Lachlan clenched his jaw. ‘A meeting destined to take place when you made the choice to steal my horse?’

  Unable to deny what she’d done, she held his gaze, but said nothing. Her determination to remain strong when confronted by a harsh truth bespoke an inner strength he recognised and admired.

  ‘Why did you steal my horse?’

  Dark lashes flickered momentarily, suggesting his question surprised her. ‘I had my reasons. Reasons that don’t concern you.’

  Secrets more’s the like. He folded his arms and looked at Kenzie. Her unwillingness to account for her thieving confirmed his beliefs. A coldness trickled down his spine. He’d married her, but he couldn’t trust her. After all, she was a thief with secrets, and she was a woman.

  But worse, she was his wife.

  ***

  Shoulders braced, Kenzie began to work her hair into a single braid as she waited for Lachlan Elliot to demand she tell him why she stole his horse.

  He didn’t. Instead, his strong forearms crossed over his wide chest and he stared at her through narrowed eyes.

  With almost steady fingers she tied off the end of her hair with a strip of leather. Only then did he speak.

  ‘From now on, any “reasons” you have will be of concern to me. Come, the horde grows restless to meet you.’ He ushered her out of the chamber. ‘We Elliots haven’t feasted and kicked up our heels in dance for too long.’

  Dance! Her heart leaped at the mention of her childhood dream. But she did not dance. She didn’t know how. There’d been no one to teach her, so she’d never learned, only watched from the shadows, where she’d quashed burgeoning wisps of envy. Over the years she’d convinced herself that dancing was a frivolous luxury, as were pretty satin gowns, sparkling jewels and looking glasses, too often peered into instead of seeing those neglected around them.

  ‘A frivolous activity,’ she said echoing her thoughts, as he guided her to the stairs.

  ‘Only if you’re not doing it right.’

  The noise from below grew deafening as they descended the steps. Kenzie forced her fingers to rest lightly on Lachlan’s arm instead of clinging. He didn’t need to know she was again nervous about facing his people. He didn’t need to know his presence soothed her churning stomach and gave strength to her trembling knees. This wasn’t the first time she’d felt more secure when he was close. And yet there was always a feeling of danger, too. How could she feel safe and threatened at the same time?

  The puzzling thought disappeared as Lachlan halted in the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs. The noise of the rowdy banter slowly faded. Benches scraped across flagstones as men, women and children stood.

  Knees locked, back straight, Kenzie held her chin high. Her gaze skimmed the tops of a hundred heads while she bore their inspection.

  ‘My fair and mighty people. I give you your new lady, my wife, Kenzie Elliot.’

  A roar of approval rent the air, threatening Kenzie’s flimsy composure. Her fingers tightened on the muscular forearm s
he held. A large palm covered her white-knuckled hand and gently squeezed. She looked up into Lachlan’s ever-present smile. He winked. Her jaw dropped, and then her feet were moving across the floor to where two men, one old, one young, waited at the end of the laird’s table.

  ‘Kenzie,’ Lachlan said drawing to a stop. ‘This is my brother, Caelan.’

  Kenzie nodded at the young man, who she gauged to be around fifteen summers.

  ‘Welcome to the clan, Kenzie.’ Caelan took her free hand and bowed over it as he spoke. Hair the same hue as his older brother’s surrounded a similarly shaped face, but his eyes were dark brown and the muscles about his mouth had to work before a smile graced his lips. ‘Father would be pleased,’ he added as he straightened.

  ‘Aye, he would,’ Lachlan said, still smiling. But the bronzed flesh beneath her fingers hardened to granite.

  ‘And about time, too,’ said the older man, stepping forward. ‘I am Murdoch, Clan Elliot’s steward.

  She acknowledged the steward with another nod and read happiness in his faded blue eyes. Deep lines marked his kind face, and although his hair was thinning, it still held most of the dark colour of his youth, with only a light sprinkling of grey at his temples.

  ‘I suggest we sit and let the feast begin,’ Lachlan said, guiding her to one of two high-backed chairs positioned in the centre of the long trestle.

  ‘A good suggestion, Lachlan,’ Caelan said, following them to his place beside his brother, ‘else I fear the clan will storm the kitchens.’

  Lachlan pulled out a heavy chair, assisted her onto the padded seat and pushed it closer to the table. He clapped Caelan fondly on the back. ‘You’re right. The smell of roasted mutton and deer has nae doubt set their bellies to growling since dawn.’

  The moment Lachlan found his seat beside her, there was much scraping of benches and many sighs of relief as the entire clan resumed theirs. A string of servants flowed out of the doorway to the right and, under Murdoch’s direction, set steaming platters of meat, assorted vegetables, thick-crusted pies and baskets of dark, doughy bread on the laird’s table. Once this was done, the servants marched in and out of the kitchens delivering their goods to the remaining trestles in the vast chamber.