The Thief Page 9

  Delicious smells filled the air. The sight of juices trickling down the thick slices of venison sent Kenzie’s hands to her middle to silence her stomach’s pending growl.

  ‘Hungry, wife?’

  Despite the heat filling her cheeks, she met her husband’s questioning look. ‘A little.’

  ‘Not long now. It isn’t often we have a priest at Castle Redheugh,’ he said, tilting his head to indicate the man chatting to Murdoch. ‘Father Tremayne has kindly offered to bless the food before we eat.’

  The steward called for silence and the priest said a brief prayer blessing the fine fare, the wine and the newlyweds. As an honoured guest, Father Tremayne then joined them at the laird’s table, taking a place on the bench to Kenzie’s left.

  She greeted the man of God with a smile before Lachlan distracted her by piling their shared trencher with sumptuous morsels from each dish and encouraged her to have the first pick.

  Servants splashed wine into their pewter goblets and though Kenzie enjoyed the fruity flavour, she only sipped from her cup now and then. Not so Father Tremayne, who drank the heady brew like water and kept the servants running to and fro to satisfy his thirst.

  When the feast was well underway, Murdoch settled onto the bench beside the priest and the two conversed as if they’d known each other for years. Lachlan continued plying her with food, but every now and then his attention fixed on something Caelan said. During these brief snatches of time, Kenzie had the chance to look around the Great Hall and observe those within.

  She searched for Ailsa and found her sitting two rows from the front. Her friend smiled at something the redheaded man beside her said. He grinned at Ailsa’s response. Seeing the young maid at ease in her new surroundings banished some of the worry stiffening Kenzie’s shoulders.

  Aside from the ancient-looking weapons gracing the wall above the hearth behind her, there was naught decorating the hall, nothing that showed Clan Elliot’s wealth. Or lack of.

  Putting a piece of tender meat into her mouth, she chewed and studied her husband’s people. The dresses adorning the womenfolk were of good quality wool. The men’s plaids and shirts were also fine, and not a single child looked ill-dressed or appeared to be cold.

  Those who’d delivered the food and wine had found their seats once their task was done. But they didn’t all share a table set away from everyone else as servants did at Irvine. They were scattered throughout the hall, merrily enjoying the victuals and the company of those they chose to sit with.

  From the smiles on every face, the hum of voices and rounds of laughter, the people of Clan Elliot appeared content. There was no segregation between servants and others. Was this the reason for the sense of uninhibited harmony suffusing the air? Such a feeling of serenity had been sadly lacking within the walls of Irvine Keep … within her life.

  ‘You seem distracted, wife.’

  She stiffened at the quiet words spoken close to her ear. Her gaze sought out her maid. ‘Who is the redheaded man sitting with Ailsa?’

  Lachlan shifted in his seat. ‘His name is Lundy. He is one of my best swordsmen.’

  Kenzie suddenly recognised him as the man she’d mistakenly thought had been holding Ailsa prisoner the previous night.

  ‘If he looks familiar,’ Lachlan said, ‘it’s most likely because you met him moments before you swooned at the sight of my blood.’

  Kenzie straightened. Despite the humour in his tone, being reminded that she’d cut him was unsettling; that she’d swooned, annoying.

  ‘You may rest easy where your friend is concerned. Lundy is a good man and will not harm her in any way.’

  Kenzie didn’t know why, but she believed him. His reassuring words gave her the confidence to find out more about her husband through his people.

  ‘And the man on Ailsa’s other side?’

  ‘His name is Duff. Iona, Clan Elliot’s healer, tells me his name means “dark”.’

  Kenzie studied Duff’s dark hair and serious expression. He appeared unapproachable. ‘His name suits him.’

  ‘Duff is not an Elliot by birth. Not that anyone knows for certain. But he has proven his loyalty numerous times since he stumbled out of the woods and attacked me.’

  ‘He attacked you, yet he resides beneath your roof?’ She turned and stared at Lachlan Elliot in disbelief.

  His smiling eyes met hers. ‘You cut me, yet I married you.’

  How could she forget?

  ‘Duff was five summers and I was seven,’ Lachlan continued. ‘I was also bigger than him.’

  ‘But why did he attack you?’

  ‘I asked him who he was.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He threw himself at me. We later learned that other than his first name, he had nae clue as to where he’d come from or who his parents were. He still doesn’t know.’

  Kenzie turned back and studied Duff. She knew her name and who her parents were, yet having been overlooked, forgotten by both her mother and father, she’d felt neglected all her life. How much more difficult would it be not knowing who you were? Duff suddenly didn’t appear unapproachable any more. He looked vulnerable, alone.

  ‘The two sitting beside Duff are Adair and Callum. They too know nothing of their origins. But along with Duff and Lundy, they are my most trusted men.’ The steward appeared and began gathering the remnants of their meal from the laird’s table. ‘As are Murdoch and my brother Caelan.’

  Kenzie stored the information away and couldn’t help thinking she and her new husband had something in common. While she cared and provided for unwanted women and children, Lachlan Elliot appeared to take men with no names into his castle and give them a home.

  The servants stood from their places and carried the platters from the tables back to the kitchens. They swiftly returned bearing high-crusted pies filled with stewed apples and an assortment of fruits, some dried, while others swam in thick, sticky syrups.

  ‘Your servants and guards take their seats among the rest rather than sitting with others of their ilk.’ Kenzie plucked a dried prune from a platter and nibbled its bitter-sweetness.

  ‘They all have duties and tasks to perform, whether they’re stablehands, washerwomen, swordsmen or cooks. But they are equal as people and are free to sit where and with whomever they choose.’

  ‘They seem content.’

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘Merely curious,’ she said, tearing another small piece of the fruit with her teeth.

  ‘Where and with whom did you sit at Irvine, wife?’

  She chewed slowly. She’d taken her meals in the kitchens, in solitude, or with Ailsa and happily so. She was Lachlan Elliot’s wife, for now, but her empty childhood was none of his concern. She swallowed and said, ‘My name is Kenzie. I’d prefer you use it rather than call me wife.’

  His eyes were upon her. She could feel the heat of his gaze, sensed his curiosity. Forcing her spine to relax, she eased back in her chair and turned to look at him. His eyes were indeed fixed upon her. The fingers of one hand clasped his chin, one finger alone stretched free alongside his closed lips, lending credit to his thoughtful expression. Her belly flipped as his intent regard roamed her face, as if measuring the shape and length and the individual features in between. Unmoving, her insides wound as tight as a bowman’s string, she made a study of her own.

  Wheat-coloured hair brushed the collar of his ivory linen shirt, and although the laces at his throat had been pulled together and secured, the strings had parted to reveal snippets of tanned flesh beneath. The hide vest he wore fitted snugly. Its leather lacings were also drawn and tied, highlighting where his wide chest tapered down to his lean waist.

  ‘I am more than happy to call you Kenzie.’ His deep voice rumbled through her senses. ‘If you agree to call me Lachlan.’ She stared into his smiling eyes. The air in the room grew too warm, too dense to draw in. ‘Though I do have the right to call you wife, as we are married.’

  ‘A marriage, I must war
n you, I plan to have annulled,’ she said, fighting to regain her momentary loss of concentration.

  ‘A plan, I must warn you, I am determined to discourage,’ he said, leaning closer. She pressed her shoulders into the timber support behind her, but couldn’t move far enough away to escape his masculine scent. His breath brushed her lips. ‘Starting now.’

  Chapter 9

  Kenzie clutched the arms of her chair as her husband rose from his. An instant hush replaced the steady hum of voices. She scanned the sea of faces. Not one among them attempted to finish a conversation on a whisper. Every spoon lowered before reaching their mouths, wooden cups were set down upon trestles. All eyes were fixed on their laird. He’d said not a word. He’d simply stood. What kind of man garnered such undivided attention?

  ‘We Elliots have much to be thankful for,’ he began, his voice level but loud enough to reach those who sat at the rear of the hall. ‘Fine food, wine and ale, warm fires and a place to lay our heads.’ A round of ‘ayes’ followed each item he mentioned. ‘But it is the people we share our good fortune with who make the food tastier, the wine sweeter, our hearth’s flame brighter and our beds, well …’ He glanced at Kenzie, wearing a wicked grin.

  A wave of heat splashed over her, scalding her from head to toe. She ducked her head as a rumble of knowing laughter rippled through the crowd. Damn his smiling eyes.

  ‘I have finally fulfilled my father’s wish and wed.’

  Murdoch raised his cup. ‘To Lachlan Elliot.’

  Kenzie looked up and watched as every man, woman and child lifted their cups high before drinking to Lachlan’s father.

  Wood clattered on wood as they set the vessels back down.

  ‘Not only have I gained a bonny bride—’ Lachlan said. The cheer echoing about the room forced him to pause.

  Kenzie’s lashes lowered to hide her discomfort at his spoken untruth. No one had ever called her pretty. Her sister Jeanne was the one who received such praise. Did he think to win her with false words?

  The cheering faded and Lachlan’s deep voice sounded again. ‘My marriage to Kenzie has also strengthened our position in the Borders, by forging an alliance with our neighbours, Clan Irvine. And none too soon, after last night’s skirmish.’

  Her gaze darted to her husband’s face as a roar of approval shook the rafters. He’d wed her to strengthen his clan’s position, and her father would have strengthened Clan Irvine’s position in return. Not only was she a wife of convenience to protect Clan Elliot’s people, she was also a pawn in a game played by men in power.

  ‘Enough talk and stuffing of faces,’ Lachlan said. ‘Clear the tables. Fine-tune your fiddle, Tevis, and breathe air into that sheep’s bladder, Cam. My wife’s feet are itching to dance.’

  Amid much scraping of wood on stone as men and women vacated their seats and wrestled tables and benches to the side of the room, Kenzie’s stomach plummeted to the supposedly itchy soles of her feet.

  ‘How dare you,’ she said in a fierce whisper. ‘I told you my thoughts on dancing.’

  ‘My dear Kenzie,’ he said, uncurling one of her clenched fists. ‘As you’ve yet to dance beneath Castle Redheugh’s roof, I aim to change your thinking.’ He placed her goblet into her open hand. ‘I suggest you drain the last of your wine, for you’ll have little chance to quench your thirst later.’

  He guided the vessel to her lips, tilted the cup and she drank, mesmerised by the gleam in his eyes, a gleam that turned hungry as he removed the goblet and she licked the last traces of fruity wine from her lips. His eyes explored her mouth, leaving her suddenly breathless, before slowly climbing to meet hers. Straightening, he took her hand.

  ‘Dance with me,’ he said softly.

  She stood and had walked half the length of the laird’s table when she heard the unmistakable whine of bagpipes being primed. The discordant strum of a fiddle quickly followed. Her steps faltered. Should she tell him she’d never danced beneath any roof—or anywhere else for that matter?

  The encouraging light in the glance Lachlan threw over his shoulder warmed her. The need to hide any weaknesses from him kept her silent. Forcing her legs to continue forward, she focused on naught but Lachlan’s face as he drew them to a halt and placed his large hands on either side of her waist. A tiny shiver raced across her belly at his touch, but was quickly forgotten in her confusion about where she should put her own hands.

  As if reading her thoughts, Lachlan released one hand and taking each of hers, pressed a kiss to her palms, enticing a shiver, and set them on his broad shoulders.

  She stiffened at such intimate actions in front of so many, and could do little to calm the hot blush staining her cheeks.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked, with a smile and a gentle squeeze at her waist.

  She swallowed. Her secret wish to dance was about to come true.

  The pipes cried out, the fiddle answered the call and soon the two found harmony in a sweet, slow melody. Lachlan shifted, coaxing her to move along with him. Kenzie’s borrowed slippers seemed too big. She was suddenly convinced she’d put them on the wrong feet. Her heart thundered in her ears and the feeling of being trapped, out of place, turned her stomach cold.

  ‘Don’t just hear the music, Kenzie, feel it.’ Lachlan said softly. ‘Close your eyes.’ He drew her closer.

  Her left arm slid around his shoulder and her right hand clutched the fabric of his vest, leaving scant space between their bodies.

  ‘Trust me,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’ve got you.’

  His warmth surrounded her. The hands cradling her back supported her and gave weight to his vow. Her eyes drifted closed, but the image of his face remained clear in the darkness.

  The music filled her mind like endless waves, before seeping into her chest where her heart sent it flowing through her veins, her limbs, her being. She swayed, became part of the melody as it became part of her. Her feet moved of their own free will, and each small step felt cushioned by air. Her searching fingers pressed softly and were rewarded by the solid strength beneath their tips. Every slow inhalation tasted of sandalwood and leather.

  ‘Methinks you were born to dance, Kenzie.’

  His quiet words seeped through her and she forced her lashes open. She blinked several times before the image she’d taken with her of Lachlan’s face gave way to the reality. Before she could speak, she had to draw herself together, as if every part of her had been called to a different place by the music.

  Silence.

  ‘Is it over?’ she whispered.

  ‘It has only just begun.’

  With a brisk nod toward the side of the chamber, Lachlan grinned and waggled his brows. The fiddle and pipes struck a chord. A shout of glee erupted from the mob, and then she was being whisked around in a circle, care of Lachlan’s guiding hands.

  The hall burst to life. Lively music bounced off the walls and begged their feet to stamp and skip. Kenzie struggled to master the skills to keep up, but as she looked into Lachlan’s jovial countenance, a smile tugged at her lips and her lack of timing mattered not at all.

  She jumped and bounded, was jostled and bumped by clansmen who joined the fray. Irregular whoops of delight cut into the music, the jolly sounds widening Kenzie’s eyes and smile. Sweat trickled between her breasts, ran the length of her spine. A fine sheen glistened across Lachlan’s forehead, causing his fair hair to cling about the edges of his face. She wanted to brush the darkened strands free, but didn’t dare let go of the strong arms holding her, lest she wake and find she lived but a dream.

  The tunes changed, but the music didn’t stop, or slow. A moment of panic threatened when someone tapped her shoulder and her grip on Lachlan slipped. Reassurance glinted in his smiling eyes as he relinquished his hold. The red-haired man she’d spied talking to Ailsa—Lundy—grasped her hands and spun her away. She was twirled and passed along to the three other swordsmen Lachlan claimed were his most trusted. She didn’t know most of the men she danced with, some bearded, som
e clean-shaven, but they all sent her on to the next pair of waiting hands.

  She danced with Lachlan’s brother, Caelan, knocked knees with an unsteady Father Tremayne, losing her breath on a rush of laughter. She found it again at the sight of Lachlan, but lost it once more as he caught her in his arms and carried her to her chair. Her heart thundered in her chest and every inch of her skin prickled with life and heat.

  He poured wine into two goblets and offered her one before drinking from the other.

  She sipped and then said, ‘I believe you said I would have little chance to quench my thirst.’

  ‘So I did,’ he said, setting his empty vessel on the table. ‘But as your husband, it is my duty to ply you with heady wine at our wedding celebration.’

  Kenzie’s flesh chilled at the reminder of what they were celebrating. But as she watched Lachlan peeling his leather vest from his body, her skin heated again at the sight of damp ivory linen clinging to his broad, muscular chest.

  A shout of glee from one of the merry dancers drew her attention back to the crowd. She gulped half of the wine in her goblet, and then pressed the cool pewter against her cheeks.

  ‘Did you enjoy kicking up your heels?’ Lachlan asked, as he hung his discarded vest over the back of his chair.

  She looked back at the revellers. Her heartbeat had slowed, but the thrill of moving, twisting and turning to the music still lingered. ‘Aye.’ It was wondrous. She glanced at her husband, then away, took another sip and said, ‘Thank you.’

  He’d been watching his people, but she knew the precise moment he focused on her. Her right cheek warmed and she was certain the hair above her ear curled. She brushed the side of her face at such a silly thought and discovered that somewhere during her initiation into dance, her swiftly plaited braid had lost its moorings. She gathered it into a thick bundle, not sure what to do with it without the strip of leather to bind it.

  ‘Leave it.’ A soft command.

  Tilting her head, she peered into Lachlan’s earnest eyes. Twice now he’d mentioned liking her hair left unconfined. It was a small request and she had no new leather to secure it.