by Eliza Knight
Inside was equally dark, which normally did not scare her, but the very idea that she’d walk into a solid wall of dragoons hiding here in the pitch black until she entered made her heart skitter. “Shall I light a candle?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“Can ye find the things we need without it?” There was strength in Sorley’s voice that bolstered her somehow.
“I think so.” She thought back to the last time she’d been in the vault and where she’d seen the extra garments stacked.
“Best no’ risk it, then, lass. We’re quite alone right now, but there’s no telling what a line of light beneath a door might bring.”
He was absolutely right, and she was glad to have asked, for he also soothed her nerves by assuring her there was no one lurking in the obscure chamber.
Kenna nodded into the dark and felt along the shelves, familiarizing herself with the layout to better picture the space. Though they’d entered through the secret passage, the main door to the vault was on the other side of the small chamber, and she’d been here not too long ago, fetching a few items her uncle requested. This was their safe stock hold of things—coin, weapons, valuables, extra clothing that was also a commodity.
The rest of the staff knew only about the cellar, which was in another location on the opposite side of the house and held everyday items, plus a few wares. But the vault had an entry door that was well-hidden within a bookcase, and not known to just anyone in the house. A well-kept secret. A secret that would protect them now, she hoped. Unless Uncle Duncan turned on her and led the dragoons here, but she doubted he would do so, for while he aligned himself with the wrong side, he wasn’t going to give up his riches. And the moment he showed the dragoons into this space, he would have to part with his belongings.
At last, she came to the right shelves, her fingers brushing over the fabric of breeches and shirts.
“I hope these fit.” She handed him a set that felt larger, and then pulled down a smaller set for herself.
Kenna loved to wear gowns, rarely wore breeches, even for work with the farm animals. She liked the way the fabric of skirts and petticoats swished around her legs, the way she was less hot while running, than with thick fabric clinging to her legs. She liked wearing stays too, because they held her breasts in place and she’d always felt they were a bit too large and in the way of her work.
Alas, it was easier to ride in breeches, she’d give them that.
She reached behind, realizing too late that she couldn’t undo the buttons of her own gown. Her belly flopped, and a nervous flutter propelled her heart into her throat. Oh no. Trying again, she stretched her arm and hand as far as they would go, the tip of her middle finger just barely brushing the top button.
Mary Mother...
Kenna prayed and stretched and stretched to no avail. This was not a gown she could easily don on her own, and not one she’d effortlessly get out of either. Of all the days to be wearing something so frivolous! If Sorley had come but a few hours earlier, she’d have been in her day dress, one she could simply take off herself.
“I have a problem, sir,” she said, a croak in her voice.
“What is it?”
She heard him pull off some bit of clothes and drop it to the floor.
They had been saved from the lack of propriety by the darkness, and now she would have to ask him for this favor. One she’d not ask in a million years were it not for the extreme danger of prancing about the Highlands in a plaid woven gown.
“I need help.”
“With?” he prodded.
“My gown,” she managed to say, though she sounded rather strangled.
Sorley grunted. “And ye think me proficient in removing a lass’s gown?” There was a teasing lilt to his tone, but she hardly noticed as sweat gathered beneath her arms.
“I wouldna presume a thing, and I’m happy to walk ye through the task should ye no’ know how to proceed, but the fact of the matter is, I canna do it, and I canna leave this vault in this gown.”
“But the gown is so verra bonny,” he teased.
“Now is no’ the time for jests.” Oh, she could just cry! Or scream. Either one, really.
“I’m quite serious.”
But she could tell he was not. Kenna let out a low groan. “Will ye help me or no’?”
He sighed. “Of course.”
Kenna put out her hand, walking forward, her fingertips poking into a very male, very muscular, very nude chest. She gasped at the heated contact, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch, and the insane need to explore every inch of that flesh now that she’d touched it.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she managed, pulling her fingers away as though she’d been burned.
“Dinna be sorry.” His hands grasped her shoulders and turned her about, and the oddest thing happened as he started to undo the buttons at her back—a tingle started somewhere in the middle of her body, fanning outwards, and her nipples... They ached and puckered.
Oh, dear heavens.
Was she attracted to Sorley? The question brought about the idea of kissing. Their lips pressed together, his bare chest touching hers, skin on skin…
“Are ye all right, lass?”
Kenna coughed, trying to dislodge the heated thoughts from her brain. “I’m fine. Why do ye ask?”
“Ye’re breathing verra heavily.” This he said in a near-whisper at her ear, his fingers on the small of her back, brushing against the thin fabric of her chemise right below her stays.
“I’m merely worried about the men above stairs,” she lied, her breathing not calming one bit.
“Is that so?” he chuckled, the soft sound scraping deliciously along the shell of her ear.
“Aye.”
Sorley grunted and plucked the laces of her stays playfully. “Are ye leaving your stays on, or shall I remove these too?”
Kenna nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her do so in the dark. “Aye. Probably best to leave it.” Being bound up in the contraption might remind her of propriety, or at the very least, keep the hardening of her nipples from being evident should they ever reach the light.
“I’ve finished,” he said, his fingers still there, singeing her skin.
“Thank ye.” Regrettably, she stepped away and out of her gown.
“I’ve never—” He stopped himself from speaking.
“Ye’ve never what?”
He chuckled quietly. “I’ve never been in a situation quite like this.”
“And I can assure ye that neither have I.” She softly laughed because it made her feel better to find some humor in such a terrifying situation.
Kenna untied her petticoats and hoop, pushing them onto the shelves along with her gown, so she didn’t trip over them, standing there now only in her drawers, chemise and stays. There was no point in removing her hose, and she rather thought the breeches might be easy to tug on over her boots.
She jerked on the breeches, realizing too late that while they did fit over her boots, they did not fit right over the garments—chemise, draws, stays—she’d kept on. Now wasn’t this bloody rich? She’d have to strip practically nude or manage to stuff all this extra fabric into the clothes, which would only make her look more suspicious. She needed to remove her chemise at least, which happened to be tucked tightly underneath her stays.
She stood silently, listening for sounds in the house but only managing to hear her pounding heart and the swish of Sorley putting on a new shirt.
“I’m afraid I need your help again.” Her face felt ready to burst into flame.
“If ye need me to pull on your breeches, I’m afraid I’ll have to draw the line there, lass. I’m only a man, after all.”
Kenna let out a short laugh at his teasing, but the image of him pulling on her breeches, touching her thighs, her hips, her arse, only made heat flame hotter in her cheeks and on other places on her body she’d not thought about before.
“As it turns out, sir, I can put on my breeches. However, I can
na stuff all this fabric inside, so I must remove my stays, and I canna reach the top where it is laced.”
All was quiet for a moment, and then he gruffly said, “Turn around.”
She did so, waiting for what felt like an interminable amount of time for him to come closer, and finally, his fingers were at her back. She tugged her hair over her shoulder and held her breath as he worked the laces, the resistance against her ribs loosening with each tug.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Dinna be sorry, lass. ’Tis a torment I shall remember for quite some time.”
“Torment?” Her breath hitched.
“Aye.” He didn’t explain, and she didn’t need him too, for she felt that torment well enough about now.
At last, the stays fell loose, and she sucked in a heady breath, turning around. She couldn’t see him, but she sensed him only an inch or two away.
“Thank ye.”
He was silent in front of her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his breathing was coming a little harder than before. Did he feel what she did? This wound-up sensation inside her body that longed to spring free?
“Ye’re welcome,” he said at last. “Ye should finish getting dressed afore I remove something else.”
Kenna drew in a heady breath, picturing him removing the rest of her garments, and oh dear heavens... She stepped backward before she took a step forward, closing the distance between them.
She was not normally so wanton. Aye, she’d kissed a few lads, even let one of them touch her breasts behind the barn, but those sensations she’d had with fumbling stable hands were nothing compared to the breathless headiness she experienced right now with Sorley. Was it the thrill of imminent danger that was making her senses so much more potent?
She hurried to toss her stays to the ground, her chemise coming next, and then she was standing in front of him practically nude. Only her drawers blocked the very core of her.
“Get dressed,” he ordered.
“How do ye know I’m no’?”
“I have excellent hearing, lass. And I know each piece ye’ve taken off, and I know ye’re one step away from being naked.”
“Ye would ravish me?” Oh, why did she have to sound so breathless? And why did she want suddenly so desperately for him to do that very thing?
“If I didna know better, I’d think ye brought me to this vault to seduce me.”
She laughed and shucked her drawers, then reached for the breeches she’d discarded when discovering the problem with all the extra fabric. She buttoned up the flaps.
“If ye consider being chased by rabid dragoons down into the bowels of the house a seduction…” she teased. Kenna pulled on the shirt, wishing she still had the barrier of her stays for her breasts, which tingled from his proximity.
“I’m a retriever, lass, remember? Danger excites me.”
Even covered, she felt fully exposed.
Her heart thumped, and her mouth went dry. But she wasn’t afraid. For some reason, Sorley had the power to make her feel the exact opposite. And in fact, she was quite drawn to him, though she was loath to admit it. She patted around on the shelf, grateful when her hands fell across the frockcoats. She tossed one to him, and then tugged hers in place.
“Some may call ye mad, then,” she replied breathlessly, sitting down on a barrel to relace her boots, making sure they were tight for their inevitable run.
Kenna felt, rather than heard him draw closer, and she stilled, her boots on the dirt-packed floor, his presence looming in front of her like a mouthwatering dessert. All she had to do was reach forward and take a taste.
He leaned down, hands bracing on the edges of the barrel at her hips, his breath fanning her face.
“What are ye doing?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.
The bristles of a day’s growth of beard tickled her cheek as he brought his mouth close to her ear. “Something I should no’.”
And then, his lips brushed hers.
4
Sorley couldn’t believe what he was doing. And yet, now that his lips were grazing over Kenna’s, he didn’t want to stop.
She breathed in sharply, stilled, and he started to pull away, worried he’d scared her or maybe he’d taken the subtle hints the wrong way. But dear God…
“I’m sorry,” he said.
But she gripped the front of his shirt, keeping him from backing away fully.
“Dinna be sorry, sir,” she whispered against his lips. “For this is the best kiss I’ve yet to receive.”
The best kiss she’d yet to receive? That was a high compliment, but it also had him wondering... “Just how many lads have ye kissed?”
“Two or three, but none compare to ye.”
Sorley grinned and swooped back in, claiming her mouth once more. He slipped his tongue between her parted lips, swallowing her gasp and marveling that his sweet lass was allowing him to kiss her. She sighed against his mouth, draping her arms around his neck, the tips of her fingers tracing the column of the top of his spine. Saints but he wanted to remove his hands from the barrel and wrap her up in his embrace, tuck her against him. Feel all those soft curves he’d been eyeing. Bury his face in her neck, her hair, her breasts…
Ballocks.
He could keep on kissing her the rest of the night.
If not for the situation they found themselves in currently, he might have asked permission to court her. Hell, when they returned to the Isle of Skye and the Chief of MacLeod’s stronghold, he would ask. Because they’d gone from sparring on the stairs, to dueling with their mouths in the matter of an hour, and he’d be damned if he were going to go back to the way his life was before he’d met her. Aye, he most definitely would ask.
If they made it…
Their ability to get out of this mess had taken a vastly different turn than he’d expected.
And if they kept at it with this rate, they’d be caught for certain and likely naked.
“As much as I want to spend the rest of the night kissing ye right here, lass, we need to leave.” He stroked the side of her cheek, taking in the softness of her skin and how vastly different it was from his own. Silky, warm, likely the same feel as her thighs that he wanted to wrap around his hips.
What was it about Kenna Forbes that had struck him so much? What made him go from challenging her on the stairs to wanting to spend the day in her arms?
She was beautiful, her body lush, but there were dozens of women he’d met who were equally beautiful, equally round in all the right places. There was something different about Kenna. Her strength, her willingness to fight—even fighting him through her initial fear. She was not a lass to be trifled with. She was keen to challenge him back. Perhaps that was what had him mesmerized. She was not scared of him and instead offered him up every bit of what he put out.
Not to mention that she’d asked him to help her undress.
Whether it was out of necessity or not, the simple request had him weak in the knees.
Sorley had undressed dozens of women, but none had made him feel so...he wasn’t certain what, other than that his fingers had trembled slightly, her scent had intoxicated him, and his fingertips on the small of her back had sent shockwaves of desire coursing through him.
Kenna was intoxicating.
And that made her dangerous.
Except he shouldn’t be afraid of her, for he’d come here to retrieve her. To bring her back to her uncle in Skye and away from the dragoons who infested this house as if they were ants on a dropped bannock.
Why had she stayed here? Better yet, why had she saved him?
“This way.” Her hand clasped in his, she dragged him through the dark, back to the rear entrance of the vault and through a door. They were in the corridor again, judging by the dusty smell, and headed in the opposite direction.
At the end, she stopped. “Where is your horse?”
“About a mile. Halfway between here and the firth.”
“And did ye bring two?�
��
“Of course.”
Kenna let out an audible sigh of relief.
“’Tis no’ that I dinna wish to ride with ye,” she shared. “But we’d be faster getting away on two.”
“I am no’ offended, lass.” Though the idea of her sitting in his lap was entirely too enticing.
Kenna shoved against the door, but it didn’t budge. The sound of her hands searching against the panel echoed in the silence.
“What are ye looking for?”
“There is a latch…” Frustration laced her words.
Sorley added his hands to the mix, searching for the mysterious latch that would free them from this space, and at last, they both found it at the same time, their fingers brushing together, frissons jolting through him again.
The door creaked open like a boom at them in the dark. A sliver of moonlight filtered through the opening, giving them just a hint of light.
Kenna made a move to push the door all the way open, but he stilled her movement with his hand on hers.
“No’ just yet,” he whispered. “Listen first.”
She nodded, the top of her head brushing his chin as she did so. They both listened, hearing in the distance from the house a ruckus as the dragoons ransacked the place, looking for them both.
The house had guards posted at the gate but did not have a wall as some of the older fortifications did, and so no one would see them running unless they were specifically looking toward this opening.
When all seemed safe, they opened the door the rest of the way and Sorley stepped out into the night, his eyes adjusting, and scanned the area. Dragoons had not yet come this way. But he suspected that soon her uncle would tell—if he’d not done so already—about the vault. And if he didn’t tell the dragoons about it, then he’d likely investigate himself.
“Can ye run?” he asked her, suddenly worried that perhaps she could not.
