The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  “What is it?” Rory urged, his heart pounding.

  Alec did not answer. He only looked at his brother, his black eyes cold, empty.

  “Alec!”

  “I have seen her face before,” he said finally. “Last night in my dreams.”

  Fear surged through Rory. His mind went straight to the worst. “Please say ye didn’t see her die.”

  “I didn’t see her die,” Alec said, his voice flat.

  Rory expelled the breath he’d been holding.

  “I saw her funeral.”

  He stumbled back, feeling as if he had just received a blow to the gut. He looked to his brother, but received no comfort in his bleak eyes. His mind raced. He turned and stormed toward Alex.

  “Come on, I’m taking ye home,” Rory said, grabbing her by the arm.

  She yanked free from his grasp. “What are ye talking about? Why would I go home?”

  Rory raked his hand through his hair. Then he seized her, gripping her shoulders and looked her hard in the eye. “Because ye’re going to die.”

  She pulled free and backed away. “Rory, what’s come over ye?”

  “Ye’re going to die—My brother saw it.”

  “How could yer brother possibly know I’m going to die?”

  “He has dreams, visions. I ken ‘tis hard to believe, but he sees what is to come and senses what others cannot.”

  She froze, her heart quickening. “He has the Sight?” she said, weakly.

  Rory nodded to confirm.

  Her mouth ran dry. She believed in the mysteries of the world and that the power of God moved through certain people. Alex turned and looked at Alec sitting alone beneath the tree. The moonlight made his straight, black hair gleam. It fell long, well past his shoulders and down his back. Having sensed her gaze, he lifted his head slightly. They locked eyes and a shiver crept up her back. He certainly had the feel of the fae. She crossed the glade, which shone silvery in the moonlight, and stood in front of him. He did not look at her, nor did he acknowledge her presence in anyway. Her eyes followed a path over the chiseled muscles of his bare shoulders. He was long and lean, less powerfully built than Rory, but she remembered how he had moved out of the water like something smooth and seamless, and yet so strong.

  Slowly, she sat down beside him and studied his profile. His face was stony without appearing hard. She could describe him as impassive, but even that didn’t quite capture his essence. He withstood her scrutiny without flinching, without an expressive display of any kind—as though he were a fine statue carved from beautiful stone—but there was nothing still about him. Alex could sense the whirl of his mind.

  “Ye fight to contain it all inside of ye, don’t ye,” she whispered. “Ye don’t want anyone to see.”

  She was not surprised when he continued to stare off into some distant place her own eyes could not see.

  She tapped her hands on her knees. “So, ye’re Alec, and I’m Alex—that could get confusing,” she said, chuckling, but the sound of her awkward mirth trailed off into silence.

  Finally, she blurted. “So ye saw me die.”

  This time the slightest movement caught her eye—an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  When he spoke, she started at the sound, having grown accustomed to his silence. “Not your death. Only your funeral.”

  “Do you believe I will die?”

  “Yes,” he said coolly. “We will all die one day.”

  She considered his words and realized he was telling her that he did not know.

  He shifted his head, and they locked eyes. She froze beneath the weight of his black gaze. “Follow the command of yer own heart, Alex, just as ye’ve always done. It’s brought ye this far, hasn’t it?” Then he stood and strode off, disappearing into the woods.

  She sat for a moment, feeling shaken to her core and yet oddly at peace.

  Rory came to stand beside her. “Alec has a strange effect on everyone,” he said knowingly.

  She looked up at him, not having heard his approach. Confident words left her lips almost of their own bidding, as if her very heart spoke without consulting her mind. “My place is with ye, right here, fighting for Scotland.”

  Rory shook his head. “’Tis to dangerous.”

  “I know I may die, but so might we all. Our lives are in God’s hands.”

  Rory shook his head harder. “Alex—”

  “What if it had been ye, Rory?” She said, cutting him off. “What if Alec had dreamed about ye? Would ye go find a rock to hide beneath?”

  Rory turned his back to her and raised his clenched fists above his head, growling before he turned back around. He released a long breath and met her gaze. “Nay,” he said softly. “I would not.”

  She nodded and accepted his offered hand. “I have made my choice. I fight with ye.”

  He kissed her hand. “I will never seek to control ye, Alex.” A smile broke the serious lines of his face. “Not that I could, even if I tried.”

  She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Thank ye for accepting me as I am,” she said softly.

  He pressed her hand against his heart. “I’m terrified something is going to happen to ye, and ye know how I feel about being afraid.”

  “Don’t think about it. Run with me headlong into the fray. Alba gu bràth,” she whispered.

  He gently ran his fingers down her cheek. “Alba gu bràth,” he said softly.

  David cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “We have to discuss our plan.”

  Alex gestured toward the place in the woods where Alec had disappeared. “What about Alec? Will we not wait for his return?”

  David shook his head. “He’s told me everything we need to know, which is all the support he can provide. His work within the king’s palace is not yet done. He cannot risk his true identity being discovered.”

  Alex and Rory joined David and two other men by the fire.

  “Alex, this is Paul and over there is Nick.”

  Alex smiled at Paul. He was the shirtless slumberer she had spied when first entering the glade. He appeared to be only a year or two older than she. His wet brown hair hung in soft curls around warm, dark eyes, which crinkled when he smiled in return. Nick, on the other hand, didn’t even look up. His blond hair was also still wet from bathing. It was slicked back, and his eyes remained downcast while he ran a wet sharpening stone over his dirk.

  “Ye all know where we’re going tomorrow and what we’re stealing, but now I am going to tell ye how,” David said. “Alec has had the displeasure of meeting a man named Richard Ash. He calls himself a merchant but he’s really no better than a peddler. According to Alec he once had a thriving trade in Flanders, but when King Edward withdrew from his holdings there, he left a slew of unpaid debts. The Flemish king sought compensation from the English merchants living inside his borders, claiming their profits and what remained of their goods. Richard returned to England with naught but the clothes on his back. Understandably, he was furious and went to the palace to seek compensation from the king, but, of course, he didn’t find the king. Instead, he was greeted by disorder and debauchery—a scene that appealed to him straightaway. He easily charmed his way into the keeper’s inner circle. But it was not only the wine and women that drew him to the palace. He saw opportunity. Since the beginning, he has been plotting how to rob the English king, gathering close a band of allies, which includes castle guards, monks from the neighboring abbey, and, fortunately for the cause, Alec MacVie, who knows the details of Richard’s plan.”

  “So, this Richard has set the heist in motion, but we are going to take it over?” Rory asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” David replied.

  Rory shook his head. “But he was wronged by the king the same as us. I see no honor in stealing his prize.”

  “Do not give this man yer sympathies so quickly,” David warned. “Alec has spent time in his company and has found little to recommend in his character. He is callous to those he cal
ls friends, abusive to the servants remaining in the king’s palace, and most disturbing to Alec is Richard’s treatment of women. He steals for his own selfish gain, and Alec is convinced others will only suffer from his ill-gotten wealth.”

  Rory nodded. He had heard all he needed. Alec was the surest judge of character. Rory had no doubt that Richard was wicked to the core. “What is the plan?”

  “Underneath the Chapel House of the abbey is a crypt where King Edward has stored countless treasures, plates, jewels, coin from Flanders and France.”

  Alex leaned forward eagerly. “So then, Richard plans to break into the crypt, and we must get there first.”

  David shook his head. “Richard has already broken into the crypt.”

  Rory threw his hands up. “Then he’s already made off with the prize. Why are we wasting time with all this blather? Should we not run him down and seize it?”

  “Calm yerself, Rory,” David said, gesturing to Rory’s tankard. “Have a sip of ale and listen. He’s broken into the crypt, but he hasn’t robbed it yet—not all of it anyway.”

  “I don’t follow ye.”

  “He broke in last week and remains there still. Every day one of the monks waits by a hole they made in the Chapter House wall concealed by bushes. Every day he passes through one of the priceless treasures.”

  “But that’s absurd,” Paul said. “Does he not raise the risk of being caught?”

  “’Tis arrogant but not as unreasonable as ye might first think. Ye see, he’s afraid of being caught—not committing the act, mind ye, but when trying to turn the treasure into profit. Foreign coin cannot be used at market without raising questions of how he obtained it. And merchants are unlikely to barter for what would clearly be royal treasure. Neither Richard, nor any of his cronies, knows how to use what they’ve stolen. Their plan, at this point, is to hide the pieces until they figure it out.”

  Rory sat back in his chair. “Where are they hiding the pieces?”

  “They’re sinking the treasure to the bottom of rivers and ponds and burying it behind headstones.”

  “Considering they lack the connections we have, it’s actually rather cunning,” Alex said.

  “And requires incredible patience, which is not often a virtue of one so willing to flout the law,” Rory added.

  David almost smiled. “I wouldn’t accuse any us of being in possession of that virtue.”

  Alex laughed outright. “I suppose ye’re right. We are a reactionary lot.”

  “And stubborn,” Rory agreed.

  “Not to mention feckless from time to time,” Alex said, laughing.

  “Let’s put our foolhardiness to good use then,” Rory said, raising his cup. “Let’s go rob the king of England. Alba gu bràth.”

  Everyone but Nick raised their cups in kind. “Alba gu bràth.”

  “Now, get yer arses to bed,” David said. “We wake before dawn. ‘Tis two-day’s hard ride to London.” Then he dipped his head and turned, disappearing within the trees.

  Paul stood and smiled. “This will be one to tell my grandchildren when I’m old and gray,” he said, chuckling. Then he bowed at the waist to Alex. “I’ve heard of ye,” he said. “’Tis a pleasure to meet the lady agent.”

  “The pleasure is mind,” Alex said. She watched him retreat into a different portion of the woods.

  Only Nick remained. Alex looked at him expectantly. She had yet to hear him say a word. She watched while he ran the sharpening stone slowly down the blade of his dirk one last time. Then he stood, and without even a glance in their direction, he crossed the glade and, like the others, disappeared between the trees.

  “Don’t pay Nick any heed,” Rory said. “He’s a good agent, his loyalty to Scotland unquestioned, but he’s hard, ruthless even. A part of me understands why. His family, his wife and three children, were burned alive in their home during the massacre.”

  Alex gasped, her heart suddenly aching for Nick.

  Rory nodded. “’Tis unthinkable, I ken, but his pain and fury have blackened his soul. Meeting Nick helped soothe the same beast within me. After my parents and sister were slain, I desired vengeance, blood. Now, I fight only for freedom.”

  Alex scanned the woods. “They all left in different directions. Where have they gone?”

  Rory pointed to the sky. “Into the trees. The Harborage is our haven, remember? A place for us to rest without fear. We’ve built platforms within tree branches. They are concealed by canopies of leaves and underbrush.”

  Alex frowned. “Abbot Matthew will hear from me on this matter. All this while an Eden has existed, and I’ve been denied because I’m a woman. ‘Tis unjust. I work just as hard as anyone else. Do I not deserve a bath in a lovely, moonlit pool?”

  Rory smiled. “I for one think ye do. In fact, why don’t ye avail yerself of that luxury now?” He gestured toward the empty pool, which glistened in the moonlight on the other side of the glade.

  She gazed at the inviting water and started toward it. “I believe I shall.”

  “I will keep watch,” he said.

  The corner of her mouth lifted into a sensual smile. “Actually, I insist ye watch.” She boldly turned to face him and eased her tunic over her head. She met his gaze and stood for a moment, allowing him to feast his gaze upon her body, clad only in her kirtle. Then she removed the thin barrier and stood before him naked in the moonlight.

  He looked at her hungrily, his eyes slowly traveling over every inch of her bare flesh. “Ye’re magnificent.”

  She smiled and threw her kirtle at him, then dove into the water. Icy currents swept over her skin. She squealed when she surfaced. “It bites,” she said.

  Rory looked down at her. “So do I.”

  His words shot through her, igniting her body with warmth despite the frigid pool. Her heart quickened. She licked her lips as she took in his large frame, his penetrating gaze. She promised herself, in that moment, that one day she would again know the feel of his hands on her body.

  But what if she didn’t have one day more?

  Alec’s prophesy trumpeted in her mind. What if she was going to die? Her heart quaked, but not with fear. She was not afraid to die for the cause. Her heart trembled for that which she feared most—regret. What if she were to die without ever lying in Rory’s arms? She sucked in a sharp breath and dove beneath the surface.

  Rory crouched down beside the water’s edge and waited for her to appear again. She emerged directly in front of him, the surface of the pool lapping her waist. Water sluiced off her firm, proud breasts. His mouth watered at the sight of her taut peaks.

  As if of their own accord, her arms flew around his neck. “I will have ye now, Rory.”

  He pulled away to look into her eyes, which gleamed with near feverish intensity. “But…what about your duty?” he said.

  “Nay! I will not think of duty right now. My whole life I have thought of little else.” She cupped his cheeks, bringing his lips a breath away from her own. “What if this is all we have? This moment. This night. I want yer hands on my body.”

  His heart pounded. Hunger gripped him like nothing he had ever felt before. He brushed her lips with a kiss—the barest whisper of a caress. Then he plunged his hands into the water and cradled her up through the air, icy water soaking his clothes. “I’m going to make yer body quake,” he promised and carried her toward the trees.

  High in the treetop, a canopy of leaves hid her naked body, even from the stars above. Only Rory could feast upon her luscious curves. Her body was both soft and strong. He ran his hand down the gentle slope of her waist, over her hip and down her long sleek leg. She wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly pulling him closer, her lids half-closed, heavy with desire. He ran the backs of his fingers gently down her cheek. Then he crushed his lips to hers. She groaned, clinging to him, her tongue stroking his.

  “Take this off,” she cried out, tearing at his tunic.

  He whisked the fabric over his head, and winced as her nail
s dug into his back. He grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head with one hand while he swept his other hand over her breast. With his palm he gently caressed her nipple. Then he lowered his mouth, His hot breath teasing her hard peak. He stroked it with his tongue, forcing a gasp from her lips. Then he seized it gently between his teeth, and she cried out. He drew the point deeper into his mouth and suckled her while she writhed beneath him, soft moans escaping her lips. She twisted to release her hands from his steel grip. Still he held her, trapping her while he slowly caressed her hip and smoothed over the dip of her stomach. Then his fingers brushed the soft curls, and he cupped her mound.

  “Let me go,” she cried. “I want to touch ye. I want to feel yer body.”

  “In a minute, love,” he said softly. Then he held her gaze while he gently pushed her thighs apart. He trailed his fingers slowly from her knee, up the inside of her thigh, his touch soft as a whisper. He paused just as he reached the very heat of her. She bucked her hips, her eyes pleading.

  “Please, Rory,” she cried.

  He watched the agony of desire twist her features as his touch barely grazed her flesh.

  Again, her hips bucked against his hand, her body demanding more. He leaned over and seized her lips the instant he deepened his touch. Her body, hot and wet, contracted around him, and he stroked her, bringing her higher and higher. Then her eyes flew open. “Rory, I want ye to make me yers,” she cried.

  He groaned, releasing her hands. She came onto her knees and pulled on the waist of his hose, freeing his hard length. He pushed her back onto the platform and positioned himself between her legs. Then slowly, so slowly, he entered her. Her tight sheath constricted around him. She was so tight. He held his breath as he stretched her wider until he filled her. She wound her arms firmly around him, her face buried against his neck, and slowly he started to thrust. Her hips met his, her body slick with sweat. She gripped him. He thrust harder, then faster. Her breath filled his ears. Her pounding heart beat against his chest. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and pulled down on him, meeting his hard thrusts with furious demand. She seized, as a cry tore from her lips, then she shuddered and quaked in his arms. He drove deeper, her rapture tearing through him, bringing his own body toward exquisite pain, which suddenly released as wave after wave of pleasure shot through him.