The Thief

by Allison Butler

  Duff’s shout rent the air, heralding he was in position. A gasp rang out, bouncing off the still quietness like a scream.

  Legs braced wide, Lachlan waited as hurried footsteps headed his way. Knees bent, arms tense, his fingers clawed like a mighty eagle’s talons, Lachlan stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight.

  A small figure ran toward him, too busy looking behind to see him standing in their path.

  His stitches tingled. Impossible. It can’t be.

  Her pretty head jerked around. Shock painted his little thief’s face and widened her eyes. Her steps faltered. She slid to a stop an arms-length from where he stood. Lachlan glared at her in disbelief. Silvery lips, tinged blue, shivered open, but no sound slipped out of her mouth.

  Hands shaking, he jammed his dagger safely into the waistband at his back. He fought to steady his fury by inhaling a deep, full breath, but it failed to quell the rage burning inside. His marriage could have been over before it began. He could have killed his future wife.

  He took a step toward her, his anger breaking free. ‘What in Christ’s name are you doing here, Kenzie?’

  ***

  ‘I …’ Kenzie had no ready response to Lachlan Elliot’s roared question. None that he’d like anyway. What in Mother Mary’s name was he doing on Irvine land? Her arms stiffened by her sides. He wasn’t supposed to be here. She stared into his face. While his features were familiar, the expression of fury he wore was not. His ever-present smile was missing. And he didn’t yet know what she’d done to escape.

  Grasping her skirts and cloak, she stumbled back two steps and ran into the darkness to her right. An ungodly oath erupted from behind her, moments before a firm, unseen weight settled on her shoulder.

  She dipped and twisted, trying to shake free of his hold. An arm circled her waist and her back collided with a wall of muscle.

  ‘Let me go,’ she yelled, pushing at his forearm with frozen fingers.

  ‘So you can run again and likely break your fool neck.’

  His free arm wrapped around her middle, trapping her arms. Pinned against him, his heat seeped through her borrowed cloak and thin gown to warm her chilled flesh and shivering bones. She fought the urge to press more firmly against him and soak in his warmth.

  ‘Curse you,’ she said, loathing her body’s weakness.

  ‘I’m thinking I’m already cursed.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be in Dumfries.’

  ‘And you should be tucked in your bed.’ His quiet words rumbled through her. His warm breath tickled her ear, her cheek and the fine skin of her neck. She shivered and closed her eyes.

  ‘We’ll talk about why you’re out here later, Kenzie. Right now it’s time to go home.’

  Home? The single word rang with promise, but the meaning escaped her. Despite weariness dragging at her lashes, she forced her eyes open. She needed to stay alert for any opportunity to escape his hold. His heat.

  Her captor straightened and turned them around. A shrill whistle echoed into the night. The clicking of hooves on ice sounded before the call had faded to silence. The warmth about her withdrew, his hold shifting a moment before he lifted her and set her atop his horse with surprising gentleness. He mounted behind her and drew her back against him. She stiffened and leaned forward.

  ‘Anything I can do, laird?’

  Kenzie searched for the voice in the dark and found a lone rider waiting in a strip of moonlight.

  ‘Nae, Duff. Ride ahead, we’ll not be far behind you.’

  Her lashes fluttered, threatening to close. She blinked, trying to stay alert, but the rocking motion caused by the horse’s slow, even gait played havoc with her efforts. Lachlan Elliot’s warmth lured her like a drunkard to his brew but she refused to relax back against him.

  ‘How did you escape?’ The quietly spoken question banished her weariness like a plunge in an icy loch. She stiffened, leaning further away from his cradling warmth. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I did what I needed to do.’ Guilt tripped her heart. She hadn’t wanted to. She’d had to. She shuddered at the thought of anyone being hurt while fighting the fire she’d started.

  ‘What have you done?’ The quiet intensity of his repeated question tore shreds from her soul. A large hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her back against him. Concern and dread flowed from his biting grip, more frightening, for she could feel his pain, shared his fear. Her guilt doubled. Her stomach churned.

  ‘‘Tis all your fault.’ She wriggled and tried to break his hold. She couldn’t bear his suffering when her own shame at the hurt and damage she might have caused made her ill.

  ‘Aye. I forced you to steal my horse. Christ, keep still.’

  ‘You forced me to escape.’

  ‘Forced you? You agreed to marry—’

  ‘Marry you or hang. Nae choice at all. Both spell death, though hanging would be quicker and kinder.’

  Her final word floated in the frosty air for a whisper of time. Drawing a deep breath, she fought to slow her racing heart. She longed to hear him speak, break the brittle silence swarming around them. An angry word. Something.

  Anything.

  He said nothing. Left her to wallow in strangling silence, left her to her guilty thoughts.

  The rigid thighs and arms locked about her body were the only sign he was still there. She’d exchanged a prison of stone for a prison of flesh. Stronger, more lethal. Would he punish her for escaping? Perhaps he’d now change his mind about marrying her. Faint hope fluttered in her chest.

  She inhaled and with it, tasted the faint smell of smoke. The memory of charred fingers flashed in her mind. The vision of her own hand lowering the flaming kindling to her bedding swiftly followed. She peered down at her hands.

  ‘Fire?’ her captor questioned softly.

  A wave of chilling uncertainty rushed through her. She had no clue what had happened once she’d fled. Her hand fisted. ‘I did what I had to,’ she whispered.

  The body behind her stiffened, the arms about her tightened, locked. ‘Precisely what did you do?’ His quiet tone rang with menace.

  She bit her lower lip. She’d meant no harm. If anyone had been wounded or—bile rose in her throat.

  At that moment their mount topped a rise. Through watery eyes, Kenzie stared in horror at the blur that lit the bleak, dark landscape below.

  ‘Dear God, forgive me.’

  Chapter 6

  Never had Lachlan witnessed the pale stone walls of Castle Redheugh brushed red-gold by so many flaming torches. The cavernous night hunched about the blazing splendour, its blanketing darkness the perfect backdrop to highlight the glowing beauty of his ancestral home. But his appreciation soon gave way to anger.

  He tallied how many torches were burning, their lengths squandered. Time spent binding strips of greenwood and soaking the moss-filled end in animal fat so it would catch alight and burn also wasted. Wasted, looking for the woman before him.

  He dragged his awareness from the costly scene and stared at the back of his future wife’s bowed head. His father had impressed upon him the need for restraint to ensure his people survived, to always consider his people’s needs compared to unnecessary wants. He’d been taught to loathe waste. Hadn’t she? With Lennox as her father, likely not.

  But she needed to learn. Once they were wed, Lachlan would teach her. This, among other things.

  The woman managed to stir trouble wherever she went, had run free and wild too long. She needed someone to take her in hand. He would be that someone. He’d bind her to him through marriage the moment he had her safely within his stronghold. He’d not risk her fleeing again. With his mind made up, Lachlan allowed the muscles bunching across his shoulders to relax, knowing once he was wed, all would be as it should be.

  De Brus carried them down the final tree-lined slope where Lachlan’s cattle were held before being moved closer to the keep for winter. Lachlan’s eyes briefly lifted to the swollen moon and then dropped to where Duf
f rode a short distance ahead. The men guarding the herd would soon be replaced by the night watchmen. Lundy, Dair, Cal, Father Tremayne and Ailsa would already be safely within Castle Redheugh walls. His bride-to-be-

  ‘Reivers!’

  Duff’s warning shout split the cold-night air, swiftly followed by other calls of an attack from beyond the line of trees. The clang of steel meeting steel pierced the night.

  ‘Down, Kenzie!’ He hissed the command through clenched teeth even as his left hand pushed her forward so she lay flush against his mount. She obeyed without resistance.

  The fingers of Lachlan’s right hand curled about the hilt of his sword, his weapon drawn a heartbeat before the drum of thundering hooves drowned out all other sound.

  Two mounted men rushed Lachlan from the trees to his right, their larger mounts screaming their English origins. Their long blades flashing deadly intent in the moonlight. Raising his sword, Lachlan blocked the slicing curve of one man’s weapon, twisted his grip and drove his opponent back with a menacing thrust. The second man quickly filled the space, his sword high in a two-handed hold as the blade began its downward arc.

  Lachlan gripped De Brus’s sides with his knees and thighs, bracing for the powerful blow. He pressed his splayed hand firmly down on Kenzie’s slender back. His need to protect her lent a fierceness to his strength and an extra thud to his heartbeat. He closed his senses to everything but the falling blade. Willed all his power into his hand and the arm supporting his deadly weapon, his only means of defence.

  His attacker’s sword crashed down onto his. Metal screamed in protest. Lachlan’s blade barely wavered but his fury erupted. With a blood-curdling roar, he drove the other man’s blade to the side and down, then with a turn of his wrist, brought his blade back in the opposite direction.

  His opponent shrank away, but not swiftly enough to avoid the tip of Lachlan’s sword. The sharp point shredded the man’s leather vest and scored the flesh of his stomach. A howl escaped the man’s lips before he turned his mount and bolted.

  ‘Laird, behind you.’

  De Brus reacted the instant Lachlan nudged him with his knee. Swinging around to the right, Lachlan’s sword was already slicing the air before they’d completed the turn. His blade sank deep in his first attacker’s shoulder. A scream tore through the night. With a sharp wrench, Lachlan dislodged his weapon from bone, earning another agonised cry. The injured man slumped across his horse’s neck and fled.

  Lachlan searched his surroundings, listening to the hoof beats fading as the last of the reivers galloped toward the English border. Blood pounded at his temples.

  The woman molded to De Brus’s neck shifted. ‘Is it over?’ Her voice was steady.

  She is unharmed. Lachlan’s thumping pulse calmed. ‘Aye. It’s safe to sit up, now.’

  No movement, then … ‘It would help if you removed your hand.’

  Lachlan peered down at his hand still planted in the centre of her back. His fingers curled about the heat branding his palm. He pulled his hand away. His blood slowed. She straightened, but stopped short of her body leaning back into his.

  Duff rode up, his gleaming sword still in hand. ‘Are you all right, laird?’

  ‘Aye, thanks to you.’

  Duff turned away and scanned the area. Lachlan glanced at his closed, rigid profile. Even after a score of years living as an honorary Elliot and one of Lachlan’s most trusted friend’s, Duff had never grown comfortable with praise, no matter how deserved. The man lived to do his duty with honour. Failure wasn’t possible.

  ‘Any losses?’

  ‘None I’m aware of,’ Duff replied. ‘The guards are rounding up the cattle now.’ Distressed lowing echoed eerily in the night.

  ‘See to any injured and get the men to move the herd down to the winter enclosure.’

  ‘Aye.’ Duff galloped off to do Lachlan’s bidding.

  Lachlan stared in the direction the English had fled. They’d been lucky, but the attack gave him more reason to marry Kenzie tonight. He needed to increase his clan’s security as swiftly as possible and a union with Kenzie meant he could count on Irvine’s aid and support, just as Clan Elliot would give the same in return.

  Kenzie’s soft sigh snared his attention. He looked on as she lifted her steady hands to push her hair out of her face. Moonlight caressed the dark waves as lavender suffused the air.

  Lachlan watched her calm movements as she tugged her cloak more securely about her shoulders. No frightened tears, no hysterical ranting. Even with the clanging and clashing of steel over her head, she hadn’t panicked. Unexpected admiration unfurled within him.

  He sheathed his sword and nudged De Brus into motion. ‘You act as if you’ve been caught in the middle of a skirmish more than once.’

  ‘I’ve witnessed several skirmishes, but have never been involved in one. Nor have I been sprawled atop a horse during one.’

  The hint of mirth in her tone sparked his humour. ‘A first for each of us, then.’

  ‘You’ve never been involved in a skirmish before?’ Disbelief coloured her tone.

  ‘I’ve fought my share of skirmishes but never with a woman so wantonly draped between my thighs.’ Lachlan ignored her gasp and smiled. His soon-to-be-wife was a mixture of worldly wisdom and naive innocence. An interesting combination, the latter an area he suddenly longed to tutor her out of.

  His mount carried them down the grass-spattered slope and they rode into the pool of light created by the flaming torches, positioned every few feet atop the curtain wall. A guard on the battlements shouted a greeting as one side of the massive wooden gates opened wide.

  The last of the tension riding his shoulders ebbed as they rode through. He was home.

  Caelan greeted them inside the bailey. ‘A nasty night’s work, brother.’

  ‘Aye, Caelan. But the English scum left as they’d come, empty-handed. Some will have trouble finding a peaceful rest this night.’

  ‘Iona is ready and waiting to tend those of ours who are injured.’

  ‘Good. Duff’s checking for any wounded as we speak.’

  Lachlan dismounted and tossed the reins to a young stable lad. Securing his hands at Kenzie’s waist, he turned and addressed his brother. ‘I have my suspicions, Caelan, but tell me why Castle Redheugh is lit like a beacon?’

  He lifted the cause of his suspicions from the saddle to the ground, but didn’t release her. He wasn’t letting her escape a second time. She squared her shoulders but didn’t attempt to move away.

  ‘Aye, well. It seems someone went missing, Lachlan.’ Caelan cleared his throat. ‘Right after a fire broke out in the chamber we keep for special callers.’

  Lachlan stilled and looked at Caelan. ‘Was anyone hurt?’ The lithe body within his hold stiffened. She’d experienced an English raid and barely flinched, but turned as rigid as a warrior’s pike when he asked his brother a few questions regarding her escape.

  ‘Thankfully, nae.’

  Relief washed through him like a cool balm to a fiery wound. His palms absorbed Kenzie’s shudder of relief. She hadn’t caused the skirmish, but the fire …

  ‘And the chamber?’

  ‘The bedding’s in ashes. One stone wall is blackened and the timber floor scorched, but the chamber is sound enough.’

  ‘Good.’ It seemed his thief had the ability to inflame more than his ire. He turned to the young stablehand. ‘Give De Brus an extra long rub, lad. He’s earned it.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Placing one arm around the troublesome wench’s upper back and the other behind her knees, Lachlan scooped her up into his arms.

  ‘Put. Me. Down.’ She spoke as if he were hers to command.

  Ignoring her order, Lachlan strode toward the keep’s entrance. ‘What of our other guests?’ he asked Caelan, who fell into step beside him.

  The inflexible bundle against his chest jerked her head upward, butting the underside of his chin. ‘I am not your guest.’

  Lachlan
grunted, turning his face to the side in time to see Caelan glance away and up as if the night sky called to him.

  ‘You’re right. You are nae guest, only my future bride.’ Kenzie squirmed in his arms.

  ‘Lundy has our guests warming themselves in the kitchens,’ Caelan eventually said, though he kept his eyes averted. ‘Cal and Dair have gone to assess any damage.’

  ‘Once the men not on watch are inside the bailey, have the torches doused, bar the usual two above the gates, and meet me at the laird’s table.’

  ‘Aye.’ Caelan left them at the foot of the stairs.

  The woman in his arms shivered.

  Lachlan’s gaze skimmed Kenzie’s pale cheeks and blue lips. Pulling her closer to share his heat, she surprised him by relaxing against him. He climbed the steps and inclined his head at the guard, who opened the door to the Great Hall. Heat bathed his face. A hush fell over the crowded chamber as he carried his burden toward the blazing hearth behind the laird’s table. Kenzie’s warm breath bathed his upper chest and neck.

  ‘‘Tis good to have you home, laird.’

  ‘It’s good to be home, Murdoch.’ He gave his steward a tight smile. ‘I hear there was some mischief inside the keep during my absence.’

  Murdoch glanced at the woman in Lachlan’s arms. ‘But all seems well, now.’

  ‘Aye,’ Lachlan replied. ‘It’s been an eventful night, but nothing a basin of warm water, some mead and a few moments before the fire won’t fix.’

  Murdoch nodded and left.

  Bypassing the high-backed laird’s chair and its mate, Lachlan sat on one of the bench seats facing the crackling fire. The hush behind him finally gave way to murmurs as he relaxed his hold on the woman now resting in his lap, her face buried in the folds of his mantle.

  ‘Hiding, Kenzie?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Though I welcome the feel of your fingers clutching my shirt and your hot breath ruffling the fur of my mantle …’ Her hands pushed against him. She sat upright across his thighs. ‘Ah, much better. I’d prefer to see your face.’

  ‘I wasn’t hiding,’ she said stubbornly. ‘And I wasn’t clutching your shirt.’ She scrambled off his lap onto the bench beside him.