by Lily Maxton
Or maybe she did. Maybe this—the path he’d chosen—was how he withstood it.
But that didn’t change the fact that Mal and his group were thieves. They had started this when they’d gone into her bedchamber, when they had violated her sanctuary, as if they had the right, and stolen a piece of her heart. She wasn’t leaving until she either had it back or was certain that it was lost forever.
We do what we must.
It was as true for an ex-soldier Highlander as it was for the sister of an earl.
“Catriona?” Mal was watching her. “I don’t think I’ve ever robbed someone of speech by kissing them before. I don’t know whether to be pleased or deeply worried about my finesse.”
Well, there was certainly nothing wrong with his finesse. There was only something wrong with her reaction to it.
It hadn’t quelled her desire, as she’d hoped. If anything, her curiosity had grown wider, deeper, starker. What would it feel like to have his hands on her skin? His mouth on her breasts? His fingertips brushing the insides of her thighs?
She squashed these questions like she might squash a bug underfoot (and sent a silent apology to Eleanor, who would be horrified at the thought of stomping any insect instead of preserving it for study or letting it roam free).
“It was a very…pleasant…kiss, Mr. Stewart,” she said briskly. “Have no fear on that account.”
“Pleasant?”
Earth-shattering, blood pounding, loin tightening, chest heaving…but really, there was no use going into all the little details.
“Aye, I’m sure I’ll remember it fondly.” She blinked at him innocently. And he blinked back.
“Fondly?”
“Of course. It will be quite a nice thing to look back on, from time to time, in the future.”
He was frowning. “Will it, then?”
“Aye, indeed it will, Mr. Stewart.”
His frown, somehow, turned even more severe. “Mal,” he corrected.
“Mr. Stewart,” she said promptly. “We wouldn’t want to become too familiar because of one little kiss, would we?”
She saw him shape the words—one little kiss. She almost felt guilty.
Almost.
Playing off the kiss was better than letting him know how very much she’d enjoyed it. Better for both of them.
“We should go to the others. Who knows what mischief they might get up to without us?”
She set a brisk pace and heard Mal, after a moment, follow.
Lachlan had said they would set out on a raid soon enough, and it was a good thing, too. They needed to steal some sheep before she found herself doing something even more foolish than thievery.
Like throwing herself at a man she could have no future with.
…
Mal was letting himself get distracted from the task at hand.
That kiss.
Damn it, that kiss.
He’d accepted Catriona’s challenge. He’d wanted to turn her inside out. Mal was, quite possibly, a fool. He hadn’t suspected he would be laid low by the sweet taste of her mouth, and she would be walking around as if it hadn’t even happened.
He found himself wanting to delay. Wanting to stay on the isle longer, if it meant keeping her close, if it meant the chance to kiss her again, to prove something to her, though he wasn’t sure what. But that was folly.
His men needed him.
He couldn’t let his desire for Catriona get in the way of that, no matter how magnificent he thought she was.
“Pack your things,” he said, the next day.
Ewan looked up. “Mal?”
“We’re leaving.” He met Catriona’s gaze, felt a quiver of heat deep within him when he saw the satisfaction in her eyes. He wanted to make her look that way, not just with his words, but with his lips and teeth and hands. “Take what you need.”
When they left the isle, the night was cold and lit by stars, the moon a silvery, shining sickle. Nights like these didn’t happen all of the time in the Highlands, but when they did, they were extraordinary. The black earth sank beneath Mal’s feet, the black sky above stretched out, endless, and white stars, strewn across the sky like dust, were forbidding in their perfection.
Distant peat fires scented the air. The silence was hushed and taut, a fraying rope. Danger heated his blood.
On nights like this, wild on the moors, Mal could almost believe that the five of them were the only people left alive on earth. That the world was theirs for the taking, and nothing and no one would harm them.
And if it was a lie…well, it didn’t feel like a lie.
On nights like this, Mal somehow experienced two opposite emotions at the same time—that his life was balanced on a ledge, precarious, and that he was invincible, immortal, untouchable.
Catriona was lit by the moon’s glow. “Highland ponies?”
Mal followed her gaze to the large, sturdy creatures gathered not far from the loch shore. They kept them around with a steady supply of apples, one of the men crossing the loch daily by boat to feed them.
They were one short for five riders.
“We’ll have to ride together,” Mal said.
Catriona shrugged, as if it didn’t much matter, but her shoulders tightened.
Mal patted one of the ponies on the neck, the thick, weatherproof coat coarse against his fingers, and breathed in the musky scent of animal. It pressed its nose into his empty palm and Mal laughed, reaching into his sporran for a small apple. “Ye only pretend to like me because I give ye sweet things.”
Mal felt Catriona’s eyes on him before she spoke. “You’re talking…to a horse.”
Mal pretended to cover the creature’s ears. “A pony, lass. A hardworking, pragmatic Highland pony…don’t compare them to those haughty English beasts.”
He saw her sudden smile, saw it flash white, and felt like he’d harnessed the moon.
“Up you go,” he said to her, after they’d placed wool pads over the ponies’ backs, bridled them, and found a chopped tree trunk to use as a mount.
She didn’t take his outstretched hand. She stepped lightly onto the trunk, then swung up onto the horse as though riding bareback was something she’d done before. He probably shouldn’t be surprised. Hadn’t she said she’d wanted to suck the marrow from life? Riding free across the Highlands was probably just one more item in a long list.
He wondered, suddenly, what else she’d done. He wondered if she’d lain with a man just to see what it felt like. If she had, had she liked it?
Unbearable curiosity swelled inside him.
And then Mal’s thoughts simply…went blank. His mouth turned dry as Catriona pulled the hem of her dress up past the knee so it wouldn’t interfere with riding. Dark stockings hugged shapely calves, the soft pale flesh of her lower thighs glowing in the moonlight.
She stared down at him imperiously, and he felt like a servant before a queen. “What are you waiting for?”
Her voice wasn’t imperious like her stance, it was low and soft, nearly inviting.
He had to swallow twice before he followed her up, settling in behind her. She kept her back straight, so they didn’t touch, but he could feel the warmth of her, could smell a faint hint of roses when the breeze picked up a long tendril of her dark hair and it brushed against his cheek, his lips.
He reached to take the reins, realized she already had them in her hands, and settled back with a sigh and a soft smile.
Then, they were off.
…
Georgina’s heart pounded, each beat in time with the rhythm of the pony’s hooves as they set a quick pace across the moors. Laddie was a low, swift shadow, running alongside them. She would have gone slower on her own, but these men knew these hills, knew where the valleys swept low and turned to bog, knew where the safe paths were. She kept sight of Lachlan and the others ahead of her, trusting them to guide her.
She trusted them. Outlaws and sheep thieves. It was laughable. Not only because of what they were, b
ut because of what she was.
That trust would be shot to pieces in an instant if they knew. Already she felt her time dwindling. If this raid didn’t lead to the music box, she’d have to leave without it. Each passing hour was one hour closer to being uncovered.
But, somehow, this moment existed outside time.
The night and the hoofbeats and the stars surrounded her. The wild song of freedom in her veins rose like a chant—alive, alive, alive.
Before long, the tension eased from her body, and she didn’t worry so much about touching Mal. It wasn’t as though she could help it—and it was almost worse to be taken by surprise when she was pressed into him by each sudden jostle.
She let her muscles relax. She leaned back, braced against his hard chest, felt his thighs bracketed against hers. His hands curved around her hips lightly; his breath touched the nape of her neck. She was surprised to feel his heart beating, just as quickly as hers, against her back.
His hands tightened, and then, “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He whispered it, like it was a secret that he couldn’t quite contain, and her heart thrilled to the words.
But she couldn’t let herself be taken in. Not so easily.
“Perhaps you need spectacles, Mr. Stewart.”
“No,” he said. And his tone wasn’t light or teasing. It sounded entirely serious. “No—my eyesight is perfect. And even if it wasn’t, I couldna mistake you.” He leaned in close, lips barely touching her ear. “I wish you would call me by my name.”
“Is Mr. Stewart not your name?”
He huffed out a laugh. “Clever Catriona MacPherson. Sometimes I almost want to take you down a peg or two.”
“Then why haven’t ye?”
“Because I like you better above me.”
This conversation was dangerous. It felt like that game she used to play with her siblings in the winter—snapdragon—where there was a split second’s difference between emerging unscathed or getting burned.
This whole reckless endeavor felt a little like that game, come to think of it.
“Look,” he said suddenly. “Up ahead.”
The men had slowed, so she pulled lightly on the reins.
In front of them, dark shapes huddled. Bleats rose and fell like an indecipherable language.
A flock of sheep, ripe for the picking.
Chapter Nine
Mal handed Georgina her pistols from the saddlebag. Laddie was at his side, quiet but intent. He was watching the sheep but seemed to be waiting for a command from Mal before he moved toward them.
“The shepherd will be around somewhere,” he whispered. “Probably asleep, but if he makes trouble…”
She stared at him, the bite of metal cool against her palm. “If he makes trouble?”
“Shoot him,” he said, like it was obvious.
Georgina flinched. Her time with these outlaws hadn’t felt quite real, but now it felt too real. She couldn’t believe Mal would so casually talk about violence—but she’d known, hadn’t she? She’d known there was an edge of cruelty to his warmth. She would be a fool to ignore that part of him.
“I can’t.”
He glanced at her. “Threaten to shoot, first. That should be enough. We haven’t had to kill a man yet.”
“But you would.”
“Only if it was necessary.”
Georgina prayed it would never be necessary. “Won’t there be a dog?”
“We don’t shoot dogs.” He sounded horrified, glancing down at Laddie like he might have understood the words. And she found it grimly amusing that he was more willing to kill a person than an animal.
He took a wrapped paper package from the bag and unfolded it, and the savory scent of mutton drifted to her.
Laddie stepped forward. “No, Laddie,” Mal said. And the collie halted at that single, soft-spoken command.
“Dogs just want to be fed. Give it a minute.” He set the mutton on the ground like an offering.
And sure enough, about five minutes later, a rangy shadow emerged from the flock. It stopped, sniffed, wary. Mal knelt down.
“I won’t hurt ye,” Mal said, voice soft. He patted the ground.
The animal walked forward, stopped, sniffed again. Mal was infinitely patient. He coaxed the herding dog by slow degrees, until it was right in front of him. It scarfed down the mutton in three hasty bites and then cocked its head at Mal, as if asking for more.
Mal smoothed his hand along its side. “There’s a good dog.” He pulled one more piece of mutton from the bag and tossed it. The dog caught it midair.
He glanced toward her. “See if you can find the shepherd.”
A chill ran down her spine, but accompanying it was a surge of something else. Mal trusted her. She was—for now at least—one of them, and silly as it was, she didn’t want to let them down.
Georgina sidled past the sheep. Some of the creatures were curled up on the ground, but some were standing, staring at her blankly—where they sleeping? Or watching her? Sheep, she decided, were a bit eerie.
Eventually she saw a human-size bundle on a rise that overlooked the flock. The bundle was unmoving, and when she drew closer, she heard hearty snores. She breathed a sigh of relief but kept her pistol at her side, just in case.
She hadn’t been standing there long, waiting for the men to finish, when his breathing changed slightly. His breaths turned quiet, and then, suddenly, a snore that could have woken a whole village erupted from him.
He startled awake.
Georgina held perfectly still, alarm making her pulse riot. Go back to sleep, she thought frantically.
And maybe he would have, but something must have excited the dog—it barked. Once. Twice.
The shepherd groaned. “Stupid mutt.” He turned on his hands and knees to push himself up. “If this is another false alarm, I’ll wring your neck.”
Her thumb touched the hammer. The sound of the gun being cocked was loud in the sudden silence.
“Stay right where you are.” Georgina winced at the waver in her voice. Her hand trembled, and she took a long, deep breath. Forced it to steady.
The shepherd, on his knees, froze. “Who’s there?”
“Stay right there,” she said. “And I won’t shoot.”
He must not have believed her—he started to push up, off the ground. Georgina quickly jammed the nozzle of the pistol into the space between his shoulder blades. She flinched nearly as badly as he did.
“All right,” he said, voice shrill. “All right.”
They stayed like that, in an unmoving marble tableau, for an indeterminable amount of time. Georgina didn’t know if it was a minute, or five, or ten, but it felt like an eternity. She peered through the night and nearly doubled over in relief when she heard footsteps and saw Mal emerge from the gloom.
He touched her shoulder, jerked his head back toward the horses.
“Get down,” she told the shepherd. When he was lying prone on his stomach, she said, “Now count to a hundred for me.”
“One…”
She stepped back silently, to the sound of his counting, and followed Mal’s winding path back the way she’d come. Her heart was like thunder in her ears.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I just…didna expect him to wake.”
In the darkness, his hand on hers was like a beacon of warmth. “You did well.”
Good Lord, she’d just threatened to shoot a man. She’d had a pistol pressed to his back. A shaky breath spilled from her lungs. She wanted to stop, to rest her hands on her knees, and just focus on drawing in oxygen.
But if she fell apart now, it could have dire consequences for all of them.
So she kept going, one foot in front of the other. This time, once they’d mounted their pony, she let Mal take the reins.
The other men were already some distance ahead of them, with Laddie and the sheep they’d separated from the flock. Mal nudged the pony in their direct
ion, when a loud crack sounded behind them.
The night lit up for a split second, outlining the shepherd rushing toward them. Gun smoke filled the air. Their horse, startled, reared back. Georgina was left scrabbling for balance.
Mal’s grip on the reins tightened as he fought to control the mount. “Get down!” His voice was frantic and frayed. She’d never heard it sound quite like that before, and it frightened her.
Then, Mal’s hand, a reassuring, guiding pressure on her back. She leaned forward as far as she could, practically lying across the pony’s neck. At the sound of the gunshot, the men had left the stolen sheep. Now they were racing back toward Georgina and Mal, covering ground quickly. Mal urged the pony faster, and they lurched into a canter across the moors.
But the shepherd was still behind them, and he must have had time to reload. Another flash of light. Another exploding gunshot.
Georgina felt an impact. A sudden, horrible jarring. The breath was knocked out of her. At first, she thought she’d been hit by the bullet. Her hands flew to her chest and found nothing amiss. It took a moment for her to realize that the impact was Mal, slumping against her, as if all the strength had left his body at once. Something wet seeped into her bodice at the shoulder.
“Mal,” she cried. “Mal!”
“Is that all it took for you to say my name?” he gasped. “I would’ve gotten shot sooner.”
She didn’t know how he could jest at a time like this. She felt like she might fly into a million pieces if she didn’t hold on to all of them with clenched fists. “Put your arms around me!”
She took the reins with one hand; with the other, without even thinking or pausing to reflect, she aimed her pistol blindly over her shoulder and fired. But they were farther away now, and if she’d hit the shepherd, she couldn’t tell. After the light and the smoke, all she could hear was the ringing echo of the gunshot, the sound of her own heart, and Mal’s ragged breathing, like the gasps of a drowning man at her back.
Chapter Ten
When they were far enough away from the shepherd and his flock to stop safely, Lachlan and Andrew eased Mal down from the pony. He was still conscious, but when Georgina pressed a hand to his face, he felt cold and clammy. At some point during their flight, he’d undone his cravat so he could ball it up and press it to the wound—now he lowered his hand and the fabric unfurled, stained dark, like a black banner.
