How To Steal A Highlander

by Olivia Norem

  Simeon swallowed absently as Heather hooked a finger on the laced edge of her stocking, affording him a wider view of her creamy skin. He could hear her breathing hard, and then she cried out as she slipped the mirror into her stocking, tight against her thigh.

  His world plummeted into darkness once more, but this time he was strangely content. He was pressed intimately against Heather’s bare leg. Simeon muttered unintelligibly as he grew painfully hard beneath his kilt. Bracing his hands on the mirror, he tilted his forehead to rest against it.

  If the stubborn lass had just spoken the words, neither of them would be suffering this torture.

  Kat suffered and gritted her teeth against the swarm of pain singeing up her leg. She yanked her skirt down with a jerk, and then grabbed her evening bag and the cloth cylinder.

  One final wardrobe check. Thank goodness the dark fabric masked the blue glow emitting from her stocking. It would take a hell of an excuse to explain why her crotch was glowing, and Kat was in no condition to fabricate a believable lie.

  “Heather? Does it burn ye, lass?” Simeon’s voice was oddly constricted, and Kat didn’t think it was the layers of fabric that made his voice sound so strained.

  This guy had a serious lust issue.

  “Only when you talk,” Kat gritted out tersely. The mirror flamed against her skin, and the temperature was increasing to a broil by slow degrees. She steeled herself against it, mussed the hair of her wig, and strode out of the tower room.

  Walking was bad enough. Maneuvering down the stairs was sheer agony. Kat couldn’t stifle the little moans of pain escaping her lips. When she finally reached the outer door, genuine tears poured like a waterfall. It was a mixed blessing, knowing her sincere weeping would soon be put to good use. It gave her some strength to bear the scorching heat on her leg.

  Kat paused outside the door as her heart raced and her breath came in short, ragged gasps. There was no one in sight. She reached into her evening bag and tossed the decoy prescription contact lens a few feet away from the entrance. If the police were thorough in their investigation, Kat was certain they would find the lens. The simple task would further corroborate the lie she was about to concoct.

  Holding the fabric canister in the fold of her dress she made her way stealthily to her rental. She dropped the black fabric alongside and nudged it just under the door.

  The prescription lenses were fake. Her eyeglasses were fake. But the searing pain on her thigh, and the tears that streamed down her face, were very, very real. Now, she just had to make a good show of looking like she was a victim of Brice — the crazed madman who tried to attack her.

  “Simeon, listen to me. No matter what you hear, you have to keep quiet. When you speak, the pain is unbearable, so please, please don’t say anything. I’m working on getting you to a safe location. Then we’ll discuss how to release you.”

  Silence.

  “Thank you,” Kat winced. Now if he’d only stay true to his word…

  Simeon listened to her groans and swore Heather was sobbing. Whatever her motives might be, right now they were not a consideration.

  His male pride stung.

  He was a Laird, a warrior who had always defended women and had sworn a blood oath to protect any in need or who suffered — and from what he’d gleaned so far from the fair Heather, she was suffering. He’d never felt more helpless, or more useless in his life. If by some miracle he was released from this infernal confinement, upon his life he’d see Heather safe.

  Kat held her ripped bodice together tenuously and wound her way through the main hall of Fasque Castle. Seeing the door cracked half-way, she burst into the manager’s office.

  Perfect.

  Gordon MacDougal’s appreciation of the hearty tray of wedding fare was destroyed when the disheveled blonde appeared in his doorway, sobbing. The aromas of beef filet and dauphinoise, previously consuming his apt attention, were all but forgotten when she lowered her hand and gave him a full-frontal view of a perfect set of heaving breasts, framed in lacy lingerie.

  Then the woman burst into tears.

  “Mrs. Johnson!” MacDougal gasped.

  “Oh please, please help me.”

  MacDougal jumped to his feet and tore at the napkin tucked into his collar. He dashed to her side faster than a cheetah on an injured antelope, and Kat almost smiled at his speed. She hadn’t expected such a response from the squat, portly man.

  “Och, ye poor wee lass. Whot happened?” His full, bushy mustache bobbed as his hands reached out to usher her to a nearby chair. He placed a grandfatherly hug of comfort around her shoulders.

  “Oh, I was… I was taking some fresh air in the gardens and this man… he… he attacked me.” Kat burst into a fresh wave of tears and took the napkin MacDougal offered.

  “Attacked ye?” MacDougal thundered.

  Kat nodded and wept heartily into the napkin. MacDougal stiffened.

  “I assure ye, lass, nothing like this has ever happened at Fasque Castle. But ye’re safe here now. Ol’ MacDougal will let nothing happen to ye. Just give me a moment while I ring the police.”

  “No!” Kat cried out.

  MacDougal snapped toward her in confusion.

  “I- I mean… I don’t know who he is and if police arrive, that would ruin my cousin’s wedding.”

  MacDougal frowned. “I’ll tell them to be discreet, lass. No sirens.”

  “I suppose so… but please Mr. MacDougal, couldn’t I just tell you what happened? My husband… he’s not going to like this. I mean he can have such a Scot’s temper… and you seem so kind, and this is all such a mess...” Kat babbled and lay a pleading hand on his arm. She let her torn gown slip. MacDougal’s eyes dipped for a fraction of second before he returned to look into her weepy eyes.

  Simeon listened intently to the tale and bristled at her claims. Heather was married to a brute of a man with a foul temper? The first thing he would do upon leaving this cell would be to seek out Mr. Johnson and explain to him, within an inch of his life if need be, just how a man should treat his wife.

  “My husband… he’s back at our hotel in Inverness. He got food poisoning yesterday and couldn’t attend the wedding. I feel awful, leaving him when he needs me, and now this…”

  Kat sobbed louder in both hands, letting her gown fall open unheeded.

  MacDougal’s eyes were riveted to the exposed breasts rising and falling beneath Kat’s heaving sobs. He cleared his throat to get her attention. “Och, Mrs. Johnson, yer dress, lass…” MacDougal hurriedly glanced away at some random spot on the ceiling.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Kat purred. “I don’t want to cause any problems Mr. MacDougal, for you or the hotel. The reputation…”

  “I appreciate that, Mrs. Johnson. ‘Tis no’ fittin’ a defenseless lass as yersel be subject to such attentions. The staff and I will find him. Give the lad a good talkin’ tae.”

  “Oh, Mr. MacDougal, you make a girl feel so… so protected.” Kat licked her lips. “I wouldn’t want anyone hurt you understand. He was intoxicated. He was so strong though, he grabbed me and ripped my dress…” Kat broke into a fresh wave of tears. “…and then… he hit me so hard I lost my contact lens. I can’t see anything without them… but I had my glasses…”

  “Can ye describe the mon tae me, lass?” MacDougal’s voice ground out low and serious. The thought of this weeping woman being struck so hard she’d lost a contact lens was unfathomable. MacDougal listened patiently as Kat described Brice in general detail. MacDougal was already thinking how to discreetly alert the larger male members of the staff to assist in finding Mrs. Johnson’s attacker.

  Simeon frowned as Kat droned on.

  He had no idea what a contact lens was, or what reasons Heather would have to fabricate such falsehood. Brice, he knew, had committed no such violence toward her. But MacDougal had mentioned Fasque Castle and Simeon was thankful for the information. Fasque was no more than three days ride from Tolquhon, if he could obtain a horse. He’d
return there and take his revenge upon Isobel himself.

  Kat was breathing hard from the singeing heat against her bare skin. She’d garnered enough sympathy from MacDougal and knew her next move wouldn’t even be questioned. “Mr. MacDougal, could you just please process my bill? I’m going to go pack my things and leave tonight. I just want to get back to Inverness and be with my husband.” Kat sniffed and removed her glasses, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her napkin. She speared him with her best expression of helplessness.

  “O’ course, lass, o’ course.”

  Kat stood up and hugged the man, placing a kiss on his cheek. His shining skull turned red in a deep blush. “Would it be too much to ask for you to bring my bill to my room? In about ten minutes? I really don’t want to run into any of the guests on my departure.”

  “Ye can count on ol’ MacDougal for discretion, Mrs. Johnson.”

  Kat hurried through the deserted lobby. She could hear the distant music of the reception and knew the guests were deeply immersed in the festivities.

  Minutes were a precious commodity, and she fully intended to be on the road as Brice was waking up from his drugged stupor. She had no doubt MacDougal would set his staff on high alert around the property and Brice would meet his fate at their hands.

  There was something to be said for old fashioned men.

  Chapter 5

  Kat ignored the lighting pain that shot up her arm when she all but ripped the mirror from her stocking and tossed it on the bed.

  “I dinnae ken whot yer aboot lass, but I dinnae like it,” Simeon growled crossly.

  “Yeah? Well I dinnae give a shit,” Kat gritted between clenched teeth while inspecting her thigh.

  “Ye curse often for a lass,” Simeon mused.

  The man in the mirror wasn’t just chock full of attitude, now he was critical too. Kat rolled her eyes and examined her wound. The skin was red and blistered in a perfect oval patch where the mirror had seared her inner thigh.

  “Damn it, this is not what I need right now.”

  “Whot has ye vexed, Heather Johnson?” Simeon peered closely at the edges of the mirror but all he could see was a blue ceiling with white moldings and a crystal chandelier. Heather was nowhere in sight.

  “Nothing for you to be concerned about.” Kat quipped as she tore out of her gown, edged her stocking away from the weeping burn and quickly threw on a simple black dress. Not bothering to remove the lingerie would save time and keep the coins discreetly hidden on her person.

  “Where are we, lass?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving.” Kat straightened her wig and rushed around the room, stuffing her belongings in her overnight bag.

  “Then where are we gaun, lass?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kat gritted, and blew out a frustrated breath.

  “This is no’ tae me likin’ Mistress Heather...”

  Kat snorted. “It’s not like you have a choice in this.”

  “Ye must release me from this prison, Heather Johnson.” Simeon kicked the glass. Kat flinched in surprise as the hand mirror moved a little on the bed.

  Well that was interesting...

  Kat bent over the mirror and peered down at Simeon. Even agitated, he was the most sinfully handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on… even if he was the size of her palm. Those hypnotic eyes sparkled with discontent. Kat wondered what depth of passion a man like Simeon possessed? Exactly how tall was he? And was the rest of his body as glorious as her imagination promised?

  As if he sensed the direction her thoughts had wandered, Simeon raised a cocky brow and crossed his arms. The cords of muscles in his forearms flexed and bunched.

  “There is but one way tae satisfy yer curiosity, lass.” Those sensual lips tilted in a devilish smile.

  Kat smiled back with exaggerated sweetness as she tugged on her leather gloves. Her voice lowered to a seductive whisper.

  “Simeon?” Kat’s smile deepened.

  “Aye, Mistress Heather.” He answered in a smoky purr, straightening to a hopeful pose.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Kat shoved him into her tote bag and his world went dark.

  Simeon let loose a strong stream of healthy words. Although the language was unidentifiable, Kat could only guess from angry tones that he was heaping curses on her, most likely her family — and probably her ancestors as well.

  Simeon continued to unleash a torrent of complaints in his thick brogue, punctuated with Gaelic, all while MacDougal presented her bill in a beautiful envelope, assisted her down the front steps, and wished her well in a genuine embrace. Kat was grateful and slightly confused that she was the only one who heard the cursing Highlander.

  When she reached her car, neither the throbbing pain in her leg, nor Simeon’s incessant babble, showed any signs of lessening. She considered muffling him under her bag in the rear compartment, but tossed the tote in the passenger seat instead. Retrieving the rolled, black bag from the ground, Kat slipped it under the passenger seat, started the car, and headed down the drive.

  The sound of the engine made him pause, but by the time they exited the stone gate of the property, Simeon had resumed his tirade in full force. He rattled on about women, and witches… then back to women… Heather in particular. He’d never come across a more unreasonable, bad-tempered, difficult, peevish, spiteful, stubborn, contrary, defiant lass in all his days. Who was she to treat him thus?

  Speak the words. Speak the words was all she had to do. Simeon’s fine Scottish temper continued to flare and Kat’s blood pressure worked higher under his steady tirade. The pain in her leg intensified and the vestiges of a migraine started to bloom behind her eyes. Kat reached over and did the only thing that made sense.

  She turned on the radio. Loud.

  How it was possible to hear him shouting above the hard rock that blasted through the speakers Kat didn’t know, but hear him she did. She let him bellow on for a full two minutes, the pain circled around her eyes and throbbed in time with the metallic strains. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Och, Heather!” Simeon yelled, “Cease this cursed noise!”

  Kat punched the power button off and smiled with prim satisfaction.

  “Are you about done then, or should I continue to play the music?”

  “Och, lass, ‘tis nae music ye play but screeching banshees that would torture a mon deaf!”

  “But that was Morbid Angel.”

  “Aye. Morbid tae be certs.”

  Gritting her teeth against the stream of questions coming from her bag, Kat slowed as they approached a village. She hoped against hope a grocery store or a chemist would be open, as she didn’t want to spend precious time picking a lock to get what she needed. Thankfully, she spotted a well-lit store where a few patrons entered and exited. As she rolled into a parking space, she vaguely wondered if they sold alcohol at this hour…

  Kat scanned the aisles, keeping a suspicious eye on those she passed. No one, it seemed, heard the relentless complaints coming from her tote. She located zinc cream and gauze for her burn, ibuprofen for the migraine Simeon was giving her, and three chocolate bars. Just because.

  When her fingers brushed the mirror as she reached for her wallet, Kat jammed the bag shut. She blew on her fingers to ease the tingling shock, but worse, the damn thing had blazed blue when she touched it. Thankfully no one had seen the nuclear radiance glowing from the interior or heard the on-going complaints from the man trapped within.

  Simeon nagged and protested. She was being entirely unreasonable by not releasing him from the dark cavern in which she’d placed him. By the time she’d paid and hurried back to the car, the chanting began.

  “Fuasgail seo priosanach.”

  He repeated the words over and over, and over still; until it was the only thing running through her mind. It was worse than a church school bus ride rendition of ‘row, row, row your boat.’ The drive was going to take a little over three hours to reach Inverness. There was no wa
y in hell, she was going to listen to this for the duration.

  Kat was getting rattled, and Katherine Moira Goldman did not get rattled.

  The headlights beamed on a sign marker. Two kilometers ahead was an historic site, and against her better judgment, Kat swerved for the turn.

  Ten minutes.

  Ten minutes and she’d regroup, treat her wound, and bury Simeon deep within the clothes of her carry-on to muffle his annoying chant.

  Kat slowed her approach. The road, in truth little more than twin ruts in a field, was dark and deserted. The SUV jerked and bounced as Kat circled to park in the back of the crumbling ruins. Not that anyone could spot the vehicle in the half-moon’s light, but her habits of stealth and cover were hard to break.

  She knocked her head on the steering wheel. Twice.

  “Oh my God! Just shut up already!”

  Simeon silenced, yet the chant ‘Fuasgail seo priosanach’ continued to reverberate in her ears. Kat slapped the steering wheel and gathered up the bag of items she’d just purchased.

  “How is it I get stuck with the rudest, most annoying, irritating, arrogant, frustrating, rude, pain in the ass, childish, aggravating, cursed relic ever? Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! This is so fucking wrong! This is—” Kat beat the steering wheel each time she screamed ‘wrong’.

  “Lass,” Simeon interrupted.

  “WHAT?” Kat scowled at the tote bag.

  “Ye said rude twice, lass.”

  If smiles could be heard, Kat swore she could hear his.

  “Arghhh!” A scream of pure frustration tore from her throat. Kat jumped out of the SUV and slammed the door so hard the vehicle shook.

  The air, tinged with cold, was thick and damp with scents from the surrounding forest. It was just the tonic she needed to calm her aggravation. Kat let the brisk wind that rose from the nearby loch wash over her. As it chilled the tip of her nose and made her eyes water, she felt her composure return. But when Simeon’s muffled chanting began anew, she knew she needed to move away from within earshot of the car.