How To Steal A Highlander

by Olivia Norem

  This entire situation was surreal. As she tramped over the deep grasses toward the ruin, Kat pondered how quickly circumstances had changed. Hours before she was a fake guest at a wedding. She had completed most stages of the job so far: plant evidence, misdirect the hotel manager, stow the score. She hadn’t planned on stomping around the Scottish countryside with a burned leg, in the dark, and arguing with an enchanted mirror.

  Kat tripped and tumbled face-forward over some unseen rock. Lightning reflexes caught her balanced on her palms as she let loose a loud curse. She’d dropped the bag of goods from the store to save her fall, and it blew a few feet away. The thing taunted her as it tumbled in the half-moon light.

  Kat added one more tic mark to the handsome Scot’s aggravation column. If she wasn’t so distracted, she wouldn’t have stumbled over these cursed rocks, or have left her flashlight behind — but there was no way she was returning to that car just yet.

  Snatching the bag with a growl, she picked her way cautiously toward the low, stone outline of the ruined wall. When she reached the top, the view in the muted light barely shimmering over the loch made her pause. The place was beautiful and remote, and except for the breeze, everything surrounding the vista was peaceful and quiet. Of course, there was faint sing-song chanting of ‘fuasgail seo priosanach’ coming from the car, but still...

  “He’s driving me crazy. That’s all there is to it. Focus, Kat.”

  The wall was cold and unyielding against her bottom. Kat silently murmured thanks she hadn’t just plopped her butt into an ant pile, but considering the events so far tonight, that would be just her luck.

  Holding her dress tightly in one hand, she gingerly dabbed the fiery edges of the burn with the zinc. She winced and bit her lip against the pain as she moved her fingertip slowly inward, working toward the center.

  The wound was boiling, a red-hot agony of sheer hurt, and Kat steeled herself for the worst. Inhaling a fortifying breath, she threw her head back as she touched the most sensitive part. Blinding torture cut through her like a knife. Her vision clouded. Kat cried out the first thing that came to her mind.

  “Oh, fuck — fuasgail seo priosanach!”

  The stone wall beneath her backside rumbled. Gravel bits vibrated and rolled heedlessly to the ground.

  Stones quaked on their foundations and tumbled around her feet. Kat rose on unsteady legs; her eyes darted left and right in panic.

  Earthquakes? In Scotland?

  Grabbing the wall for purchase, the invisible tremors lifted the ground as if on the crest of a swelling wave. The reverberations surged forward like a widening arrow, rolling the soil in a direct path toward the car. Grass and twigs and leaves rocketed skyward in the wake of the roiling pattern and the great stones of the ruins quaked beneath the shivering earth.

  The shockwave halted beneath the car and erupted in a boom, louder than a crack of thunder. The SUV bounced and rocked. Every light and turn signal blinked wildly; the horn and car alarm blasted over and over.

  Kat clawed the wall in a desperate, white-knuckled grip as she struggled to grasp the tumbling stones and keep her balance. The tremors shook violently, and she was knocked to her side. Her mouth dropped in silent horror as a blue light ballooned inside the vehicle.

  Brighter. Hotter. Rays of blue beams streamed forth in a dazzling array so vivid, Kat raised her arm to shield her eyes from the blinding light.

  All around, the air cracked and sizzled in a terrible storm of light and thunder. Ear-splitting jolts boomed and echoed and boomed again. Bolts of blue-hot lightning flashed and crackled inside the car, spilling across the landscape.

  The flashes seared her eyes.

  Kat blinked in the seconds of darkness, still seeing remnants of jagged, hot flares that glared and refused to fade. Then thunder split the air so close she screamed. The night exploded once more with sizzling flares of blue light so brilliant, so blinding it hurt to look.

  A respite of darkness.

  Another shower of unearthly sparks and bolts, so radiant it was if she’d stared as the sun erupted from the vehicle, spilling outward. Every tree limb, every blade of grass, every outline of every stone flooded in blue light.

  Another deafening peal of thunder split the sky.

  The contents of Kat’s tote and bits of shredded fabric whirled and banged against the glass in a cyclonic cloud. Her hairbrush and wallet smacked the windshield.

  A forearm reaching upward was outlined inside the car.

  Another blinding flash of blue.

  Another hand appeared, fingers splayed against the glass.

  A final brilliant burst of blue, and a head was silhouetted in the shadow of the light.

  The rumblings slowly died. The headlights dimmed and faded. The car alarm silenced, still reverberating in her ears. Remnants of the blue lightning fizzled to sparks, floating outward to dissipate in a smoky, hissing mist, dying beneath the car.

  A speechless and trembling witness, Kat scrambled upright in the wake of the supernatural storm. Her eyes transfixed in awe and horror on the car, it seemed like minutes passed until Kat realized what remained in the aftermath.

  A full-size man sat in her passenger seat.

  Then he moved.

  Shadowed fingers splayed against the glass and the windshield, as if gauging the space. The SUV rocked with his angered weight. A punch, a shout.

  Kat realized the man in the mirror had been released and he was trapped inside a vehicle he couldn’t possibly understand. She stumbled forward with outstretched hands and shouted to calm his panic.

  “Wait!” She cried too late. A massive fist burst through the window and shattered the safety glass into a thousand glittering bits.

  A warrior’s howl tore from his throat as Simeon launched himself head and shoulders through the jagged opening. Rolling onto the ground then rising upward, the massive Scot hastily unfurled. Bracing on two outstretched legs, he threw his head back to the sky. With arms extended, he bellowed to the heavens in a terrifying roar.

  Kat was paralyzed.

  The site before her was beyond belief. Simeon was real — a full-sized man, flesh and blood, real. He was tall, dark, and utterly implausible. Every muscled inch of the six foot plus, pure-carved warrior screamed power… and danger, as if he was held in check on some invisible leash ready to snap.

  In open-mouthed surprise, Kat’s gaze wandered down the folds of tartan that encased his hips and flowed up and over one shoulder. A leather belt circled his waist and a leather scabbard with a metal hilt rested on his hip.

  Her eyes locked to his sporran. Somewhere in the back of her startled consciousness she knew she shouldn’t be blatantly staring at that part of him, but the breeze lifted the trailing tails of fur in a tantalizing dance. That same wicked wind also played along the hem of his kilt, revealing chiseled muscles on his thighs that shone rock-hard in the dim shadows.

  Black hair trailed wildly about his head and shoulders. This man’s presence was simply raw, hard, and utterly male. Scorchingly erotic and intense, Kat was caught in the hypnotic spell of his presence, as if she was at the feet of some god of savages come to Earth — if such a thing existed.

  With head tilted back he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, deliberately. He expelled his breath loudly and releasing the air as he lowered his head. Simeon opened his eyes.

  And stared straight at her.

  Kat’s breath caught. Despite the shadowed night, she followed his eyes as they glittered in the low light. He raked her slowly, down to her toes, and then back up again. When his gaze returned to spear hers the second time, the tin of zinc she’d had clutched in a death grip, slipped from her fingers and clattered noisily to the ground.

  “Heather?” The deep baritone of his voice was no longer small, like it had been when confined to the mirror. It was clear and perfect, and loomed as large as the man who stood a short distance across the clearing of the ruins. His eyes narrowed to slits and as the heavy brows drew together, Kat
felt the icy fingers of fear clutch her heart. She watched his hand reach for the hilt of his sword and a tiny croak of horror erupted from her throat.

  Dear God, he was going to attack!

  Kat panicked. It was an immediate cartoon-like panic, as if her body split into four directions all at once, before deciding upon which one to run. She bolted toward the loch.

  “Heather.” His voice cut the night behind her in a crisp bark. Down she ran, down the sloped hill as if the dark hounds of Hell were chasing her. Without risking a backward glance, she caught the flash of her knees pumping beneath her and tore through the thigh-high grasses. Aided by the steep angle of the hill, she jettisoned forward, faster and faster. Twenty feet. Thirty.

  Kat screamed as what felt like a freight train crashed into her from behind. Simeon tackled her. Her head whiplashed, and her waist was pinned in an iron vise. Somehow, he twisted mid-air to take the brunt of the fall as they slammed to the ground. They landed on their sides and rolled over and over, down the incline from the sheer force of the collision, tumbling until he dug in his heels and braced them to stop.

  Kat gulped down the terror that paralyzed her and tried to panic, willing herself to fight. But she was flat on her back, all the air driven from her lungs, as every inch of six-foot plus chiseled Highland warrior crushed her body to the ground.

  She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.

  And was that a rock digging into the back of her ribcage?

  His weight was real. The heat coming from his skin where her palm was braced against his chest was real; and worse, the scents of night musk, leather, and hints of sandalwood assaulting her nostrils were tantalizingly real. No one should smell so provocative.

  Her head was tucked in the crook of his neck and her lips rested just at the base of his throat. Kat was confused, torn between the conflicting urges to push away or burrow in the beckoning curve and lose herself in the taste of his skin.

  Raven hair fell in a dark curtain, closing off everything around her as Simeon raised his head and stared wordlessly. Tendrils of his panting breath expelled on her cheek. Kat rotated her head and peered at him closely. Above the shadow of his beard, his face came into view, revealing sharp, etched planes in the shadowed light.

  Their eyes locked.

  As if pulled into a vacuum of chaos and spit back again, worlds of familiarity slammed through her, all screaming a single piece of revelation. Kat was… home. Squelching the unbidden shock of emotion laced with disbelief of the pandemonium she’d just witnessed, she was unsure if the sentiment was shared. For a split second, a startled expression flitted across the face above her, for the god-like warrior appeared to be faltering in the grip of some unnamed emotion as well. But when his lips curled back, in what appeared to be a cruel, mocking sneer, the clarity of fear jolted her back from this whole insane chain of events.

  “Heather, ye need no’ fear me, lass …” His voice rasped thick in a plea that seemed to echo across tortured centuries.

  Isn’t that what killers did? Tried to soothe their victims just before they choked them?

  Kat strained to form a denial, but her tiny protest came out in a wordless rasp. His piercing eyes that consumed her field of vision began to swim, unfocused. She was falling, slipping, soft and warm. Surrounded in a blanket of languid muscle. The crushing weight seemed to lift, and Kat did the only thing logical in this illogical situation.

  She fainted.

  Chapter 6

  Simeon levered himself off Heather in a panic. Had the lass expired from fright? Had he crushed her? How fitting the first person he’d touched in eons, a woman soft and warm, and beautiful, who managed to release him from his infernal curse, had died at his hand.

  The sob of anguish clogged his throat as he bent close to Kat. Simeon cradled her close to whisper an apology, but stopped abruptly. A puff of warm breath tickled his ear. Jolting upright, he pressed his palm to her heart.

  Thanks above, the lass still lived, she’d merely fainted from the shock. Simeon rolled to his back with a sigh of relief. His arm flung wide he murmured his gratitude to the heavens. The wonderment of the night sky, made him pause. He was well and truly released from the stone crypt he’d been certain was his eternal fate.

  Irresistibly, he caressed the grasses beneath his hands, chuckling aloud as the soft tentacles grazed his skin. He reveled in the pressure of the uneven ground beneath, and even blessed the chilling breeze as it whipped over his body, rustling the hair on his arms and his legs.

  Oh, how he had missed this!

  The simple feel of grass and earth, the tangled scents of woodland things, the rustle of leaves and branches, no longer imagined — but real. Night’s ceiling with its millions of stars, the sliver of moon, the loch, and… the curious lass beside him.

  She’d freed him from the wretched curse, and then she’d bolted faster than a covey of quail flush from the wood. It didn’t make sense, but nothing the lass had said or done since their paths had crossed was rooted in logic. Released from endless obscurity, the fact remained that he owed her his life. He would stay with her, protect her, and vanquish any enemy who sought to harm her until the day came when she announced the debt repaid. She was shrouded in mystery, his Heather, for no matter what she was, that is how he thought of her.

  His.

  Simeon studied her, unabashedly memorizing every inch while she still swooned. He had much time to think in that cursed prison that life beyond his cell would change, and the lass lying at his side was proof in the flesh. Heather’s speech, her clothing, the foreign carriage that tried to constrain him, these were all things he knew he would have to accept, even if he didn’t quite understand them. Yet.

  A gentle gust curled upward from the loch and lifted her skirt. The flutter drew his eyes to the exposed sliver of skin. Why would the lass wear something so scandalous? If fashions had changed to this mode, this was one facet he would have no problem accepting.

  God help him, the lass was captivating — how long had it been since he’d touched a woman? Of its own volition, his hand extended to the creamy curve of her thigh. His breath caught and tested his resolve as he felt the satiny skin beneath his fingers. He knew it was a mistake, aching, and starved as he was…

  Simeon chided himself for being weak and pulled his hand away. He’d vowed to protect her, not bring her dishonor. Heather was his savior and she was in a faint. Besides, she was married and… damn, the lass was cold.

  Simeon gathered her up and strode to the darkened stone of the crumbling castle. He stepped over the wall easily and found a shielding corner away from the chilling winds. Unwinding his tartan from his shoulder, he wrapped his Heather in the trailing length from head to toe. Cradling her close to warm her with the heat of his body, Simeon rested his back against the wall. When she woke, he’d build her a fire to stave off the chill, and then venture to the woods beyond to secure her something to eat.

  The cloaked moon moved beyond the clouds and gave Simeon an unfettered view of the bonny woman he held. Seeing her whole, in the flesh, was vastly different from the fleeting glimpses he’d been granted through the glass. And the smell of her. Intoxicating. She smelled like fresh soap and sunshine, mixed with musk and something so strangely exotic he couldn’t name. His nostrils flared as he shifted, cursing. Damn if he wasn’t rock-hard beneath his kilt, and the pressure of her buttocks encased in the flimsy fabric resting against him was not assisting his cause.

  The scent filled his brain, compelling him to the point where he couldn’t resist sliding his fingers into her silky hair. Then he paused. He hadn’t touched a woman in centuries but this … this was… unnatural.

  Intrigued by the strange texture of the lass’s hair, he slid his fingers to her forehead and pushed back gently. The blonde hair moved! With gentle pats he found the tiny comb that held the hair piece in place and carefully lifted it away.

  A wig! His Heather wore a wig?

  With a snort he tossed it aside. His fingers e
xplored the tight dark, coils on her head, finding small wires. He plucked the hairpins and flung them aside one by one. As he released the raven curls, a new, exotic fragrance wormed into his brain. Surely this lass was sent to enchant him.

  Despite the silken mass that fell about her face and shoulders in luxurious waves, Simeon refused to be charmed. Hadn’t he just spent eternity cursed by a willful beauty?

  He’d been taken by the blonde tresses when he’d first caught sight of her, but raven hair in contrast to her creamy skin? Surely her green eyes would be even more striking. This suited her, his bonny, feisty Heather. Now if only she’d open those eyes…

  Kat woke in slow degrees. She became aware of tiny things in dreamy realization. Soft wool against her skin, strange aromas of faint spice and leather, warmth, body heat, arms around her. A heartbeat against her cheek, her own hand resting against a solid chest. A hand protectively encased her calf and a searing hot, thick arousal pressed against her buttocks. Her lashes fanned open and she saw the contrast of her hand laying on Simeon’s linen shirt.

  Oh my God he was holding her, and gauging from the hot, throbbing length pulsing against her bottom, he was wildly aroused.

  Kat spooked and scrambled, but the embrace tightened. His voice, deep and sensual, with all the sinful promise of an elegant scotch, stilled her panic as it cut through the hushed darkness.

  “Haud, lass,” he crooned. “If ye rise too quickly ye may faint away again.”

  A voice like that should come with a warning label.

  Simeon’s lilting murmurs soothed, and the arms around her made her feel so protected, Kat could have curled in against his neck like a kitten. But the events of the moments before her faint flooded back.