How To Steal A Highlander

by Olivia Norem

  “Aye?” Donnell glanced over to him briefly. Simeon was rapidly descending on them in a fury. Ian, who looked equally enraged, was not far behind him.

  “I just remembered the MacGregor, lass,” Tavish whispered through gritted his teeth. “And by the look on their faces, somethin’ tells me she’s no’ a MacGregor.”

  “Ye ken?” Donnell sneered sarcastically.

  “Where is she?” Simeon thundered. He was about fifty paces away, his fists clenched and his eyes murderous. Both Donnell and Tavish swallowed hard. Each man wished like hell they hadn’t forgotten the woman they’d tossed into the dungeon.

  Donnell briefly wondered if Tavish had seen to giving the lass some food and water, for he hadn’t spared her a second thought since they’d locked her away. After all, they had been far deep into their whiskey, and Tav was the one who had thrown her into the cell…

  Tavish was trying to count the hours backward from the early celebrations to mark the coming of Samhain… how long had the lass been confined?

  “Where is she?” Simeon roared again.

  Tavish froze at the sight of the raw, enraged warrior descending upon them. He crossed himself and briefly thanked the saints that Simeon was without a sword. By the look of his temper, surely the Laird would remove his head with one swift stroke.

  Donnell panicked and started to break off into a run.

  “Haud!” Simeon’s command cut through the air like a blade.

  Donnell dropped to his knees. “Mercy, Laird,” he pleaded, bowing his head.

  Without breaking his pace, Simeon hauled the man to his feet by his shirtfront and walked him backward. Donnell’s feet skimmed the ground.

  “Whot hae ye done with her?” Simeon’s face was twisted with rage.

  “We-we kent she was a spy, Laird,” Donnell sputtered his weak defense.

  “A spy?” Simeon snarled.

  The fist came out of nowhere. One moment Donnell was face to face with Simeon and the next he was sprawled backward in the dust, blinking pinpricks of light from his vision. Before he could sit fully upright, Simeon jerked him to his feet once more and landed a second, staggering punch.

  Donnell flew backward in a tangle of plaid against the fence with such force, he crashed through it. Boards splintered beneath his weight and chickens squawked and scurried in alarm, spilling out over Donnell and into the yard.

  “Tav… put her… put her…” Donnell wheezed, unable to finish. The man’s breathless plea made him pause, and Simeon whirled on Tavish.

  Wide-eyed in panic, Tavish raised his hands defensively and backed up a few steps.

  “I-I put her in the dungeon, Laird,” he stammered.

  “The dungeon?” Simeon’s eyes glittered with rage as he stalked toward Tavish like a grand inquisitor bent on torture. “Ye put me wife in the dungeon?” That neglected part of the castle hadn’t been used in at least a century. What had these fools done? The thought of his precious Katherine locked up in that dark, hideous place… a renewed rage welled within.

  “We dinnae ken she was yer wife. We kent she was a MacGregor. The lass spoke most odd…” Tavish protested weakly, still backing in retreat.

  “Where d’ye come upon that black eye, Tav?” Simeon snarled, stalking the oversized Scot.

  “The MacGregor la… och, yer wife, Laird,” Tavish faltered and held up his forearm showing a fresh wound. “And she stabbed me too.”

  “Did she now?” Simeon’s eyes narrowed in fury. Katherine having to defend herself, in his keep, against his own men? The act was inexcusable.

  “Aye,” Tavish uttered meekly.

  A ferocious cry tore from Simeon’s throat. He seemed to fly at the giant, hitting him so hard in the nose, even Ian winced at the crack. Tavish rocked backward, blood pouring from his nose. Without sparing him a moment to recover, Simeon flew at him with a flurry of punches. Despite Tavish’s attempts to dodge the onslaught, the giant was on the ground before Ian could even register what he’d seen.

  “There. Now yer bloody eyes match. If aught has befallen her, I’ll see the two of ye flogged oot of yer worthless hides a’fore the sun goes down.” Simeon shook with rage and spat to the side in disgust. Without further thought to the two men, Simeon pulled at Ian’s arm.

  “Come on!”

  Simeon bolted toward the castle, with Ian running close behind. Simeon barked orders to the astonished faces of his clansmen and women. “Water! And food! Brought tae me chamber! Get Maeve! Where the hell is Maeve?”

  Two young girls rushed into the castle, apparently to find Maeve.

  Duncan, Simeon’s captain of the guard, rushed forward with half a dozen clansmen in tow. Their swords were already drawn from their practice in the side yard. Ian was impressed at the sight of the fierce Campbells, ready to assist.

  “Whot’s amiss, Simeon?” Duncan met his Laird’s angry face. Simeon slowed only enough to give the briefest of explanations.

  “Tavish and me fool cousin mistook me wife for a spy and locked her in the dungeon. Bring torches and yer men.” Simeon growled.

  “Whot?” Duncan’s mouth dropped in disbelief. He turned his head, looking back with a frown at Tavish and Donnell down by the stable. Barking rapid orders in Gaelic, two of his men ran quickly toward the stables, two others were already running toward the hall.

  Ian could only assume the worst seeing as how they didn’t enter the castle, but cut around to the side instead. The stone walls were different here, older and darker than the rest of Kilburn castle.

  “Christ, this is bad isn’t it?” Ian panted.

  “Aye, ’tis hellish. We’ve no’ used it in over three generations of Campbells.”

  Simeon tore open the aged door. The downward passage was just as dark and constricting as he remembered. The musty smell of stale, dank air wafted toward them, assaulting their nostrils. Beyond the light from the door, all they could see were narrow stone steps for about three feet, descending into blackness.

  Duncan put a hand on his shoulder. “Haud, Simeon. They’re bringing torches and candles. ‘Twould be folly tae gae down there in the dark.”

  “Whot keeps them?” Simeon growled angrily and paced. The thought of Katherine spending one second more in that hole than she had to was making his gut churn. Ian swallowed as Simeon ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

  “How long ye ken the lass hae been down there?” Willie piped up innocently. Duncan shot him a warning look. Simeon rushed him and shoved Willie’s shoulders hard, pinning him to the wall.

  “Och, Will, are ye daft?” Duncan put a calming hand on Simeon’s shoulder and eased him away.

  Simeon continued to pace and when his back was turned, Duncan cuffed him sharply on the back of the head. “Ow!” Willie ducked away rubbing his head.

  “Dinnae ye see yer Laird is upset eno’?” Another Campbell scolded.

  If Ian wasn’t so distressed, he’d have found the exchange humorous. Two clansmen appeared around the corner, running toward them carrying smoking torches. Simeon took the first one and bolted down the stairs, with Ian at his heels.

  Simeon had to bend to move through the narrow levels. His boots fairly flew over the steps. Whether it had been hours or days, any amount of time was too long for his precious wee Katherine to be locked away here. While he’d been confined for centuries, he’d also been under an enchantment, so his body craved nothing, needed nothing. But Katherine would be weak from hunger and thirst. As he moved lower into the bowels of the tower, anguish that she had suffered such treatment tore at him. He only prayed she would be still alive, conscious even, when they reached her.

  They passed through a small room and took the stairs on the other side, twisting and turning to the lowest level of the confines of the stone. Ian’s eyes were watering profusely from the wake of smoke from Simeon’s torch. Finally, the passage opened to a long, forbidding corridor, lined on each side with heavy doors. This wasn’t just a dungeon, this was a place you put people who you wanted to forget
.

  “Och, which one is she in?” Duncan sighed, echoing the sentiment of every man there. Simeon grabbed the ring of iron keys from the peg. Ian held up his hand, stilling the group. He extended his torch out as far as he could near the floor. “It’s easy. Follow the prints.”

  Sure enough, faint marks in the heavy dust were visible from Donnell and Tav’s recent visit. Ian crouched low, walking forward. The prints ended about halfway down the hallway. They were concentrated and stamped in multiple angles in front of the heavy door.

  “She’s in this one, Simeon,” Ian said gravely. He beat on the door with his fist, “Kat! Kat! Can you hear us?”

  “’Twill do nae good, Ian. Ye cannae hear anything whence yer inside,” Simeon frowned. Ian didn’t want to know how Simeon had come upon that knowledge. From the hushed ‘ayes’ from the other men, Ian hoped they were recalling childish pranks they’d played at one time or another, since this place was allegedly unused. Ian held the torch high enough to cast a pool of light on the lock. Simeon began working through the key ring, groaning, angry and impatient, as key after key failed.

  Finally, one fit. A click. A turn. Simeon tore open the door.

  The room was empty.

  ###

  “Lorg i! A-nis! Find her!” Simeon bellowed in the center of his hall so loudly, every Campbell from the pot boy to his men at arms considered their Laird had turned mad. They’d never seen such a display of rage.

  Tired of the ineptitude of reports that revealed nothing, Simeon took the stairs to his chamber. He’d change his clothes, grab his sharpest dirks, and return to the search in earnest. Saints help the next mon who repeated the news his wife was nowhere to be found.

  Maeve trailed him in the hallway, worrying her hands. The woman sought to provide some words of assurance, but wisely remained silent seeing her Laird in such a state.

  “Nae now, Maeve,” Simeon growled, thinking her dismissed.

  The chamber door slammed open so hard, Kat flinched as it bounced with a crack on the wall behind. The elder woman gasped. Angel shot to his haunches, poised for attack, and bared his teeth in a warning growl. All magnificent six feet plus of raging Highland Laird darkened the doorway, and the sight of Simeon, with his hair tumbling askew about his shoulders, his eyes half-crazed looking as if he could conquer an entire Roman legion single-handed, was no less breathtaking now than it was when she’d first witnessed his release from the enchanted mirror. The fierce warlord had obviously returned.

  Kat quickly swallowed her shock and suppressed the urge to leap from the water and throw herself naked into his arms. Bearing witness to Simeon as he teetered on the razor’s edge of anger so palpable, she knew when all that rage, all that man, shifted to passion, the fire ignited between them would leave her nothing more than a pile of ashes in its wake. But a niggling stitch of pride pricked her.

  He left you. Remember?

  Kat turned her attention back to the bath, deciding to antagonize his fury with the unexpected. Cold indifference.

  Simeon stood agape at the sight in his chamber. His world stuttered.

  His heart pounded hard in his chest though he stood stock still. Having torn the castle apart practically from end to end in his search, the lass he’d left behind, thinking never to see, or touch, or hold her again, was here.

  Katherine.

  She was here. Impossibly here, living, breathing, in the flesh. Naked flesh. If not for the residual adrenaline pumping through his veins from their frantic search, the angst of his mind, stretched thin and taut thinking of her suffering for even one second in the wretched darkness of the dungeon…

  Lingering here… in his bath, without a whit of concern. And to add insult, his loyal dog, Clootie, the betraying bastard, was snarled in a crouch ready to defend her.

  Simeon’s rage detonated in a torrent of confusion so deafening, his question seemed to rattle the glass panes of the chamber.

  “Whot the fook, lass?”

  Chapter 22

  Kat stretched a shapely leg toward the ceiling and leisurely squeezed the water from a cloth. She appeared mesmerized at the droplets trailing down her skin. Slowly, she faced him and expelled a little laugh.

  “Ha! I’ll bet you never thought you’d see me again. Sim.”

  “Sidh!” Simeon commanded in a tone so fierce, Kat flinched a second time. The dog promptly laid on the floor with a whine and rested his head on his massive paws.

  “Don’t use that tone with my Angel.” Kat caught the dog’s eyes, flickering in trepidation beneath his bushy brows, and then cooed and made kissy noises toward the beast, earning an affectionate twist of his ear. Clootie’s head raised, and he panted a smile.

  Simeon’s brows shot up, and then deepened to a dark scowl. That tone? He’d been near out of his mind with worry for her and her improbable journey, and from the looks of her upper half at least, she’d arrived hearty and hale. Yet the lass’ concern was the tone he took with his dog? And if he was not mistaken, she didn’t appear happy to see him. Simeon sputtered once more, too incredulous to speak. In two strides he was beside the tub just as Kat eased her leg gingerly back beneath the water and shielded one arm over her bonny breasts.

  “Angel?” he rasped. “Lass do ye ken anythin’? Clootie is a devil of a beast who’ll tear ye apart with nary a concern.”

  “Oh, he’s just a big sweetie.” Kat clucked to the dog, whose tail thumped loudly on the floor.

  Sweetie? Was she daft? Simeon snatched the cloth rudely from her hand, his face twisted in darkening rage.

  “Hey, give that back.”

  “Did ye no’ hear me calling for ye?”

  Kat peered up at him and snorted. “Oh right. Like I speak Gaelic?”

  “Who else de ye ken would cause me tae tear apart this keep in an uproar?” He thundered and braced his arms on either side of the tub, caging her in. His anger surged well past the relief of seeing her, and he couldn’t stay the bitterness from his voice.

  “How should I know what’s got your kilt in a twist? For all I ken, it was probably that… that woman.”

  “Woman? Whot woman?” Simeon straightened indignant.

  “The one you left me for, Sim. Sorry to interrupt your little affair, but don’t worry. I won’t cramp your style. I’ll be out of your century just as soon as I can figure out how to get back to mine.”

  Sim? That was the second time she’d called him thus. No one ever called him ‘Sim’ except his sister, Sofia. Kat couldn’t possibly have mistaken his sister for… Och! The lass must have seen Sofia running to greet him across the bailey. The irony was comical. So comical it shattered his ire, yet here sat his precious Katherine stewing like a wee witch in a kettle of jealousy — as unfounded as that envy may be.

  “Yer nae gaun anywhere. Ever.” He pronounced with finality. Simeon crossed his arms over his chest as if the matter was settled.

  After all, the Laird’s word was law.

  Ooh, the arrogance! If he assumed she was going to sit back and be content on the sidelines when he already had a wife, or a lover, or a whatever ensconced in the castle, he was mistaken.

  “If you think… arghhh!” Kat shot to her feet. Water sluiced from her body in a rush and splashed over the sides of the tub, drenching his plaid and his boots. Her finger jabbed angrily in his chest as her eyes shot daggers. “If you think for one second, buddy, that I’m a two-timer, you’ve got a lot of nerve. I don’t two time.”

  “Two? Time?” Simeon frowned, clearly confused by her vernacular. Undaunted by his disruption, Kat plunged headlong into an unrestrained rant.

  “I’m no one’s second, while you have a first. Or a first when you have a second, depending on what century you conveniently find yourself in.” Simeon’s face was still skewed in bewilderment and Kat rolled her eyes. “A mistress. I’m no mistress. And what’s up with that handfasting crap?”

  “A mistress? Ye ken I’d treat ye as a mistress?” Simeon snatched her to him. Hard. Kat’s breath left in a
gasp. Damn him for feeling so good. Being enfolded in the protective circle of his warmth wasn’t helping her resolve, even if deep down there was something right about it. Although she was naked, and he was fully clothed, she refused to relinquish her dignity. Or her rage.

  “Nae lass, yer me wife. And handfasting betwixt us ‘tis good as vows.”

  “You drugged me!”

  “Yer brother did.”

  “A technicality.” Kat’s head bobbed with each syllable.

  “Lass.” Simeon’s gaze roamed her face tenderly as one hand wound up into her wet hair. “I was a fool tae leave ye behind. Ne’r again. Och, lass. Forgive me.” Just as his lips plummeted down on hers, the chamber door burst open.

  “Oh—” The dark-haired beauty Kat spied earlier halted. Her cheeks flamed red in embarrassment as the pair snatched apart. Simeon quickly shielded Kat’s nakedness behind him.

  “Sofia!”

  “That’s her!” Kat pointed with a shout and scrambled to move past him. “Gah! Get off me, you lying ass!” Kat slapped at Simeon’s shoulders. Clootie leapt to his feet and barked nonstop in vicious confusion. The dog tamped from foot to foot raising all sorts of hell, not knowing whether to attack Simeon for restraining Kat, or charge toward Sofia for the intrusion. Simeon wrestled Kat’s arms to her sides. She was snarling and slippery and hell-bent on attack.

  “Haud yer wheest,” he admonished the dog and frowned at Kat. Clootie bayed and howled louder.

  “Let go of me.” Kat twisted and brought a knee up, catching Simeon on the thigh. The dog’s incessant barking echoed off the stone walls.

  “Sim, I-I’m so sorry. I kent to bring yer lass some clothes.” Sofia’s voice rang out over the commotion as she nervously eyed Clootie and shifted her gaze to look anywhere but at them.

  His lass? What kind of wife would bestow her with such a title? Or bring her something to wear?

  “Clothes?” Kat stilled and braced her hands on Simeon’s forearms as she peered around the expanse of his shoulders, her eyes brimming with curiosity.

  Simeon favored his dog a black look and issued a sharp reprimand. “Sàmhach, ye daft beastie!”