Heart's Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) (8 page)

Instead of red, Sabine’s eyes fixed on a flash of white directly over Colin’s heart.

What in…

She squinted in the low light. Something was tucked within the tattered folds of the woolen tunic. Something creamy white, with a waxy sheen to it.

Parchment
.

Clarity, sudden and hot, washed through Sabine.

Osborn, the King of Scotland’s messenger, had carried a decoy missive, with Colin as the messenger’s watch dog. But there was a
real
missive to be delivered—carried by Colin himself.

Suddenly it all made sense—the fact that he was traveling west instead of east, the fact that he was dragging her along with him rather than returning her to his King. It was all so that he could deliver his missive.

The realization was followed by a second, the answering thunder to a bolt of lightning.

If Colin bore an important missive from the King of Scotland himself, then she hadn’t completed her assignment yet.

Fabian’s client had paid for the information sealed within the letter secreted away in Colin’s tunic. She still had a chance to gather that information and report it to Fabian.

How pleased Fabian would be with her, how proud and impressed. But if she was ever going to see the inside of that piece of parchment, she couldn’t flee from Colin. Nay, she needed to stay close to him now.

“Stop!”

The inn’s patrons, who’d been closing in on Colin as he’d backed slowly toward the rear of the stables, started at her sudden shout.

“Stop!” Sabine repeated. “No more, I beg of ye. This was all a terrible misunderstanding.”

The men gaped at her, still perched atop the black stallion, as if she had truly gone mad.

“Ye see, that man is my husband, as he said.” She looked for confirmation from the stable lad, who nodded dumbly near the door. “We had a terrible row,” she hurried on. “He turned my mother out of our home. I sought to exact revenge on him for his harshness, so he tied me to this saddle to prevent my troublemaking. I thought to teach him a lesson by saying he’d kidnapped me, but I never intended for anyone to get hurt.”

The men continued to look at her in stunned silence, so she barreled on with the lie. “It was naught but a quarrel between husband and wife, ye understand. I beg yer forgiveness for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Is this true?” one of the remaining men demanded of Colin.

“Aye,” he said slowly. “My
wife
is most devious, but this is a personal matter between us. She shouldnae have dragged ye all into it.” His gaze pierced her as he spoke, sending a shiver of apprehension down her spine.

The men began muttering some foul and very pointed curses about her as they straightened, re-sheathing their weapons. They helped their injured companions toward the stable door, with two men lifting the unconscious rider from the floor by the arms.

“Get yer woman under control,” snapped one of the men bluntly over his shoulder at Colin.

“Oh aye, I plan to,” Colin muttered, never taking his gaze from Sabine. He smoothly slid his blade into its scabbard and shrugged his shoulders so that his cloak fell back across them, concealing the missive behind the thick wool.

“Ye’d best find some other place to sleep,” the stable lad said, suddenly brave now that the threat was over.

Colin nodded wordlessly at him, then stomped to where Sabine sat atop his horse. He swung himself into the saddle behind her and snatched up the reins. When he gave the stallion a nudge, the animal immediately responded, stepping forward and through the stable door.

As Colin coaxed the horse into a trot and led them away from the little village, Sabine’s left shoulder began to throb. Yet it wasn’t the same pulsing pain she’d experienced earlier. Nay, it was because her shoulder was rhythmically rubbing against Colin’s chest—right where she’d seen the missive.

Sabine knew it was just her imagination, but she fancied her shoulder actually growing warm with the proximity of that longed-for message.

How would she manage to get her hands on it, though? Her little stunt in the stables would undoubtedly make Colin even more guarded and cautious around her. If he kept her good hand tied, she wouldn’t have a chance of even getting close to the missive.

A plan slowly took root in her mind as they rode across the darkened landscape. Besides a few defensive maneuvers with her dagger, Fabian had never taught her how to fight. That was because he always told her that her greatest asset was her beauty and charm.

How many messengers had she lured to private chambers and secret nooks using naught more than a smile and a story about wanting to take a tumble with them? How many scraps and tidbits of information had she secured over the years?

Colin suddenly reined his horse off the road and into the surrounding forest. As the dark trees closed in around them, Sabine was acutely aware of being alone with him—a powerfully built, skilled Highland warrior who was furious with her.

Nay, Colin would not be fooled as easily as the messengers she’d seduced before. Invariably, messengers were lonely, solitary men who didn’t stop to question why a woman like Sabine was inviting them for a romp.

Colin, on the other hand, looked like the type of man who never lacked for female companionship. Though his features seemed perpetually set in granite, there was no denying that he was handsome and well-formed.

Even with a scowl on his face, his bright, perceptive eyes glowed like sapphires, his lips were firm but full, and his jawline was strong. Women no doubt threw themselves at him to stroke that leonine mane of golden hair sitting on his broad, muscular shoulders.

And Sabine had overheard enough women’s talk over the years when she passed herself off as a servant to get close to her target. She had an idea of what a man with a honed, powerful physique could do in the bedchamber.

Aye, to woo him into a false sense of security would take every last drop of her skill. It would be harder than taming a lion. But if she succeeded, she had a chance at getting that missive—and she had never failed a mission yet.

She knew.

Sabine knew about the Bruce’s missive.

Thought she’d masked her sudden realization swiftly, Colin had seen the flash of understanding in her hazel eyes just before she’d called a halt to the skirmish with the men in the stables.

He’d been lucky to avoid having his chest split open, but in his experience one streak of luck was always countered by a balancing weight of ill fortune. With the Bruce’s missive exposed to her sharp gaze, she would no doubt try to get at its contents.

Which meant that he had to be even more vigilant around her.

What puzzled him, though, was how she hoped to put those thieving fingers on the missive. Why had she called the men off? Why not let them kill him—or at least attempt to—instead of forming a swift lie that allowed both of them to flee?

Colin’s curiosity niggled at him all night. He’d picked a spot to make a rudimentary camp in the woods well off the road. The men from the inn seemed annoyed enough that after several ales, they might work up the courage to go looking for them.

The night had been quiet, however, with Sabine exchanging no more than a handful of words with him. She seemed as deep in thought as he was, though that made him nervous. What was brewing in that lovely, deceiving head of hers?

He’d kept her tied to the saddle throughout the night. When he’d dismounted, he’d unbuckled the saddle from Ruith and pulled Sabine, saddle and all, from the animal’s back. She hadn’t even protested when he simply set her a few paces away from the horse, leaving her to arrange both her hurt shoulder and her bound wrist in a way that would allow her to sleep.

Once dawn’s weak light had woken him, he’d quickly mended his tunic. A jagged, hastily sewn line now ran directly across his chest, but at least the missive was out of sight once more. When the task was done, he waited, watching Sabine as she slept.

Again, he was struck by the unmarred innocence of her resting form. How could a spy—a liar and a thief as well—look so bewitchingly sweet in slumber?

Unbidden, his manhood stirred. His mind instantly shot back to the feel of her pressed against him on the saddle, their hips rolling together in rhythm with the horse’s stride.

Shite
.

He cursed his traitorous body and yanked his thoughts away from the feel of her slight, delicate form grinding against his. She was up to something, damn it. And he was going to find out what.

When the sun at last broke through the patchy clouds, she stirred.

She blinked, her green-gold eyes hazy with sleep, until they at last fastened on him. Something pinched low in his belly as their eyes locked, but he ignored it.

As if his hard, steady gaze chased away the fog of slumber, she sat up suddenly. She winced as her bound wrist stopped her progress, jarring her shoulder and forcing her to settle for propping herself on her good elbow.

“What a strange turn of events last night, wouldnae ye say, lass?” he asked calmly.

“Nay, not so strange, really,” she shot back, just as placidly.

He watched her features—especially those large hazel eyes—for signs of a betrayal of her inner thoughts, but she kept her face blank. She was skilled, he’d give her that.

“Why did ye cause that scene in the stables?”

She blinked at him again, though it was not particularly coy. Rather, it was matter-of-fact. “I hope you understand why I would want to try to escape. You are indeed holding me against my will, as I said last night. I’m sure I want no part in whatever fate you have planned for me.”

Christ, that might have been the most she’d said to him in the day and a half since he’d captured her—combined. So, she was suddenly willing to talk, was she? Colin narrowed his eyes on her. There was something behind this newfound frankness, he was sure—the lass was clearly no fool.

“So ye wanted to escape, was that it?”

“Aye.”

“Then why did ye call the men off with that lie about a row between husband and wife?”

A delicate pink blush crept to her cheeks. Good. The lass was not made of stone after all. But what did she hide behind that pretty flush?

“I…I realized when I saw you break that man’s nose that I would have innocent men’s blood on my hands for sending them after you. I thought they could best you and I could slip away, but once you began fighting, I wasn’t so sure.”

He smothered his desire to grin at that—of course a few inn patrons wouldn’t have been able to cut him down. Nay, he had to focus on her excuse for helping him. Here was a chink in her armor that he could exploit.

“Ah. So when ye saw that man’s bloody nose, ye thought better of yer little escape plan.”

“Aye.”

“Except that ye let the others attack me for several moments before telling them to stop.”

Her lashes fluttered, and he noticed her thin throat bobbing as she swallowed. “I had to come up with a lie to stop them,” she replied at last. “I couldn’t think with all the noise and confusion.”

“How verra interesting. Ye seem to have no problem spouting off lies any other time it serves ye.”

Her blush deepened, and her eyes flashed with indignation. “Mayhap I shouldn’t have told that one last night. Mayhap I should have let those men take you down after all.” For one heartbeat, she seemed surprised at the words that had tumbled from her mouth, but then she smoothed her features once more.

“So ye didnae want those men’s innocent blood on yer hands,” he prodded, returning to his inquiry. “Ye thought of a lie that got us both out of that cursed village. But why didnae ye simply lie in such a way that ye still could have been rid of me?”

He doubted she would own up to seeing the missive, to the clear longing for its contents that had flashed in her eyes for the briefest moment before she shuttered herself once more, but perhaps she’d let something of her true motivations slip—or the reason behind her sudden willingness to talk.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, lowering her gaze to her lap. “I suppose…I suppose the truth is that you’ve been…kind to me.”

He lifted an eyebrow. Aye, there was a ring of truth to the words, but he kept a sharp eye on her.

“The truth is,” she hurried on, keeping her chin tucked, “that I don’t understand why you haven’t forced me to speak, haven’t harmed or threatened me. It felt…wrong to throw you to those men.”

“As I told ye before, I may be a Highlander, but I am no’ a barbarian,” he said. “I willnae resort to torturing an injured woman—though I will remind ye that ye dinnae ken what awaits ye tomorrow or the next day.”

Colin doubted the Bruce would torture her either when he turned her over—Robert had seen what had happened physically and mentally to his sister Mary and Isabella MacDuff. The two had been captured by Longshanks, King Edward II’s father, and held captive in cages outdoors and far above the ground for four long years. The Bruce loathed the use of women and children in warfare.

Still, Colin would not admit just yet that he didn’t have a plan for her beyond dragging her with him to Ireland and then handing her over to the Bruce. Let her stew a bit. Mayhap then she would reveal something useful.

“I…I don’t understand that,” she murmured.

“What? That the English—and most Lowland Scots as well—think we Highlanders are savages?” he asked.

“Nay, I’ve heard that enough,” she replied, one side of her mouth lifting even as she kept her gaze lowered. “But I have always been told…I’ve always known what would happen to me if I was ever caught.”

“And who told ye that? The one ye work for?”

She stiffened slightly, and he knew he’d uncovered a small kernel of truth.

“Aye,” she said softly, surprising him. “The man I work for…he raised me from childhood, trained me. He’s been the only one who has ever—”

Her voice pinched off suddenly. She shook her head as if in warning to herself, her sable hair sliding down around her pinkened cheeks.

For one long breath, Colin’s chest squeezed with a strange ache. What had this wee slip of a lass been through in the short score of years she’d been alive? Who was this man who had taken her in? And what had he done to turn an innocent child into a deceitful spy?

A distant alarm bell rang in Colin’s mind. Aye, the lass was up to something. The old unhealed wound left by Joan and her deviousness throbbed anew.

Inwardly, Colin smiled as realization dawned. Was this the lass’s scheme, then? To pull at his heartstrings, make him feel sorry for her, and then when his guard was down, slip away with the King’s missive?

It was what she’d done to Osborn, wasn’t it? She’d spun some sob story about being sent to a nunnery, carefully tugging on both Osborn’s sympathy and his lust. Without even trying, Sabine had already stirred Colin’s desire—and now she was angling for his pity.

Sabine was watching him with those wide hazel eyes. He carefully let a minuscule ripple of compassion flicker across his face before smoothing his features once more. Those keen, bottomless eyes registered the flash of emotion, he was sure.

“I do not wish to speak of it, though,” she said, drawing her dark brows together. “My shoulder aches badly this morn, and if we are to be in the saddle another day, I will need to save my energy.”

“Do ye wish for me to massage it again?” Colin murmured.

Relief washed her delicate features, followed by another pretty pink blush. “A-aye, if you wouldn’t mind. It helped greatly yestereve.”

Colin stood slowly and stalked toward her. She craned her neck to watch him approach, looking all the world like a wounded doe gazing at an approaching wolf.

He crouched behind her, letting his knees open to encase her between them. By God, this was becoming an all-too-familiar position—her gently curved hips and bottom tucked against his manhood, their bodies pressed together, his blood pumping hotly despite his brain screaming at him to keep away.

When his hand closed around her left shoulder, she moaned. As he worked his fingers into the tight, slim muscles there, her head fell back onto his chest. Those plump lips parted on a half-groan, half-sigh. Her brows unknitted and her eyelids fluttered closed, her dark lashes resting against her creamy cheeks.

Though his manhood had already stirred to life at their first contact, when Sabine sank her teeth into her lower lip to stifle yet another breathy moan, his cursed cock surged to attention.

Colin had no doubt that she could feel his desire, pressed as it was against her bottom. Her lashes wavered open and she tilted her head up where it still rested on his chest, pinning him with those hazel eyes.

“I…I still do not understand why you are being so kind to me, but I thank you,” she murmured. “You make me feel…” She let the unspoken word slip away with another little shake of her head, as if she were chastising herself for the pleasure she’d clearly taken from his touch.

Even as hot desire coursed through his veins, an icy stab of realization buried itself in Colin’s gut. He’d thought he had already experienced the worst of his base lust for her. But nay, the lass had not yet even fully unleashed her plan. She wasn’t just going to pull at his heartstrings. Her true scheme was to pull a string attached to an organ about two feet below his heart.

The minx was planning to seduce him.

Bloody hell
.

Colin’s heart hardened to stone, though he had to repress the urge to smile. Little did Sabine know that Colin would be the last man in all of England or Scotland to fall for the feminine wiles of a beautiful, innocent lass. He’d already learned that lesson the hard way.

What was more, Sabine had clearly not considered the fact that two could play at her little game. He’d been distracted and annoyed at Osborn when she’d first met him. Then after learning that she was a spy, his own anger at the bind he found himself in meant that he hadn’t considered attempting to charm information out of her.

She likely thought him naught more than a warrior, but she’d never been the recipient of his true skill.

Colin slid away from Sabine, though he made a point of letting his hand linger on her, his fingertips brushing across her shoulder blade as he slowly withdrew.

“Come, lass. It is time we break camp and move on.”

“Are we still riding west?”

“Aye.”

He took her good elbow and lifted her to her feet, scooping up the saddle as well before it could tug on her arm. She feigned a little stumble, bumping into him and steadying herself with a small hand on his chest.

If she felt the hammering of his heart beneath his tunic, she might mistake it for passionate longing. In actuality, Colin’s blood pumped at the challenge laid out before him.

Sabine was undeniably skilled. He would have to resist her enticing charms, all the while deploying his own seduction to wheedle answers from her.

Aye, he loved a good challenge, he thought as he wrapped his hands around her narrow waist to steady her.

The game was on.