The Thief (15 page)

‘Davina? What of her?’

She opened her eyes to find the shadows had moved in again. ‘I thought …’ Words stuck in her throat. She swallowed and started again. ‘She told me about your promise to dance with her the day you married.’

‘And?’

‘I had nae idea she was lame. I saw you dancing with a beautiful woman and thought—but then I learned you’d made a promise to a weeping young girl years past and kept it. Many would have forgotten. Oh, but not you.’ She shook her head. ‘It is truly annoying to discover you are not the man I expected you to be.’

Why hadn’t he beaten her when she’d escaped, or bedded Davina, giving her reasons to despise him?

Large hands grasped her shoulders and turned her about. ‘You see me as kind?’

She frowned. ‘You speak as if being kind is an insult.’

‘There are many ways I want you to see me.’ He leaned closer. ‘Being kind isn’t at the top of my list.’

She fought to draw a full breath, settled for small gasps of air. Her heart raced. ‘Kindness is a worthy quality—’

‘I brought you to the stable to seduce you.’

Her heart jumped about in her chest. Heat pooled in her belly. If he was trying to frighten her, it wasn’t working. He’d stated his intentions. She should push him away. Remind him she wanted no part in this marriage. Remind him she planned to have it annulled. She licked her dry lips and whispered. ‘Yet you have barely laid a hand on me.’

A shudder trembled through his hands into her. He released her shoulders and speared fingers into her hair, cupping her face. His head lowered. His sigh brushed her lips.

‘God flay me alive for being remiss.’

Chapter 12

Hot, hungry lips slammed into hers. She stiffened, eyes wide, but could see nothing but moving shadows, close, so close. Could feel nothing but searing heat, fierce desire in the mouth devouring hers. He stole the very air.

Oh God. Breathe, Kenzie. Breathe!

Her fingers clawed and grasped, but couldn’t find purchase in the hard leather vest he wore.

Panic. Fear. She gasped. Slick warmth invaded her mouth. Air rushed in through her nose and fed her starving lungs. Relief. Wondrous warmth. Tangling tongues. Melting heat.

Melting.

Her eyes closed. She tasted wine and him. Lachlan Elliot. Her husband. Demanding. No gentleness in his kiss. Want. Need.

She needed and wanted too.

Her hands found the edges of the leather vest at his shoulders. Fingers slid between hide and linen, curled, held tight. She pressed her mouth up into his in her quest to give, in her need to take.

His hold shifted. One hand cupped her nape, the other stole around her back and wrenched her closer. She arched into his hardness, gloried in the feel of his strength surrounding her. A deep rumble sounded in his chest, rippled through her, awakening something new, fresh and exciting. His mouth slanted, moved. Hers followed. More. She wanted more.

He lifted his head and pulled away.

Nae!

Hot panted breaths brushed her face. She clutched at him, chest heaving, heart pounding. Deserted. Why had he stopped?

There. A voice?

His mouth crashed down onto hers. The heat returned. She opened her lips, wide, welcomed him in. Her tongue sought his. Her body trembled. Wild, hot need erupted.

He pulled away, again. Curse him. Cold air washed over her moist, throbbing lips.

He turned a fraction. Light splashed his face. His eyes were closed. His masterful mouth was sealed in a thin line. His nostrils flared and his skin molded tight over his cheekbones.

The voice called out again. ‘Laird?’

A deep inhalation swelled the chest she clung to.

‘Lachlan. Are you there, lad?’

The hand at her back slid out from behind her and gripped her shoulder. ‘Aye.’ The hand at her nape withdrew to her other shoulder. ‘What is it, Murdoch?’

He stepped away. Her fingers lost their hold and curled in on themselves. Her heartbeat slowed and a chill filled the void between them. She shivered. Her lips burned.

‘A messenger has come from Irvine Keep.’

His eyes snapped open. Hers widened. He peered down at her.

‘See to the man’s comfort, Murdoch. I’ll meet you in the hall.’

‘Aye, laird.’ Faint footfalls signalled the steward’s departure.

‘Were you expecting a messenger from Irvine?’ she said between shallow breaths.

‘Nae. And it had best be of great import, considering his ill timing.’ He stroked her cheek with gentle fingers. ‘We are far from finished here, Kenzie.’

Excitement thrummed in her and a rush of warmth swept up her neck and into her face. Never had she suffered such a fire in her belly, such a desperate need to be held and to hold. She wanted more.

‘Do you wish to remain here?’

Time alone to consider what had just happened? She’d think on what happened later. ‘Nae. I want to hear what the messenger has to say.’

‘Come, then,’ he said, turning to retrieve the lantern from its resting place atop the enclosure.

Kenzie pulled the sides of her cloak together and exited the stall, the feel of his hand at her elbow a welcome touch. At the stable entrance, he snuffed the lantern he carried and reached high to store it. Her gaze wandered the length of him. Memories of being held, pressed tightly against the hard planes of his body, sent a wave of trembling pleasure through her being. She’d come to learn more about the man he was and discovered the woman she’d become.

She tore her attention away from her husband.
My husband!
Dear blessed Mary. She’d never wanted a husband. Now she had one, she had to fight to keep her eyes off him.

She stared out into the bleak greyness of the bailey, but continued to struggle, drawn by the aura of light and colours her husband exuded. Lured by the memory of his mind-numbing kiss. She was tempted to drag him back into the shadows to let him use her lips for kindling again and forget anyone from Irvine had come.

One kiss had left her weak-kneed and craving more.

She stepped into the misting rain and stopped, hoping the cold moisture would cool her cheeks and halt her wicked thoughts.

The reason for her wanton thinking suddenly scooped her into his powerful arms and strode toward the keep.

‘Put me down.’ She tried for conviction, but knew she failed.

‘Nae. Methinks you enjoy me carrying you.’

She gasped. ‘I do not.’

‘Your blush says otherwise,’ he said, throwing her a dangerous smile.

‘You speak rot. I do not blush,’ she said, even as fire rushed from her belly to her cheeks.

‘Then I can only blame your kiss for addling my wits.’

‘My kiss?’ She straightened in his arms. ‘You kissed me.’

‘Tell me, does “Yet you have barely laid a hand on me” sound familiar? A challenge if ever I heard one.’

‘Oh! I but tried to make you see there is kindness in you. After all, you didn’t pounce on me, despite your plan to seduce me.’

‘You sound disappointed.’

‘Don’t be daft.’
Perhaps a little.
‘Now put me down.’

He chuckled and finally relented, setting her onto the steps leading into the keep. ‘Ah, Kenzie. You are a delight when vexed.’

Heat flushed her cheeks. She ducked her head and pretended to shake invisible wrinkles from her cloak. He was too confident by far and she dare not allow him to see the pleasure his words evoked.

Prepared to blame any flush in her face on the chill clime, she looked up and found Lachlan leaning on the stonework, arms folded, wearing a cocksure smile.

‘Your attire is presentable,’ he said, ‘but I must warn you—and, confess, I am pleased to say—the redness staining your cheeks and your swollen lips will surely raise a brow or two.’

Damn him! She forced her hands to remain by her side and not to cover her face and lips as they ached to do.

‘Lachlan, you are more likeable when silent.’

He laughed. A rich, jovial sound that echoed off the walls and filled the desolate bailey with life. She stared, transfixed, as her stomach tightened and something akin to happiness clutched at her heart.

So contagious was his mirth she sank her teeth into her inner cheek to stop herself from smiling. The man’s laugh was thrice more dangerous than his heavenly smile.

‘When you’re done, I suggest we see what news the messenger has brought.’

The wondrous sound faded and Kenzie steeled herself against its loss, more difficult for being the cause.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, without a note of sincerity. He opened the door. ‘After you, my she-devil.’

***

Lachlan followed his sharp-tongued, delightful bride into the warmth of the Great Hall, a chamber much changed since they’d last walked through it; trestles and long benches were neatly arranged where slumbering bodies had littered the floor.

He stared down at the dark braid swinging to and fro across Kenzie’s back. It took no effort to imagine stalks of hay clinging to her silken rope of hair. If Murdoch hadn’t interrupted, he’d have taken his wife in a stall in the stable. His plan to begin seducing his bride had gone up in flames. So had he. An unexpected surprise he longed to repeat. And soon.

His wife’s eager response was a pleasant shock he hadn’t counted on, but if it continued, he’d have the second part of his promise underway before year’s end.

Looking ahead, he searched for the messenger, an unusual face in the crowd.

His wife came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stairs. Lachlan grabbed her upper arms to prevent himself from ploughing into her. The scent of lavender coated his indrawn breath. His fingers flexed. He forced his hands to release her before they pulled her back and molded her against him. He stepped to one side and noticed Ailsa standing on the bottom step.

‘Laird. My lady,’ Ailsa said and bobbed a quick curtsey. ‘May I speak with you, Kenzie?’

‘Of course,’ his wife said.

‘I’ll meet you by the hearth when you’re done,’ Lachlan said and headed toward the fire.

A familiar face caught his eye: Parlan. The news must be important for Irvine to send his steward.

‘Welcome to Castle Redheugh, Parlan.’

The Irvine’s steward turned. He held a wooden cup but hadn’t taken a seat before the flames. ‘Laird Elliot.’

‘Sit, man,’ Lachlan said, motioning to a bench and then choosing a place opposite.

Murdoch delivered a tray bearing two pewter goblets.

‘Have the kitchens serve the noon meal later, Murdoch.’ The delay would give his people time to recover from the night’s celebrations.

‘Aye, laird.’

Lachlan lifted one of the goblets and set the other aside for his wife. ‘What brings you here, Parlan?’

‘Laird Irvine has received news and thought it might be of interest to you.’

‘What news?’ Lachlan said before taking a long swig of ale.

‘It concerns his daughter Jeanne. Her husband is dead.’

Lachlan’s attention strayed from Parlan to the stairwell where his wife still chatted with Ailsa.

‘Why would this regrettable news be of interest to me?’ he asked, noticing that the flames from the wall sconce above Kenzie’s head gave her dark hair a reddish tint.

‘Well, Laird Irvine believed you were once eager to marry Jeanne and thought you might still be.’

Lachlan straightened and ever so slowly turned and stared at Parlan. God knows what expression he wore. Anger? Disbelief? Definitely anger. Whatever the steward read in his face prompted the man to add, ‘Naturally, there would be a delay, due to mourning, but—’

A light tread scuffed the flagstones. Lachlan turned and watched Kenzie as she crossed the floor toward him. Did she know he’d petitioned her father to wed Jeanne? She’d never mentioned it, but there was much he didn’t know about his wife and he wasn’t foolish enough to tell her. Not when the fragile bond they now shared was so new, so promising.

Lachlan gained his feet to greet Kenzie. Parlan stood too.

‘Kenzie, I believe you know Irvine’s steward. Parlan,’ he said, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. ‘This is Lady Elliot,
my wife.
’

The steward’s eyes bulged in his head.

‘Parlan. It has been some time since we spoke.’ Though her voice was firm and her stance sure, Lachlan couldn’t help sensing an aura of fragility about her. ‘I hope all is well at Irvine.’

‘Lady Elliot. Aye. Some time. Aye, all is well at Irvine. Good morn. May I offer my regards to you and Laird Elliot?’ Parlan raised his cup and drained the contents, seeming suddenly uncomfortable.

‘Come, sit beside me, Kenzie.’ Lachlan ushered her closer to the fire and handed her the goblet of wine, before resuming his seat. ‘Has Lennox received the delivery I sent this morn?’ Lachlan brought up the matter to keep Parlan from uttering anything regarding Jeanne’s availability to wed.

‘Aye, the cattle were being herded to Irvine’s winter field as I departed,’ Parlan confirmed.

‘A wise move. My cattle have also been brought down into the winter enclosure after the English raid two nights past.’

Parlan frowned. ‘You were raided by the English?’

‘Aye, but the thieves returned home with naught but fresh wounds.’

‘Cattle?’ Kenzie asked.

‘Aye. Duff, Lundy, Cal and Dair left early to make the delivery. I expect them to return even as we speak.’

‘How many cattle?’

‘Laird Irvine sends his thanks for fulfilling the bargain so quickly,’ Parlan said.

‘How many cattle was I worth to
Laird Irvine
?’

‘Ten,’ Lachlan said and watched his wife.

‘Ten.’ She nodded several times, then started slowly shaking her head.

Parlan stood. ‘Now my message has been given I’ll return to Irvine. Laird Elliot.’ He gave a brisk bow. ‘Lady Elliot.’ Another bow.

‘Murdoch will see you out.’ Lachlan rose from his seat and took two steps away from where Kenzie sat. ‘And Parlan,’ he said quietly, ‘tell Lennox I got the better end of the deal.’

Parlan stared for a moment then glanced at Kenzie, looking doubtful. With a final nod, Murdoch escorted him from the hall.

‘You were robbed,’ Kenzie stated before he’d resumed his seat.

‘Your father wanted twice the number he got, so it was a bargain well made.’