Highland Thief Page 12

  Kerr also frowned, growing still on the outside, while inside, that dark part of him raged. Why is Isobel talking to the priest about handfasting?

  She quickly tucked the parchment into her arisaid, stood up from the bench, and then darted into the crowd again. Kerr rose as well and stared after her, but as quickly as before, she disappeared.

  He fought the urge to bellow her name. Instead, he stepped onto the bench for a better look. He should be able to spot her from here.

  A bright flash—there!

  She was talking to her guard, Lyle, at the base of the second set of stairs that led up to the keep’s private quarters. She’d pulled up her plaid like a hood so her hair was covered, but she’d turned back to look at him and he’d seen the bright flash of long blond tresses hanging down the front of her body.

  Their eyes met over the boisterous crowd, and this time he did bellow. “Isobel!”

  People looked up at him, raised their drinks, and laughed, but the clans were too intent on enjoying themselves to pay him much attention.

  But she’d heard him. Aye. And she proceeded to ignore him.

  With a raised brow and a tilt of her chin, she turned back to a stony-faced Lyle, who listened to her with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze shifting between the two of them. She pulled out the parchment from her arisaid and pressed it into his hand. He nodded—once—and then tucked the letter into his sporran, before Isobel lifted her skirts and took the stairs upward, two at a time.

  What was in the parchment?

  Kerr stepped off the bench and marched toward Lyle, his eyes boring into him. People darted out of his way. Some of the braver men and women smacked him on the back as if encouraging him on his journey.

  Lyle’s expression never changed, and his gaze never wavered.

  Kerr stopped in front of him, and neither man spoke. Finally, Kerr said, “What’s she up to now?”

  Lyle shrugged, and Kerr knew that unless Isobel was in danger, Lyle would give nothing away. He would never break his lady’s trust.

  Kerr dropped his eyes to the man’s sporran and the letter hidden inside. “Give me the parchment and I’ll take care of it.” Lyle would never hand it over, but maybe he would throw something Kerr’s way—like who it was addressed to.

  “Nay,” the guard said simply.

  “Why not? You canna leave your post yet. I promise to deliver the letter for you.”

  “I am to hand deliver it, as soon as it’s convenient.”

  “To whom?”

  Lyle’s lips stayed closed. Kerr threw his hands in the air in frustration. “God’s blood, man! Give me something. We both know the person Isobel needs protection from the most is herself. She’s planning something, and you’d better hope she doesn’t get hurt while she’s doing it or you willna see the light of day!”

  Lyle never even twitched. Finally, he said, “’Tis her brother who will protect her. I’ll do as he asks.”

  Kerr scowled at him. That was true, of course, but also utter shite. Lyle would take matters into his own hands if Isobel were in danger. He wanted to protect her almost as much as Kerr did, as much as Gavin did.

  Then it dawned on him, and he searched Lyle’s face again. If he could hear the warrior’s thoughts behind that impassive expression, he was certain they’d be filled with the verbal equivalent of eye-rolling and foot tapping.

  Aye, Lyle had given him a message, but Kerr had been too hot to pick up on it right away.

  He spun back to the crowd, intent on finding his foster brother—doing exactly as Lyle had told him to do. Again, the crowd parted as he made his way through it.

  The last place he’d seen Gavin was in Deirdre’s arms, dancing a feisty reel, but they weren’t on the dance floor anymore. He stood on the bench again for a better look, and after scanning the crowded dance floor, he finally saw Gavin leading his wife toward the other set of stairs on the opposite end of the hall from where Lyle stood guard. They were going to disappear upstairs.

  Hell no!

  It gave Kerr a perverse sense of satisfaction to whistle a sharp, piercing note that stopped his foster brother in his tracks. Gavin looked back over his shoulder with a frustrated frown and immediately saw Kerr standing on the bench. Deirdre passed him and kept going, tugging on her husband’s hand, but Gavin pulled her into his body for a hug and spoke into her ear. She nodded, and then proceeded by herself past the other guard stationed at the foot of the stairs and disappeared up the stairwell.

  When Gavin caught his eye again, Kerr jerked his head toward Lyle. Gavin nodded, and with one last, longing gaze toward the empty stairwell into which Deirdre had disappeared, he reversed his steps.

  From his perch on the bench, Kerr saw his other foster brothers and Gregor also heading in the same direction. They’d all heard the whistle and seen Kerr signal Gavin.

  He pushed through the rest of the crowd, a little rough this time in his impatience. Gregor and Lachlan already stood beside Lyle, waiting. Callum and Darach arrived next, and then finally Gavin.

  Lyle didn’t look the least bit intimidated by being surrounded by six imposing lairds. Especially Gavin, who had a scowl on his face.

  Gavin’s eyes drilled into Kerr. “This had better be good. I have plans with my wife.”

  His brothers snorted. Over the years, they’d taken great pleasure in foiling each other’s romantic interludes. That hadn’t stopped when they’d married.

  “Deirdre looked done in after all that dancing,” Lachlan said, his eyes laughing. “I’d be worried if I were you.”

  “Aye, she needs as much sleep as she can get at such a delicate time,” Darach added.

  Callum patted his arm. “Treat her gently, Brother. Let her rest. Deep down, I know Maggie appreciates all my coddling.” He grinned as everyone scoffed.

  Kerr’s impatience rose. “God’s blood, everyone stop talking! Pretend your lives depend on it…because, believe me, they do!” he threatened.

  Silence reigned for a moment before Darach, Lachlan, and Callum burst out laughing. Gregor placed a calming hand on Kerr’s arm, but he could see the amusement in his foster father’s eyes too.

  “For the love of God, Kerr, why am I here?” Gavin grated, his hands fisted on his hips.

  Kerr pointed at Lyle, who didn’t even flinch. In fact, he suspected the bastard was enjoying himself. “He has a letter from Isobel and he willna let me see it.”

  “It’s for you?” Gavin asked with a confused frown.

  “Nay, it’s for you!” He switched his attention to Lyle. “Give it to him now!”

  Lyle didn’t move, other than to shift his gaze to his laird.

  “Lyle?” Gavin asked with an exasperated sigh.

  “Lady Isobel gave me a parchment, and she asked me to give it to you…and only you.” He dug his hand into his sporran and took out the folded piece of paper that had Gavin’s name written across it in Isobel’s distinctive handwriting. Lyle handed it to his laird.

  “How long ago did she give it to you?” Gavin asked.

  “Nay more than a few minutes. Laird MacAlister was dogging her heels. He signaled you almost immediately.”

  “What does it say?” Kerr asked, even though Gavin hadn’t opened it yet. He crowded behind his foster brother for a better look, resisting the urge—barely—to snatch it from him. His gut was hammering at him that something was about to go very wrong.

  “Not here,” Gregor said. “Take it up to Gavin’s solar. We’ll look at it there.”

  “’Tis probably another of Isobel’s traps. And Kerr is stepping right into it,” Lachlan said.

  Kerr gnashed his teeth together, and then he grabbed the parchment and raced up the stairs. Gavin cursed loudly and chased after him, but Kerr didn’t care. If he had to wait one more minute to know what Isobel was up to, he was going to start breaking things.
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br />   Could she really leave me and elope with another?

  The thought left him feeling cold and scared, but also hot and furious at the same time. Panic beat within his chest like a trapped animal.

  The other lairds followed behind them. Their boots scuffed on the stone steps and echoed loudly in the circular stairwell.

  When Kerr reached the top, he marched down the shadowy hallway, lit by candles in wall sconces every few feet. His eyes darted to Isobel’s door as he strode past, but he resisted knocking. He needed to see what was in the letter first.

  At the end of the hallway, he stopped in front of Gavin’s solar and looked back at his foster brother, barely able to contain himself. Gavin scowled at him and snatched back the letter before he fished out his key from his sporran and swung the door open.

  He walked to his desk and sat down. Kerr stood directly in front of him.

  “Take a bloody seat, you donkey,” Gavin said.

  Kerr didn’t want to, but he forced himself onto one of the chairs. Behind him, he heard the clang of the poker and another log being added to the fire. Sparks crackled, and the room brightened.

  Gregor placed a lit candle on Gavin’s desk as Gavin finally broke the seal on Isobel’s letter. He opened it as the other men settled in around them, some standing, some sitting in additional chairs.

  When Gavin’s jaw tightened and a muscle jumped in his cheek, Kerr sprang up from his chair. “God’s blood, what does it say?”

  ***

  Isobel sprinted past the kitchens and toward the keep’s side exit near the stables, praying she’d been successful in avoiding her guards. She didn’t have much time. Kerr would be right behind her once he’d read her letter and searched her room.

  She’d exchanged the soft, fine clothes and slippers she’d been wearing at the cèilidh for rugged boots she’d be able to run in, and a sturdy wool arisaid in grays and browns that would blend into the night. Then she’d tied back her bright hair and grabbed her bag from under the bed.

  The clues she wanted Kerr to find in her bedchamber had been planted earlier in the day—her mostly empty wardrobe, her desk cleared of all her parchment save one piece of paper that had fallen beside the bed with a partial list penned onto it—including items such as extra blankets in case one fell into the loch—and she’d hidden a pewter love token under her pillow that her father had bought her at a spring market when she was a lass. She’d fallen in love with the pretty flowering heart back then, and he’d happily indulged her.

  She didn’t think Gavin would recognize it, since he’d been living with Gregor and his foster brothers by then, and she hoped Kerr at least would believe it was from another man.

  Pushing through the heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway, she stepped out of the keep and into the dark bailey. When she could see well enough to make her way, she hustled along the perimeter, passing several lovers clinched together. A frisson of envy jolted through her every time she came across a whispering, panting pair, and she couldn’t stop the images from earlier in the day flooding her mind—Kerr holding her from behind as he nuzzled her neck, her body lying on his with her legs spread across his hips, her head tucked beneath his chin as he swung her in a circle.

  She didn’t stop at the stable for a horse. Instead, she wasted no time heading toward the portcullis on foot. She planned to walk through the gates with a smile on her face like she owned the place.

  Her brother may be laird here, and Deirdre his new lady, but she was the old laird’s daughter, and she’d been taking care of everyone since her mother had died. No one would stop her.

  She lifted her chin and repeated those words to herself as she made her way around the bailey.

  It was still early enough that a few people streamed into the castle, but no one, other than her, was heading out. She decided that if the guards tried to stop her, she’d bluff her way through with a smile on her face.

  As she approached the gates, a large group entered from outside, talking and laughing. One of the guards stopped to talk to them. A second guard eyed her closely as she walked around them on her way out.

  “My lady,” he called out when he recognized her, sounding startled.

  She waved and kept going. “Good evening, Kenneth. I willna be long!”

  “Where’s your guard?” The young warrior followed her, his brow furrowed with concern.

  She laughed and pointed into the inky darkness ahead of her. “Didn’t you see them? Ah, well, ’tis not your fault. Lyle could sneak through a room full of hounds without alerting them. Keep a sharp eye out for the men behind me, though. Doona let them sneak by too!”

  Kenneth slowed and looked back toward his abandoned post.

  Isobel squeezed his arm. “’Tis all right, lad.”

  He nodded and hurried back. “Thank you, my lady. They willna get past me this time.”

  A niggle of guilt flared in her breast. She had no doubt he would catch hell from Gavin and Kerr for letting her continue without a chaperone, but when she thought about Kerr’s face when she sprang her trick—and the chagrined expression he was sure to be wearing—she decided it was worth it.

  So what if she was outside of the castle walls on her own for a short while? All the village folk came and went by themselves. All the maids and cooks in the castle walked around freely on their own. Those women didn’t have a guard.

  Still, she glanced around a little uneasily as the night swallowed her up. Deirdre’s words circled in her head: Our enemies will not hesitate to take you too if they catch you.

  A shiver ran up her spine. She straightened her shoulders and walked faster.

  She had a long way to go if she intended to beat Kerr to the loch. Hooking her leather bag firmly over her shoulders, she lifted her skirts and sprinted along the path.

  Few people could run as fast she could with her long legs and quick stride, and even less people could run as long as she could without having to stop. Tonight, she needed both speed and distance.

  When she reached the halfway point to the village, she slowed and came to a stop near a lone Scots pine. In the distance, the half-built cathedral loomed faintly against the moonlit sky.

  Where is he? She caught her breath and peered into the darkness.

  A whicker sounded softly, and then a voice whispered, “My lady.”

  She let out a startled squeak and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” a lad said, his voice cracking mid-sentence and dropping an octave. He stepped out from the shadows of the tree, pulling a horse by its reins.

  “Alick?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  She heaved a sigh of relief and squeezed the young man’s arm. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “Nay. Everyone assumed I was coming up for the cèilidh.”

  “And you are.” She took the reins from the lad. “Go enjoy yourself. I saw Flora inside, dancing up a storm. No doubt she misses you.” Isobel moved to the side of the horse, stepped up into the stirrup, and swung her leg over the saddle.

  Alick remained where he was, looking up at her. “Are you certain you want to do this, my lady? I’ll come down to the loch with you. Make sure you’re all right.”

  “Doona worry, lad. My brother and the other lairds will be right behind me. Naught will happen. Have fun tonight…and thank you!”

  She pressed her heels into the horse and clicked her tongue behind her teeth. Alick stepped back as her mount surged forward. A gleeful, perhaps even wicked laugh escaped her as she guided the horse onto a less travelled path that led down toward the loch. The rocky beach was her favorite place for a picnic, and a good spot to anchor a boat.

  Not that she intended to go far on the damn thing. Rowing over the loch was the last way she wanted to travel, and Kerr knew it. But her home was almost entirely surrounded by water. If she we
re truly eloping, she’d have little choice.

  Tonight, however, was just for show. Thank the saints she didn’t intend to push off from shore—at least not far. She’d never learned how to swim, no matter how much she’d practiced. She was too skinny to keep her head and body above water easily, and eventually she’d sink like a bag of bones—which sometimes she thought she was.

  A day at the beach never involved a leisurely swim for her. More like wild thrashing in the water as she tried to stop herself from drowning.

  When she arrived at the edge of the sand, a horn blared in the distance, the note long and haunting. She whipped her head around and peered into the darkness as if the man she’d run from could cross the land between them in one giant stride and emerge out of the night like a Celtic warrior of old—sword in hand, massive chest and shoulders blocking out the moonlight, and an intent stare on his face reserved for her only.

  An excited shiver raced up her spine.

  Kerr was coming for her.

  ***

  Kerr stormed across the bailey, Isobel’s letter crushed in his fist. Torches lit up the darkness. Revelers who’d spilled out from the cèilidh quickly stepped back when they saw him coming.

  His face felt etched into a permanent scowl.

  After reading Isobel’s letter and finding her room empty, his brothers and Gregor had tried to convince him that Isobel was setting him up. Gavin was near certain of it and thought he should leave Isobel to stew in her own mess, but Kerr refused to listen.

  He couldn’t take the chance they might be wrong.

  Hopefully, she was tricking him—lying about the other man in order to best Kerr in some way. If that were true, it meant she wanted to be caught, wanted him to chase her.

  But does she still want me?

  Or was this Isobel’s way of proving to him that he’d never be more than the foil to one of her tricks?