Highland Thief Read online

  “Já. That sounds like it.”

  “I wanted to head there at first light, but Isobel had other ideas. I canna say I blame her. I rowed her across the loch against her will. Although she’s enjoying herself now.”

  Eirik smirked. “You would not believe the things I did to impress my vif. None of them worked. But I was persistent, and finally she came away with me.”

  Isobel appeared with Siv at the edge of the woods, and the unlikely friends headed toward them. She looked happy and carefree. Not plotting anything, for once.

  “Maybe someday I’ll meet her,” Kerr said, “and hear her side of the story.”

  Eirik hooted in delight. “I think she would tell a different tale from my own remembrances.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Ah, well. She loves me now.”

  Kerr couldn’t help grinning. “I’m sure she does.”

  “You are welcome to stay with us for a few days, but if it were me, I would want to be alone with my beloved. She will not bond with you in the same way if we are together, já?”

  “Agreed. I’ll do my best to convince her to ride to the cabin. We’ll stay a few days, a week at most. Any longer and Gavin will have my head, whether I’ve won over his sister or not.”

  “Stay a few days where?” Isobel asked, close enough to hear part of their conversation.

  “A cabin—not far from here,” Eirik said. “Your warrior laird knows where it is. The forest can be dangerous, especially at night. I have Siv’s sharp ears and nose to protect me.”

  “And sharp teeth,” Kerr added.

  Isobel’s face fell. “Canna you stay with us?” she asked Eirik.

  “Nei, we must keep heading west, but we will try to come back before the week is out.”

  Kerr wondered who Isobel would miss more—the outlander or his pet wolf. Or if she wanted to keep them around so she wouldn’t have to be alone with him. That hurt, but for the first time, he considered that she might be nervous. He peered at her closely and thought he detected a small tremble in her cheek.

  My Isobel, worried to be alone with me.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face, dragging his nails through the short growth of beard that darkened his cheeks. Then he met her eyes, resigned. “Sweetling, if you want to go back, I will take you. Eirik is right, the forest can be dangerous. An unexpected fall can kill you, or a wild animal could attack. Let alone who we might run into in the woods. I would protect you, of course, but still you could be at risk.”

  After laying it all out like that, seeing the dangers that could befall them, an urge rose to get her back on the boat and return her to the safety of Gavin’s keep.

  Eirik nodded. “We have come across several groups of men recently on our travels. Mostly we stayed clear of them. Some looked like hunters, but others had the hardened look of warriors.”

  The hair on the back of Kerr’s neck rose. “How many?”

  “Two groups. Four in one, five in the other. But they were north of here and travelling east, using the back roads and game trails to move around. Same as you.”

  Kerr made a harrumphing sound in the back of his throat as he pictured the trail Isobel had chosen this morning coming to an end—and then her pushing forward through the dense brush despite his objections. She colored slightly under his perusal, as if she knew what he was thinking, and then raised her chin in that haughty way that made him want to kiss her until she forgot herself—like she had last night on the boat.

  Aye, that’s what he had to keep remembering when they were back at her keep—not that he’d failed to get much time alone with her, but that she’d clamored to get closer to him, her mouth hot and hungry, her hands squeezing his flesh. And he would remind her of it every chance he got.

  “Nay, I doona want to go back yet.” She laid her hand on his arm. “You brought me here, and now I’m not leaving. Not yet, anyway. We’ll go to this cabin you mentioned. The one you wanted to take me to this morning. We’ll be safe there. We can bar the door at night against any brigands or wild animals.”

  His eyes shifted to Eirik, who gave a brief, barely discernible nod. Kerr schooled his features, so she wouldn’t see the conflicted emotions running through him. On one hand he wanted to whoop victoriously, but on the other he wanted to bundle her onto that boat and row her back across the loch where she would be guarded by hundreds of loyal warriors.

  It also eased his conscience to know that he’d offered to take her back and she’d refused. His only choice now would be to force her onto that boat and back to Gavin, and that could cause irreparable damage to their relationship. Surely Gavin would be more inclined to forgive him, knowing he’d tried to convince Isobel to return.

  Gavin knew how stubborn his sister could be.

  When Kerr failed to answer, she narrowed her eyes. “I should have been more clear, Laird MacAlister. When I said I doona want to go back, what I meant was I willna go back.” Then she released Kerr’s arm and turned to Siv. Wrapping her palm against the side of the wolf’s face, she scratched behind her ear. Siv closed her eyes and let out a wolfy groan. “Until we meet again, my sweet friend,” Isobel said. And then she leaned down and squeezed her arms around her neck. “Be a good girl for me and mind your master.”

  Eirik snorted once more in amusement, and when he caught Kerr’s eye, he winked.

  Fortunately for both of them, Isobel hadn’t noticed.

  ***

  Isobel sat in front of Kerr on his huge stallion, her eyes closed, trying to ease the excitement in her body—her mind, too, if she was being honest—with regular, controlled breaths. Breathe in two, three, four…breathe out two, three, four…breathe in two, three, four…

  But the horse swayed beneath her, the saddle pressed hard between her legs, and Kerr held her tightly against him, smelling so…manly—like horses and smoke from the fire and leather.

  There was no other word for it…she ached for him…and no amount of counting was going to take that away.

  They’d been riding for over an hour now, and every second had turned into some kind of prolonged torture—worse than when they’d been on the boat, which didn’t make sense because he’d been talking to her during their trip over the loch, saying lusty things and nibbling her neck.

  But since they’d left Eirik and Siv in the clearing, Kerr hadn’t uttered one word to her—and still the feelings surged through her body.

  She’d kept quiet too, afraid that if she opened her mouth to speak, a wanton moan would escape, or worse, she would tell him to slide his hand—the one he’d wrapped firmly around her hip—down between her spread legs. She wanted him to cup her mound and hold his palm tightly against it. To somehow absorb the ache.

  Her controlled breaths caught in her throat.

  Angels in heaven, why am I thinking about that?

  Because you’ve never stopped thinking about it.

  Aye, ever since Kerr had helped her onto Diabhla, and then swung his leg up behind her, encircling her waist with his arm and pulling her snugly against him, she’d been a bundle of nerves and excitement, of heat and tingling awareness.

  They’d said goodbye to Eirik and Siv, and Isobel had felt a keen disappointment to be leaving them, but she’d also felt burgeoning anticipation about being alone with Kerr for the next few days, doing God knows what at the cabin.

  Certainly not that.

  She wasn’t married to him, and she didn’t want to marry him…did she? And if she did let him do that, he’d have her standing before Gavin and Father Lundie in a heartbeat, tying her to him for life.

  “Isobel.”

  She jumped, inhaling sharply as Kerr said her name—his voice low and growly like an ornery bear.

  “Mmmm hmmm?” she murmured, not trusting herself to form words yet.

  “You stopped breathing.”

  Stopped breath
ing?

  She forced herself to laugh, but it came out sounding like a goat in distress. “Of course I didnae stop breathing. I’m not dead.”

  “Then what was that weird sound you just made? That definitely sounded like something dying.”

  She frowned and pursed her lips, tried to return to her regular, rhythmic breathing in an attempt to calm herself—breathe in two, three, four…breathe out two, three, four… But she could barely get the numbers counted in her head before she was desperate for air again.

  Her heart was pounding fast enough and strong enough to feel it in her body.

  “How do you know I’d stopped breathing?” she asked almost accusingly.

  “Because I felt your breaths against my chest—long and deep. Your ribcage expanded and contracted against me. It was…soothing.”

  “Soothing?” She’d been struggling their entire ride to stay calm, to quash her lusty thoughts and carnal desires, while he’d been feeling soothed by her?

  “Aye.” He said it a little hesitantly, as if trying to figure out her mood and why she sounded angry.

  “Well, I’m glad one of us could feel so at ease!” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared straight ahead, her body as stiff as the saddle beneath her.

  He sighed and lifted one of his hands out of sight behind her. She guessed he was rubbing his face or squeezing the back of his neck. Something he did when he was frustrated or uncertain. Maybe both.

  Good. It pleased her she wasn’t the only one feeling out of sorts.

  “We’ll be there soon,” he said, his tone placating. “It will be dark in a few hours. We willna have to do anything other than cook our meal and rest. You must be exhausted after our late night and early morning.”

  She was exhausted—from more than lack of sleep.

  She’d been fighting this desire for Kerr, always trying to stay one step ahead of him, to be strong and invulnerable to him for so long. Maybe she should do as Deirdre had suggested and let him in. Stop fighting and see what happened.

  She closed her eyes, and a wave of tiredness overtook her—along with a tightening of her throat and the welling of tears behind her lids. What was wrong with her?

  She wanted to turn in Kerr’s embrace, to wrap herself around him, and weep.

  And that, as she’d heard Kerr say, scared the shite out of her.

  Kerr pulled her even closer against him, his chin resting on top of her head, and she allowed her spine to soften. She counted in her head again, but this time she counted to ten, and then twenty, and then thirty. And when those emotions rose—uncertainty, the need to run or push him away—she allowed them to move through her body, to not shove them down or act on them…but rather to experience them, to sit with the uncomfortable feelings and sensations they caused within her until they wore themselves out and dissipated on their own.

  She inhaled deeply several times, and her agitation faded. A heaviness slowly invaded her limbs, and she leaned against him, feeling safe and secure. When something wet trickled into the corner of her mouth and she tasted salt, she couldn’t even raise her hand to wipe the tear from her face. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but unable—or maybe unwilling—to do anything about it.

  Her last thought as she drifted into sleep was that she wished it was dark so Kerr wouldn’t see that she’d been crying.

  Fourteen

  “I think Siv was trying to teach me how to fish,” Isobel said as she stood behind Kerr in the middle of the cottage. He crouched in front of the hearth, laying the kindling for their fire. She felt useless standing there but she had no idea what to do. The cabin was small but neat and tidy, with a bed, a few chairs, and a table. It didn’t need cleaning, and if it did…well…she’d never cleaned a day in her life. Where would she start? With water and a rag, she supposed, but she’d have to find water first. “I tried to catch the ones she chased toward me, but they slipped right through my fingers. I couldnae keep ahold of them.”

  “’Tis hard to catch fish with your bare hands. You need bait and hooks. Or nets.” He finished piling up the wood he’d brought in from the lean-to outside, and then reached into his pack.

  “I wager I could fashion a trap,” she said as she stepped closer. If she had to start the fire herself one day, she’d better watch. Someone in her household had always laid the wood for her, and if she’d had to light it, she’d used a candle.

  He pulled out flint and a striker, and then glanced at her over his shoulder. “Why a trap?”

  “I like traps. Something like they use to catch the spiny lobsters and crabs.”

  His brow furrowed before he turned back to the hearth, like she’d said something idiotic. And maybe she had. But coming here—being away from her routine and her safe, predictable life, even though she could dig holes and fill them with manure or climb trees and attach bags filled with honey to a trip wire—made her realize how incompetent she really was.

  No matter how good she was with traps, she’d never caught a meal before, and she certainly had no idea how to prepare that meal if she did catch it. She couldn’t even light the fire on which to cook it.

  “’Tis much easier to fish for them rather than trap them,” he said, and then used the striker on the flint and struck a spark into the kindling. It caught on the second try, and the wood burned. He leaned in and blew on it, coaxing it to life.

  Isobel crouched beside him and blew on it too, excited to help. The flame almost went out.

  “Gently,” he said, and cupped his hand around the tiny flicker, nursing it higher again with soft, even breaths. When the fire caught, he shifted the wood into a better position and sat back on his heels. “I can teach you how to make a rod and bait the hook. And if we can find enough rope, I can show you how to weave a net.”

  Something inside of her unfurled. “You would do that?”

  His eyes lifted to hers. “Of course. Why would you even ask?”

  She shrugged, afraid that if she spoke her voice would tremble.

  He rose and reached for her hand, pulling her up close beside him. “There’s a creek nearby. We can go out first thing in the morning and catch our breakfast.” He grinned at her. “I’ll even show you how to gut and scale our bounty.”

  She grinned back. “I’m looking forward to it. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. I shoveled two loads of manure into a pit for you to fall into.”

  He chuffed in amusement, and then leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. “Next time I promise to step right in. Your hard work shouldnae go to waste.”

  Her lips tingled where he’d kissed her, and she had a hard time catching her breath. “If you teach me how to fish, there willna be a next time.”

  “Ah, sweetling, you say that now…”

  “You’re right. You’re bound to do something to annoy me. I’d be remiss not to set things straight.”

  He grinned again. “Always.”

  When he turned back to his pack, pulled out his extra plaid and tossed it on the bed, a strange fluttering filled her stomach. She pressed her hand to her middle and darted her gaze back to him, but his back was to her as he headed to the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To skin that last rabbit before it’s dark. I’ll make you some of my famous stew. I have some turnips and onion, and I picked wild garlic yesterday during our trek through the woods.”

  The door banged shut behind him, blocking the light that had streamed in, and she realized it had grown darker in the cabin. She turned to the fire. It burned brightly, crackling in a comforting way. Picking up an iron poker that leaned against the hearth, she nudged one of the logs, wanting to feel useful. Sparks flew up, making her think of the sparks created when Kerr had struck the steel rod against the flint that had lit the kindling.

  She laid down the poker and grabbed the flint and striker Kerr had left on the mantel. The striker
felt heavy in her hand, and the part she gripped was too big for her. Way too big, seeing as it was made for Kerr’s giant paw. Still, she struck it against the flint. Nothing happened. She kept trying, determined to create a spark, to prove she could do something of value besides dig traps for people who’d broken the social covenant of the clan.

  When it finally lit, she whooped excitedly. The tiny spark floated to the wood floor, and she quickly stamped it out. She tried several more times until she started to get the hang of it.

  “Are you trying to light the cabin on fire?” Kerr asked from the doorway, making her jump.

  “Nay. I’m practicing.”

  “Good,” he said, and then stepped inside. He moved toward the fire, a piece of leather stretched between his hands that carried chopped-up pieces of raw meat. When he reached the table, he laid it down and grabbed a large pot from a shelf. After checking to see that it was clean, he dumped the meat inside, retrieved his spices from his pack, and shook the mixture over the food before stirring it with a big wooden spoon.

  A hook already hung above the fire, and he looped the pot’s handle over it, then adjusted the height with a chain.

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  He passed her a medium-sized clay bowl. “Aye. There’s a rain barrel to the right of the door. Bring in some water so we can wash the vegetables.”

  She took the bowl from him, glad to have something to do, and made her way outside. The sun had almost set, and the gloaming was upon them. Taking a moment, she looked up at the sky and admired the pink-and-orange clouds. When a whicker sounded to her right, she peered over to see Diabhla standing not far away, blending into the shadows of the cabin. He was not restrained in any way.

  She walked over and rubbed her hand up and down his broad nose, the short black hair under her palm silky soft. “Hello, beauty,” she crooned. “You look as much a bandit o’er here in the shadows as your laird, just as imposing and dangerous-looking.” He snorted into her hair, blowing dirt into the strands. She grimaced and brushed it out. “And just as annoying too.”