Highland Thief Page 32

  When the sobs died down, Una sat up, wiping her face. “I’m sorry, but the lads are all I have. I canna bear to see them ride into danger.”

  “I understand. They’re still so young, but I suspect it would be hard at any age.”

  “Aye.”

  Isobel grasped Una’s hands, her eyes tracing the woman’s scar. It cut through her cheek, but it hadn’t left her eye disfigured or her mouth twisted. Still, Isobel suspected that in Una’s mind it looked worse than it actually did. She’d noticed how she turned the scarred side of her face away from people, and Kerr had told her that she ne’er left the farm.

  That needed to change for all their sakes.

  “Una, come with us tomorrow,” she said. “We need your support.”

  The woman gasped. “Nay, I couldnae.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…because I canna, Lady MacAlister. I’ve ne’er been back to the village.”

  Isobel held her gaze, her heart filled with sympathy for the woman. “I know you were hurt in your past, and that those scars, both inside and out, have never fully healed, but now is your time to embrace the woman you are—a survivor, a mother, a woman capable of owning her own land and running her own life—scars and all. Show everyone what that man did to you, and show them the strength and resilience that enabled you to overcome it. You have accomplished so much. You’ve raised two wonderful young men, you run your own farm. Stand with us. Help us. Please.”

  Una sighed and looked down at her hands. They trembled within Isobel’s grasp. “I promise to think about it.” Then she leaned forward and hugged Isobel. “You’re a kind woman, Lady MacAlister, like Kerr’s ma. I’m glad he has you.” And then she wiped her cheeks and stood. “But you doona look like a lady in that stained dress, dirt on your brow, and your hair a tangled mess.” She moved toward the kettle, filled it, and put it over the fire. Then she opened her wardrobe. “We doona have much time. Kerr will be in soon. I heard him tell the others he wants to leave before dawn. I’ll sleep in the barn. I have a pallet set up in there.”

  Isobel stood up in protest. “You canna give us your bed.”

  “I already have, and he’s agreed.” She pulled a beautiful plaid out from a box in her wardrobe. “Now come and look at this. ’Twas a gift from Kerr many years ago. I’ve ne’er worn it. It will be perfect for you. A plaid fit for a queen.”

  ***

  Kerr sat on the bed as gently as he could, but still it dipped under his weight and Isobel rolled toward him. Her eyelids fluttered open sleepily, and he silently cursed himself. He’d washed up with the leftover bath water, as quietly as a mouse, and now he’d woken her anyway.

  “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered as he lifted the blanket to slip under the covers. He paused when he saw her, as naked as she’d been last night, and he huffed out a breath, his already hardened body turning to granite.

  “Doona be sorry,” she said. “I meant to stay awake.”

  She shifted over to make room for him and opened her arms. He crawled in beside her, so they lay facing each other, chest to chest. The bed was too short for him and his feet hung over the end, but it ceased to matter when she lifted her top leg, wrapped it over his hip, and then kissed him.

  Nothing mattered but the feel of her in his arms and the taste of her in his mouth.

  “Are you sure, Izzy?” he asked. “I know you’re tired. It’s been a long few days, and tomorrow will be just as long, with as little sleep.”

  “I’m sure. If aught goes wrong tomorrow and we forgo this intimacy tonight, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

  He wrapped his arms all the way around her and pulled her close. His instinct was to tell her nothing would go wrong, but he couldn’t lie to her—and if he did, she would know it for a lie.

  “I feel the same. As quiet as I was washing up, I kept hoping you’d wake.”

  She smiled against his mouth, and they kissed again. Then she urged him closer, and he rolled over on top of her. She wrapped her other leg around his hip and welcomed him into the cradle of her thighs.

  “If I could freeze time, this is where I would want to spend eternity,” he sighed.

  She giggled and rocked her hips against him—an invitation. “Doona you think you’d be happier if we were a little farther along? Eternity is a long time.”

  As much as he wanted to press inside her, he slid his shaft up through her wet folds instead, and then let his weight bear down on her nub. He thrust slowly and methodically against her.

  She sighed. “God in heaven, that feels good.” Wrapping her arms around his back, she massaged the muscles along his spine, and then dug her nails in as her body shuddered.

  The carnality of her response made his blood surge, and he fought to maintain his steady rhythm. Cupping her face at the same time as she pulled his head down, their lips melded together—kissing, stroking, sucking.

  He palmed her breasts, squeezed her nipples. She moaned into his mouth and slid her own hands down to his arse, digging her nails in there too.

  “Come inside me. Now, Kerr. Please.”

  “Aye, love.”

  He wrapped his big hand under her arse and tilted up her hips before nudging into her body and sliding all the way inside her.

  The heat of her, the soft slickness of her surrounding him, almost made him lose his seed, and he ground his teeth as he concentrated on slowing down. He didn’t want to reach the pinnacle without her.

  But then she broke off their kiss with a whimper and pressed her head back against the bed. “More, Kerr. Please!”

  His stones tightened and pulled taut against his body at the need and want in her voice—at the demand.

  She was close too.

  He held her in place, pulled out almost all the way and then surged back in, letting his weight bear her down, his body rub against hers. She groaned and he did it again and again until her heels dug into the small of his back and her pelvis pressed upward—completely open to him.

  His control began to shatter—body jerking, muscles clenching, his breath exploding from his chest in hard gusts.

  He stroked harder, faster, as short breathy moans broke from her lips—rising to a squeal—before her body clamped down on his in waves.

  “Oh, God! Kerr!”

  He thrust one last time, shuddering and shouting her name.

  Always her name.

  After the last contraction eased, he collapsed against her, both of them gasping for air. After a few moments, he rolled onto his back and pulled her into the crook of his arm so she rested against his chest.

  “Correction,” he said, his breath still coming in short gusts. “This right here is where I would freeze time.”

  She wrapped her arm around his waist and slid her leg over the top of his. “Aye, this is as near perfection as we could e’er find.”

  He squeezed her tight, fighting that ever-present, nagging fear for her.

  How can I ride into danger with her again?

  “Una is going to come with us on the morrow,” she said drowsily.

  He looked down at her. “Truly?”

  “’Tis not certain, but I think she’ll surprise us, surprise herself too. She will remind our people of who your father was and what could happen again if they give in to terror and darkness.”

  He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “I’ve been encouraging her to leave the farm for years, but she’s ne’er been willing. People know she’s here, of course—I have warriors watching her, and farm hands have come to help her, especially during harvest, but most of the clan havenae seen her in years. ’Twill be good for her to face that fear.”

  Kerr idly stroked his fingers along her arm, hoping she would fall back asleep. For him, it was an impossibility—it always was before battle.

  “I canna imagin
e how she managed on her own with two bairns,” Isobel said, breaking into a yawn at the end. “Were you here often in the early days?”

  “Some, but I also had much work to do at the castle and with the clan. ’Twas a time of turmoil after I killed my father.” He stroked her hair behind her ear. “She wouldnae take any help from the women either. I offered her the aid of my old Nan, a good woman, but she refused. She raised those boys entirely on her own.”

  She shook her head, a tiny movement against his chest. “Do twins run in her family?”

  “I doona know. But they run in my family.”

  She pushed onto her elbow and stared down at him, looking and sounding wide awake now. “Your family?”

  He nodded. “I was a twin. Maybe I should have told you that before we consummated our marriage.”

  “What happened to the other bairn?”

  “Stillborn. A wee lad, much smaller than me, my ma said. ’Twas probably for the best. My father would have turned us against each other. Look what he did to my uncle Dùghlas.”

  “Did she actually see the bairn? Was she certain he died? And who was born first? You or your brother?”

  “I doona know, Izzy, and it doesn’t matter now. ’Twas thirty years ago. I’ve ne’er heard a whisper to contradict what my ma told me.”

  She sighed and settled back down against him. “You’re right. I thought…maybe…”

  “Nay, there’s naught more to the story.”

  She nodded and moved her hand over her belly. “Other than the possibility that I may have not one but two giants growing in my belly soon.”

  He groaned. “Doona remind me. The idea of you birthing just one bairn gives me nightmares.” He pulled her close again and whispered in her ear. “I canna stand the thought of losing you, Isobel… Are you sure you willna take pity on me and stay here in the morning?”

  She kissed him and then whispered back, “Not this time, dearling.”

  A knock sounded on the door—loud and sudden in the silence.

  Kerr rolled from the bed and reached for his sword. “Who’s there?”

  “Malcolm, Laird,” the voice came through the door. “A man has arrived with a message.”

  He grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair and tugged it over his head.

  “Who, other than your uncle and foster brothers, knows that we’re here?” Isobel asked, her voice rising in alarm. She slid her shift over her head as well.

  “I doona know.” He picked up his plaid and tossed it to her.

  At the door, he knocked, two short and three long raps. When Malcolm rapped back, using the proper sequence, Kerr unbarred and opened the door. Isobel crossed the room to stand beside him.

  Malcolm entered, followed by a man bundled up in a plaid. “Laird MacAlister!” the man said. “By God’s grace, I’ve found you!”

  “Father Lundie?” Isobel asked.

  The priest turned his gaze to her, and his eyes widened in shock. “Lady MacKinnon, does your brother know you’re here?”

  Kerr wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Isobel and I are married, Father. We handfasted one another several days ago. ’Tis Lady MacAlister now—and aye, Gavin knows our whereabouts.”

  The priest let out a happy-sounding gasp and squeezed their hands in each of his. “My most heartfelt congratulations. When order is restored, I would be honored to marry the two of you in the church—as I did Gavin and the other lairds.”

  “Aye, Father,” Isobel said. “That would be wonderful. But tell me, how did you know where to find us?”

  The priest’s face fell, and when he swayed on his feet, Isobel grasped his arm and led him to a chair at the table. He collapsed onto it. She quickly poured him some water and handed him the cup.

  He drank deeply and then put the cup down. “I was running from the castle, hoping to find someone—anyone—in time, and I ran into your brothers Andy and Auley and your uncle Dùghlas. They told me you were here.”

  “What’s happened?” Kerr asked, crouching beside his chair.

  “Father Grant has been murdered, and traitors are within your castle.” His voice broke, but he took a breath and continued. “I hid inside the priest hole earlier today and saw a devil of a man with terrible injuries on one side of his body suffocate a priest—after your steward put drops of poison in his drink.”

  Isobel gasped and crossed herself. “Why would they do that? Are you sure it was poison?”

  “Aye. The man said ’Tis too late for any more poison, Fearchar. He has to die tonight.” A sob broke from the priest. “Father Grant couldnae move, he was too sick. He wrote to me not long ago and asked me to come. He thought evil had taken hold of the castle.” The priest looked up at Kerr and grasped his hand. “An army is coming, Laird MacAlister. This demon of a man plans to take over your clan.”

  Twenty-Four

  “Smile, dearling!” Isobel called out to Kerr from the saddle of her horse as they rode toward the village. She twitched those perfect lips at him and flashed her sparkling smile, causing his inner warrior to roar back at her ferociously—Danger!

  A trap awaited, and he was headed straight toward it—a deranged grinning woman, a grief-stricken priest, and a past trauma victim who looked ready to bolt into the woods at any moment by his side. He’d placed Malcolm—a capable warrior—on point, but covering his rear and to the sides were craftsmen and theatre folk. One of the Merry Men had given up all pretense of being a guard and had started playing his pipe as he rode, while another was juggling.

  But Kerr knew the plan…excite and engage the villagers so they came up to the castle with them for a celebratory wedding feast.

  The traitors canna keep all of Clan MacAlister out of my castle!

  He cracked his jaw and forced his lips back over his teeth in what he thought would pass for a grin. Then showed it to Isobel.

  “Oh, dear God!” she groaned. “You look like every bairn’s, and their parents’, worst nightmare.”

  “If anyone hurts any of the bairns or their parents in my clan, I will be a nightmare! These are my people, Isobel. And this man…this murderer—whatever his name is—thinks he can kill me, kill my family, kill my priest and get away with it?”

  He roared at the end, and Una let out a frightened squeak while Father Lundie dabbed tears away with his handkerchief.

  “Control yourselves,” he said to them firmly. “Una, you chose to come with us. Do your part or you put your sons in danger. And Father Lundie, hold it together, man, so we can see justice done for your friend and brother.”

  He whipped his head around, intent on blasting the Merry Men, but two bairns, a lad and a lass around eight years old, Eilidh and Hamish, were following them, giggling quietly as they watched the juggler, who was playing the fool for them.

  He turned back and caught Isobel’s eye. “Was this your plan all along?”

  She shrugged. “Well, we doona want the people running to the castle in fear, now, do we? The traitors may close and lock the gates on us. And no one will really believe they’re our guards.” She looked back at the musician and the bairns dancing behind the Merry Men. “Who better to entice the people than the Pied Piper?”

  “Their laird, perhaps. Or their lady.”

  She reached across the distance between them and squeezed his raised hand.

  He squeezed back and released a heavy, frustrated sigh. “Who is this man, Isobel? What does he want of me? This is personal. It must be because of my father.”

  “The reasons doona matter, Kerr. All that matters is gathering our people safely within the castle walls. We doona want them harmed when a frustrated army comes through, expecting to occupy our home.”

  He peered into the woods as if the army would suddenly appear. They were exposed and vulnerable, and he had too little information. How many spies were in the castle? How many of his people h
ad been compromised? When was the enemy expected to arrive today? And how many warriors?

  Hopefully, his brothers would be able to cut them off. Or if they couldn’t, they could squeeze the enemy between them and the castle walls—with Kerr’s forces raining arrows down upon them from the battlements.

  A woman appeared ahead of them with a lass about Aulay and Andy’s age, pushing a cart full of freshly baked bread. They gazed up at the riders, eyes wide with astonishment.

  The lass, in particular, stared at Isobel, who looked resplendent in the midmorning sun despite not having slept more than a few hours last night. They’d been on the road well before dawn, trying to beat the approaching army, and Una had come in early to help with Isobel’s new dress and hair.

  She looked as beautiful as he’d ever seen her.

  Not only a lady…a queen.

  “Laird MacAlister!” the woman cried, her smile creasing her face. “Good day to you, sir.”

  “And a good day to you too, Ailsa.” This time, the smile on Kerr’s face was genuine. “Ailsa and Donaldina, may I introduce you to Lady Isobel MacAlister, my wife and your new lady.”

  “Oh!” Ailsa exclaimed. “Welcome, my lady! And my heartfelt congratulations on your nuptials.”

  The young girl beamed when Isobel smiled at her. “Thank you. Will you come with us to the castle to celebrate? The whole clan will be there.”

  “Now?” Ailsa asked, looking astonished.

  “Aye, now!” Isobel laughed. She grasped Kerr’s hand again. “’Tis a gathering to celebrate our union and that of our two clans—allies and family.” She waved behind her at Una and the Merry Men. “We have entertainment—the best from Edinburgh—and old friends here to celebrate with us.”

  Ailsa looked at Una, and then she gasped. “Una?”

  Una nodded, her smile tremulous. An errant tear slid down her face, and she quickly dashed it away. The woman cried out and rushed forward, her face crumpling with emotion. Una slid from her horse, and the two merged into a tight embrace, laughing and crying.

  “It’s been so long!” Ailsa said, pulling back and cupping her face. “I canna believe you’re here and looking so well.” Her fingers traced the scar down her cheek. “I’m so sorry I’ve ne’er been out to your farm. It was so awful what happened to you, and then afterward you didn’t want to see anyone.”