Highland Thief Page 4

  Like a donkey’s arse.

  Squeezing the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb, he barely repressed a groan. That was not the kind of slight a woman like Isobel would forget—or forgive.

  Aye, he was surprised she hadn’t tried to spring one of her traps on him lately. He should have walked into the last one. Let her win. But knowing Isobel, she would have realized he’d tricked her, and it would have backfired on him. Besides, he wasn’t the kind of man to lie about anything—and she wasn’t the kind of woman who would appreciate it if he did.

  “Laird MacAlister, may I take your horse?”

  Kerr dropped his gaze to the eager young groomsman who stood beside Diabhla, holding onto Gavin’s stallion.

  “I’ll wipe Diabhla down for you and put him in the stable,” the lad continued. “And we’ll bring your saddlebag to your room.”

  Kerr swung his leg over his horse and dismounted. “Aye, thank you, lad.”

  He patted Diabhla on the neck before stepping around the groomsman and up the stairs toward the keep. When he looked at Isobel again, it was to see her cresting the top of the stairs as she hurried to the keep’s entrance. Her hair swayed from the movement and curled softly down her back and over her arse.

  Heat warmed his belly and spread outward as he imagined that bright swathe of silk trailing over his bare shoulders as she leaned over him, riding him slowly as he lay flat on his back. His hands had ahold of her arse and squeezed gently as he raised and lowered her along his cock—

  “By the love of Christ, Kerr, you’ll want to take care of that before you follow her upstairs,” Lachlan said as he brushed past him.

  Kerr came back to himself with a start and looked down to see his plaid tenting obscenely in the front. A slow burn of embarrassment heated his cheeks.

  “Aye, you’ll take out the dogs’ eyes if you’re not careful,” Darach said, and his foster brothers burst out laughing. Darach’s two huge deerhounds, Hati and Skoll, raced ahead of them as Darach mounted the steps.

  Kerr was a big man, and that wayward part of him, with a mind of its own, matched his size. He’d had women pursue him over the years for that alone—not that he’d taken them up on it. He hadn’t been with a woman since he’d decided on Isobel four years ago.

  But it was well past time he made her his wife—for that reason alone, as well as all the others.

  Callum stepped past him next and drilled him hard and sharp on the shoulder with his fist. Pain exploded in his arm, and Kerr hollered, clapping his hand over the nerve that Callum had surely hit on purpose.

  “Think on the pain, Brother. That’ll help,” Callum said as the others howled.

  “Ye wee shite,” Kerr groused through gritted teeth as he kicked out with his foot. But Callum was expecting his retaliation and jumped several steps out of range. Kerr leaned over, trying to breathe through the pain.

  “Hit him again on the other arm before Gavin sees him,” Gregor added as he moved past. “Although I doona think either he or Deirdre will be joining us for the midday meal.”

  Lachlan had reached the top of the stairs and faced them. “Nay, but Ewan will be there, especially if Gavin and Deirdre are occupied. And you know how curious the lad is. He’ll be full of questions.” He cocked his head, and an evil grin creased his face. “On second thought, come on up as you are, Brother.”

  Between the pain in his arm and the thought of Ewan asking embarrassing questions in front of Isobel—while his brothers made comments to amuse themselves in the background—Kerr’s lust waned, and his plaid fell flat.

  He straightened with a sigh, still rubbing his arm.

  Maybe he could convince Isobel to turn her talents for revenge against his foster brothers. If anybody needed to be taught a lesson, it was the four of them. And Gregor too.

  Gavin may not have been part of this particular ribbing, but he’d been right in the thick of it in the past.

  The bastards.

  Yet another reason for him to marry Isobel. None of them would aggravate him afterward for fear of getting on his wife’s bad side.

  Not that Kerr considered it a bad side. Or a side at all.

  Nay, it was simply Isobel.

  The others were crowding through the door to the keep when he started to lumber up the stairs. “You’ll regret it. All of you! My sweet Isobel is going to have your hides one day.”

  ***

  Isobel heard the door to the keep slam shut behind her and refused to turn around. She continued checking the table that had been set out for the family—foster family and actual family—as she listened to the approaching men. A washstand had been set up against the wall by the small hearth, and Gregor MacLeod and his foster sons headed there first to clean off the day’s dirt before they ate.

  She strained to identify the laughing voices and heard Lachlan, Darach, Callum, and Gregor, but not the deep-throated growl of Kerr. Was he there? Maybe even sneaking up behind her? He should be inside the keep by now.

  God’s truth, she only listened so she could prepare a sharp- witted retort in case she needed one—which she always did.

  An arm slipped around her waist, and she caught her breath, but it was only Gregor. “Hello, lass,” he said and gave her an affectionate hug.

  She returned the embrace. “Hello yourself, you old badger. Glad to see you made it back alive.” She braced her shoulders and faced the rest of the group, but Kerr was not among them. “And all of you, too,” she said to her brother’s foster brothers—which sort of made them her foster brothers as well.

  Except Kerr. She wouldn’t claim that man for anything—neither as a foster brother nor a husband…no matter how often in her dreams she’d claimed him as a lover.

  The men swarmed in to greet her before taking their seats around the table. She signaled the servers to bring the trenchers of meat and greens and to fill their cups with ale.

  Behind her, the door opened and banged shut, and this time she did whirl around to see who had entered. Immediately, her gaze clashed with Kerr’s. He stared at her intently as he crossed the cavernous great room toward her. Those dark brown, almost black hooded eyes pinned her in place like a hawk, making her feel like a trapped little mouse.

  Or maybe a mare watching her stallion approach, causing her flanks to quiver and her head to toss in defiance—but wanting his claim nonetheless.

  Nay, this man wasn’t a stallion, he was a marauding bear.

  His thick hair was as dark as his eyes and hung in wind-blown tangles to his shoulders.

  She gasped when she saw it, and disappointment tightened her chest. “You cut your hair,” she blurted out, and then regretted it. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she cared—or had even noticed.

  She bit her lip. Too late.

  He raised his hand, gripped the shorter strands, and then released them. “Aye. A close call during battle. Gregor had to even it out.”

  “A small price to pay,” Gregor said, as he tore a hunk of bread in half.

  “Aye,” the others agreed.

  The hollow in her stomach turned to ice. How close had the sword or dagger come to his throat to cut off a chunk of his hair?

  Usually, it was tied back with a leather thong, emphasizing a face too hard and ruthless-looking to be considered handsome. Except for his lips. Aye, those lips—full and prone to laughing—hinted at Kerr’s softer side…the side that had loved his mother and hers, and adored bairns of all ages.

  His nose had been broken several times, but it didn’t detract from his face. Nay, it made him look even more roguish, while the thick sweep of lashes around those intent eyes turned them almost pretty.

  Not that he was a handsome man—not like Gavin or Darach—but according to every woman who’d ever been within his powerful presence, he was a desirable one.

  Every woman but her, that is.<
br />
  He was the biggest of the foster brothers—in every way, if one believed the rumors. Rumors that were confirmed by the ribald jests Kerr and his brothers had thrown at each other when they thought no one was listening.

  But Isobel was always listening. Sitting in a wee alcove unobserved while the folks of the village and the castle talked was one of her favorite things to do—that and planning, then executing, one of her traps.

  Which she’d been doing all morning and part of the afternoon. And she’d finished just in time.

  She could hardly contain her glee that finally she would catch Kerr unaware.

  She. Would. Win.

  And then what?

  The strange question came out of nowhere, and her stomach hollowed, leaving her feeling a little empty inside. When Kerr stopped in front of her, he must have seen it in her eyes, for he lifted his hand and brushed his thumb down her cheek. Those hard eyes softened as he gazed at her.

  “Isobel, sweetling, what is it?” he asked quietly.

  She dropped her chin, appalled at the sudden prick of tears at the back of her eyes and the thickening of her throat.

  She shook her head and coughed to clear the obstruction. “’Tis naught. A piece of dandelion fluff that I inhaled earlier. You know how I react to them.”

  He lowered his hand and stepped back. “Aye. Were you in the forest?”

  The question threw her, and she coughed again as she considered her answer. What could she say to make him follow her back to her manure pit later on without giving the game away? “’Tis not your business, Kerr MacAlister.”

  Perfect.

  “Were you setting a trap for Gavin? Or someone else?”

  She raised a brow and tried to look down her nose at him in the manner of Master Carmichael. It didn’t work. “Whate’er I was doing has naught to do with you, so keep out of it.”

  “Do you want my help? If it’s for Gavin, he’ll be hard to catch unaware, and he’ll spot the trap ahead of time. Same as I would.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I could catch you if I tried, but I doona care to.”

  He winced, and she felt a stab of guilt.

  “He’s distracted by Deirdre right now,” she added, rushing past the uncomfortable emotion. “He’s not as sharp as he used to be. Well, not here. I’m sure he was verra sharp on the battlefield.”

  Kerr planted his hands on his hips, making him look even bigger and a wee bit ferocious. “He’ll see it, Isobel.”

  “Nay. His head will be in the clouds. Especially once Deirdre tells him she’s with bairn.”

  His brows shot up, and a smile cracked his face. Her stomach flipped again, and her toes curled, but this time it wasn’t from unease. Nay, it was because with that grin on his face, and the joy radiating from his eyes, Kerr MacAlister was as handsome as any of his foster brothers.

  “Gavin’s having another bairn?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she said a little breathlessly, not liking the feeling that was besieging her at all. Kerr MacAlister did not make her toes curl. Only her fists, right before she decided to punch him. “And Gavin isna having the bairn. Deirdre is. A man may be able to stab someone in the guts or take a blow to the head on the battlefield, but not a one of you could go through what a woman goes through on the birthing bed or the nine months leading up to it. Or even the monthly discomfort before that!”

  He stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide with astonishment, and then he threw back his head and laughed. “You have the right of it, sweetling. We’d all be reduced to mewling ablachs, for sure.” Then he swept her into a bear hug and twirled her around.

  She’d been hugged by Kerr before—many times—but somehow this felt different. Or maybe she was different.

  She’d been worried about him when he went to fight the MacIntyres and the MacColls. Nay, not only him. She’d been worried about all of them. Especially as she’d found out about the conspiracy against them just before they’d left. She’d confronted Gavin about it immediately, and she could see he wasn’t pleased that she knew—or that she’d gone through his papers to find out—but she didn’t care.

  She wasn’t pleased he hadn’t told her.

  If Gavin and the others would confide in her and talk to her about things, she could help. They had to know they could trust her. She’d bring a different perspective to a problem that needed solving. She was good at figuring out intrigue in the clan and knowing what needed to be done. She would be good at figuring out things on a larger scale too.

  It took her a moment to realize that Kerr had stopped spinning her around and her feet were back on the ground—and that her arms were still linked around his neck. She inhaled deeply, and the scent of horses and leather, the outdoors, and smoke from the fire filled her nose. And something more than that. Something that was purely Kerr.

  Her mouth watered, and she suddenly found herself light-headed. From him twirling her around, no doubt. She unclenched her fists from where she gripped his hair at the back of his neck and trailed them down his chest. The rough-looking locks had been surprisingly soft, and she missed the silken feel of them in her hands.

  For the love of God, what’s the matter with me? I doona miss anything about this…this…behemoth.

  Never mind that when her body was against his and her feet were touching the floor, her head had tucked perfectly beneath his chin—which, for a woman as tall as her, had made her sigh. She felt small against him.

  His hands slipped around to grasp her hips, and she stepped back as he pressed her away from him. She ended up going farther than either of them had intended, and she let out a little yelp as she almost toppled over. Luckily, Kerr gripped her hard, and she steadied.

  The lairds at the table stopped talking and looked over. “Are you well, lass?” Gregor asked, sounding a little uncertain as he looked from Isobel, to Kerr, then back to Isobel—not wanting to step on Kerr’s toes, no doubt. Well, she had no such reservations.

  “No more than a mishap,” she said, as she moved past Kerr to the head of the table, grinding down on his toes with her heel when she walked by.

  He grunted but didn’t follow her like he might have done before. Instead, he moved stiffly away from her and sat next to Callum, several seats along the bench. He whispered something to his foster brother, who grinned and nailed Kerr on his shoulder with his fist.

  Kerr groaned in pain, and the men snickered softly.

  “What?” she asked, confused about what was happening.

  “’Tis naught, Isobel,” Gregor said.

  She frowned at him and leaned forward. “But—”

  “Isobel told me that Deirdre is with bairn,” Kerr interrupted, flashing her a pained smile. He’d wrapped his hand around his arm where Callum had punched him.

  The men erupted in celebratory shouts and cheers. “Another grandbairn for me to spoil!” said Gregor, lifting his mug in celebration. “That makes three out of the five of you who’ve done your duty.” He shot a mock glare at Lachlan, who shrugged—the lone holdout of the married lairds.

  “If Amber and I decide to have bairns, there’s time,” he said.

  Isobel’s eyes widened. She couldn’t imagine that Lachlan would abstain from intimacy, and Amber was a renowned healer with knowledge of herbs… Did that mean she knew of a reliable way to stop her husband’s seed from taking root? A safe way?

  She leaned forward again and pinned him with her gaze. Color slowly crept up his cheeks when he noticed.

  “Lachlan MacKay, are you saying—”

  “Nay, Isobel,” Kerr cut her off, his voice sharp.

  She turned her head. He sat on the opposite side of the table from Lachlan near the other end. He no longer looked in pain. Instead, his mouth was compressed into a taut line, and his hand was clenched into a fist.

  He’s angry! Because I would question Lachlan about Amber
’s herbs?

  She slowly sat back in her chair, her shoulders straightening and her chin lifting high enough to show him her displeasure. He forgot himself, to speak to her in such a manner. She was lady of this castle. “Did I hear you were travelling back to your clan tomorrow, Laird MacAlister?”

  A muscle jumped steadily in his jaw above his dark, shaggy beard. They stared at each other, neither willing to give an inch. “I willna be leaving so soon, Lady MacKinnon. I would beg a rest at your home, a chance to see my brothers before we go our separate ways for the winter.”

  “Verily, you’ve spent the last two months with your brothers,” she said, her voice still icy. “Surely that’s enough for any man?”

  “It’s enough for me,” Lachlan said, and Gregor jabbed him with his elbow.

  She looked at Lachlan again until he slumped back in his chair. Then she passed her gaze over all the men, one by one. Except Kerr—she was afraid if she looked at him again, she wouldn’t be able to look away.

  They may be her brother’s foster family, but they were in her home. She ruled here. No one told her what to do. Her eyes finally fell on Kerr.

  No one.

  And she opened her mouth to tell him so—

  “Grandda Gregor!” Ewan yelled from the bottom of the stairs that led to the upper levels. Everyone looked up to see Ewan barreling toward them, and the tension dissipated. She sighed and let Kerr’s transgression go as the moment passed.

  “Da said you had a present for me,” Ewan hollered.

  “He did, did he?” Gregor patted down his léine and plaid. “Hmmm, I think maybe your da was mistak—oh! What’s this?”

  Gregor pulled a wooden warrior, intricately whittled and smoothed over, from the folds of his plaid. Ewan reached his side, his eyes pleading as his hands stretched upward. “’Tis a Highlander swinging a sword,” Gregor said. “Do you think he’s battling his enemy?”

  “Aye!” Ewan enthused. “A giant or maybe a dragon!”

  “Or maybe an Englishman,” Darach added.

  The men all nodded in agreement, and Isobel snorted. The reviled Englishmen.

  “May I have it?” Ewan begged.