Highland Thief Read online

  “This?” Gregor asked, holding up the warrior. “I didnae think you liked these kinds of toys.”

  Ewan had a table full of toy warriors in his room, and Gregor knew the lad spent hours setting up battles between them or against a bigger, deadlier foe—much to his mother’s chagrin.

  “I do!” Ewan said.

  Isobel rubbed her hand down his back. “Your grandda will give it to you if you sit down and eat.” The lad hesitated, then ran around to an empty spot beside her.

  Gregor handed the small carving across to him. “If you’re sure you like it…”

  Ewan grabbed it with an excited smile and settled back in his seat. “I’ll name him Gregor. He’s big and strong.”

  Gregor beamed.

  Then Ewan pulled a second toy warrior from his sporran. “But he’s not quite as big as Kerr.”

  “Verra observant, lad!” Kerr grinned as Gregor scoffed loudly.

  “But my da is the biggest and strongest of all.” Ewan pulled a third warrior from his sporran and proceeded to bash the other two with it.

  “What?” Kerr bellowed. “If you knew the number of times I knocked your da flat on his back—”

  But Ewan wasn’t listening as he used the wee Gavin to pummel the wee Kerr. Then he picked up his newest warrior, Gregor, and the two of them hacked Kerr with their swords.

  Isobel was certain if Deirdre were here, she would be horrified.

  When the servers came around with the food, she dished greens and meat onto her trencher and then Ewan’s. “So, how did the battles go?” she asked between bites. “I know the MacColls surrendered and Boyd MacColl, the wee weasel, was hanged by his sister’s husband before you arrived, but what happened earlier at Clan MacIntyre?”

  “It was a siege, lass,” Gregor said.

  “Aye, but what happened? You were there for almost three weeks before you took the castle.”

  “Mostly we waited until the time was right,” Darach added.

  “And when was that?” she asked.

  “When all our men were in place, and we wouldnae be turned into an army of hedgehogs stuck with arrows,” Lachlan said. The men, including Ewan, laughed.

  Isobel did not. Instead, she repressed an irritated sigh. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Another time, lass,” Kerr said. “Everyone’s tired from the long march.”

  She bit her tongue in frustration. She wanted details, but when she asked, she was made to feel like her questions were an imposition—like always. The lairds would never speak freely in front of her about certain things, as if she were a child in need of protection. She assumed they held back because she was a woman, and it irked her—and made her do things like copy the key to Gavin’s solar to keep informed.

  Now she wanted to dump them all into her manure pit.

  Surely she wasn’t the only woman who was interested in leadership? From everything the men had said about Callum’s wife, Maggie, and Lachlan’s wife, Amber, they led as much as the men did. And the men accepted those women for who they were: strong and capable of defending themselves and others.

  So why not me?

  Was it because she didn’t know how to fight or shoot an arrow? If that were so, then it was their fault for not teaching her. Besides, there had been many strong queens and kings in history who weren’t fighters yet commanded respect and led their people well.

  She could be one of them.

  With a disgruntled sigh, Isobel pushed back her trencher, no longer hungry. She summoned a smile for the lairds, albeit a frosty one, her anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, and rose from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have much to do. Enjoy your meal…and your visit to my home.”

  “Stay with us, Isobel. Eat with us,” Kerr said, his eyes filling with concern.

  “Aye, lass. We’d like your company,” Gregor said.

  “Nay, thank you. My duties are calling. I’ve had enough to eat.” She stepped away from the table.

  “Can I come with you, Aunt Isobel?” Ewan asked, jumping up to stand on the bench.

  Her smile softened, and she stepped toward him to kiss the top of his head. “Not this time, sweets. I’m sure your uncles and grandda want to spend time with you.”

  “Aye, lad,” Lachlan said. “Let’s see your da pummel your uncle Kerr again.”

  Ewan grinned, pulled the toy Kerr from his pocket, lifted him high in the air and dropped him onto the table with a crash.

  Isobel bit her tongue—hard. It was time for her to leave.

  She’d work on her plan to catch Kerr unaware, and then maybe she’d start with Gregor and set a trap for each of the other foster brothers as well.

  She could be an asset to these idiotic men, but they couldn’t see past the ends of their swords—neither the steel ones nor the ones made of flesh.

  Four

  Kerr turned his head to watch Isobel retreat from the great room and down the passageway toward the kitchens. From there, he suspected she’d exit into the bailey and continue setting her trap for Gavin. He longed to go after her, but he knew she needed time to stew, time to regain what he and his brothers had taken from her.

  He understood why the men didn’t want to talk about the battle. They’d lived through it, and war was never what the poets and bards made it out to be. It was bloody and desperate. Horrific. Until you’d been in battle, seen men being cut down around you, crying and writhing in the dirt, you could never understand it. The sounds of war stayed with you. The smell of it.

  When she was no longer in sight, he turned his gaze back to his foster family.

  Callum caught his eye. “You’ll do yourself no favors, keeping things from her.”

  A wave of irritation shot through him. “You doona have to tell me that. I’m well aware of what Isobel wants, of how she thinks and feels. Besides, I doona need advice from a man whose wife climbs out of windows to escape his nagging.” Snorts and chuckles exploded around the table.

  When the amusement died down, Darach said, “’Twas not the time or place to talk about death and destruction. We’re all tired and in no mood to revisit the battlefield.”

  “Aye, but it doesn’t lessen the denial she felt, the rejection,” Kerr said. “She wants to know everything—needs to know.”

  “Queen Isobel,” Gregor said. “She’ll rule where’er she goes—and not by dumping sour milk on people’s heads. Are you prepared for that?” he asked Kerr.

  “I look forward to it.”

  The men nodded in approval.

  “Verily, she’s much too good for you,” Lachlan said.

  Kerr chuffed out a laugh. “Aye, that’s the honest truth. The first you’ve told in ages.”

  “’Twas a lesson I had to learn with Maggie,” Callum said. “I almost lost her because I told her only what I thought she should know, trying to keep her safe and separate from my clan’s troubles, when together we could have solved the problem sooner. ’Tis not for me to decide what is or isna appropriate for her to hear. Or what she can or canna do.”

  “’Twill be the same with me and Isobel.”

  “Only once you’re married,” Gregor cautioned. “You doona know for sure she’ll have you, and if she marries someone else, her loyalty will be to her husband and not to you.”

  Outwardly, Kerr stilled, and he pinned Gregor with a lethal gaze for daring to suggest Isobel might marry someone else. Inside, however, the blood raged through his veins, and his deadly warrior rose, yelling and beating his chest. He wanted to fight the man he considered a father—fight them all.

  “Isobel will not marry someone else.” Even his voice sounded different. Deeper and harder. Unforgiving.

  “Good. Then tell her only that which does not compromise the safety of your allies. The rest can wait until after you’ve married her…ye wee ablach.”
r />   Laughter burst out again, and the tension eased. Kerr sighed, and that part of him—his dark Celt—retreated with a growl. He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck, still considering slicing off some of Gregor’s whiskers for daring to suggest Isobel wouldn’t marry him.

  And if she doesn’t?

  With a grunt, he shoved the thought aside, and then dug into his meal. By the time he finished eating, she wouldn’t be so angry—although the feeling might lurk beneath the surface…as it had for years.

  Is that why she fights our union? Is there something unresolved between us?

  The question stuck with him, and he frowned. “How did you convince Maggie to forgive you?” he asked Callum. “I know about the marksmanship contest between the two of you, but surely there was more to it than that?”

  “You mean for not coming back for her when I said I would?” Callum asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Well, to start, I apologized. And I asked for forgiveness. Then it was a matter of time, of rebuilding our bond and earning her trust again. ’Twas good we were on our journey o’er the mountains, so we could spend our days together and work things out.” He cocked a brow at Kerr. “Why? Have you done something to Isobel?”

  “I doona know, exactly, but…something is between us. Something I’ve said or done. Or not said or done. I doona know if she’s even aware of it.”

  “She’s a complicated woman,” Darach said.

  “Meant for an uncomplicated man,” Lachlan added, and he wasn’t teasing this time. Kerr’s needs were simple, and his thoughts were direct. Aye, a simple, deadly man.

  He looked back in the direction Isobel had disappeared. “A second truth from you today, Brother.” Rising from the bench, he stepped over it. “I think ’tis time I figured it out.”

  “Can I come with you, Uncle Kerr?” Ewan asked.

  “Nay, lad. I’m going with your aunt Isobel—where’er it is she’s going. On a merry chase, no doubt.”

  The men laughed and wished him luck as he walked across the Great Hall, the rushes on the floor crunching beneath his boots. The central area was busier now as more of Gavin’s men streamed in for the midday meal, and numerous servers darted around them. Once he reached the opposite end of the cavernous room, he entered the passageway into which he’d seen Isobel disappear.

  He bypassed the kitchens and headed for the door to the bailey. After pushing it open, he stepped into a warm September day and waited for his eyes to adjust to the bright light.

  His gaze found Isobel immediately, standing near the stables, her back to him, directing some of the groomsmen in their work. They’d attached a covered cart behind a pony whose reins were tied to Isobel’s horse’s saddle.

  She was planning something—a trap for Gavin most likely, and a pang of envy shot through him.

  Aye, he wanted Isobel to set a trap for him. He wanted her thoughts turned to him like his were turned to her, even if it was to devise some way to cause him discomfort and embarrassment. And to take him down a notch.

  The embarrassment would come from being blind to her trap—chagrin that she had beaten him. But also pride that she’d done so. And amusement. And his brothers’ and Gregor’s amusement too. Those donkeys would like nothing better than to see him doused in honey and running from an ornery bear.

  He approached her, keeping his hands loose by his sides when he wanted to slip them around her waist like Gregor had done. And if he could hold her close and swing her around like he had before, even better. Although Callum wasn’t here to punch his shoulder, causing him enough pain to overcome his body’s natural response to her nearness.

  “Where are you off to?” he asked when he reached her side.

  She stiffened but did not look at him. “’Tis not your business.”

  He shrugged and whistled. A groomsman came running. “Prepare Diabhla. I’ll be going with Lady Isobel.” He didn’t say where, as he didn’t know yet, but he presumed out into the woods somewhere. He glanced around and saw her guard, standing back as they always did and sworn to secrecy. He nodded at them, and the one in charge, Lyle, with hard eyes and a battle-scarred face, nodded back. He would die before Isobel was harmed.

  As would Kerr.

  Gavin had chosen the guard well, vetted by Isobel, of course, and whittled down by her to as few men as Gavin would allow. Kerr would have chosen more, especially with the threat of the conspirators against them, but Isobel was a tough negotiator.

  Another way she’d be helpful to him and his clan when she married him.

  “Suit yourself,” she said. “But doona stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong. No matter how helpful you think you’re being.”

  “I’m nothing if not helpful, sweetling.”

  She made a dismissive sound, and he smiled. He stepped closer to the cart but didn’t need to look beneath the tarp to know what was under it. He could smell it.

  Manure.

  His darling Isobel was going all out to teach her brother a lesson. He hoped Gavin was enjoying himself with his wife, because he was in for a big stink of a surprise if Isobel was successful.

  “Have you thought about what will happen if Deirdre is with Gavin? Or Ewan?” he asked.

  Her nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply. In irritation, no doubt. “They willna be, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Aye, you said that before.”

  She moved to her horse after the groom finished tying down the corner of the tarp. Kerr stepped forward to help her up, but she shot him a look, and he backed off. “How can you be sure they willna be with him?”

  She huffed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “I’m not an amateur, Kerr. If I say they willna be there when the trap is sprung, then that’s how it will be.” In a smooth movement, she put her foot in the stirrup, pulled herself into her saddle, and then urged her horse forward. The smaller horse, more a pony, really, was tugged along behind them, and the cart rolled into motion.

  Kerr looked back to see Diabhla being led from the stable. He whistled, and the stallion leapt toward him, leaving the groom with empty hands and a startled look on his face. Kerr sprung onto his back without the horse even slowing, and they soon caught up to Isobel as she approached the portcullis.

  Again, she didn’t look at him, but this time instead of her body stiffening, her shoulders relaxed.

  So she wants me to follow her. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he couldn’t decide. Either way, it made him happy, and a grin stretched across his face. “Lead on, my queen. I shall follow you anywhere!”

  “I’m not a queen.” Her tone was dismissive—or tried to be—but he could hear the hint of excitement beneath her words.

  What was she up to?

  “Aye, you are. Queen of my heart,” he said it with the exuberance of a lovesick fool, and when her cheek twitched like she was trying not to laugh, he almost punched the air in triumph.

  She pinned a frown in place, still refusing to look at him, and pursed her lips. “Are you my subject, then?”

  “Depends. Do you want to subjugate me?” He dropped his voice an octave as he said subjugate, so the word rasped from his chest. The question sounded dark and forbidden…like temptation.

  She jerked her head toward him—finally—her eyes wide with disbelief. A flush rose up her cheeks, and he could practically see her mind whirring, wondering what he’d meant exactly, or if she’d misheard him. For all of his and Isobel’s verbal sparring over the years, they’d never spoken about carnal things—about how it might be between them.

  Maybe he should change that.

  She bit her lip, an unconscious gesture, he was sure, and then looked forward again. “Nay, I want to dunk you in that cart full of manure behind me.”

  He snorted. “I think I’d prefer subjugation.”

  “I’m sure you would, but w
e doona always get what we want.”

  “Ah, sweet Isobel. That’s where you’re wrong. You may be my queen, but someday soon, I hope, I’ll be your king. And I’ll subjugate you too.”

  ***

  Isobel pressed her lips together before she made some sort of embarrassing sound—a high-pitched squeak or, God forbid, a witless giggle. Her mare tossed her head, reacting to her tightened grip on the reins and the tension in her legs. She tried to inhale slowly, deeply, to calm herself without alerting Kerr to the fact that she was doing so, but it was almost impossible because of the way her heart raced.

  He would hear her, see the tiny changes in her body, and know he’d affected her—no matter how much she’d try to pretend otherwise.

  What had he meant? Subjugation. Was that…some kind of physical intimacy she’d never heard of? Aye, she was still a maid, but she’d been privy to many bawdy conversations amongst the castle folk and the warriors—without their knowledge, of course.

  She hadn’t imagined Kerr’s tone, the look he gave her. Then again, he could have been playing games with her—confusing her on purpose.

  She could ask him his meaning, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  Besides, she should be happy. He was doing exactly as she wanted, following her toward the trap she’d set for him, while believing it was a trap for Gavin. Instead, a confusing mix of emotions careened inside her—uncertainty and nervousness, indignation and irritation. All swamped by an overwhelming yearning for…for what?

  For him?

  Nay, that couldn’t be right. His talk of subjugation, and his raspy tone of voice, had simply brought to mind the intimacy of her dream this morning—and how she’d woken up with an ache in her body she hadn’t assuaged.

  And it wasn’t the first dream, either. She had one recurring dream of him holding her down while he—

  Nay! Kerr in real life is my nemesis, not king to my queen.

  She huffed out a frustrated breath, unable to contain it any longer.

  “Just ask me,” he said with a hint of laughter.

  “Ask you what? Surely, your mind is addled.” She glanced at him sideways, then wished that she hadn’t, as the sight of him on his horse, so big and brawny beside her, a devilish grin on his face, made her cheeks heat up…again.