Read Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1) Online
Authors: Helen Harper
Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FOR JIMMY AND LINDA
The girl with no name scurried down the corridor, hiking up her skirt to avoid the hem from trailing along the dusty floor. She’d already been in trouble once today for her appearance when the cook had cuffed her ear for wearing a stained apron. The fact that it was stained simply because she’d been in the garden and picking mudberries on the cook’s orders didn’t seem to matter. It was one thing, however, to be told off in the kitchen; it was quite another for it to happen in the grand hall in front of goodness knows who.
She hadn’t been in the Bull’s presence for months. The last time she was summoned it was to make up numbers at a cocktail party. Not, of course, as a guest; it was her role to hold up canapés to the mingling party goers – no mean feat for someone who was short for her age and surrounded by towering Sidhe adults.
She barely lasted ten minutes. Once the Bull spotted her, staring at her with dark glittering eyes, his skin suffusing with a mottled angry red, she was ushered away and scolded for drawing attention to herself. Since then she’d kept well out of his way, even risking the wrath of the cook by taking the long way round the dusty palace and arriving even later for her daily duties than she normally did. Frankly, she’d do just about anything to avoid the Bull’s terrifying gaze.
Rounding the corner at high speed, and worried about what was expected of her, she was less alert than she should have been. Colliding with the delicate, elfin form of Tipsania, she sent them both crashing to the ground; her bare feet became tangled with the other girl’s ornate skirts, the heavy fabric inextricably wrapping itself around her ankles.
‘You stupid bitch!’
The girl yanked hard, attempting to free herself. There was an ominous rip of fabric as she finally pulled away, then she received a hard kick from Tipsania for her efforts.
Ignoring the sharp burst of pain, she scrambled to her feet then bent down to help the other girl stand up. Tipsania glared at the proffered hand as if it belonged to a cockroach instead of a child. She still took it, though.
‘You should bloody well watch where you’re going,’ she hissed. ‘Now I look as if I’ve been dragged through a muddy puddle. Don’t they teach you how to keep clean?’
The girl ducked her head down, mumbling an apology.
Tipsania clicked her teeth in disgust. ‘Byron will think I’ve been raised in a hovel. I’ll simply have to go and change.’ She spat, an astoundingly unladylike gesture for someone of her rank.
The girl’s eyes flew upwards. ‘Byron?’ She’d heard of him, of course. The privileged son of the Sidhe Steward Aifric Moncrieffe was well known around the court for his youthful misdemeanours. Only seventeen years old, he was already living up to his namesake as mad, bad and dangerous to know. It didn’t make sense, however, that he’d be coming here. Little as the girl knew, even she was aware that the Moncrieffes held little love for the Scrymgeour Clan, even though they worked together from time to time.
She swallowed the knot of pain that appeared in her throat. Was that why she’d been summoned? Was it an opportunity for the upper echelons of Sidhe royalty to sneer at her, as well as the lower ranks she normally dealt with?
Tipsania’s lip curled. ‘You don’t think he’s going to be interested in you, do you? A dirty urchin?’ She leaned in more closely, her smooth honey-coloured hair tickling the girl’s cheek. ‘A bastard?’
The girl drew back. Her parentage wasn’t her fault. If she could change it, she would. It was incredibly unfortunate for her that her pure white hair and violet eyes reminded everyone of just who her father was.
She opened her mouth to answer back then snapped it shut again, thinking better of it. Tipsania had made an art form out of underhand cruelty that could extend for weeks when she thought she had been slighted. There was no point in antagonising her unnecessarily, tempting as it might be.
The girl dipped her head again, casting her eyes downward and hoping that her act of submission would encourage Tipsania to forget the flare of rebellion that had flickered across her face.
A door opened several metres away and the low hum of voices reached the girl’s ears. Her eyes snapped up, wary of who was about to join them. She received another sharp kick from Tipsania in response.
‘Well, well, well,’ drawled a deep voice. ‘What do we have here?’
This time, the girl kept her head firmly down.
‘Byron!’ Tipsania tittered, her previously harsh tone now muted to a breathy giggle. ‘Are you lost? We’re supposed to be in the grand hall.’
‘Just exploring, Tipsy,’ he replied easily. ‘Who’s this?’
The girl with no name felt his gaze burning into her. She told herself not to look up.
Tipsania’s lip curled. ‘She’s the one.’
‘Really?’ Byron sounded curious. He reached out, his fingers brushing under the girl’s chin, tilting it up so that she was forced to meet his eyes.
She shrank back, terrified of the new horrors that were about to be visited on her. Byron’s appearance certainly lived up to the hype. His hair, so golden in colour that it mimicked burnished bronze, fell artfully across his forehead. His skin was tanned, without a blemish, and his eyes glittered emerald green. He towered over her, a tiny furrow on his forehead as he took in her appearance.
‘She’s a filthy thing,’ Tipsania dismissed. ‘I don’t know why you’d want to bother with her. Look at what she did to my dress! She’s going to pay for that.’
Byron’s expression turned stony, flecks of frozen ice reflected in his brilliant irises. He flicked a glance at the older girl then back again. ‘You’re right,’ he said finally, ‘she
is
pathetic. If I were you I wouldn’t even speak to her.’ Without another word, he withdrew his hand and bowed in Tipsania’s direction. ‘My lady,’ he murmured. Then he strode off.
Both girls watched him go. When he was out of earshot, Tipsania turned to the girl again. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t want more from you,’ she hissed.
The girl with no name dropped her head again. Her stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. She clenched her fists and dropped her shoulders. Please, she thought, just leave me alone. I’m nobody.
Her submissive posture seemed to do the trick; Tipsania sniffed loudly and stomped off, no doubt to find another example of gold-edged finery with which to impress the Sidhe princeling.
The girl with no name waited, counting to twenty in her head to ensure Tipsania was not about to return and cause more grief. It would make her eventual appearance in the grand hall even more delayed and she risked the Bull’s anger increasing. She was already late by now, however. One minute or ten – either way she’d get her ears boxed for her troubles. Not from the Bull, of course. He never touched her himself.
Trembling from her encounter, she took several short, rapid breaths. Byron Moncrieffe’s supercilious attitude, combined with Tipsania’s venom, swirled around her head. When she was older, she decided furiously, she’d make both of them pay. She sniffed to herself.
She dusted down her apron and set off once more, her mind working feverishly as to why she’d been summoned and just what the Bull could possibly want with her. A door at the far end opened and bright sunlight spilled in. There was a shout and the guard, who’d been standing there silhouetted against the sun, turned to answer the call, leaving the gateway open.
The girl gazed out at the bright light, then back at the dark corridor behind her. She gnawed her bottom lip and looked again. After a brief moment of indecision, she began to run.
She wasn’t a prisoner. She’d never been told she couldn’t leave. But until that moment, with the glow of the outside world and its golden uncertainty contrasting with the darkness that no doubt awaited her in the grand hall, she’d never considered leaving. There was nowhere else for her to go.
In years to come, she’d describe her action as foolhardy and reckless. The right move, without a doubt, but one in which the possibility of success was hampered by lack of planning and foresight. Still, sometimes the stars simply align and the time is right.
She skidded down the corridor, emerged outside and blinked at the light. Without pausing, she veered left –towards freedom.
The guard, startled by the sudden movement, turned to watch her. His companion arrived, shading his face from the sun and squinting in her direction. Even without her long white hair whipping behind her and the determined set to her chin, her intent was obvious.
‘Isn’t that…?’
‘Yes.’
‘Should we stop her?’
One side of the guard’s mouth crooked upwards. ‘Leave her be. I’m only surprised she’s not done it sooner.’
‘What about the prophecy?’
He shrugged. ‘What about it? It’s mumbo-jumbo. Even the Sidhe don’t believe it.’
‘She’s still alive though, isn’t she? After what they say her father did…’
The guard tutted. ‘Who’s going to kill a kid?’
The girl was oblivious to their attention. She zipped ahead, down the well-worn path and away. No-one stopped her speedy descent down the drive and out past the ornate gates that were standing open to admit the Moncrieffe heir and his entourage. The Sidhe were far more concerned with keeping people out than forcing them to stay in. It was a hangover from the days of the Fissure and probably pointless now.
She ran out, pushing past the magical barrier that separated the Sidhe world and all its Clan members from the Clan-less, with little more than a shiver. Then she emerged onto a narrow country road and simply kept running until she reached the dual carriageway leading to Dundee in one direction and Aberdeen in the other. Confronted by the speeding cars and the lack of pedestrian walkways, she came to a stumbling halt in a layby. Less than a minute after she collapsed, breathless and shaking, a car pulled in.
Like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights, she froze. The vehicle was far removed from the gleaming sports cars and limousines that she was used to. This one was battered and rusty and gave every appearance of being unroadworthy. Indeed, after it came to a juddering halt, the exhaust coughed up a belch of black smoke.
The door swung open and a man peered out. Human – not Sidhe. Thank heaven for small mercies.
‘Need a lift?’ he asked, his voice rasping in the cold air.
The girl blinked. This was far from what she’d been expecting. She looked him over. He had carroty orange hair, a quick smile and a friendly light in his eyes. He didn’t look particularly strong and he was definitely human. It didn’t mean he was good, though.
As if sensing her indecision, he held up his palms, indicating that he was weaponless. ‘I’m not very trustworthy,’ he said. ‘But I’m not going to hurt you.’
She considered his words. ‘I’m Sidhe,’ she answered finally.
‘I can see that.’
‘It means I’m very powerful,’ she lied.
He nodded his head gravely. ‘I have no doubt.’
She weighed up her options. Climbing into a car with a perfect stranger wasn’t ideal but there was something about the man that made her trust him – and she had little alternative. If he tried anything, she could always make a grab for his groin and twist. She’d seen Tipsania do just that to one of the guards. It had seemed to hurt. A lot.
The girl pursed her lips then slowly nodded. His face broke into a smile and he jerked his thumb towards the back seat. After some difficulty, she opened the door far enough to squeeze herself inside. The radio was blaring, some political pundit jabbering away. ‘What Sidhe royalty lack is integrity,’ he argued. ‘They’re not like the rest of us.’
She stiffened. She’d thought that once she was out of the Clanlands, she’d be free of the Sidhe. Less than five minutes into her escape and already they were being discussed on the radio. That didn’t bode well.
‘What Clan are you?’ she asked.
The man flicked her an amused look. ‘I’m not with any Clan. I don’t hold to those Sidhe ideas.’
She frowned. ‘But everyone’s in a Clan.’
He laughed. ‘No, they’re not. I’m Clan-less. I don’t follow their rules. If that bothers you, you can still change your mind.’ He gestured towards the door.
She glanced outside. ‘No. I’m here now.’
He pointed downwards. ‘Seatbelt then.’
The girl stared at her new benefactor. He frowned and repeated the word. Finally understanding, she hastily pulled the seatbelt across her body, clicking it into place. With a satisfied grunt, he re-started the engine. ‘Anyone asks,’ he said, ‘you’re my niece, alright? We’re on our way to see your grandparents.’
Confused as to why anyone would care, she bit her lip and nodded. He opened the glove box and rummaged around, then tossed her a faded baseball cap. No less baffled, the girl put it on, tucking her hair inside. Her stomach had a strange squirmy sensation that she didn’t like very much.
Less than half a mile down the road, when the talking on the radio had given way to a jazzy song, blue-and-red flashing lights appeared and the man threw her a meaningful glance. The car rolled to a stop and the unsmiling face of a uniformed policeman appeared.
Certain that this was for her, she squeaked and shrank back in her seat. While the police might technically be considered Clan-less and they certainly had no jurisdiction within the Clanlands, their wages were paid out of the twenty-four Clans’ pockets. There was no doubting where their allegiance lay.
