Heart's Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) (11 page)

They followed him as he moved silently toward the shadowed structure alongside the inn. One of the doors was cracked, and the warm light from a lantern slipped out onto the muddy street.

Miles motioned for the two brutes to halt beyond the cast of light, then opened the stable door and stepped inside.

A stable lad jumped from an idle slouch and came to his feet.

“Can I help ye, milord? See to yer horse, or mayhap arrange for a room at the inn?” the lad asked.

“I’m looking for someone,” Miles said, forcing his voice into a friendly Lowland lilt. “A woman with dark brown hair—a pretty thing ye’d likely no’ soon forget.”

Recognition fluttered across the lad’s oversized features, but he hesitated.

“Mayhap a man was with her as well,” Miles went on, casually dropping his hand to the coin pouch on his belt. “A big braw laddie with blond hair.” He slipped a coin from the pouch and lifted it until it caught the light streaming from the lantern.

The stable lad’s eyes rounded on the coin, his mouth falling open. “A-aye, I believe I know who ye speak of. They came through two nights ago, and gave us a hell of a lot of trouble—forgive my tongue, milord.”

Miles waved away the boy’s apology and gave him an encouraging smile.

“The man—a Highlander, I believe—roughed up several of the inn’s patrons when the lass squawked something about being kidnapped. After he broke a few noses, she said it was all some jest. They didnae stay the night, needless to say.”

“And which direction did they go when they left?”

“East, though no’ by the road, for the next morning a few of the men who were still sore over the ruse went to the edge of town and saw tracks headed into the forest.”

Miles granted the lad a warm smile and flipped him the coin. The boy caught it and eagerly tucked it into his belt.

“Thank ye, my laddie,” Miles said over his shoulder as he slipped from the stables.

In the darkness outside, he halted in front of Rabbie and Rollo.

“No blood,” he said, dropping his voice. “Make it look like an accident. We don’t need any more questions or attention.”

The twins’ faces split into identical coarse smiles as they nodded their comprehension and strode into the stables behind Miles. He mounted, waiting for them to finish their task.

When they reappeared, they still bore those stupid, harsh grins.

“Mount,” Miles snapped. “We ride east.”

Colin hunched deeper into his cloak, drawing the hood lower so that rain would stop trickling down his spine.

The briefly pleasant weather had vanished the morning after they’d slept next to the loch, and once again the cursed rain had started up.

Even by Highland standards, this weather was a blasted pain in the arse.

But if Colin were honest with himself, it wasn’t the incessant rain that had him in such a foul mood.

He and Sabine had spent the day and a half since their kiss beside the loch in near silence, which only left Colin’s echoing, self-castigating thoughts to keep him company.

Even now, his gut twisted at the memory of that kiss. Fierce desire spiked his blood, followed quickly by rage at himself for his lack of control.

He was supposed to be the one in charge. He was supposed to be the one wooing her, charming her into lowering her guard until she let some useful tidbit about the spy organization she worked for slip out.

Instead, he’d nearly shoved her to the loch’s rocky shore and buried himself between her thighs like some wild animal.

And damn it all, but part of him still wanted to claim her right here, right now. He’d yank down her cloak’s hood and sweep aside that dark mass of unbound hair, then sink his teeth into the soft skin at the nape of her neck. He’d lift her in the saddle and spin her around so that her legs wrapped around his hips and his cock drove into her—

He ground his teeth hard enough that the pain in his jaw jerked him from his fantasies. For the hundredth time in the last day and a half, he cursed himself and his wayward thoughts.

He’d never lost control like this before—first in kissing her by the loch, and now in being unable to rein in his lust for her.

That wasn’t entirely true, though, which drove cold fear into the pit of his stomach. Aye, he’d lost control like this once before—and nearly lost everything else because of it, too.

Ever since that terrible day eight years ago, he’d vowed never to be caught unaware again, to always be the one in command.

He’d broken that vow. Worse, his threadbare hold on restraint threatened to snap once and for all with each passing moment in Sabine’s presence.

Blessedly, the sound of rushing water ahead cut through the monotonous thrum of the rain. The River Cree couldn’t be far, which meant that they were only a day or two away from Portpatrick.

With any luck, the straight separating Scotland and Ireland would be calm enough that they could make a swift, easy passage across. Then Colin could deliver his missive to the Bruce’s brother and decide once and for all what to do with Sabine.

The memory of her, cowering and trembling in the loch’s shallows, twisted like a knife in his heart. From the moment Colin had met her, Sabine had seemed strong and confident, scrappy and damned annoyingly determined. Seeing her recoil from him had been like a blow from a hammer to the gut.

Far more disturbing, he’d seen the truth in her eyes. The man who’d rescued her from the streets, the man whom she seemed utterly devoted to, must have been in the habit of striking her, for the way she’d ducked and covered her head spoke of experience with beatings. That bastard had made her afraid. He’d hurt her, yet she still protected him.

How he’d longed to demand answers from her, to hear from her own lips what that piece of shite for a man had done to her. But fear had shadowed those wide hazel eyes. He would never be like the man she protected. He’d never force a word from her, or give her any reason to fear him.

Yet she was still Colin’s enemy—and the enemy of Robert the Bruce.

What a bloody mess he’d made.

As the river came into view, Colin’s stomach dropped.

At his string of muttered curses, Sabine stiffened in the saddle before him.

“What’s wrong?” She turned her head partially toward him so that he could see the outline of her nose and soft mouth, but her eyes remained hidden behind the edge of her hood.

“The river. We need to cross it, but these cursed rains have made it swell.”

Worse than made it swell, he realized as they drew nearer. The river had risen well past its natural banks, swallowing underbrush that had once been several feet above the waterline. The water rushed south, murky brown with silt and frothy white where it churned into rapids.

“Is there a bridge?”

“Nay, no’ within a day’s ride of here.”

And Colin couldn’t afford to lose another day, not when he’d already been delayed at nearly every turn. Despite the muddy roads, Sabine’s attempt to escape, and having to travel through dense forests, he still calculated he could make it to Ireland in a day or two, but not with yet another setback.

He eyed the river for a long moment, considering. “We may still be able to ford it,” he said at last.

Aye, the river surged by with the force of all the extra rainwater, but he’d crossed here before. The water normally didn’t even reach Ruith’s belly. Now it would likely swell past his flanks, but he was a powerful animal. If he could keep his footing, they’d be safely across and on their way to Portpatrick.

Sabine stiffened even more but didn’t speak. Though he hadn’t tied her wrist since they’d spent the night at the loch, she was still his captive. He would make the final decision, but her life rested in his hands.

Carefully, Colin unbuckled his sword from his hip and twisted in the saddle so that he could secure the weapon to one of the saddlebags. He tucked Sabine’s heavy dagger, which he still carried in the back of his belt, into the bag as well. When he’d fastened the buckles snugly on both bags, assuring himself that naught would drift free, he nudged Ruith toward the river’s edge.

“Hold on to the pommel,” he said, leaning toward Sabine’s ear to be heard over the coursing water.

Her hood bobbed quickly as her good hand darted out to grip the pommel.

With one hand tightly clenching the reins, Colin wrapped his other arm around Sabine’s torso, careful to hold her hurt arm gently.

“I’ve got ye,” he murmured next to her hood. “Ye’ll no’ be swept away, I promise.”

He could feel a shiver race through her, and then she pressed her spine into his chest, as if drawing comfort from him.

Though Ruith nickered and hesitated at the water’s edge, Colin urged him on with his heels and a sharp click of his tongue. Despite the horse’s misgivings, he was trained well enough to follow Colin’s order. Fast-moving water shot up around Ruith’s hooves as he made his way into the river.

When the water raced around Ruith’s knees, Colin could feel the stallion working for control. He urged the animal to cut a new angle toward the far shore. Though it meant a longer path, by slanting their direction slightly downriver, he hoped it would lessen the force of the water lashing them.

At the halfway point, the muddy water surged at the base of Ruith’s shoulders and tugged at Colin’s cloak. His knees were submerged, his feet getting battered by the water’s powerful grip, but he kept his seat in the saddle, holding Sabine close to his chest.

Ruith plowed forward like a ship through a storm, somehow still managing to hold his footing. Colin urged him on, relief washing him as they began rising out of the deepest section of the river.

As Colin glanced back at the shoreline behind them to gauge their progress, though, his heart froze in his chest.

Upriver, an enormous tree trunk had been swept into the current. The log, which was so big that Colin likely couldn’t have encircled it with his arms, now careened toward them.

“Hold on!” he bellowed over the roaring river.

Fighting against the sucking water, Colin dragged his right boot free of the stirrup.

If he’d had more time to think, he might not have risked this rash plan. As it was, the enormous log would take them both out if he didn’t act.

Just as the log reached them, Colin planted his boot against the wet bark and shoved with all his might.

The log spun sideways, Colin’s kick enough to propel it away from them and point it downriver. But the force of the impact was so great that Colin was thrust off Ruith’s back and into the river.

Just before his head was swallowed by the cold, churning waters, he heard Sabine scream in terror.

The river spat Colin upward on a sudden swell of water and he gasped for breath.

The enormous log shot past him, picked up by a swift current that sent it crashing against rocks and partially submerged trees as it careened farther downriver.

Once again, he was sucked under by the icy, grasping water. He hadn’t seen if Sabine still sat atop Ruith or if his efforts hadn’t been enough to save her.

What little air he held in his lungs was knocked free as the current brutally drove him into an enormous boulder. As his body was swept around the boulder, he forced his stunned arms to reach out for something, anything, to hold on to.

His fingers dragged against rock as he fumbled for purchase. The cold numbed the scraping pain. If he lived through this, he could worry about his fingers later.

As he fought for a hold, his palm wrapped around an apple-sized protrusion on the boulder. His wooden fingers latched onto the spur of rock, and suddenly he was jerked to a halt even as the angry river continued to rush past him.

Gritting his teeth against the clawing water, Colin dragged his other hand up to the tie holding his cloak around his neck. The cloak twisted and pulled at his throat. The sodden garment had become the river’s minion in its quest to pull him under. With a jerk on the knot, the cloak came free and was instantly sucked away.

“Colin!” Sabine’s terrified cry pierced his water-filled ears.

Relief crashed through him as he pried open his eyes. She still sat atop Ruith’s back upriver, water cascading around the animal’s powerful legs.

“Keep moving!” he shouted, muddy water invading his mouth.

Though Ruith was as sure-footed and strong as any horse Colin had ever known, even the stallion would be hard-pressed to remain in place against the rush of the river. If they continued along the angle he’d made, cutting across the river without going fully against its strength, they might have a chance to make it to the other side alive.

But Sabine didn’t urge the animal on. Instead, her panicked gaze was rooted on him.

“Go!” he barked, jerking his head toward the shoreline.

At last she seemed to snap out of her daze, for she kicked Ruith, her one good hand still gripping the pommel. She leaned low over Ruith’s neck to say something into his ear, but the words were swallowed by the river before they reached Colin.

Whether it was because Ruith knew his master’s wishes, or that the horse’s survival instinct had taken over, he obeyed Sabine’s command this time and began to step carefully toward the far shoreline once again.

Even as he fastened his other hand to the little knob of rock, Colin kept his gaze locked on them until the horse had fully cleared the swollen river and was on solid, dry ground.

It was only then that he considered Sabine’s options.

She’d gotten Ruith to obey her once, so she could try her luck and urge the horse on without a backward glance at Colin. She could go upriver and look for a safer place to cross, then return to Dumfries or wherever she pleased.

And even if Ruith refused to take her commands now that they were out of the river, she could simply dismount and walk back to the east. She would be rid of her captor and free to return to her employer, with none the wiser.

But to Colin’s shock, Sabine slipped from Ruith’s saddle and ran back to the river.

“Colin!” she cried again, her face a mask of fear. She began wading into the water, never taking her wide eyes from him.

“Stop, lass!”

Was she mad? She couldn’t simply swim across the river to where he clung for dear life to the slippery, water-battered boulder.

His words seemed to jar her from her terrified torpor. She halted, knee-deep in the swirling river, the angry waters tugging mercilessly at her skirts and cloak.

Her rounded eyes darted around desperately until they landed on Ruith. She bolted from the river’s edge to where the horse stood several feet away. With a yank, she pulled open one of the saddlebags and began digging frantically in it.

Colin’s arms had already gone numb, but now they began to turn loose and limp from the relentless hammer of the water battering him against the boulder. With a grunt, he willed his strength into his fingertips, where he clung to the slippery little rock spur.

Blinking against the silty water, his gaze locked on Sabine once more. She’d removed a length of rope from the saddlebag, the same one he’d used to bind her wrist, and was tying it around the saddle’s pommel.

Colin hadn’t realized just how dim his hope of surviving the raging river had grown until it suddenly flickered to life once more.

Despite the clumsiness of having only one good hand, Sabine worked swiftly and with complete focus to secure one end of the rope to Ruith’s saddle.

When she was done, she gave the end of the rope a tug hard enough to jostle the saddle on Ruith’s back. The animal only stood patiently, seeming to sense the direness of the situation.

Sabine snatched up the loose end of the rope and shot to the edge of the river once more. She quickly balled some of the rope in her grasp, then pulled back and launched it at him.

The rope splashed into the river off to Colin’s left, shooting downriver and out of reach.

Sabine jerked the rope back toward her, straining against the line’s extra waterlogged weight.

Again, she threw the rope toward him, this time stumbling with the effort. But the line didn’t reach as far this time. It slapped into the water several feet away.

“Throw it upriver!” Colin shouted.

His left hand suddenly slipped from his hold. The surging water yanked his arm back in its attempt to sweep him away.

Sabine cried out wordlessly in fright even as she yanked the rope toward the shoreline. Her arms full of heavy, wet rope, she staggered several paces upriver along the muddy bank.

With a heave that sent her lurching to her knees into the water, Sabine hurled the rope, this time aiming well above Colin.

The river snatched the rope and tugged it along with the swift current. As Colin watched the line approach, his stomach sank.

The angle would be off. The current was carrying the rope farther to Colin’s left once more.

One of his fingers slipped from his hold on the boulder, then another. The end of the rope was almost even with him, but several feet off to the left.

As the tail end of the line slipped by, Colin knew he had to take a chance.

Gathering the last of his strength, he shoved away from the boulder and gave himself over to the river.

As the current took him, he was flung closer to the rope. With a hard kick and a stroke of his numb arms, his hand closed around the rope’s end.

The rope burned against his palm as the water fought to pull him away, but somehow he managed to cling to the line. Rolling his hand, he wrapped the rope around his wrist to ease the strain against his palm.

“Go, Ruith, go!” Sabine cried.

Without hesitation, the stallion surged forward, fighting against both Colin’s weight and the power of the river trying to drag him back.

One aching inch at a time, Colin was pulled toward the riverbank. His wrist, arm, and shoulder screamed in protest even as he forced his legs to kick.

Sabine grabbed hold of the rope on the shore, pulling with all her might to aid Ruith. She leaned her entire body back, her hands skidding along the sodden line and her boots slipping in the mud.

When he was only a few feet from the bank, she waded into the water once again, scrambling toward him. Colin tried to plant his feet under him, but he’d spent every drop of strength he had. His limbs had turned to sludge.

Sabine tried to lift him under the shoulders, but his weight was far too great for her frame. She fell backward in the shallows, with Colin tumbling on top of her.

She cried out again as his weight came down on her. He realized through the haze of pain and fatigue that he must have hurt her. He tried to roll away, but then her slim arm wrapped around his neck and her fingers sank into his sodden tunic.

“I thought you were lost,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Nay,” he mumbled, his lips and tongue slow and stiff from cold. “Ye’ll no’ be rid of me so easily, lass.”

A noise that was half-laugh, half-sob escaped her and she clung even tighter to him.

Easing himself off her, he rolled onto his back, the river lapping futilely at his boots and the muddy bank sinking under his shoulder blades.

“Ye saved me, Sabine. Why?”

He felt her stiffen next to him. When she didn’t speak for a long moment, he dragged himself up to sitting and looked down at her.

Her dark hair lay splayed in the mud, her dress and cloak tangled around her. Rosy color sat high in her cheeks, and her green-gold eyes were wide and locked on him.

If they weren’t both soaking wet and covered in mud, he might have made the mistake of noticing how ravishing she looked—and ravished as well, like she’d been fully sated by his mouth, his hands, his—

He shoved the dangerous thought aside. Aye, this was a woman of many secrets. Would he ever have answers?

“Come,” he said at last, his voice tight in his throat. “We’d best get dry.”