The Thief (21 page)

‘You’ll need this.’

She studied his face as he wrapped a cloak about her shoulders. He stood so close she could see the whiskers darkening his jaw, smell his manly scent, and feel the heat of his fingers against her neck as he secured the ties of her mantle. Did she sway, or was the sense of movement him stepping away?

‘Hmm, something is missing.’ He turned again to rummage through the chest, and held up a scrap of brown wool. Her cap. He’d stored it along with his personal goods.

She did sway toward him as he approached her. He lifted his hands and carefully fitted her cap on her head. ‘‘Tis cold out. We don’t want your delicious ears to freeze.’

Warm air brushed her face as he spoke. His fingers lingered, barely touching the tender flesh below her ears. His gaze locked on hers. She fell into the blue. Time passed. God above, she wanted him to kiss her.

‘Come, before the weather turns.’ He took her hand and hurried her out of the chamber and down through the bustling hall.

She glanced at the men propped up on pallets on the far side of the room. Her steps faltered. ‘Wait! What of the wounded?’

Lachlan turned, but continued pulling her toward the entrance. ‘I have spoken with the two men whose injuries have left them unfit to resume their duties. Both Dorrell and Keddy are in good spirits and are being well cared for. Both were spouting praises of their new lady before I came to fetch you. Now, come.’

‘Oh. Very well, then.’

They stepped outside and the cold air stripped the heat from her cheeks and restored her muddled senses. A stable lad stood at the base of the steps holding their horses.

‘Remember Meg?’ Lachlan said.

Her sides tingled as his strong fingers encircled her waist. She gripped his shoulders as he lifted her into the saddle.

‘Of course,’ she finally managed to say once he’d released her. How could she forget the horse she’d borrowed to ride to the cottages? She stroked the pretty grey’s neck as he mounted De Brus. Her hand stilled as she glimpsed Lachlan’s exposed, muscular thigh.

‘Let’s away,’ he said.

Kenzie started and tore her attention away from his leg, then followed him out through the gates.

Under a pale grey sky, Kenzie witnessed the silvered waters of the Solway Firth in the distance to the south, the small pine forest to the west, and to the north, she peered in the direction of the rushing burn and the cluster of skeletal trees and alder bushes she’d hidden amongst the night of her escape.

She struggled to recall why she’d escaped him at all. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. She was simply glad he’d captured her again.

Lachlan often stopped and looked at the ground as if he’d dropped something and was keen to find it. He’d then draw De Brus level with Meg and they’d ride on side by side. He was so close she could reach out and touch him.

To the east he pointed out the grass-spattered ridge where God’s lands ended and Hell began. Here too he studied the earth beneath their mounts’ hooves, then with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he spoke of the times he’d crossed the border when he’d craved the taste of the Devil on his tongue.

Entranced, she listened to every word as he shared his memories and showed her all that belonged to his people. Her gaze wandered from the sights he described with such pride to the man who’d caught her stealing his horse; the man who, despite her best efforts, had managed to capture more of her since.

Cold, misty droplets of rain dotted her cheeks and lashes.

‘The Almighty deems you’ve seen enough for one day.’ Lachlan’s regard lowered from the sky to her. ‘Enough of Clan Elliot lands at least.’ A wicked smile curved his mouth and he waggled his brows.

‘There’s nothing you could show me that I’d find more enjoyable.’

‘Is that a challenge, Kenzie?’ One brow slowly rose. ‘If so, you must know I cannot forego such a test.’ He caressed her rain-sprinkled cheek with the backs of his fingers. ‘Nor do I want to. Not when there is so much more you’ve yet to know … and enjoy.’

She swallowed. She knew what he spoke of, what he wanted.

He cupped her chin and stared into her eyes. Sparks danced in the clear blue depths and then flared brighter as he leaned closer. Muscles low in her belly tightened. She forgot to breathe. His mouth brushed her lips with a tempting kiss. She drew a shuddering breath.

‘Come. This particular ride is over. ‘Tis time we returned.’

Rain peppered her flushed face, stung her tingling lips. She clutched the leather reins, more to keep her seat than to guide her mare home. The drizzle became a slashing downpour. She barely noticed the piercing, needle-like drops stinging her cheeks. She couldn’t stop glancing at Lachlan riding beside her, close, hunched forward, his concerned gaze constantly checking on her.

‘Not far, now,’ he called over the drumming rain.

Water ran down her face, dripped from her chin. She stared at his large capable fingers grasping the wet strips of leather. She wanted to feel them on her rain-slicked skin, sliding over her shoulders, skimming her thighs, tracing circles on her naked back. Icy rivulets trickled down her neck and spine, but couldn’t chill the warm embers glowing inside her, had no chance of dousing the heated thoughts burning inside her head.

They passed through the gates and ducking low, rode into the stables. Before her eyes had time to adjust to the gloom, Lachlan had dismounted and removed his mantle, and was reaching for her. He pulled her into his arms, cradled her against his chest and headed for the entrance. She was so caught up in her twirling thoughts, she didn’t comment on tending their mounts. She turned her face into his neck and inhaled sandalwood, leather and Lachlan.

‘You’re carrying me again.’

‘Aye.’

She relaxed against him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. The steady beat of his heart matched hers.
I want you.

A claim he’d yet to fulfil. They were wed. He had every right to bed her, yet hadn’t. Why? Was he waiting for her assent? How was she to tell him she wanted him to show her the ‘more’ he’d hinted at with his softly spoken words and his tantalising touch?

Was it wrong to want her husband?

You never wanted a husband.

But she wanted Lachlan Elliot.

A chorus of muffled chatter interrupted her thoughts. The pounding rain ceased battering her shoulder.

‘Is all well?’ she heard Murdoch ask.

‘Aye,’ Lachlan responded without breaking stride. ‘My preparations?’ His deep voice rumbled in her ear.

Preparations? She should ask what he’d prepared, but was enjoying the feel of his arms about her. She buried her face deeper until her nose brushed the warm skin of his throat.

‘Have all been seen to,’ the steward replied.

‘Good.’

His stride changed as he climbed the steps.

Her curiosity grew. Lifting her head from his shoulder, she pushed on his leather-clad chest and looked into his face.

‘Preparations?’

‘Ah, my inquisitive wife. I thought you’d fallen asleep.’ She heard the smile in his voice, but the shadows in the stairwell hid his eyes. ‘You’ll not have long to find out.’

Chapter 18

The latch clicked. As Lachlan strode into the room, his deft fingers tugged loose the bindings of Kenzie’s cloak. A quick shift in his hold and the sodden mantle fell to the chamber floor. Her woollen cap followed. He searched, found her plait, flicked the tie from the end and combed his fingers through the wet strands to allow the warm air to dry her tresses.

Kenzie sighed as he worked his magic. The temptation to close her eyes disappeared at the sight of the steaming tub in front of the blazing fire. She shivered, as if her chilled body was already submerged in the hot water.

She peered down at the thick rug below the huge wooden vessel and her toes curled in remembrance of its comfort, its softness. She’d almost worn it bare with her pacing the night before, such was the worry she’d suffered for the man now holding her in his powerful embrace. The hollow feeling that had left her cold and empty no longer lingered inside her; it had vanished sometime in the night. Instead, an unfamiliar fullness swelled deep within.

Time seemed to slow, as if she were caught in a dream, her mind strangely sluggish yet piercingly aware.

The room dipped as he sat in the chair and cradled her in his lap. Her gaze wandered up his arm to clusters of wet, wheat-coloured hair hanging to his shoulders. A drop of moisture clung to the tip of one rain-darkened lock. It fell, slid down the dark leather covering the wide chest beneath as if searching for the tanned flesh below. A shadow beard deepened the bronzed hue of his square jaw, surrounding his lips and trailed downward under his chin. Her fingertips yearned to follow its path.

Lachlan leaned forward, his eyes locked with hers.

Anticipation swirled through her. Her pulse leaped.

His fingers fastened on her boot and tugged. With a thud, one boot fell to the floor, swiftly followed by the other. She flexed her toes, but kept her eyes firmly fixed on the corner of his mouth as he turned. His full lips suddenly tightened and thinned, stealing the softness.

Her brow furrowed. She looked higher, took in the shape of his nose. His nostrils flared. She looked up into simmering blue eyes. Sickening fear welled, rose in her throat and dried her mouth.

‘Your bath grows cold.’ His words were almost a growl, but it was the fierceness of his gaze that caused the blood to pound even harder at her temples. Emotions swirled, darkened the depths, robbed the light from his eyes. He glanced away. He looked confident, capable—uncertain. God in Heaven, she understood the tumbling emotions, understood the constant fight. Despite everything she believed in, she’d fallen in love with Lachlan. Fallen in love with the husband she never wanted.

A shiver rippled through her, sparking embers to flame in her heart. Her body hummed with giddy brightness, the sensation so beautiful, she bathed in its glory, drew strength from its uplifting power and searched his face in wonder for how and why.

His touch, gentle, masterful, awakened her senses. The sound of his voice, low and deep when he whispered in her ear, set her flesh to tingling. His laughter, pure magic, had the power to leave her smiling long after it had faded. The sight of him—oh, God. Up close, at a distance, the anticipation of setting eyes on him was enough to melt her insides and muddle her mind.

But it was more than touch, sight and sounds. His attention fixed on her, his desire for her, were real, unfailing, astonishing. They made her feel alive, confident, and special, as if she mattered. She’d spent her life overlooked, forgotten. Lachlan made her feel unforgettable.

A handsome man, an honourable man. A man in a position of power who used fairness and kindness to make decisions. A man who kept promises and was a master of mirth. A man who’d opened her eyes to all that was good. A man who’d let her just ‘be’ and taught her how to play. Encouraged her to live. A precious man.

Her husband.

She gave in to her fingers’ fondest wish and skimmed his whiskered cheek. His jaw hardened at her touch. Her body swayed as his chest filled with a long, deep breath. He exhaled slowly, the warmth of the air fanning her face, reminding her she too needed to breathe.

His head lowered. He stole the very air with a soft, lingering kiss. Desire weighed heavy on her lashes. She willed them not to close, to keep staring into his smoldering eyes. His muscles tensed beneath her thighs. Large hands spanned her waist as he stood, holding her against him, his mouth still clinging to hers. Her breasts tingled as she slid down is body, until her feet sank into the thick rug. He lifted his head, his lips. She clung to his strong arms as liquid longing flowed through her veins and destroyed her sense of balance.

Panted sighs drowned out the sound of crackling logs. A craving for more shook through her limbs. His hands clenched and unclenched at her waist, as if they didn’t know whether to hold her or let her go. Fire danced in his eyes, mirroring the flames he’d ignited inside her with his kiss, his touch, his indecision.

‘I must go.’ There, again. His words implied one thing, his hands, his eyes, another. His hands fell away. A chill rushed in to take their place. He stepped back, breaking her hold.

She shuddered, wet her lips, tasted him on her tongue. A different fear swept through her, sent her fingers curling into fists. Her heart pounded as each terror within vied for supremacy.

Rejection wasn’t new to her; she’d known it all her life. Her thoughts renewed her inner strength, gave her the will to steady her shaking limbs. The only part of her she struggled and failed to calm was her quaking heart. If he denied her now, she was very much afraid her heart would shatter.

But her longing for his love was greater than her lifelong fears. If being intimate encouraged him to love her then she had to take the risk. This was her chance to find out.

‘Stay.’ The word slipped out on a desperate whisper.

He stopped. Stood as still as a rock. She couldn’t see his face, his eyes. Her body trembled. Air stalled in her throat. If he left, how would she go on?

Stretching to her full height, knowing her weakness lay hidden deep in her chest, she waited and watched as he slowly turned to look at her.

‘Why?’

Curse him. He was the experienced one. Surely he understood why.

I want you.
‘I want to know the “more”,’ she said softly.
I love you.
‘I want you to show me.’

He filled the space he’d so recently left. Peering into her eyes, naught but his heat touched her, wrapped about her. His hot gaze stirred fresh life into the simmering embers her fears had doused. Warm hands cradled her face. Gentle lips brushed hers in a whisper-soft caress. He lifted his head, searched her eyes once more and kissed her again. She felt delicate. Special.

His lips left hers. ‘Do you trust me?’

She stared into the bright, sparkling depths of blue. ‘Aye,’ she whispered.

Eyes locked, his hands slid down her neck, glided along her shoulders and skimmed her arms, as if he sculptured her body with his palms. His touch left her skin rippling in its wake. A slow burn awakened in her belly as he sketched her hips by feel alone. Busy fingers bunched the hem of her tunic and began lifting the garment, skimming her thighs, hips, her waist—higher. She stiffened. Air froze in her lungs when his hands, her tunic, reached her chest.