The Thief (6 page)

She closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see the blazing, hungry fire, she could feel the heat curling the fine hairs on her forearms. She concentrated on each powerful swing of the cup, praying for any sound of rescue.

There! A shout. A voice. Running feet. Someone was coming. Someone had heard.

Relief tumbled through her, but there was no time to waste. Escaping this fiery chamber spelled only the beginning.

Jumbled voices. Ever closer.

Despite the glowing heat, Kenzie’s skin prickled with gooseflesh. It was almost time.

A scratching on the door sent her scrambling further to one side. The clunk of the latch being freed made her crouch low, ready to flee.

The timber door flew inward. The flames behind her roared with excitement, as if their desperation to escape matched her own. Ducking her head to avoid the flare of intense heat, she opened her eyes to see several feet filling the doorway. Amid curses and shouts for pails of water, Kenzie crawled out of the chamber into the cool chaos of the corridor. Staying low, keeping close to the stone wall, she lifted the skirts of her borrowed gown and wove her way through the tide of people intent on reaching her room.

Eyes stinging from the smoke, she blinked to clear them but they only watered more. She used her hands to guide her down a stone staircase and paused in a large, dimly lit chamber to catch her breath and find her bearings.

A mighty shove from behind and a muttered, ‘Outta the way,’ sent her slamming into the wall. Rubbing her shoulder, she slipped into the throng of people running to the far end of the room. Time was precious. She needed to use the disorder to make good her escape.

Water sloshed over her feet as a burly man carrying a full pail in each hand hurried in the opposite direction. She kept moving, weaving and ducking her way through the mob, her gaze remaining firmly on the open door.

And then she was outside, being shoved forward into the frosty night air. She sucked in a shivering breath and tripped down a step. Picking herself up from the icy ground, she sidled away from the line of men and women and tucked herself into the shadows as she searched the bailey.

A stream of bustling humanity moved to and from the well set between the keep and the gates. Several guards from the high wooden gates in the curtain wall had abandoned their posts to help. One of the gates stood ajar, no doubt awaiting Laird Elliot’s return.

With careful steps, she skirted the tower house wall and ran across the gap, away from the keep. Pausing to see if her movements had been noticed, the familiar smell of horses replaced the stench of smoke filling her senses.

As she rested near the stable entrance, her hope soared, only to plummet to the soles of her soggy borrowed slippers. Even with the guards’ attention fixed on the churning mass of people draining the well, it wouldn’t be enough of a distraction to allow her to ride out through the open gate unnoticed. On foot it must be. But she saw no sense in freezing while she escaped. Slipping around the edge of the opening, she entered the stable and scanned the interior.

No one rushed out of the shadows to give her away. She drew an uneven breath and searched for something to warm her. Lifting a thin blanket from one of the shelves on the wall near the entrance, she tucked the coarse fabric under one arm and slipped back outside.

With her back to the wall, keeping her eye on the two men left standing high on the battlements, she crept from the stable and along the curtain wall. Curling and uncurling her fingers to calm her racing heart, she kept moving until only several paces separated her from freedom.

Nearly there.

Kenzie willed her breath to flow in and out and her feet to move quickly and quietly. She didn’t dare look up; she was too afraid the remaining watchmen would see her and cry out. She flattened her body against the timber gate and with small, slow steps, shifted along its cold, hard width.

She could hear murmurings from the men above. Her whole body quivered in fear of discovery, but she refused to stop moving. She was so close. As her shaking fingers found the edge of the gate, she sank her teeth into her lower lip to stifle her elated gasp. Almost there.

She edged her way around the end of the gate, praying with all her heart and soul that no one was waiting on the other side. The image of Lachlan Elliot’s smiling face flashed in her mind, his features so clear and well remembered, for an instant she believed he stood before her, blocking her exit.

Her heart missed a beat, then the vision dissolved, his grinning countenance vanishing along with it. She focused on the dark, icy field that sprawled beyond the gates and noted the nearly full moon—both a blessing and a hindrance.

Sidestepping along the outer side of the gate, she reached the roughened stone wall and clung to its cold, welcoming solidity. The voices within the bailey reached her ears, though the shouts and cries for haste had been softened by distance. Inhaling chilled air, she hurried to where a crude fence butted up against the stone barrier and followed a line of felled tree trunks that had been arranged in tight formation to keep cattle within and unruly thieves without during the dead of winter.
Thieves like me.

As she reached the farthest end of the empty, winter field, she saw a few of the herd had shifted closer to the enclosure of their own accord. She studied the bleak space looming before her and then peered back over her shoulder at the fortress she’d fled.

Lachlan Elliot had gone to Dumfries to find a priest. Dumfries lay to the west. She would head east to elude the guards set to watch his cattle, then north for a time to avoid crossing Lachlan Elliot’s path. Finally, she’d cut across to the west to Irvine land.

Shaking out the pilfered blanket, Kenzie tossed it about her shoulders, drew a frosty breath and ran into the night.

Chapter 5

A shiver racked Kenzie’s body and might have reached her toes, if she could have felt them. Her borrowed slippers were no match for the ice beneath them, nor was her thin gown fitting attire for trudging around on an almost-winter’s night. The threadbare blanket she’d taken from the stable offered little warmth, but was better than nothing. She drew it more firmly about her. She had provisions to fetch and deliver. If she failed, the people she cared about would struggle to survive the coming winter.

While she had never lacked for food, Kenzie understood what it meant to feel forgotten. Small. Unimportant. Worthless. How would they feel if she stopped coming to see them? They enjoyed her company as well as the goods she brought with her and she’d vowed long ago to never abandon them. Ever.

The memory of her promise kept her raising one numbed foot in front of the other. Jaw clenched to stop her teeth chattering, chin bowed low against the neck-biting cold, she pushed on.

She’d crossed onto Irvine land a short time ago and her secret hiding place lay close. The small wood encircling the outcropping of rock sheltering her precious goods sat between one small hill and the next and she quickly descended into the valley’s moon-tipped shadows. Frozen foliage slapped against her lower body and branches snapped back into place behind her as she wove her way deeper within the wood.

She arrived at the entrance to her rocky niche. The moon’s glow failed to reach inside the shallow space, but Kenzie didn’t need to see. With cold and shaking hands, she wound the blanket around her neck before reaching into the shadows for what she sought.

She lifted one heavy sack against her chest, then the other, and wrapped her arms firmly about them. The urge to rest for a few moments pulled at her lagging strength, but her will to see her task done proved stronger. Hefting the sacks higher to protect her face, she forged a path north, up the gentle rise through the ice-laden alders. If she’d succeeded in stealing Lachlan Elliot’s horse, she would have tied the sacks to the beast and could have ridden to the cottage. But she hadn’t succeeded and had lost her own pitiful mount in the process.

The tinkling sound of the burn a slight distance to her left lifted her numbed spirits. The cottage’s occupants drew fresh water from the highest point of the running stream.
Almost there.

As the sound of trickling water faded, she peered over the top of the sacks and spied a dim line of light up ahead. Her gasp of relief showed real for a moment in the form of a frosty white cloud that hung in the still air. Her steps carried her into its path where it joined the misty chill dampening her face.

Heart thumping, she reached the door and elbowed the wood until it rattled. It was late and she loathed the thought of waking Martha and dragging her from her bed, but she had little choice. The faint line of yellow light beneath the too small door became distorted with shadows as someone inside moved in response to her awkward knocking.

‘Who be there at such a godforsaken hour?’

A smile pinched Kenzie’s brittle cheeks at Martha’s formidable tone.

‘‘Tis Kenzie,’ she replied in a scratchy voice.

‘Angel? Och, why didn’t you speak out, you fool lass.’ The door creaked open and aging hands were upon her, pulling her inside the warm cottage. She was stripped of her burdens before Martha wrapped her in a tight motherly hold. Kenzie closed her eyes and rested there for a moment. How glad she was she’d stumbled upon Martha crying in this very cottage all those years ago.

Then, the cottage located on the fringes of Irvine lands had been deserted. Kenzie had crept into one corner of the cottage’s only room, sat and rested her chin on her knees while she waited for the woman’s sobs to ease and finally stop. When her tears had ceased flowing, the woman had glared at her with reddened eyes and said, ‘Have you naught to do but sit like a wart on a witch’s nose and stare?’

Kenzie asked, ‘Why are you crying?’

The woman had burst into tears once more, but between sobs, she told Kenzie of how her husband had taken a younger woman as his mistress as he no longer desired her. Kenzie hadn’t understood everything the woman spoke of, but she did understand how it felt to be unwanted. She’d ridden back to Irvine Castle, gathered food from the kitchens and a woollen blanket from the washhouse, and had taken them back to the woman named Martha.

That day she’d made her first delivery. That was the day she dedicated her life to helping those who, like herself, had been abandoned. The day her life had been given meaning. So many women needed help. So many children needed care.

How pleased she was the older woman had stayed. She’d never known such affection existed before Martha. She could remain locked in this kind woman’s embrace forever.

‘Ack, you’re as cold as an icicle hangin’ from a vagrant’s nose.’ Martha’s penchant for describing things using body parts caused Kenzie’s smile to widen.

‘Come.’ The loving arms dropped from around her and steered her through the occupied pallets strewn all over the floor. ‘Sit yer frozen self down,’ Martha said as they stopped before the feeble fire burning in the grate. ‘A cup of me vegetable broth will warm yer innards and cure all that ails ye.’ Martha made straight for the battered iron pot left simmering to one side of the fire and filled a wooden cup with its steaming contents.

If only it were that simple.
Kenzie inhaled a warm breath scented with onions and the underlying smell of peat.

‘What in Mother Mary’s blessed fingers are ye doin’ out and about on such a freezin’ night?’ Martha’s own fingers lifted Kenzie’s and shoved the wooden cup into her hands. ‘Now drink and tell me what yer about.’

Kenzie took a sip of broth before answering. ‘I meant to deliver the provisions yester eve but … I was delayed.’

‘We’ve enough to get by without ye riskin’ yer fool neck, lass.’

Absorbing Martha’s blunt concern, Kenzie took another swallow of the warm, tasty broth. How was she to tell her she’d been caught stealing a laird’s horse and held prisoner in a neighbour’s castle? She peered at the woman’s lined face. Martha had enough worries of her own to keep her busy without knowing of Kenzie’s careless mistake.

‘I know,’ she said lowering the cup, ‘but I decided to deliver the goods tonight. I’ve things to do in the morn.’

‘Dressed for a summer’s day?’ The grooves furrowing Martha’s forehead deepened to ruts.

‘I … I was in a hurry and didn’t think—’

‘A blind man could see ye gave nae thought about what ye’re wearing, Angel.’ Martha shook her head as if in disbelief. ‘Ye’ve barely any meat on yer scrawny hide to start with.’

Not for the first time, Kenzie wondered how any man could have tossed sweet, loving Martha aside for another woman. Not for the first time, Kenzie was selfishly pleased the fool had. She took comfort in the older woman’s scolding because she knew it to be borne of concern. For her. Apart from Ailsa, Kenzie couldn’t remember the last time anyone had worried enough to notice her missing or put their worry for her into words.

When Martha had finished her gentle scolding, Kenzie turned and looked about the small crowded room.

Lesley was a few years older than Kenzie but many years younger than Martha. Even in sleep, she kept her two young daughters tucked against her sides. Kenzie’s gaze moved to another pile of bedding nearby. With one arm cradling her dark-haired infant son, Seumas, and the other curled about her little girl, Kelsey, Aileen blinked awake and offered Kenzie a shy, broken-toothed smile.

Kenzie’s chest tightened as her own lips curved. Aileen had only learned to smile once she’d come to stay with Martha. Kenzie hoped she’d stay long enough for her smile to become permanent.

As Kenzie looked on, Kelsey’s small head of fiery curls lifted and two enormous brown eyes blinked up at her sleepily. Pulling out of her mother’s embrace, Kelsey padded across the cottage fit for two, but housed seven, and climbed into Kenzie’s lap. Kenzie pressed her lips into the soft red hair tumbling over her little forehead and wrapped her arms around the precious child who was afraid of men.

With Kelsey’s head resting on her shoulder, Kenzie questioned Martha about what provisions they’d need when she next visited. The small garden they’d started several years ago now flourished and was one of the skills Martha passed on to the women who stayed for a time. But vegetables alone weren’t enough to feed so many hungry mouths and there were other necessities that one couldn’t grow.