The Thief (9 page)

‘All cattle accounted for,’ Dair added.

The last of the tension in Lachlan’s shoulders dissolved. ‘Find a cup each and take a seat.’

Caelan entered the hall with the guards who weren’t on duty. His brother’s nod indicated that all Lachlan had asked had been done. Caelan’s eagerness to be involved in clan matters, combined with his closeness to the Elliot people and his determination to see things through, proved he’d make a fine clan leader. A surge of pride mingled with guilt rushed through Lachlan. Fulfilling his oaths would crush any such hopes his brother had.

He turned back to Kenzie. ‘‘Tis time to set my clansmen at ease,’ he said quietly. Her eyes met his and she gave a brisk nod. He stood, offering her his hand. ‘Come.’

She hesitated before lightly resting her fingers across his. He closed his hand around them, felt the slight tremble in the centre of his palm. She gained her feet. He waited until she was ready to turn and face the occupants in the hall. Slipping one arm around her back, he drew her closer to his side, his hand settling at her waist.

Scanning the sea of faces gathered before them, he found Murdoch’s and acknowledged his steward’s nod of readiness with one of his own.

‘It has been an interesting and eventful night,’ Lachlan began, loud and clear. ‘Much has happened and I must thank many of you for risking your lives to fight off the English scum who seem to have a taste for our prized cattle.’ Low-voiced murmurs rumbled from the crowd. ‘But once again we sent them home with naught for their efforts bar new scars they’ll likely boast to their bairns about.’ Lachlan paused as a round of laughter filled the Hall. ‘And then there are those of you who proved yourselves by dealing with an accidental fire that started in my absence.’ Kenzie’s hand flinched within his. He gently squeezed her fingers.

‘I’ll happily live without more such surprises,’ a clansman said in good-natured relief. A chorus of ‘ayes’ and soft chuckles followed his confession.

Lachlan’s splayed fingers settled more comfortably on the curve at Kenzie’s waist.

When the murmurs had quieted, he continued. ‘I’m hoping you can all stomach a different kind of surprise.’ Only the crackling flames in the hearth sounded now. ‘As some of you know, I promised my dying father I’d marry and fill the Borders with many handsome Elliot sons.’ A round of cheers filled the hall, smothering the curse uttered by his bride-to-be. She strained against his hold; he tightened his grip.

‘The bonny lass standing at my side is Kenzie Irvine, the woman I’ve chosen to be my wife.’ A roar of excitement echoed around the vast chamber. Lachlan peered down at the woman trying to pry his hand from her waist. ‘Hold still,’ he said through a forced smile.

She glared up at him. ‘You were supposed to set them at ease.’

‘They seem happy enough to me.’

‘I started the fire to escape marrying you.’

‘If you speak a mite louder, they will all be able to hear you.’

‘I have nae wish to wed.’

‘The priest is here, and your father, and I have already agreed to the terms of our union.’

‘A union that will be doomed from the start.’

‘Only if you let it be,’ Lachlan said through gritted teeth. ‘Someone should have taken you in hand long ago.’

‘And you think you are that someone?’

‘I know it.’

‘You have a high opinion of yourself, then.’

‘Hear me well, little thief: you’ll either marry me or I’ll slip the cursed rope about your slender neck myself.’

‘Again, nae choice.’

‘Again, you should have weighed the consequences before you stole my horse.’

As if she knew he spoke the truth, she ceased resisting him. With his free hand, Lachlan signalled to Murdoch waiting by the kitchen entrance.

‘Clansmen. I have another introduction to make.’ Murdoch led the priest from the kitchen located to the right of the Hall. Lundy filled the vacated doorway, doing his best to keep Ailsa, the curious Irvine maid, from sight, and doing a poor job of it. ‘I give you Father Tremayne of Dumfries,’ Lachlan announced to all as the priest approached the laird’s table.

The man of God smiled and turned, acknowledging the clan’s rowdy welcome with a nod. The woman against his side stiffened.

‘‘Tis late,’ Lachlan continued, ‘but since we’re gathered, what say you to marrying us now, rather than in the morn?’

Roaring cheers from his clan rattled the walls. The priest looked at Lachlan and Kenzie, a twinkle in his eye, a grin splitting his face. The body pressed against Lachlan’s side turned rigid.

‘I see nae reason to delay,’ Father Tremayne said.

‘Good,’ Lachlan said. ‘Let’s have it done.’

***

Breathe, Kenzie.

Tiny black spots dotted the blurred faces of the mob. Her mind whirled.
She was getting married. Now.

Nae! It couldn’t be. There must be some way out, some way for her to elude the initial misery and the hollow sadness that followed. But there wasn’t and she was about to pay the ultimate price for stealing Lachlan Elliot’s horse. The black dots faded as the faces of a hundred strangers took shape, all different, yet all wearing the same expression of delight.

A short time ago she’d been so cold it seemed ice had flowed through her veins. Now, her blood bubbled hot and swift beneath her skin. Her heart knocked loud against the wall of her chest but couldn’t drown out the priest’s voice raised in prayer.

‘I will.’ Another’s voice. The man holding her close. His acceptance. Too fast. She hadn’t even had time to think. Her head swam. The mob swayed. Then she caught a glimpse of Ailsa’s sweet face, showing like the sun on a bleak day, from the doorway to the right.

Ailsa? Straining against Lachlan Elliot’s hold, she tried to get a better view but a tall, redheaded man blocked the doorway. Had she really seen Ailsa or had the sighting only been a desperate hope? Kenzie could see no good reason for Ailsa to be here and for her friend’s sake, she was glad she was not.

More words, like shards, filled her ears. ‘Kenzie … troth … Lachlan …’

The hand about her waist drew her closer. Kenzie started to look away from the entrance when the flaming-haired clansman turned sideways and Ailsa’s familiar face appeared. Her friend
was
here. Why?

A brutal tightness filled her chest.

Once again she tried to close the distance between herself and Ailsa. Hopeless. Fear for her friend’s safety sent a chill through her belly. If Lachlan Elliot chose to marry a woman who’d rather hang than wed him, what was he capable of doing to gentle Ailsa? Kenzie was the one who’d stolen Lachlan Elliot’s horse and deserved to be punished. Ailsa was an innocent; her only crime was being Kenzie’s friend. Guilt churned inside her.

‘Death … you … him?’ A question.

Silence.

‘Say the words, Kenzie.’ A whispered command.

She stiffened in response.

‘Say it, Kenzie.’ Harsher. Bordering on desperation. What could Lachlan Elliot ever feel desperation for?

Her gaze darted to the older man standing in front of the trestle, his thick grey brows lifted in expectation. She glanced back at the opening. Empty.
Be safe, Ailsa.

‘Two simple words and it’s done,’ Lachlan Elliot said softly in her ear.

Wed him, secure Ailsa’s release, then have the marriage annulled.

‘Kenzie.’ Almost a plea.

‘I will.’ The words spilled from her mouth in a rush.

The priest’s lips were moving but the violent buzzing in her head muted all sound. The arm supporting her shifted and turned her. Large warm hands slid along each side of her face, tilting her head back. Lachlan Elliot’s handsome, rugged features filled her view.

‘Hello, wife,’ he whispered.

Oh God, she was married.

Kenzie’s fingers clutched his forearms. ‘Curse you.’

‘Too late.’

His face dipped closer, drawing her in until she could only see the determination in his eyes.

‘Nae,’ she whispered, lifting one foot and stamping down on top of his. How she wished she wore her sturdy boots rather than borrowed slippers.

‘Aye,’ he whispered. Eyes smiling, he showed no hint of pain.

Damn him.

His lips touched hers, warm, petal-soft. Her eyes widened, staring into his. Her belly fluttered. Her fingers tightened about his wrists as he stole the very air she’d fought so hard to breathe.

A mighty cheer roared through the chamber. Stunned by the softness of his mouth, Kenzie found herself scooped up into powerful arms and carried across the room.

‘A feast at noon to celebrate,’ Lachlan Elliot shouted to the elated throng. A thunderous cry of approval erupted behind them as they ascended the stairs.

He’d kissed her.
She pressed cool fingertips to her tingling lips. Shivering warmth trickled through her at the memory of his sweet, gentle kiss.

Huge double oaken doors loomed before them on the landing above. The man carting her about, as if she weighed no more than a wheat husk, adjusted his hold and reached for the iron latch. The door swung inward, revealing a massive bed set to one side of the chamber. A laird’s bed, where unwanted children were conceived.

An icy chill swept all trace of heat from her body. She’d done what she’d sworn never to do: she’d married. And not just anyone. She’d married someone of power. A man who bent those around him to do his bidding. A man just like her father.

Struggling out of his arms, she dropped onto a thick pile of soft furs and scrambled off the bed on the opposite side. Chest heaving, she glared at the laird responsible for stealing her breath and her freedom.

Heart pounding, she ignored his single raised brow. ‘I will never be your wife in truth, Lachlan Elliot.’

Chapter 7

Lachlan stared at the slender fury glaring at him from the far side of his ancestral bed. Gone was the soft, sedate woman he’d carried only moments ago; the she-devil had returned.

Dragging a hand along his bristled jaw, his interest dipped to her heaving chest and then lifted to pause on the sweet lips he’d barely tasted, before coming to rest on the dark circles under her eyes. His fingers stilled on his chin. Bedding his bride appeared to be an unwise notion at present. His body sighed its disappointment, while his mind churned with her vow to never be his wife in truth. A denial he hadn’t expected and one he could ill afford.

‘It has always been my understanding that every woman longs to wed,’ he said, dropping his arm by his side. ‘Tell me, Kenzie, what is it about marriage you detest?’

‘It’s a little late for such questions, is it not?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Even so, I’m asking now.’

She slowly shook her head. ‘You have been gravely misinformed. Not every woman longs to wed,’ she said with quiet intensity. ‘I, for one, vowed never to marry any man.’

‘You didn’t marry just any man. You married
me
.’

‘And you are a beast for forcing sweet Ailsa to be a part of this … this tragedy.’

Lachlan’s gut clenched at the fierceness in his wife’s tone and her description of their marriage. It seemed marrying Kenzie had been the easy part.

‘So, you’ve seen Ailsa?’ He folded his arms across his chest.

‘Of course I saw her. Just as you’d planned for me to.’

‘And?’ he said, arching a brow.

‘One of your fellow beasts was holding her prisoner in a doorway below.’ Her hands clenched by her sides. ‘I warn you now, if you harm even one—’

‘Why do you think she is here at Redheugh Castle?’ he said.

‘How else would you have gained my consent to wed you?’

Lachlan stared into her accusing eyes. His blood began to boil. Stubborn, infuriating wench. He could talk to her until the whiskers on his chin grew down to his navel, but he knew it would do no good.

‘Whatever you believe, Kenzie, ‘tis done and ‘tis late. Get into bed.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I will not lie with you.’

‘Aye, you will. But not tonight.’

‘I won’t share your bed,’ she said, stepping back into the shadows.

‘Fine.’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘You have the bed, I’ll take a chair.’ He turned to look at the two wide chairs positioned before the flickering fire. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spent the night sprawled in one or the other.

‘I’ll not sleep in your bed. I’ll take the chair.’

‘Good God, woman. Take the chair, then,’ he said grabbing a pillow and one of the furs from his bed and throwing them onto the closest chair. Withdrawing the dagger from his waistband, he tossed the weapon onto the bed. Lifting one foot, he reached for his boot.

‘You can’t mean to disrobe in front of me,’ she said, mortified.

‘Turn your back then, for I do not sleep clothed.’

Her gasp of indignation filled the room as she whirled about. He removed his boots. Her rigid shoulders flinched at each thud of leather hitting the timber floorboards.

Smiling for the first time since entering his chamber, he set his hands on the tails of his shirt. As he undressed, he peered into the shadows across the bed, silently urging her to face him.

She didn’t.

He pulled the covers back and climbed between the sheets. ‘Ah!’ His wife stiffened at the sound of his exaggerated sigh and his smile widened. Slipping his dagger beneath his pillow, he clasped his hands under his head, sank into the ticking and closed his eyes. Waiting.

The fire hissed and popped, while the wind outside whistled low against the shutters. Lifting his lids a fraction, he found his wife standing still and silent where he’d left her, weariness cloaking her lithe form.

Damned unyielding woman.

‘I suggest you move now, Kenzie,’ he said softly, ‘or I will have nae choice but to undress you and tuck you into my bed.’

She whirled around. ‘Nae.’ Her gaze darted from his face to his naked chest. Wide-eyed, she spun away. ‘Nae,’ she repeated, skirting the foot of the bed and approaching the chairs.

Through lowered lids he watched as she transferred the bedding to the furthest chair, plumping the pillow to her liking before climbing, fully clothed, into the nest she’d created. He slowed and deepened his breathing, ensuring she remained unaware of his perusal.