Nathan lifted his shoulders. “Aye, but he arrived, which means ye were late.” Nathan climbed to his feet and looked down at the man whose bloodied face was twisted in rage.
“Laird Cumming is a liar. I stole nothing and killed no one,” Bowie snarled, lifting his head and shoulders as if to rise.
“Don’t move or I’ll slit yer throat,” Caleb said, pressing his blade harder against the wanted-man’s throat.
Nathan grabbed two coils of rope from Caleb’s satchel and tied Bowie’s hands together and then his feet. He stared down at the giant whose handsome features had suddenly softened, and for a moment, Nathan saw what lived inside Bowie—fear and hope.
His gaze sought Nathan’s. “I’m innocent,” he said in a low voice.
Every wanted-man who Nathan had tracked down all made the same claim. “That is for ye and Laird Cumming to work out. My part in this is done.” Nathan turned to the other two members of his band of thief-takers. “Bring him to the sheriff and give him this,” he said, handing over the sealed orders to William, an older man of few words with a long gray beard and only one eye.
After William tucked the square of parchment into his sporran, Nathan shifted his gaze to Thomas, who, at just ten and six, was the newest and youngest member of their gang. “After he is secured, then ride north to Cumming territory. But remember, do not tell the laird where Bowie is being held until he has paid in full.”
“Aye,” Thomas replied, eagerly nodding his flaxen head. “We will accept payment. Then we’ll ride to the next village and hire a messenger to tell the laird where he can find his prize.”
Nathan nodded in approval. “Be careful. Trust no one.”
When Thomas and William had seized Bowie by the arms and began dragging him out into the street, Nathan turned to Caleb. “I’m ready for another ale.”
Caleb frowned. “My guess is that ye’ve had too many cups as it is.”
Nathan flashed a smile, clamping his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “As usual, my friend, ye’ve guessed wrong.”
Caleb sat down across from him and raked a hand through his long, dark hair. “Ye should have waited.”
Nathan waved his hand to show his lack of concern. “I did what I had to. I wasn’t going to risk losing a purse like what Laird Cumming is willing to pay for Bowie.”
“No amount of coin is worth dying for. Anyway, we’ve amassed enough wealth to live like kings for the rest of our days.” Caleb set his sword on the table, and moved to sit down, but then his eyes flashed wide. “Do ye have some kind of death wish? Ye didn’t even have yer sword,” he said accusingly, picking up Nathan’s blade where he had left it on the bench. “I thought that he disarmed ye.”
Nathan felt a soft body press against his. He shifted in his seat and met warm eyes. The serving wench had returned, but this time, she brought two other lasses with her. “I was handling him,” Nathan said absently as he allowed the women to settle on the benches. Straightaway, two nestled next to him and the other turned her attention to Caleb.
Caleb shook his head, seemingly unaware of the pretty dark-eyed lass nuzzling up close to him. “Ye may not care whether ye live or die, but some of us would prefer that ye lived.”
“What are ye going on about? Ye worry too much,” Nathan said before taking a long draught of ale. Then he raised his tankard. “Come, let us celebrate.”
Caleb lifted his shoulders. “But what are we to celebrate? Yer near demise.”
Nathan scoffed. “I had him bested.”
“Ye take too many risks. When will it be enough?”
Nathan shrugged. “Only fools are satisfied,” he drawled before downing the last of his ale.
Then he felt the pull of someone’s gaze. He looked across the room and once again locked eyes with the lady who had arrived just before Bowie. Instantly, she shifted her gaze away from his, her attention now, at least in appearance, on the other corner of the room. But the slight pinking of her cheeks made him believe she was embarrassed for having been caught staring at him. The sight of her hair shimmering in the candlelight and the haughty angle of her chin renewed his interest.
Everything about her bespoke of restraint, from her straight back, to her hands folded demurely in her lap, to her expressionless beauty. He continued to stare at her profile, wondering, once again, who she was and why a lady would come into The Devil’s Bridge dressed as a commoner.
Then, to his surprise, she slowly shifted her gaze back to his, but this time, she did not look away. Her keen eyes and temptingly full lips were framed by a perfect oval face. He raised his tankard in greeting, but the maid on his left noticed the direction of his attention and cupped his cheek to redirect his gaze at her.
“I will do anything for ye, Nathan. Whatever yer heart desires.”
Not to be outdone, the maid on his right boldly stroked her hand under his plaid. “As will I.”
He kissed each woman in turn, slowly, tenderly. Then he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, inviting the numbness of drink to dull his thoughts while the distraction of the nameless, faceless women with roaming hands and soft lips made him forget it all—the highborn beauty in the corner, the look of innocent hope in Bowie’s gaze, the truth of Caleb’s warning, and the demons that never gave his soul reprieve.
Chapter Three
Elora’s heart had pounded while she watched the two men fight, believing for certain that the man who had attacked the giant was going to meet a quick death. After all, not only was he significantly smaller but he had also been unarmed.
She gazed over at the thief-taker who had returned to his table in the corner opposite her own. His appearance was striking. He had black hair, compelling deep-set eyes, and a strong jaw shadowed by rakish stubble. She watched as one of the serving maids leaned over the table seductively while setting another ale in front of him. His generous lips curved, lifting on one side in a sexy sideways smile that, to her own surprise, made Elora’s breath catch.
Apparently, like every other woman in the room vying for his attention, she was not unaffected by his startling appeal.
In fact, she could hardly tear her gaze away from the lustful display taking place before her very eyes. The two women flanking his sides were beautiful despite their painted faces and common dress. Each freely explored his body while he drank his ale.
What piqued her curiosity was that he neither truly engaged their advances nor did he push them away—as if it mattered not whether they stayed or gave their affection to someone else. His manner was careless, in the way he drank and passively allowed the women the use of his body.
She sucked in a sharp breath when he suddenly looked up and they locked eyes. Her face burned. Her heart raced, keeping her from meeting his gaze. The feeling unnerved her to her core. Her composure seldom wavered. Even when she was terrified, she was usually able to hide her fear from the world.
She scanned the tavern, pretending to be too occupied to notice the thief-taker’s scrutiny. At length, her heart quieted and she felt confident that she was once again the master of her emotions. Still feeling his gaze, she turned in his direction. They locked eyes, once again, and this time she held his gaze while she judged what sort of man he truly was.
One thing she knew for certain...He was fearless.
Attacking the armed criminal he had called Bowie, with naught but his fists and lesser brawn certainly supported her belief, but it was not why she had made this assessment of his character.
It was in his eyes.
There was something distant in his gaze, even though his stare seemed to penetrate her very soul. It was as if he was not wholly there, as if he was someplace else, or even nowhere else. He raised his glass to her. She dipped her head slightly in greeting, but one of the women at his side scowled at her before forcing his gaze to meet hers.
A sweet, reassuring smile curved his lips as he cupped the woman’s cheek and kissed her with the tenderness of an attentive lover. When he drew away, the woman
’s face held an almost reverent glow as if she had been anointed rather than simply appeased. He then turned and showed the other woman the same fleeting devotion. When both women renewed their impassioned advances, he took another long draught of ale before leaning his head back against the wall. Then he closed his eyes.
Elora knew at that moment that she, along with everything and everyone else, had been dismissed from his mind.
Meanwhile, he had only just begun to take root in her own thoughts.
She leaned close to Declan. “Speak with the barkeep. Find out everything ye can about that man,” she said, looking pointedly at the dark-haired stranger.
“Aye, my lady,” Declan replied. Then he stood and crossed to the bar while she continued to study the corner table opposite her own.
Elora watched fascinated by the fervor of the lusty women’s actions and, in contrast, his passive response. Certainly, drink was to blame for his sluggish movements, but she was certain there was more to his disinterest.
A peal of feminine laughter drew her gaze to his companion who was also fine to look upon with dark hair and broad shoulders. In contrast, he had barely touched his cup and was giving his full attention to the young woman at his side. He whispered something in her ear, making her blush. Clearly, he could take what he wanted, but instead, he wooed her unnecessarily. In fact, Elora did not doubt that the brunette would welcome the gorgeous man freely into her arms, her bed, and her heart.
“My lady,” Declan said, drawing her gaze. He slid back onto the bench across from her. “His name is Nathan Campbell. His companion is called Caleb but no one can tell me his surname. Nathan and his companions pass through here from time to time. They are thief-takers, as I’m sure ye’ve guessed, and apparently rather successful ones at that.”
Elora looked over at Nathan, whose head was still back and his eyes closed.
“Is he of the southern Campbells?” she asked brightly, her mind fixed on the clan’s great size and wealth.
“Nay, he hails from the north and is the chieftain’s third son, although he is not in the laird’s favor.”
Her eyes widened. The laird’s third son—his connections were better than she had dared hope. She chewed her bottom lip while she continued to study him. Despite her outer calm, her heart raced. He met her minimal requirements...He was a thief-taker, which meant he could be bought. Judging by his indulgent nature and recklessness, he was not overly concerned with his mortal soul, and he was a chieftain’s son.
She turned to her guard. “I have made my choice.” She nodded in Nathan’s direction. “He’s the one.”
“The thief-taker? Nay, my lady! They’re no better than criminals.”
Ignoring Declan’s protests, she continued. “I must speak with him, but not here. There are too many ears. Arrange for a room upstairs. Then ask him to come to me."
After Declan begrudgingly left to speak to the barkeep, Elora looked across the room. Nathan was still leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. She smiled, thinking that if he only knew what she was about to ask him, he would sober right up.
“To us,” she said quietly and lifted her tankard to toast the man who she was certain could save her from a life of emptiness and misery.
Chapter Four
“Nathan.”
Nathan slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to meet the gaze of the wench on his left.
“Come upstairs. Ye don’t need to pay.” Her hand splayed wide against his chest. “I want ye in my bed.”
“Maisie, I spotted him first,” the barmaid sitting on his right snapped.
“Ye had him the last time he came through town. Tonight, he’s mine.”
Nathan peered into his tankard. “Empty,” he mumbled to himself before he stood.
“Sit back down,” both lassies said together.
He brushed past the one called Maisie and started toward the bar, when a man with hard, angry eyes suddenly appeared in front of him. Nathan blinked and cleared his thoughts, forcing his senses to sharpen.
“What do ye want?” he snapped. An instant later, Caleb appeared at his side.
“What’s going on?” Caleb interjected.
“I do not ken.” Nathan crossed his arms over his chest. “He hasn’t said.”
“Well, get on with it,” Caleb demanded of the stranger.
Hands clenched at his sides, the man answered, “I need to speak with ye. ‘Tis a business matter. I have a room upstairs.”
With a slight shake of his head, Nathan brushed past the man.
“Find me on the morrow if ye wish to speak,” he heard Caleb say.
“It must be now,” the man replied. “Wait!”
Nathan stopped and slowly turned back. It was then that he recognized the man as the lady’s guard. He jerked around and looked toward the corner table, but she was gone. Turning back to her guard, he said, knowingly, “’Tis she who wishes to see me.”
The man nodded. “Will ye join her upstairs?”
Now, it all made sense.
The lady had come to the Devil’s Bridge to find a mate for the night. She must be one of those pitiable creatures who had been forced to marry a much older man who couldn’t possibly satisfy the hungers of the flesh. After all, she had given him a look of open appraisal. Clearly, she had chosen him to be her lover for the night. A smile curved his lips as he remembered how she had dusted off the bench before she sat. Mayhap beneath her rigid discipline beat a passionate heart.
Intrigued, he said, “Lead on.”
He followed the guard toward the stairs, then noticed Caleb was trailing just behind. “She requested my company. If she wanted two men to fill her bed, I think she would have made that explicit.”
A smile played at Caleb’s lips. “Ye and I both know she is not what she seems, nor have we established anything explicit about her request other than wishing to see ye in private. Ye’re not without enemies. When we are certain of her intentions, then I will leave ye to it.”
“Suit yerself,” Nathan shrugged before continuing after the guard.
They followed him upstairs. He knocked on a door.
“Enter,” came a feminine reply from inside.
The guard swung the door wide, and the lady rose from her seat on a rough-hewn chair positioned next to a crackling brazier. Despite her simple, homespun garments, she was as regal as a queen.
A smile curved his lips. “My lady,” he said, dipping his head to her.
The slight widening of her eyes revealed that he had surprised her.
“Ye’re no common lass and I’m no fool.”
“Good,” she replied. “My needs cannot be satisfied by a fool.”
He drew closer. “Then I am here to satisfy yer needs.”
“Indeed,” she said. “Why else would I have asked ye to join me?”
He looked pointedly at Caleb and the guard who were both standing near the door. “I believe we shall need some privacy.”
She shook her head and came forward. “I see no need for that. Come in, gentlemen and close the door.”
He cocked a brow at her. Never would he have guessed that she would have such wanton tastes. He swept his cloak off his shoulders and laid it on the back of the chair. “Shall we begin?”
“Indeed.”
He crossed the room and stood in front of her, but she stiffly retreated back several steps.
He smiled and seized her waist, pulling her close. “Are we to play cat and mouse?” he asked, his voice husky.
“How dare ye?” she cried, pushing him away.
“Take yer hands off her!”
The familiar sound of a blade leaving its sheath rent the air, quickly followed by another.
Nathan whirled around. The guard brandished his sword at Nathan, a look of fury twisting his features while Caleb’s sword was pointed at the guard.
“What are ye playing at?” Nathan growled, turning to face the woman.
“Me?” she scoffed. “’Tis ye who are in the wrong.”
“There is usually only one reason a woman invites a man to her room.”
With a haughty tilt of her chin, she gave him a sharp look, her delicate features showing her displeasure. “I have asked ye here so that we might converse in private.”
He grabbed his cloak. “Conversation is the last thing I want right now.”
“Ye will not speak so to her,” the guard snapped again.
“Watch yer temper,” Caleb said in reply, his tone holding an unmistakable warning.
“Insufferable men,” the lady blurted. “Declan, put down yer sword.”
“But, my lady,” he began.
“Do as I’ve ordered!”
Without further hesitation, the guard complied.
Then she turned to Caleb. “Do the same.”
Caleb, too, lowered his sword.
“Now, sit down,” she commanded Nathan.
He considered antagonizing her further, but he was suddenly curious enough to know why she had arranged for their meeting. Taking a seat, he looked at her expectantly. “I’m listening.”
“I am Lady Elora Brodie. My father passed away three months ago. At the time, he had been in negotiations with our neighbor, Laird Mackintosh, for my hand. A contract was never signed. Still, the laird pressures me to continue with the arrangements.”
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“I have no intention of marrying him, but if I simply refuse, I risk offending him, which would surely lead to a feud.”
“Again, I must ask what this has to do with me?”
“The only way I can see to avoid this marriage without violence is to make my own contract, and I have chosen ye to be my betrothed.”
Nathan stiffened. Was this cold, highborn woman proposing marriage to him? He must have had more to drink than he thought. Standing, he said, “I will take my leave now.” Then he turned and headed toward the door.
“I will pay ye handsomely,” she called after him, but he did not stop to acknowledge her words.
The Renegade (Rebel Hearts, #1) Page 2