The Thief

by Allison Butler

  She released the mass, and it swung about her shoulders until it settled at her back. She then searched the crowded room for something or someone to break the spell of awareness suddenly thickening the air. His regard hadn’t left her unbound hair. She could feel it. Felt the slight ripple when his fingers sampled the softness of one lock.

  Her heart pounded at the intimate touch.

  ‘Do the musicians never tire?’ she asked in a rush.

  He released the strand. Her pulse raced a moment more and then slowed.

  ‘Tevis and Cam will continue to pluck and blow until the last man or woman falls.’ Kenzie heard the fondness in his voice. ‘The two will be pleased, for it seems all are far from retiring, despite the lateness of the hour.’

  ‘Lateness?’

  ‘Aye, ‘tis after midnight.’

  She’d been happily dancing for hours.

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked, turning curious eyes his way.

  ‘The guards who begin their duty at midnight left some time ago, and those they relieved have joined the merrymakers.’

  Kenzie’s gaze followed the direction Lachlan’s had taken and she couldn’t help but smile at the sheer enjoyment of those she watched.

  ‘Do you wish to dance some more?’

  Kenzie looked at her husband. ‘Thank you, but nae.’ She wriggled her toes to ensure they hadn’t fallen off. ‘I fear my feet have suffered enough for one night.’

  ‘Ah, I have the perfect remedy for tired and battered feet.’

  He stood and repositioned his chair to face her, then, grasping the armrests of hers, lifted the heavy wooden chair and turned her to face him.

  Kenzie had no time to do anything aside from clutching the padded section of her seat and holding her breath. Said breath rushed out on a gasp as he grasped her slippered feet and set them on his knees.

  ‘What in Mother Mary’s name are you doing?’ she said, desperately trying to arrange her skirt to cover her exposed lower legs.

  ‘As your husband it is my duty to see you remain fit to dance another day.’ He slid her slippers free and dropped them to the floor, any sound they made smothered by the continued revelry on the other side of the laird’s table.

  The first passing of his thumbs across the pads of her feet sent her toes to curling and had her arching off the chair.

  ‘Ohh, you shouldn’t,’ she said, her voice strained with both discomfort and delight.

  ‘Aye, I should. Your feet will be thankful for it.’

  His clever thumbs worked slow, firm circles across her aching heels. Shivers raced the length of her limbs, causing her inner thighs to tighten and an unknown heat to spring to life between her legs. He brought utter relief to her aching soles, causing her to writhe in glorious agony. His ministrations must be wicked, but she sank her teeth into her lower lip to silence the moans crowding her throat, and to halt the words requesting him to cease.

  He uncurled each of her toes and paid every one particular care and attention. ‘You have delicious toes, Kenzie.’

  Kenzie grasped the armrests and tried to resist her body’s cry to twist sideways. She stared at his bent head. Horror seeped through her. Delicious? He sounded as if he wanted to taste—surely not. Blessed God, she couldn’t take much more.

  ‘You may stop now,’ she gasped.

  ‘Why? Are you not enjoying it?’ He cocked one brow, knowing well how much she liked it.

  In desperation, she searched for a way to distract him.

  ‘Your father wanted you to wed?’ she blurted.

  His magic fingers stilled. Kenzie latched onto the moment to regain some sense of balance.

  ‘It was my father’s dying wish.’ His fingers resumed stroking her sensitive arches.

  She’d asked the question to distract him, and yet his answer, his tone, distracted her. Curiosity blunted the quivering sensations rushing through her feet and body. ‘What of your mother?’

  His fingers slid from her soles and wrapped about her ankles. He peered at the jostling crowd before turning narrowed eyes on her. ‘My father loved her more than life.’

  Stunned by his response and the severity in his tone, Kenzie held her tongue as he gently removed her feet from his knees and replaced her slippers.

  He glanced over her shoulder. ‘Your maid approaches,’ he said and stood. ‘I have another promise to fulfil.’ With a tight smile, he left.

  Experiencing a sharp pang of loss at his departure, Kenzie followed his progress along one side of the hall. He stopped to speak with someone she couldn’t see. She turned at the soft touch on her arm. Ailsa’s cheeks were flushed red and a grin lit her face.

  ‘I didn’t chase your husband away, did I?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Kenzie said, forcing her lips to rise at the corners. ‘Sit and tell me what has made your eyes sparkle so.’

  Ailsa needed no further encouragement, rattling off the reasons she couldn’t stop smiling: Lundy’s attentions; everyone’s kindness; Lundy’s smile; how happy the Elliot people were; Lundy’s sense of mirth; how handsome Lundy was.

  Kenzie smiled and listened, searching for her husband’s broad shoulders among the mob every now and then. His abrupt departure had left her feeling disappointed. She also couldn’t help wondering who had extracted a promise from him and what Lachlan had to do to fulfil it.

  She found her husband not far from where he’d paused to chat, but now he was dancing. He wore a genuine smile on his handsome face as he peered down at whoever was in his arms.

  Kenzie stretched her neck, desperate to glimpse his partner. There—a snatch of long, golden hair. Kenzie’s heart thundered in her chest, as swift as the lively music. The throng pranced and jostled, but the movements of the couple she studied were slow, their bodies close.

  Her stomach clenched. She tried to swallow, but a lump of something resembling envy clogged her throat. A shift in the crowd offered a quick side-on view of one flushed cheek, a delicate jawline and a slender neck before the revellers shifted again, leaving Kenzie with an impression of unblemished beauty.

  Her husband was dancing with an unknown, beautiful woman. The sweet wine she’d consumed now tasted sour in her mouth. Was she his mistress?

  ‘Are you ill, Kenzie?’

  She turned to see Ailsa gazing at her, a frown creasing her brow.

  Shaking her head, she said, ‘It has been a long day and I’m weary.’ She forced a smile for her friend and stood. ‘I am off to seek my bed.’

  ‘Then I will escort you to your chamber,’ Ailsa said, gaining her feet.

  ‘Nae, Ailsa,’ she said, taking her friend’s hand. ‘I’m quite capable of retiring on my own. And I’m certain somewhere in this room, your Lundy is awaiting your return.’

  Ailsa’s frown disappeared as she scanned the horde, and from the flush rising pink on her face, Kenzie assumed she’d found Lundy.

  ‘Be careful, Ailsa,’ Kenzie warned, releasing her hand and heading for the stairwell. She lifted her skirts and climbed the stairs, tread heavy, every step a small mountain she needed to scale.

  Partway up, she couldn’t resist turning and looking back into the heaving mass. Wheat-coloured hair tinged with cinnamon strands caught her eye. Tearing her gaze free, she dashed up the remaining stairs and opened one of the twin doors at the top. She rushed inside, closed the door and pressed her back against the solid oak.

  She was a fool. She’d let herself be lured into her secret desire to dance by a man with a heart-stopping smile, and for a time she had believed Lachlan was different to other men of his ilk. She was wrong. Her husband was as self-serving and uncaring as her father.

  Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she willed her heart to slow and begged the ugly questions echoing inside her head to stop.

  Who was the beautiful woman Lachlan danced with and what had he promised her?

  Chapter 10

  Kenzie opened her eyes and stared at the firelight flickering along the high wooden beams above—beams supporting the
roof of her husband’s bedchamber.

  Jerking upright, she clutched the coverlet to her chest and scanned the room for Lachlan. The bedding she’d tossed on the chair last night was now a neatly folded pile and the only sign that her absent, promise-keeping husband had been there at all.

  Her fingers loosened. The bedclothes fell to her lap. She didn’t care where and with whom he spent his nights. She grasped the covers, flung them aside and slipped from the bed. Crossing the chamber, she peeked out through the shutter and noted the bleak early morning matched her current mood.

  Turning from the pale, grey gloom, she made use of the cold water to splash the hard-won sleep from her eyes and pass the cloth over the rest of her body with brisk strokes. With naught else to wear, she shook out the green woollen gown she’d worn to her wedding feast and pulled it over her head.

  A hint of sandalwood lingered in the wool. She paused within the folds, inhaling deeply as memories of being held close against Lachlan’s chest while dancing stole into her mind. Unwelcome images of a golden head resting against the same sandalwood-scented chest had her wrenching the garment down and wrestling it into place.

  She’d lived in the shadows all her life and watched her sister Jeanne shine from afar. Was she to be forever eclipsed by women of golden beauty?

  She grabbed a handful of her hair and looked down at it. Long, soft, the colour of mud. With a sigh she dragged a brush through her plain, dark locks and slid her feet into her borrowed slippers. Slippers her husband had removed before rubbing the aches from her feet with his clever hands. Her toes curled. Had his fingers worked their magic on the flaxen-haired beauty’s feet after they’d danced? Had he called her toes delicious, too?

  ‘Argh! The man is a beast, and is free to dance and dally with whomever he pleases. I do not care.’ She dropped the brush to the table and fashioned her hair into a braid.

  She’d been a fool to think Lachlan had wed her for any reason other than to increase his clan’s security in the Borders. He didn’t even need her to provide him with an heir: he already had one in his brother, Caelan. Which suited her well, as she’d vowed never to bring a child into an uncaring world. How could she when there were so many unwanted children needing to be cared for, needing a home, needing to be loved? She’d survived without much of the love and kindness she viewed as necessities, but she’d sworn long ago to never take the chance with a child of her own. No one lived forever. Who would love and care for her child if she no longer could?

  Kenzie didn’t need Lachlan for anything. His actions proved he didn’t want or need anything more from her either. But there were those who did. Those who relied on her. Those who appeared delighted just to see her. Like Kelsey and Aileen and sweet, scolding Martha.

  Concentrating on the comforting thought, she exited the chamber. As she descended the staircase, she was greeted by a chorus of snores and grunts from the bodies littering the Great Hall. Casting a glance at the room’s centre, the joy she’d experienced while dancing rushed back as if she’d been carried from the floor to her chair only moments ago.

  Happy memories she’d never forget.

  Happy memories marred by a vision of Lachlan holding another woman close.

  Looking away, she faced forward and skirted the laird’s table. A blast of heat from the roaring fire in the hearth reminded her of the warmth she’d suffered from Lachlan’s attentions and his nearness. She bit the inside of her lower lip to banish such thoughts and made her way down one side of the vast chamber. From experience, she knew where she’d find out who the beauty was, as all gossip somehow made its way to the working heart of any keep.

  As she neared the archway, she paused and filled her lungs with air scented by freshly baked bread. The smell reminded her how much she loved the warm and inviting feeling she’d always had in the kitchens at Irvine Keep. The mouth-watering aroma also reminded her of those who’d gone without, due to Lachlan Elliot’s interference. His mount would have fetched a grand price, but since he’d robbed her of her prize, she’d take what she needed from here.

  ‘All I possess becomes my bride’s the day we wed.’ His words hadn’t impressed her at the time, but until she could have their marriage annulled, she’d take full advantage of them.

  She stepped into the kitchen. Heat from the ovens bathed her face, and the amiable banter from the servants as they worked sparked a familiar feeling of ease and a sense of belonging.

  Ailsa stood at one end of the long, sturdy table that took up a good portion of the room’s centre, elbow deep in a large bowl of dough, flour smearing one pink cheek. Kenzie smiled, sure Ailsa’s flush had less to do with her friend’s present task and everything to do with her excited chatter about the past night’s activities.

  Bunches of herbs hung from the wooden rafters overhead, adding to the warm, cluttered feeling of the room. Pots and cooking utensils vied for space on the thin bench running the full length of one side wall.

  A jolly laugh caught Kenzie’s attention. She saw it shake the ample chest of a woman stirring an iron pot in the huge fireplace cut in to the far wall. The older servant lifted a fleshy arm to wipe the sweat from her face and said, ‘Aye, even our Davina had to take to the floor.’

  ‘I had little choice,’ said a muffled voice from the left side of the room. A halo of golden hair appeared as the speaker straightened and slid a paddle holding two loaf tins onto a stone bench nestled between the ovens. ‘A promise is a promise and I couldn’t refuse our laird.’

  Recognition hit Kenzie like a white-hot blade against her breast.

  ‘Oh, but it was grand,’ the woman finished on a sigh.

  Your husband means nothing to you.

  Stiffening her spine, Kenzie pushed away from the wall and drew a deep breath. A rush of much-needed air filled her lungs. Ailsa’s gaze met hers.

  ‘Oh, my lady,’ her friend said in surprise. ‘You’re awake early.’

  Kenzie’s face heated as all eyes turned on her.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Ailsa continued. ‘The laird asked me to deliver a tray to your chamber. I had only to finish kneading this lot and I would have brought you something to break your fast. I’ve prepared the—’

  ‘Do not fret so, Ailsa. I am here now and will happily break my fast in the warmth of the kitchen.’ Smiling at the flustered maid, she held her chin high and walked toward the table. ‘Will you not introduce me to your friends?’

  ‘Oh, aye, my lady, aye,’ Ailsa said, flicking a glance toward the two serving women as she wiped the excess dough from her fingers. ‘This is Geneen,’ she said, gesturing with sticky hands at the older woman who faced Kenzie and offered a curtsey.

  ‘My lady.’

  ‘‘Tis a pleasure to meet you, Geneen.’

  ‘And this is Davina,’ Ailsa concluded.

  Kenzie turned and found wide, bright green eyes looking at her. Fair-hued lashes lowered as the girl dropped in an awkward curtsey. ‘My lady.’

  Fifteen or sixteen summers, Kenzie guessed, as she stared at the crown of fair hair. She was a definite beauty, but also a fool to allow her laird to use her so. The maid wobbled.

  ‘Davina,’ Kenzie said, her tone brisk. The beauty slowly straightened.

  ‘I’ll just finish preparing your tray,’ Ailsa said.

  ‘I can do it,’ Davina volunteered. ‘The loaves need to cool a little before I turn them out.’

  ‘Are you certain?’ Ailsa asked.

  ‘Aye, I’ll manage.’

  ‘Nothing fancy this morn, I’m sad to say, my lady,’ Geneen said. ‘Oats and bread is all I can offer as Cook is likely one of the drunkards you stepped over to get here.’

  ‘Oats and fresh bread will suffice,’ Kenzie said, drawing out one of the wooden stools she spied under the enormous trestle. She placed it near to where Ailsa had resumed shaping the dough and climbed onto the high seat.

  ‘I truly am sorry I wasn’t quick enough to help you dress and to bring your tray,’ Ailsa whispered. ‘If there’s anythi
ng you need—’

  ‘Dear Ailsa, as you can see, I’m quite capable of seeing to my own needs.’ She peered down at the gown she’d worn yesterday and said, ‘Though I’d welcome a fresh gown or, better yet, my own tunic and hose.’

  ‘Oh, but green becomes you, my lady,’ Ailsa said with a smile.

  ‘You’re very sweet, Ailsa. I’m glad you’re here with me.’ Resting one elbow on the table and her chin in her palm, she spoke softly. ‘There is something you can do for me.’

  Ailsa glanced up. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I need six loaves, three rounds of cheese, three sacks to equally divide the goods and anything else that will fit in the sacks.’ Her friend’s eyes met hers and widened before drifting to the others in the room. ‘Place the sacks in a corner of the laird’s chamber out of sight.’

  ‘But how will you get it to—’

  ‘Please do not worry yourself. The delivery is my concern. Having you gather all I’ve asked for is much appreciated.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Sometime today will be soon enough.’

  ‘I’ll see it done.’

  ‘Thank you, Ailsa,’ she said and exchanged a smile with her maid. ‘I know the women and children appreciate your help.’

  With part of her plan in place, Kenzie relaxed a little. It seemed kitchens in every castle exuded the same feeling of welcome. Despite the hurt she still experienced at seeing the young woman her husband had held in his arms, she let the comforting warmth wrap about her.

  She glanced over to the giant open fire and watched Geneen ladle steaming oats into the wooden bowl Davina held at the ready. ‘You appear to have made fast friends with Geneen and Davina.’

  ‘They’ve been awfully nice to me,’ Ailsa said.

  Anything else her friend said fell on deaf ears when Kenzie caught sight of the young beauty, her teeth biting into her lower lip, as she crossed the room carrying the bowl of oats. She stared at the determination colouring the maid’s face. Davina’s attention was fixed firmly on her offering: Kenzie’s trailed down the slender form to the source of her lurching, awkward gait.