The Thief

by Allison Butler

  A heavy, ugly boot scraped the flagstone floor each time Davina drew her twisted left foot forward, the toes of which were turned so far inward they kicked the ankle of her right foot.

  Kenzie straightened in her seat. A fat lump of sadness crept into her throat. Understanding crept in, making sense of the slow steps and Lachlan’s closeness while the two had swayed to the music. Self-loathing surged in her. Dear God, she hadn’t known.

  Her mind raced, searching for excuses to alleviate her guilt, but there were none. Only the harsh reality of her inner cruelty rose up to merge with her shame—shame that fast dried the undeserving moisture pooling in her eyes. Shame that had her sliding from the stool and marching around to the other side of the table, asking, ‘Have you ladies yet broken your fast?’ A chorus of ‘naes’ sounded. ‘Then I would be honoured to have you all join me while I break mine.’

  ‘But, my lady—’

  ‘We couldn’t—’

  ‘Thank you, but—’

  ‘I would truly rather eat in company than alone,’ Kenzie interrupted, separating three wooden bowls from the pile stacked neatly on a shelf, and presenting them to Geneen with a determined look.

  ‘Well, if you insist, my lady,’ Geneen said, though she still appeared unsure.

  ‘I do, Geneen.’ She nodded and strode back to the table. ‘And my name is Kenzie. Please use it. “My lady” sounds too stiff,’ she said wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Aye, Kenzie,’ Ailsa said with a grin.

  Moving, simply doing something useful, helped Kenzie remain in the kitchen instead of running for the stairs. She pulled out two stools from beneath the huge table and it took every ounce of will to casually wave Davina to her seat and not lift her onto it as she wanted to. But the clear expression of joyous relief on the young maid’s face when she’d placed the bowl full of oats on the tabletop stopped her. Kenzie’s ugly thoughts were just that—thoughts—and she knew if she offered aid where it wasn’t needed, Davina’s faith in herself might vanish beneath Kenzie’s desire to purge her guilt.

  Fetching two loaves from the carefully arranged rows on the far end of the trestle, she picked up the carving knife and carved one loaf into thick slices. ‘What were you discussing before I arrived?’

  ‘Last night, Davina danced for the very first time,’ Ailsa said cheerfully, moving away to wash her hands.

  As did I. Kenzie swallowed those particular words and said, ‘I am a little surprised.’

  ‘Why?’ Davina blinked her lovely green eyes.

  ‘I imagined you would have had a string of young men lining up for the honour long before now.’

  Geneen placed the last bowl of oats and an earthen jar on the table, while Davina set four wooden spoons beside each one.

  ‘That is kind of you to say, my … ah …’

  ‘Kenzie,’ she reminded her softly.

  ‘… Kenzie. But being fair of face does not make one a good dance partner.’

  The knife paused within the bread as she heard Davina acknowledge her own beauty without guile. She was as lovely to look upon as Kenzie’s sister Jeanne, yet she did not flaunt her gift or use it for gain as Jeanne did. Nor did she deny it.

  Kenzie cleared her throat and finished cutting the slice. Lifting the bread-laden trencher, she walked back to her stool. Ailsa relieved her of her burden and sat it in the centre of the table. Realising the others would not sit before she did, Kenzie climbed on to her seat and the others quickly found theirs.

  ‘Care for a dribble of heather honey on your oats, my—Kenzie?’ Geneen said.

  ‘Aye, thank you.’ Using the wooden stick sitting in the jar, she dripped the sweet honey over her steaming oats and passed it along. ‘You must tell us how you enjoyed your first dance,’ she said to Davina.

  ‘Oh, it was more heavenly than my first kiss from Morven.’ Her green eyes widened, before she dipped her chin to her chest.

  Stunned, Kenzie stared and then a smile blossomed on her face. As her gaze found Ailsa’s and Geneen’s, her smile brightened along with theirs.

  Davina peeked up, cheeks rosy red, and a smile sprang to her lips. ‘Dancing was truly wonderful,’ she said quietly, ‘like floating on air.’

  Kenzie’s eyes misted and she ducked her head, paying close attention to scooping the honeyed oats onto her spoon.

  ‘And just think, I might never have known if our laird hadn’t given his promise eight summers past.’

  ‘How old were you?’ The question was spoken before Kenzie realised she’d asked it.

  ‘Only eight,’ Davina said with a shy smile. ‘There was a feast to celebrate Caelan’s seventh summer. Lachlan Elliot, Lachlan and Caelan’s father, was laird then—’

  ‘Bless his soul,’ Geneen said quietly.

  ‘Aye,’ Davina said and continued, ‘after the meal and toasts were done, everyone took to the floor, except me.’ She stopped stirring her oats and a faraway look glazed her emerald eyes. ‘The men and women were twirling and laughing and the lads and lasses were jumping about like fools. I so wanted to join in the fun, but … I was sitting alone on one of the long benches when Lachlan, our laird now, sat beside me and asked why I wasn’t dancing. I looked up at him and then stared down at my horrid foot and burst into tears.’

  Kenzie’s heart clenched and she struggled to swallow her mouthful of oats.

  ‘He stayed with me while I cried like a babe and when I finished drying my eyes, he promised to ask me to dance the day he wed. He then made me promise to accept.’

  Kenzie pushed her bowl of oats away. Not even the honey mixed into her oats was sweet enough to erase the sour taste of self-doubt filling her mouth.

  Determined footfalls echoed from behind her and then stopped.

  ‘Ah, there’s my bride.’

  Her heart jolted at the sound of Lachlan’s deep voice. Chairs scraped the floor as her companions stood to greet their laird with smiles and bobbed curtseys.

  Kenzie clutched the timber trestle and prepared to lay eyes on the man whose kindness brought to the fore her own unsavoury guilt.

  Chapter 11

  He stood inside the kitchens, an arms-length away. He looked … the same. Windswept, tawny hair; whisker-darkened jaw. A hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. Full lips curved in a smile. Devastating. Annoying.

  He looked the same, and yet …

  ‘Good morn, Kenzie.’

  She blinked, twice. She’d been staring. So had he. She straightened herself.

  ‘Good morn … Lachlan.’

  His smile brightened, as did his eyes. ‘Would you care for a stroll about the grounds?’

  Tilting her head to one side, she considered the Elliot laird and his offer. She’d woken alone, believing her husband was a beast, only to have the servants sing his praises. Her guilt concerning Davina was still new, raw. She’d misjudged Lachlan and owed him a chance to get to know him. Perhaps she’d discover something from the man himself if she spent time with him instead of running from him.

  ‘Aye.’

  He cocked one brow. Perhaps he was surprised, but he’d expected her agreement nevertheless. He shook out a dark woollen cloak. ‘It’s cold out, but this will keep you warm.’

  Unsure of how to feel at his assumption that she’d go with him, she turned away to hide her confusion as he settled the garment about her shoulders. Her nape tingled. Her husband was a powerful man used to getting his own way, his having the cloak ready confirmed her belief. Perhaps spending time with him wasn’t a good idea after all. But the need for self-preservation warred with her guilt, and guilt won.

  She tugged her braid free of the mantle and looked at the women. ‘Thank you for breaking your fast with me.’

  ‘Our pleasure, my lady,’ the maids responded as they resumed their chores.

  ‘Come,’ Lachlan said, his fingers finding her elbow beneath the wool.

  Kenzie aimed one last meaningful glance at Ailsa. At her friend’s discreet nod, she let Lachlan steer her out of the kitchen
s. She lifted her skirts as he guided her around his clansmen who slumbered on in the Great Hall.

  ‘They’re not usually so lax,’ he said, reaching for the door.

  A gust of air cold enough to wake the dead rushed in through the opening.

  ‘‘Tis good of you to allow them to rest after the late-night festivities.’ She looked up and met his narrow-eyed gaze.

  ‘Life cannot be all work without play.’ He tugged her down the stairs to the bailey’s sludgy grounds.

  ‘Some do not know how to play. Work is all they have.’

  He halted and stared into her eyes. His search delved deep. ‘Then they have yet to live.’

  Warmth flared in her face. What did he see? Could he read her longing to simply be, without the need to be doing something to justify her existence? But helping those who’d been forgotten, those who now resided in the cottages, gave her a purpose each day. Just as Lachlan did all in his power to protect and provide for his clansmen, so Kenzie did all she could for the unwanted. Those like herself.

  She looked away. A chill breeze washed the blush from her face.

  ‘Are you cold?’ Warm fingers pressed against her cool cheek. She started at his touch, but held still as he slowly skimmed his fingers down one side of her face.

  ‘Nae.’ She turned her head, breaking contact, before she was tempted to press her cheek into his gentle caress. She frowned and looked up at the sky. Pale grey clouds had darkened to slate. ‘But I suggest we resume our walk, as the rain will come soon.’

  A moment passed before his fingers again found her elbow and he guided her along the south side of the keep.

  ‘This is where my men practise and hone their sword skills,’ he said, holding a steady pace despite the impending downpour.

  ‘The air smells different here,’ she said.

  ‘The Solway Firth lies a short distance to the south. When the wind blows right, as it is now, it carries the scent of the sea over the curtain wall.’

  She inhaled the salty breeze a moment longer before focusing her attention on avoiding the puddles left behind from an earlier deluge.

  They rounded the corner and Lachlan pointed out the armoury and the tannery housed at the rear of the keep. She nodded but held silent as he led her along the north side, indicating the washhouse, the men’s barracks and the pen shared by chickens, pigs and a few ill-mannered goats. The smooth timbre of his voice and the pride in his tone as he described his home hummed through her, warming her bones.

  One last structure hugged the curtain wall. She’d discovered the stable the night she’d set fire to her pallet. Heat flooded her cheeks at the memory. She turned her head to hide her reaction and her gaze collided with the massive gates she’d escaped through. They were now shut and barred. Would they be opened at her request? She needed them to be if she was to have any hope of making her delivery.

  A fat drop of rain splashed her hot cheek. She blinked, and then gasped as Lachlan swept her up into his powerful arms and carried her out of the rain.

  Darkness engulfed them and she inhaled the smell of horse dung and hay mingled with leather and man. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her side. She waited for him to set her down, but instead, the arms cradling her tightened their grip. The urge to relax, to rest her head on his shoulder, to soak up his strength, was so powerful, her neck ached.

  She forced herself to speak. ‘You needn’t carry me. Put me down.’

  ‘I like carrying you.’

  ‘Why? There’s no need to prove your strength. It is obvious.’ Damn! She glanced at his face in time to see his mouth twitch.

  ‘Pray continue. It is obvious … how?’

  The smile in his voice proved he’d picked up on her praise, and probed for more. She wriggled. ‘I am as capable at running for shelter as you.’

  He loosened his hold and lowered her feet to the ground. She stepped away, straightened her attire and peered into the gloom as thundering rain tested the strength of the roof.

  ‘By the sound of it, we’ll be stranded for some time,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh.

  His attempt to sound disappointed failed. He wasn’t the kind of man who would allow himself to be stranded anywhere he didn’t want to be.

  ‘I do not mind.’ She truly didn’t. ‘There are worse places for one to be stranded,’ she said, approaching the first stall.

  Freeing her hands from within the folds of the cloak, she clutched the top of the timber enclosure. ‘Hello there,’ she called softly to the horses huddled near the rear wall.

  One and then another ambled from the shadows toward her outstretched hand. She stroked the first long nose to reach her and smiled as another jostled the first aside. A flare of light winked to life and revealed numerous large round eyes looking at her, awaiting their turn.

  The air shifted and the fine hairs on her nape stood on end as Lachlan moved close behind her. She resumed petting the long, brown nose under her fingertips, reminding herself she wasn’t here for the joy of visiting the horses alone. She was here to salve her guilty conscience for misjudging Lachlan regarding Davina. She was here to discover more about the man she’d married.

  His voice broke into her thoughts. ‘You’re fond of horses?’

  Her fingers paused. ‘Aye,’ she said with a final stroke before reaching for the next. ‘They have the prettiest eyes, don’t you think?’ The pads of her fingers skimmed the short, coarse hair on the nose pushing into her hand.

  Lachlan replied by clearing his throat.

  ‘As long as they are fed and watered, they never complain, despite all the hard work they do,’ she said, making her way along the barrier, careful not to miss gliding her hand down every nose thrust over the enclosure. ‘They always welcome you as if they’ve missed you, and they never ignore you.’

  Silence reigned for several heartbeats and Kenzie feared she’d said too much.

  ‘Ailsa said you liked to chatter.’

  ‘Did she?’ Turning, Kenzie looked up into his handsome face. ‘Ailsa has always been a special friend to me. Having her here is a great comfort.’ She peered into the darkness for a moment then looked back at him. ‘But I think you knew she would be. Thank you for bringing her.’

  Light from the lantern he carried tinted his hair and cinnamon lashes gold.

  ‘So you know she wasn’t dragged here to force you to marry me?’

  She’d just admitted as much hadn’t she? ‘Aye.’ She bowed her head to hide her annoyance at having to say it, but also to conceal her shame for assuming otherwise.

  Warm fingers cupped her chin. A quick breath rushed in to her lungs at his touch. He tilted her face up.

  ‘Dare not think I wouldn’t have used your friend to gain your consent, Kenzie.’ The shadows were too deep to see his eyes, but his firm yet careful grasp spoke loud and clear.

  ‘I do not believe you, Lachlan Elliot.’ Stepping away, she broke his gentle hold and pretended to concentrate on the remaining horses.

  Teeming rain filled the thickening silence. Lachlan crowded her against the stall wall, touching her with naught but his masculine heat. ‘You doubt my determination?’

  Low, close, the warmth of his words tickled her ear. She closed her eyes until the tremor rippling through her had passed. ‘Nae, I simply question your methods.’ Pleased she sounded unaffected by his nearness, she stroked the last horse in line.

  ‘My methods?’ A hint of frustration fractured his deep voice.

  Did she frustrate him? It was only fair considering how easily he muddled her thinking and her beliefs.

  ‘Aye,’ she said, strolling on to pause in front of a wide, empty stall. ‘Why are there nae horses here?’

  ‘‘Tis best to keep an empty stall between my mount and the others. De Brus can be surly at times.’

  ‘Like his master?’ Kenzie glanced at him over her shoulder and saw him frown at being compared to his mount. She quickly turned back before the smile she fought to hide broke
free.

  ‘Never mind the horses. I believe we were discussing my methods.’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ she said, moving toward the last enclosure. He followed close at her heels. ‘Your honour far outweighs your determination.’

  Silence, then, ‘What in God’s name are you talking about?’ Frustration rang in his voice.

  Knowing she could throw Lachlan off balance with a few words restored her sense of control, something she sadly lacked in his presence. She owed him nothing, yet the need to explain had her turning into the light.

  ‘Even if Ailsa were your last means of gaining my consent, you would never have harmed her. You would have found another way. I know that now.’ Pity I hadn’t known sooner. She turned, reached for the latch and entered the stall.

  ‘Two days and you think you know me so well?’

  Light pushed the shadows back as he followed her inside. His mount wandered toward her.

  ‘Nae. But I have watched and listened and learned much about you.’ She slowly lifted her hand to scratch De Brus’s nose. And about myself.

  ‘You called me a beast and now you think me a saint?’

  Her lips twitched. ‘I would not go so far as to believe you a saint, but there is much kindness in you.’

  ‘Kindness?’ Exasperation coloured his tone. ‘I threaten you with a noose about your neck and you think me kind?’

  She’d been angry. Furious. But … ‘I did steal your horse.’ She stroked his mount’s neck, wondering why she offered reasons for his actions when she should be condemning him. ‘And I know about Davina.’ Squeezing her eyes shut, she wished her words back. She hadn’t meant to speak them out loud. She didn’t want to admit she’d been wrong, hated the fragments of guilt swirling inside her, pricking her chest. Loathed knowing she’d turned his act of kindness into something sordid because she’d been—jealous? She’d spoken softly, perhaps he hadn’t—

  ‘Davina? What of her?’

  She opened her eyes to find the shadows had moved in again. ‘I thought …’ Words stuck in her throat. She swallowed and started again. ‘She told me about your promise to dance with her the day you married.’