How To Steal A Highlander

by Olivia Norem

  “I love you. I love you.” Kat cried out over and over. His hips withdrew and thrust hard, punctuating the cries of her confession as his lips interrupted hers again and again.

  “Mine.” He growled, tangling cruel fingers in her hair and cradling her skull. His eyes held hers trapped, stripping away the twilight and night of her soul.

  She was his. Thoroughly. Completely.

  “Yours.” She answered in a guttural moan. Her hips hitting his so hard, the striking of skin on skin was borderline painful. Kat welcomed the ache, the anguish, anything to block out the pain of reality. She could lose him tomorrow, and with his loss, everything she was would vanish as well.

  “Mine, me Katherine.” Simeon cried out, wrenching her hair back in a brutal thrust.

  “Yes! Yours.” Kat answered, arching backward in a painful rasp. Tiny tendrils of concern coursed through her, thinking for a moment the vice-like squeeze of her thighs had surely driven the breath from his lungs.

  Simeon collapsed on top of her, shuddering with outbursts of pleasure so deafening, Kat thought her own heart would burst from the sound. Kat’s entire being was suffused with his, matching his convulsions with quaking paroxysms of her own. Her last thought, as she drifted backward into a vortex of graying oblivion, was that she was his. Then. And now. And in whatever slivers of time fractured between them along the centuries. Simeon was her first true love. But more importantly, he was also the last.

  Kat woke in slow degrees. Lingering firelight washed their passion-drenched limbs, still entangled on the stones. Simeon’s wrinkled tartan caressed their skin, and the cup, lying on its side, rested just beyond Simeon’s outstretched palm.

  He’d obviously sought to quench his thirst somewhere in the night’s violet hours and had met the fate Kat had intended. With a heavy heart, she forced her limbs to move as she eased from beneath his deeply breathing form. Kat hunched to her knees. Still straddling his prostrate form, she couldn’t resist one final kiss to the corner of his lips.

  “Forgive me, my love.”

  Pushing off him quickly, her fingers searched frantically beneath the furs near the hearth. Sofia had been correct. She and Simeon would have never made it to the bed. Her hands scrambled for the familiar touch of Lycra. Quickly shoving her arms and legs into the black casing, Kat’s fears melted away as the bodysuit encased her like a protective armor. Yanking her dress down atop the entire ensemble, Kat stole a second glance at Simeon as her heart surged with love. She knew without a doubt that there could be no other way. Her thighs quaked, still wet and sticky from the proof of his seed. Kat placed a pillow gently beneath Simeon’s head. With a last backward glance, Kat raised two fingertips to her man, well-loved and well-drugged, now lying in peace on the floor. She hoped somewhere in the foggy recesses of his consciousness, he’d remember her parting words.

  “I’ll always be yours, Simeon.”

  Kat’s skirts swished past the threshold as she eased the door shut. A hand closed tightly on her elbow. Kat spun and raised her fist by pure reflex.

  “’Tis me,” Sofia startled, her face emerging from the shadows.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Kat placed an astonished hand on her heart.

  “Calm yersel, sister. Are ye ready?”

  “Yes,” Kat whispered harshly. “No time like the seventeenth century.”

  Sofia led her with expert steps through the darkened passages of the castle. Past sleeping clansmen and snoring dogs, the pair slipped covertly out the kitchen and hugged the shaded recesses of castle walls until they reached the stable.

  Sofia eased the door open quietly where they were greeted with the sleepy nickers of horses, who tossed and snorted at the late-night intrusion.

  “Hang on. Why did you saddle two horses?” Kat stood with her arms akimbo as Sofia led a pair of horses forth.

  “I’m coming with ye.”

  “Oh, no. Absolutely not.” Kat raised both palms in protest. “Goldman rule number three. Never do anything out of the ordinary right before a heist.”

  Sofia tilted her head to the side as she released a loud breath of frustration. “Everythin’ we’ve done thus far tonight is oot o’ the ordinary. Besides, Goldman rule number one clearly states ne’er trust anyone outside o’ the family. We are family, Kat.”

  “How do you know about the Goldman rules?”

  “Ian.” Sofia’s tinkling laughter made Kat wonder what else her brother had shared.

  The women were still arguing in hushed tones as Sofia led them stealthily into a thicket of forest bordering the back of the stable. Kat’s mouth gaped open as Sofia stripped off her dress and neatly folded it into a bundle. She was wearing dark breeches and a black shirt. Her torso was encased in a leather tunic that served as light armor. Tucked in the belts and straps crisscrossing her body, the handles of dirks winked dimly in the moonless night. Sophia also wore a short sword strapped to a scabbard at her hip.

  “You are not going,” Kat asserted.

  “Och! I am. You’ll ne’er find the entrance tae that witch’s cave in the dark. Besides, the journey is more than two hours from here, and the trail is fraught with treachery.”

  “Don’t try to scare me with your melodramatics. You’re still not going.”

  “I am.”

  “Not.”

  “I can protect myself, Katherine.” Sofia stated flatly as Kat lifted a brow.

  “Yes. I can see that.” Kat muttered cheerlessly. It was one thing to take this risk against Isobel solo, but now with Sofia tagging along… this is exactly how Simeon must have felt when she was insistent on joining him.

  “I will accompany ye.” From the subtle lift of a defiant jaw to the determined glint in her eyes, Kat knew no amount of persuasion would deter Sofia.

  “Gah! You’re as stubborn as I am.” Kat jerked the reins testily from Sofia’s grasp and led her horse from the barn.

  “Now that, me dear sister, is worst thing ye’ve ever said tae me.”

  “Don’t worry, we have a long ride ahead of us. I’m sure you’ll be trying to stick me with one of your dirks before dawn.”

  Kat shrugged off her own dress and handed it to Sofia, who stashed it in the bushes with her own. Clad in her dark bodysuit, she swung up on the horse in an easy leap and took the reins in hand. She was riddled with doubt, which never boded well for the start of a job. Somehow, she couldn’t believe the small armory Sofia carried would be much use against magic, but it did give her new sister a cocky air of confidence.

  “All right. But I go in alone. I can’t have any distractions, or we’re both screwed.”

  “Screwed?” Sofia’s brow knitted in confusion.

  “Fooked, lassie. As your brother would say.”

  As they plunged into the night, Sofia laughed gleefully over her shoulder. “’Tis well ye have me then, Katherine. For back up, as yer brother says.”

  Kat rolled her eyes and leaned low, hugging her horse’s neck to avoid getting slashed across the face by a tree branch.

  “Great. Now I’m truly fooked.”

  Chapter 24

  “By the Saint’s, I’ll kill ye!” Simeon bellowed. He shot upright from the floor, instinctively reaching for a weapon and grasping at air, at the same time sputtering icy cold water from his face.

  “Get dressed, Rip Van Winkle!” Ian hollered back, throwing a balled-up tartan at Simeon’s head. He tossed the pewter pitcher dangling from his fingertips noisily to the floor.

  Simeon wiped his face and neck with the soft wool and groggily struggled to his feet. Ian’s hands reached out to assist as Simeon blinked the fog from his brain. The last thing he remembered was making wild passionate love to Katherine... and now he was wet, and naked, and fighting to stand like some wobbly colt.

  “Whot’s happened?” He grimaced. His voice was thick, and his tongue had a peculiar sour taste.

  “They’re gone.”

  “Who’s gone?” Simeon growled as he knotted the plaid around his hips.
>
  “Kat and Sofia. They drugged the wine. They. Are. Gone.” Ian kicked Simeon’s forgotten goblet angrily with his foot. Simeon watched the cup’s flight across the stones as the full import of the man’s words set in.

  Twin spikes of anger and fear cut Simeon deep, and for the first time in his life, fear was winning. He fought to take a breath. She wouldn’t! His wee lass wouldn’t disobey him with such blatant foolishness and risk his sister as well. He’d thought the matter settled last night. She’d met his passion equally, sending him off to meet the morning like a man doomed. Yet through the lingering effects of the sleeping potion, Simeon realized what she had done. Katherine had answered his passion equally, making love to him like a woman who expected it to be her last time.

  Simeon tamped down the fear flooding through him as he tugged on the shirt Ian tossed him. “How long hae they been missing?”

  “Near as I can guess, they have a few hours start on us.” Ian risked a glance out of the window and scanned the landscape. A weak ribbon of light was just outlining the gray mountains.

  “A few hours? By Christ’s own blood, we’ll be lucky to save them. Why did ye nae wake me sooner?” Simeon jerked on his boots with hasty tugs.

  “I just managed to slug out of this stupor myself. You’re lucky I woke up at all.” Ian bristled, as his hand absently stroked the hilt of his sword. “Drink some water then take a healthy piss. It seems to help.”

  “And now you’re a healer are ye?” Simeon snapped dryly.

  “Yeah, and all my medical skills are right here.” Ian raised his middle finger.

  “I ken ‘tis a rude gesture, Ian Goldman. When we hae more time, I’ll ask ye whot it means. Now help me with this.” Simeon buckled his sword on his left hip and lifted the heavy claymore in its leather back scabbard, which Ian helped him secure. Simeon fastened a dirk to his right hip, and for good measure, tucked another smaller one in his left boot.

  “What the hell else do you need, Simeon? It’s almost daylight.” Ian paced as Simeon tore open the lid to a chest and withdrew a wooden box.

  “Just these.”

  “Holy shit! Flintlocks?” Any other time Ian would have stopped to admire the antique weapons, which were not currently antique, but the futility of their use on this mission made him question the Highlander’s judgement.

  “Aye.”

  “You don’t need those. Now come on.” Ian pulled his arm urgently. Simeon shrugged him away as he reached for the powder horn and leather bag of shot. The sharp snap of a metallic click-click interrupted his preparations.

  “Whot the bloody hell is that?”

  “Glock 40. Fifteen shot semi-automatic, but I customized this one to full auto. Capable of taking down white tail deer, Russian boar, feral hogs, and… it may just put a bad dent in one wicked witch’s day.” Ian flipped the safety on the piece and tucked it into his waistband. Simeon lifted a single, dark brow.

  “’Twould seem I’m in capable hands, then.”

  “Yeah, I’m a regular Rambo. Now let’s go, Braveheart.”

  Ian was halfway down the tower steps with Simeon close behind, when the Laird’s voice halted him. “Whot’s the Braveheart? Katherine called me that verra thing.”

  Ian frowned at Simeon’s pace. The man had obviously imbibed more wine than Ian had and was still victim to its sluggish effects. “I’ll tell you on the way. Now hustle! Damn it, aren’t you worried?”

  Simeon had breached the chasm from worry to terrified when he discovered that Katherine and his sister had fled. The only way he knew to preserve his sanity was to fill his breaking heart with anger. Anger kept a warrior alive and his aim true. And anger would quickly dispel the lingering dizziness still plaguing him from the sleeping potion.

  “Och, ye Rambo. For certs I’m worried.”

  Simeon thundered into the great hall, kicking and rousing his men, the servants, anyone who would listen. Sleepy-eyed faces followed in his wake as the hall roared to life. Soon people were scuttling around them, eager to help their furious Laird.

  He was still barking out orders as they crossed the bailey to the stable. Impatient for their horses to be saddled, Simeon instructed Tavish and Donnell to ready as many men as possible immediately and follow his trail to the East. He’d not wait for the party to assemble.

  Sensing Simeon’s urgency, Fergus had to be held by Donnell as Simeon leapt to his back. The warhorse reared up, eager to tear up the sod beneath his hooves. Just as they cleared the bailey, Simeon reined Fergus to a frustrated halt and issued an ear-piercing whistle. Clootie bounded from around a corner, his mouth wide in enthusiasm.

  Fergus flexed his neck and fought Simeon’s hand as he snorted and side-stepped at Clootie’s approach. The dog slid to a stop and blinked up at the pair.

  “Come ye daft beastie. We hunt.”

  Clootie sat and lolled his tongue in a wide yawn. The hound glimpsed up shyly at his master and shifted his bushy brows to Ian.

  “Clootie!” Simeon snarled and extended his middle finger as he’d seen Ian do. Clootie rose to all fours, issued a single bark, and then turned and ran straight back to the keep.

  “Well your dog understands the gesture, and he obeys you about as well as the women,” Ian sniggered, breaking the tension of the moment.

  “No’ another word,” Simeon ground out and dug his heels into Fergus’ sides before he could suffer more of Ian’s sarcasm. Ian charged after the enraged Highlander and gave his horse his head. When Ian managed to gain on the destrier’s flank, a cold chill of fear shot through him. He’d never seen a man’s face so blackened with rage as Simeon’s in the pre-dawn light.

  “If they’re still alive when we find them, I’ll thrash them both within an inch o’ their lives.”

  Ian, wisely, held his tongue.

  Tavish scratched his head as the deerhound blurred past him and disappeared into the castle. Busy with saddling horses and readying the men to ride out after Simeon, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed when Donnell bumped his shoulder and pointed across the bailey. The dog, who usually loped about at a casual pace, tore at breathtaking speed through the gate as if the Devil himself were snapping at his heels.

  “I ne’er seen ol’ Clootie run so fast.” Donnell remarked.

  Tavish squinted at the massive hound disappearing into the gray morning light. “Whot the bloody hell is in his mouth?”

  ###

  Dawn struggled to color the bloodless sky as the horses picked their way through the ascent of rocky terrain. The progress was slow and difficult any ground they managed to traverse was clogged with mud and dying vegetation. The higher they climbed, the more it felt like the very air had shunned autumn’s vibrant hues for dismal promises of bleak shades of gray.

  Kat wiped sticky hair from her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time since ascending the mountainside. The mists were thick and wet, and the breezes chilled straight through to her damp bones. Sofia’s chipper small talk had diminished to silence, as a deep sense of gloom permeated the passage. The only sounds were the wind colliding against the towers of black, charred rock and the horse’s hooves striking the stones as they stepped cautiously upward.

  Sofia reined her horse to a halt on a relatively dry thatch of brown grass and dismounted. A pair of wind-scarred trees marked the clearing, their branches twisted like warning sentinels.

  “Time to cue the ominous music,” Kat muttered to herself as she leapt to the ground and chafed her arms. From this altitude, she could just make out the gray tips of the mammoth jagged stones they’d passed. The points stabbed sharply through the misty shroud, and the winds whipped up making Kat’s eyes water.

  This place was a horror film director’s wet dream. Kat almost expected some B-movie queen to run screaming across the clearing, clutching a ripped dress. A moment of stress-induced hilarity struck her. It would take weeks to explain that image to Sofia.

  “We must travel the rest of the way on foot. We’ll leave the horses here.” Sofia
secured her plaid more tightly about her shoulders and rubbed the muzzle of her horse.

  We? Yeah, right. Kat nodded complacently through her shivers and methodically unpacked the small doeskin bag Sofia had given her. What she wouldn’t give for a North Face insulated jacket, a hundred feet of nylon rope, and a handful of carabiners right about now. Instead of taking stock of what she didn’t have, Kat grinned at her cache of small blessings. She pulled on her custom rubber-padded shoes that looked like diving boots and tucked her Swiss Army pocketknife into the built-in bra of her body suit. At least those items, along with a few other odds and ends, had survived the journey through time.

  She knotted her hair at her nape and glanced over at the shivering Sofia. The woman looked truly miserable, but Kat secretly admired her determination. Women like Sofia were rare. She had defied Simeon in a time when women didn’t usually contradict the wishes of the male head of the household. She’d also trusted so much in Kat’s skills that she’d risked everything to lead her this far.

  Kat wasn’t about to put Sofia in further jeopardy. If she had that knockout pen, this whole ordeal would be easier. Goldman rule number nine surfaced in her mind, ‘when all else fails, improvise.’

  “How much farther is it?”

  “Just above that rise,” Sophia pointed. “I’ve nae been there myself, but the entrance tae the cave should be there. I’ve heard tales o’ it spoken many times.”

  “I’m going to build a fire. We’ll rest a bit first and get warm.” Without giving Sofia a chance to protest, Kat gathered up a meager bit of dry wood and broke off a few branches from the snarling trees. “Here. I managed to pack this.” Kat smiled and handed her a flask with a causal air.

  Sophia took an appreciative drink as Kat rolled down the cuffs of her body suit and slid her fingers into the attached gloves. Sophia watched her in fascination as Kat smoothed her fingertips into place.

  “I admit, I’ve ne’er seen such a thing a'fore. ‘Tis a clever garment.” Sophia gestured with the flask and drank again.

  Kat squatted on her haunches and absently poked at the welcoming blaze with a long stick. It shouldn’t be long now before the same sleeping potion Sophia had concocted to drug Ian and Simeon would take effect.