Highland Thief

by Alyson McLayne

  “I’m surprising you. See?” He pointed to Kerr’s face. “You’re surprised!”

  “’Tis not surprise on my face you’re looking at. ’Tis irritation, and a wish to be anywhere but here with you scoundrels.” He glowered at them, as darkly and menacingly as he could.

  “He’s mooning over Isobel,” Darach told Lachlan.

  “Nay. I’m contemplating murder and how to get away with it. Three murders to be exact.”

  “Make that five,” Gregor said and pointed to Callum and Gavin, the last two foster brothers, who were weaving toward them through the marching men.

  Kerr groaned. He’d never hear the end of it now. But maybe he could rile up Gavin and set him on the others to break up this impromptu meeting—with him at the center. “Gavin!” he yelled. “Your new bride is waiting at home, wondering where you are, while these lazy sons-of-donkeys are sitting by, idly chatting. They’re a bunch of uncaring bastards.”

  Gavin looked at him before scrutinizing the faces of Gregor and the other men. “You better have a damned good reason for stopping. Is this about Kerr and Isobel? He wouldnae be trying to throw you to the wolves, otherwise.”

  “I was doing no such thing!” Kerr protested, his voice rising in false innocence. They didn’t believe him. They never did.

  “Aye, you were. You’re as subtle as a rampaging boar,” Callum said as he and Gavin reined in beside the others. Callum was their mother hen—if a mother hen could kill you in the blink of an eye and know what the enemy was thinking before they did. His wife, Maggie—a warrior woman who was the best shot in the Highlands—was with bairn too, and she’d taken to climbing out of windows, no matter how high, to get away from his coddling.

  The five of them faced Kerr in a semicircle, like members of the Inquisition. “Is this where I confess to being a witch and you all drag me to a wood pile and burn me at the stake?” he asked.

  “Doona jest about that,” Lachlan said with a shudder. “I still have nightmares about that happening to Amber.”

  Amber was a healer and had encouraged the rumors that she was a witch in order to stay safe from her previous laird, whom Lachlan had killed.

  Kerr grimaced. “Sorry, Brother. I forgot about Amber’s deception. I should ne’er have made light of such cruelty.”

  “We’re not interrogating you, Son,” Gregor said. “We only want what’s best for you. And Isobel.”

  “Isobel will decide what’s best for her—who’s best for her,” Gavin said. “My mother made sure of that before she died. But even if she hadn’t insisted that Isobel be allowed to choose her own husband, I wouldnae have it any other way. Nor would you,” he said, pointing at Kerr.

  Kerr shrugged and tried to look unperturbed, even though he growled inside. His brothers forgot that on most days, he only pretended to be a civilized man. He was more a dark, wild Celt at heart than a Scot.

  Aye, he supported Isobel choosing her husband. As long as she chooses me.

  He sighed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, trying to put into words the doubt and turmoil that raged in his heart. How could he tell his beloved foster brothers and father that he wasn’t the man they thought he was?

  Even knowing the foul blood that ran through his veins, he couldn’t imagine letting Isobel go. “I doona know how to… That is to say… I doona think…”

  “That’s not news to us, Brother. We all know you doona think,” Lachlan said, his voice matter-of-fact but his eyes glinting with amusement.

  In less than a heartbeat, Kerr retrieved a rock that he kept tucked in the folds of his plaid—for moments like this—and flicked it at Lachlan’s head. His foster brother ducked just in time with a whoop of laughter.

  But when he straightened, Callum, Darach, and Gavin all pinged him with pebbles—thrown just hard enough to sting, making Kerr smile.

  “Settle down,” his foster father commanded. His tone took Kerr back to his youth, usually when Gregor caught the boys roughhousing and in danger of breaking something or setting the castle on fire. Kerr often wondered if Gregor had had any idea what he was getting himself into when he decided to foster five rambunctious lads.

  “How did you manage it?” Kerr asked.

  Gregor’s brow creased in confusion. “Manage what?”

  “The five of us. ’Tis not like you handed us over to someone for training and ne’er saw us again. You were right there with us in the thick of it.”

  “Aye, I’ve wondered that myself,” Darach said. “Especially now I’m about to have my own bairn. I canna fathom what I’ll do when there’s five of them.”

  Gavin laughed. “And knowing Caitlin, they’ll all be girls—as sweet and kind as her with a faithful hound on their heels named Trouble.”

  Darach shook his head, looking a wee bit fearful. “Nay, our first bairn will be a lad who’ll grow big and strong and keep his sisters safe and out of mischief. Besides, I’ve forbidden Caitlin to have girls.” He said the last with a smile.

  “Send them to Maggie,” Callum said. “She’ll teach them to wield a dagger.”

  “Or Amber,” Lachlan added. “All women should know how to defend themselves.” He pointed at Kerr. “Starting with Isobel, if she’s going to take on you as a husband. You’ll smother her with your first kiss.”

  Kerr knew his brother jested, but he couldn’t help thinking of his mother. Would she have survived his father if she’d known how to protect herself? Probably not. Where would she have gone? Kerr hadn’t met his mother’s family, but he didn’t remember her ever talking about them. Like his cousin Deirdre, she’d been married off and never thought of again.

  He frowned at Lachlan. “And you doona jest about that, Brother. Have you forgotten my mother’s fate?”

  Lachlan’s smile turned down. “Och, I’m sorry. Forgive me, Kerr. I spoke without thinking.”

  “As did I.” Kerr leaned forward over his horse and reached out his arm. Lachlan also leaned forward, and they clasped hands to elbows.

  “’Tis a good thing you doubt yourself,” Gregor said. “It shows you want the best for Isobel. You’re a good man, despite who your father was. You would ne’er allow anything to harm her—even yourself.” He leaned back and appraised Kerr with knowing eyes. “If you’re beginning to question what sort of husband you’d be and if you’d be able to make Isobel happy, maybe you are ready for marriage.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Gavin asked. “You doona think you’re good enough for my sister? Is that why you’re still waiting?”

  “I’m still waiting because I havenae had the opportunity. We’ve been attacked four times in the last year and a half, gone to war twice, and before all that, Ewan was taken. Not to mention trying to unravel the conspiracy against us. ’Tis not written in the stars, yet, to woo my reluctant bride.”

  “Aye, it’s been a difficult few years,” Gregor said. “And we still doona know who’s leading the conspiracy against us.”

  Kerr scowled along with several of his foster brothers. “I canna help but think my clan will be attacked next.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Callum shifted on his horse, tapping his fingers against his leg, something he did when he was thinking. “I doubt Fraser kidnapping Caitlin was part of the master plan, else we would have met with a heavier force against us at Fraser’s castle. Same with Lachlan’s attack on Machar Murray and the MacPherson clan. We took both those clans out of play before our enemy could set them against us. And we took out Maggie’s cousin too—and therefore her clan—when we came to her rescue, although she’s adamant she didn’t need my help.”

  The men laughed. “Knowing Maggie, she could have survived and thrived without you,” Gavin said.

  “Survived, aye, but not thrived. My warrior wife loves me despite my nagging her to stay off her feet and put her daggers down. I’m sure she’s been climbing out of windows to amuse h
erself since I’ve been gone.”

  “And what of your clan?” Lachlan asked Callum. “It seems you scuttled the plan against them too.”

  Callum nodded. “We surprised the enemy by coming o’er the mountains. It would have been much worse had we travelled the low road where they waited.”

  “Which doesn’t mean their armies willna strike again—at any one of us. We must stay vigilant,” Gregor said quietly.

  “Aye,” they all agreed.

  “When your fathers attacked me so many years ago, they only did so because Kerr’s father had bribed, threatened, or curried favor with them,” Gregor continued. “He was a master at manipulating people and events—the same as the leader of this conspiracy. Kidnapping Gavin’s son to control him sounds like something Madadh MacAlister would have done.”

  “Are you saying my father has come back from the dead?” Kerr asked. “I wouldnae doubt he would be well-favored by his demon masters.”

  “I’m saying ’tis worth noting the similarities.”

  “Your uncle maybe?” Gavin asked. “He’s the only one left alive. Or any cousins? Other than my wife, of course.”

  They all chuckled softly. When the moment passed, Kerr considered the possibility. “Nay, I doona think my uncle has it in him. He was broken by my father as a lad. He’s still broken. He just wants to be left alone with his art. I have well-placed spies within my uncle’s home in Edinburgh, and I’ve heard naught from them about suspicious behavior.”

  “What of your father’s bastards?” Lachlan asked Kerr. “Are there any others besides Andy and Aulay?”

  “Possibly. My father had no qualms about forcing himself on women. But even if there are others, where are they getting the men? And the access and legitimacy to influence the other clans? Someone must be backing them, like the Campbells or the MacDonalds.”

  “Aye,” everyone agreed again.

  Then Gavin suddenly punched Kerr on the shoulder. “You’re naught like your father in any way. I would ne’er let you near Isobel if I didn’t think you could make her happy.”

  Kerr’s brow rose as he rubbed his arm. “How can you say that? All we do is fight.”

  “Aye, that’s the point. You fight endlessly, but you ne’er try to change her or think that she should hold her tongue. I doona know many men who would be strong enough to let Isobel be Isobel and not feel diminished by her.”

  “Or try to control her,” Callum added. “She’s smart, and she understands people. She’ll be an asset to you, if you let her—once she stops creating mischief, that is.”

  “You doona have to tell me that,” Kerr growled, irritated that they thought he didn’t know how smart Isobel was. And he liked the mischief she created.

  “Didn’t she try to run you through a prickle bush one time? And dump sour milk on your head?” Darach asked.

  He grinned proudly. “And she almost succeeded. Both times!”

  “She has my vote,” Lachlan said.

  Another round of “ayes” filled the air.

  “Have you seen how the clan looks to her to right a wrong?” Kerr asked. “It may be too small an offense to warrant their laird’s intervention, but they hope it has caught their lady’s eye. And ’tis why she’ll have a trap waiting for Gavin when we get home. Maybe two in case the first one fails. He may have married my cousin, but he did her wrong at the start.”

  Gavin’s face fell, and a sick look entered his eyes. Not for himself, Kerr knew, but at the reminder that he’d treated his wife poorly when they first met.

  Gregor reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “No one likes to get on your sister’s bad side. But we’ll be there to help you wash up afterward.”

  “Bah,” Kerr grumbled as the others snorted. “Isobel doesn’t have a bad side. Or a good side for that matter. She’s not a bloody rectangle.”

  “Technically, a rectangle has four sides,” Callum added.

  “A line, maybe?” Darach asked.

  “Not a line. A plane,” Lachlan said.

  Gavin shook his head. “My wife, the mathematician, would tell you you’re all wrong. My sister isna any of those things. She’s a stone wall. On one side is—”

  “Shut it, ya wee ablachs. Or I’ll tell Isobel everything you said, and you’ll all be on her bad side—whate’er shape that is!” He steered Diabhla sideways and urged him into a swift canter. He was done ambling along. He whistled sharply to get the men to pick up the pace.

  “Move your arses, lads! Half a day’s march to the MacKinnon castle and the loveliest lasses in all of Scotland. They’ll cheer your arrival and swoon from the sight of sweat-slicked, brawny muscles. Show them you’re Highland warriors and not a bunch of sluggish Englishmen!”

  The warriors cheered and whistled and did exactly as Kerr asked—hastening to reach Castle MacKinnon and Isobel.

  Three

  Kerr reined in Diabhla and searched the stairs that led up to the heavy wooden doors of the MacKinnon keep. The noise from the surrounding bailey, filled with returning warriors and excited castle folk yelling out to one another, faded into oblivion. Anticipation rose in his chest—and then crashed like lead to the pit of his stomach when he saw the stairs—the fifth step down to be exact—were empty.

  Isobel wasn’t here to greet him.

  He dropped his gaze and scanned the crowd, seeing faces lit up with pleasure as the conquering heroes were welcomed home, their plaids and linen shirts and shifts untied and loosened due to the late summer heat. But none of those faces belonged to the woman he’d hurried back to see; none of the voices was hers.

  His jaw tightened in disappointment. Where is she?

  “Gavin!” he heard his cousin Deirdre shout out, followed by her son Ewan yelling excitedly, “Da! Da! We’re over here.”

  He peered toward the stables and saw Ewan waving his arms frantically from atop the corral, his blond hair bright in the afternoon sun. Deirdre held tightly to his legs so he wouldn’t topple over.

  From beside him, atop his horse, his foster brother Gavin yelled back, “Deirdre! Ewan!”

  He leapt from the back of his horse and weaved his way through the crowded bailey toward his family. When he was almost upon them, Ewan jumped from the fence and into his arms. Gavin gave him a quick, hard hug, and then shifted him to his hip and wrapped his arm around his wife. He dragged her tight against his body and kissed her upturned face.

  “Da’s kissing Ma again!” Ewan announced, something he’d done often in the weeks Gavin had lain in his sick bed, recovering from injuries sustained when he and Deirdre thwarted the attack against him and his clan.

  Kerr glanced back up to the keep, and this time his breath stilled in his lungs. Isobel had exited the doors and was rushing down the steps to her usual position, her bright red-and-green skirts billowing behind her, and her long blond hair glinting in the sun. She stopped abruptly when she hit her spot and placed one hand on the stone railing, the other on her waist, as if she’d been there the whole time.

  What had she been doing?

  She pulled back her shoulders in a queen-like fashion that made his stones tighten, and searched the bailey.

  Please be looking for me.

  When her eyes landed on him seconds later, the air he’d been holding punched up from his lungs in an audible whoosh. Angels in heaven, she was lovely. Still, after all these years, she took his breath away. She was tall and willowy, with fair skin that lightly tanned in the summer and hair so blond it was almost white. Her locks curled gently all the way to her hips and blew around her slender body in the breeze.

  He knew the details of her face by heart—perfectly bowed lips, a small yet stubborn chin, high cheekbones, and a wee pert nose. And her eyes, which had inspired so many verses in songs over the last few years, were a bright blue-green surrounded by heavy dark lashes that called to a man like a siren to a sailor.


  ’Twas no wonder people called her the Beauty of the Highlands.

  She held his gaze for a long moment before flicking her eyes away. He waited, and when she glanced back at him seconds later, he urged Diabhla forward. Gavin’s horse trailed behind.

  Isobel glanced away again, a small, stiff smile curving her lips, as if she tried to pretend she was unaware and unaffected by him, but she glanced back twice more, until finally she pinned him with her gaze and glared.

  Aye, not unaware of me at all.

  He reached the bottom of the steps and gave her a slow smile. “Isobel,” he said.

  “Laird MacAlister,” she replied. “I see you didn’t die.”

  “Not this time.”

  “Well, there’s always another battle.”

  A grin broke out on his lips, and he chuckled. She glanced away again, scanning the crowd below her, and he looked her over from top to bottom. She was rosy-cheeked, and the hair at the top of her forehead was slightly wet, as if she’d splashed water on her face. Her long bright locks looked freshly brushed, and the pleats of her arisaid were newly pleated.

  So that’s why she’d been late. She’d had to wash up.

  But she’d missed a spot—aye, the bottom of her skirt was brown with soggy mud. Where had she been? In the forest, most likely, setting a trap.

  But for whom?

  She was an infant when he first met her, and he’d been fascinated by the wee creature with the bright hair and loud lungs.

  I still am.

  Yet after all this time, they weren’t any closer to being betrothed. Nay, at times he thought they were farther apart than ever. Truth be told, he’d never even kissed her. Although she’d tried to kiss him, when she was fifteen. His memories of that incident were vague—he’d been deep in his cups—but he was pretty sure he’d laughed at her. And then kissed someone else.