Highland Thief

by Alyson McLayne

  He placed his fingers over the vein that pulsed madly in her neck, fascinated and buoyed by all the signs of her arousal. His heart raced too, and his lips still tingled where he’d touched them to her skin—the first time he’d kissed her anywhere that was remotely sensual.

  She glared at him and batted his hand away from her throat. He raised his palms upward in surrender, his grin unhidden now, and lifted his foot as if to take a step backward. “Och! I canna go that way, can I?” He stepped forward instead. She refused to give ground when he crowded her, and her skirts brushed against his legs.

  “When did you see it?” she demanded, her head tilting back to meet his eyes.

  “See what?”

  “The second trap,” she huffed.

  “I didn’t. You hid it well. I saw you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I know you, Isobel. I know the sounds of your excitement and the expressions on your face—down to every flicker of your eyes. I know the different ways you hold your shoulders and how your mind works. I know the pace of your walk and what that means about your mood and your intentions.”

  “Am I so predictable, then?”

  “Nay, the opposite! You continually surprise me. You are the most complex, fascinating woman I’ve e’er met. And you may not want to hear it, but you are mine.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him, but for a moment, uncertainty had flashed in those blue-green depths. Her body had softened, almost imperceptibly, and she’d arched toward him.

  Her jaw, however, remained clenched in anger.

  “Did you miss me when I was gone, Isobel? Did you worry about me?”

  She dropped her eyes, stared at his chest, and then very softly said, “Aye.”

  He barely held back a groan.

  “But you say I’m yours like you own me, Kerr. I’m not a cow. I’m a woman.” Her voice dropped. “I have my own wants, my own needs.”

  “And I’ll meet every one.” The blood pounded in his veins, engorging every inch of him.

  “You canna. No one can be everything to another.”

  “I can. To you.”

  “Not when you annoy me so much.”

  “You’re not annoyed now.”

  “I am.”

  “Nay, Isobel. Your body is roused, and your mind is stimulated. As is mine. You’re enjoying yourself even if you’re feeling confused and vulnerable.”

  She stiffened at his words.

  He didn’t say anything else. Instead, he let her think about everything he’d declared—about the connection between them and his desire for her…his need for her.

  She placed her hands on his waist and slowly pushed them up his body until her palms rested against his ribs. His linen shirt felt as light and thin as a cloud between them.

  “Then prove it,” she said. “Show me why I should be with you.”

  His eyes jumped to hers, but she’d lowered her lids. His Isobel was brave and strong. Why, if she really wanted what she’d asked for, would she not look at him?

  He grasped her waist and took a step backward, sliding one heel over the edge of the pit.

  “Are you asking me to kiss you, dearling?”

  “Aye,” she said, and then closed the distance between them until he felt the swing of her skirt against his legs.

  He smiled. “As you wish,” and then he slowly lowered his head.

  How long would she last? Long enough for them to kiss?

  Their first kiss?

  She’d softened in his arms, like her resistance was melting, and she leaned into him more heavily…as if she anticipated his touch.

  For a moment he let himself believe it, and then her muscles bunched beneath his hands and she shoved hard on his chest, harder than he’d expected. He’d known Isobel was strong, but not quite that strong. Still, he was able to grasp her waist as he tumbled backward, and the triumphant expression on her face turned to horror as she realized she was being pulled into the manure trap with him.

  At the last possible second, he bent his knee and shoved off the edge of the pit, propelling them both backward over the trap. He wouldn’t know until he landed if he’d gone far enough, and for the first time, he regretted his decision—not because he would land in a little cow dung, that had happened many times before and would again, but because Isobel would land in it too.

  He would have hurt her.

  When solid ground slammed into his back and her soft body slammed into his, he was filled with relief…and other feelings too. He grunted and squeezed his arms more tightly around her waist, her face tucked against his throat, her breasts pressed against his chest. Small puffs of air warmed his skin as she tried to catch her breath.

  God’s blood, she was soft against him, so warm, and she smelled so good.

  The edge of the pit cut into the backs of his thighs, and he pulled his knees up, his heels on the edge, which forced her legs to straddle his hips. His plaid bunched up between them, his sporran having fallen to the side. From underneath, the open air cooled his privates, so close to hers.

  He was as hard as a bloody mountain, and he groaned again as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, her pelvis grinding down on his. Their eyes clashed, and for a moment, lust flared hotly in her gaze. His hands slid down to her hips, and his fingers dug in. Her mouth opened on a wee gasp, and he could see the tip of her tongue behind her teeth, enticing him. She looked undecided, like she was tempted to rock against him.

  He was about to lift his hands, to thread them through her hair and pull her down for that kiss she’d requested, when a gruff voice asked from the edge of the clearing, “Lady Isobel, do you need assistance?”

  She stiffened, her face flushing a rosy pink as she yelled out, “Nay!”

  Brow furrowed, she shoved off his body. When her knee jabbed into that engorged part of him, he groaned—and not in a good way. He breathed through the pain that knifed through his stones and thighs, even into his belly, knowing it was worth every minute as he watched her straighten her clothes, her cheeks still burning, her eyes cast down.

  ’Twas Lyle who had spoken. Kerr sat up and glared at him. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought he saw the stony-faced warrior smirk before disappearing back into the forest, leaving Kerr with the illusion, once again, that he was alone with Isobel.

  She hurried away from him toward her horse.

  “Dearling!” he called out. “Doona forget your manure.”

  When she made a rude gesture toward him and kept walking, he burst out laughing. “At least take your poor pony. He doesn’t deserve to be abandoned.”

  She untied her mare, and he sat up, grinning. By God, she was magnificent. He loved everything about this woman.

  “It’s time, Isobel!” he said, his voice deepening and sounding possessive. He didn’t want the words to come out commanding, but they did anyway. “We canna keep dancing around like this!”

  She stopped, her foot in the stirrup ready to mount, and lifted her gaze to his. “’Tis your own little jig you’re dancing, Kerr. I ne’er agreed to accompany you.” Then she turned her horse and urged it into a gallop back down the trail.

  Six

  Isobel rode her mare under the portcullis and into the bailey with her head held high and her shoulders back, despite the fact that she wanted to pull her plaid over her head and hide.

  Her guard had said nothing to her, of course, but she could sense their amusement, and she knew they’d be talking about her later on. Which she wouldn’t have minded if she’d been successful.

  She gusted out a frustrated breath. How could she have messed up so badly? Kerr hadn’t seen the trap—he’d seen her. All she’d had to do was ignore him, and he would have eventually tumbled in.

  But nay, she’d tried to force the issue, and he’d picked up on her intent—not the trap.
>
  Then there was the fact that he’d kissed her. He’d even bitten her ear! And what had she done? Had she hit him? Or called for her guard? Nay, she’d turned into a weak, blathering fool—not that she remembered a word she’d said.

  Remembering would have meant thinking, and as far as she could tell, her brain had turned off.

  And her body had taken over. Heat filled her cheeks again. She groaned silently and tilted her chin up higher.

  “Isobel!”

  Glancing toward the corral beside the stable, she saw Deirdre standing at the fence, waving at her. Behind her, Gavin was in the ring with Ewan, who rode a small, sedate mare.

  Isobel hesitated before going over—Deirdre would want details, and she wasn’t yet ready to share them. But she couldn’t ignore her sister-in-law.

  She forced a smile and steered her horse toward the corral. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think we’d see you for days,” she teased.

  “Ewan wanted to show Gavin how he rode his horse. The new tricks he’d learned.” She blushed a little and laughed. “He kept knocking on the bedchamber door.”

  Isobel laughed too, a real laugh, and suddenly she felt a little better. She wasn’t the only one who’d been thwarted today.

  A groomsman came over when she dismounted. She gave the horse a customary rub on the nose before turning to lean back against the corral beside her friend.

  “You told Gavin you’re with bairn?” she asked.

  “Aye. He’s happy, of course, but I can sense a wee bit of worry too.”

  Isobel looked over her shoulder at her brother—a changed man in the last four months after finding his son and meeting and marrying Deirdre. “Congratulations, Brother! I couldnae be happier for you!”

  He walked toward them and gave her a tight hug over the fence. “Me too, Sister. Another bairn for us to cherish.”

  Behind him, Ewan performed one of his tricks on the horse, and Deirdre’s eyes widened with concern. “Gavin!” she squeaked, pointing at their son, who had urged the mare into a trot across the corral.

  Gavin raised his brow and strode back toward Ewan. “He knows how to keep his feet in the stirrups, love. Better than some people I know!”

  Isobel snorted as Deirdre made a face at her husband’s back. He was right. Her sister-in-law was a terrible rider, and for some reason, she couldn’t keep her feet in the stirrups…and then she panicked when she couldn’t get them back in.

  Deirdre stepped closer and dropped her voice. “Now, tell me what happened. I can see from your face that Kerr didnae fall for it.”

  Isobel huffed, feeling irritated all over again. “My face?”

  “Aye. You rode in verra queen-like. Your back straight and chin high. Haughty, even.” Deirdre’s eyes twinkled, and she pointed at her face. “That expression right there! ’Tis a sure sign that you’re displeased about something—usually having to do with Kerr.”

  Isobel sighed and dropped her forehead onto her arms. “He knew. I was too impatient and tried to get him to step where I wanted him to step. I should have ignored him and done nothing out of the ordinary, exactly as you told me to do. All that work for naught.”

  “I canna believe I’m encouraging you but…you’ll get him next time,” Deirdre said, patting her shoulder.

  “There willna be a next time. At least, not like that. I need to think of some other way to trick him. One that doesn’t involve traps. No more manure or honey.”

  “Or bees, or prickles, or buckets of ants… Or you could just marry him.”

  She peered sideways at Deirdre. Her sister-in-law looked amused. And why wouldn’t she? Isobel was amusing everyone today. “I think maybe you’ve missed the point about the manure,” she said. “I did not try to dunk Kerr in it because I wanted to marry him. ’Tis quite the opposite. I thought you understood that.”

  “Aye, so you’ve said, dearling. And I support your decision, of course, but you have to admit that he’s a braw man, and he adores you. The two of you together create sparks like steel against flint. Maybe before you make a decision, you should try kissing him. Or at least try not to fight with him. Give yourself a week or a month where you stop resisting and…allow him in. Who knows what will happen?”

  “I can tell you what will happen—my head will burst from the pressure. He said so himself.”

  She thought back to her conversation with Kerr about subjugation, and her gaze sought Deirdre’s. “Can I ask you something of a personal nature?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  Isobel slid closer and dropped her voice. “Does Gavin ever subjugate you? Or maybe…you subjugate him?”

  Deirdre’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean like…control him? Make him do what I want?”

  “Aye, in an intimate way. Bed play. Is this something people do?”

  Deirdre’s cheeks flushed. “I doona know what other people do, but…well, Gavin’s a strong man, and he certainly led our intimacy in the beginning. Sometimes he’ll hold me still or…position me,” she whispered the last words. “Is that what you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. ’Tis something Kerr said. Or rather, how he said it.”

  Deirdre’s eyes widened, and her voice rose. “You’ve been talking to Kerr about bed play?”

  Isobel glanced around quickly, her cheeks heating. “Shhhh.” When she saw no one was watching, she leaned toward Deirdre again. “Not really. Just small things to irritate me. He knew I didn’t know what it meant.”

  “I doona know what it means. When you finally allow him to subjugate you, let me know.”

  “Allow him to?”

  “Aye, although it doesn’t sound like you’ll have much say in the matter—if you’re being subjugated. It could be interesting.” Deirdre smiled and winked. Twice.

  Isobel felt the urge to poke her friend in the offending eye. The last thing she wanted to think about was interesting bed play with Kerr. She had enough of that in her dreams.

  “Mama! Aunt Isobel!” Ewan yelled. They looked up to see Gavin walking across the corral toward them with an excited Ewan in his arms.

  “Did you see me?” Ewan asked.

  “I did, sweet boy, and you even kept your feet in the stirrups.” Isobel couldn’t help the wee jab at Deirdre—not after she’d suggested Isobel let Kerr subjugate her.

  “It’s nap time, Ewan,” Gavin said firmly. He handed his son to Deirdre then climbed over the fence. “Annag will stay with you, while your mother and I have our own nap.”

  Ewan’s face lit up, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Deirdre quickly cut him off. “Nay, you canna sleep with us. Your father was mistaken, we’re not napping. We have work to do.”

  Gavin’s eyes closed as he realized his blunder. Isobel bit her lip to stop from laughing.

  “What kind of work?” Ewan asked.

  “Important work. Mathematical work that you haven’t learned yet,” Deirdre said.

  Isobel snorted. “Aye, your father is using your mother’s geometry set to determine the best angle for entry.”

  Deirdre kicked her in the shin, and Isobel hopped backward, her laugh breaking free. “I didn’t say entry to where.”

  “Entry to where?” Ewan asked.

  “To my solar.” Gavin lifted his son into his arms again. “Your ma and I will be working in there.”

  “On the desk, sweetling,” Isobel explained. “And your da may be doing all the work. In fact, I think your ma’s only there for the ride.”

  Gavin shot his sister a frown. “Brat,” he said, then grasped his wife’s hand and led her toward the keep. Ewan stuck out his tongue at her as they retreated, and Isobel returned the gesture, making her nephew giggle.

  Deirdre glanced back over her shoulder, a smirk on her face. “Isobel, go get subjugated.”

  She froze in place, then frantically cas
t her gaze around the bailey, looking for Kerr, praying he wasn’t nearby. When she didn’t see him, and no one was eyeing her with shock or, even worse, speculation, she sighed in relief. The last thing she wanted was for Kerr to know she’d been asking her sister-in-law about that.

  She looked back and saw her brother lean over and kiss the top of his wife’s head, their child between them. A wave of longing filled Isobel at the simple show of affection, making her feel the absence of love in her own life all the more keenly.

  It surprised her how much.

  She glanced back toward the portcullis, her eyes drawn there again as if looking for someone. Then she huffed in denial.

  I am not looking for him.

  But when men on horseback entered the bailey, she couldn’t look away. After a moment, she saw Kerr’s dark head poking up from behind another warrior. A strange fluttering sensation filled her chest.

  God’s blood, I am an idiotic woman.

  She couldn’t help thinking about what Deirdre had said—about letting Kerr kiss her, about letting him in, even just for a short while.

  Her friend hadn’t meant into her body, although that’s what Isobel would like, there was no denying that. Aye, she’d more than enjoyed the feeling of him beneath her in the forest, her legs on either side of his hips. And when he’d kissed her neck and bit her ear, she’d had to lean against him for support, her knees turning to mush.

  He switched direction, heading toward the stables, and when Isobel saw his face clearly, she let out a shocked gasp… It wasn’t Kerr!

  This man’s face was leaner, finer, and his hair, although the same color and texture as Kerr’s, was cut to the base of his neck. Kerr’s hair hung down to his shoulders.

  When the man drew near, he reined in and dismounted not far from where Isobel stood. Who was he? He was tall like Kerr, and she could see he was strong and knew how to handle his weapon—he’d hefted the claymore one-handed from his saddle and sheathed it across his back without looking—but he wasn’t as broad through the shoulders and chest as Kerr. Not many men were, not even Gavin.