Highland Thief by Alyson McLayne
One
MacKinnon Castle, Scotland, 1453
Isobel had long since given up trying to force Kerr out of her dreams.
The one she was having now was a favorite of hers, mostly because it was dark and she couldn’t see his face. She knew it was him, of course—his big hands gliding over her skin, his mouth nuzzling the crook of her neck, his leg pressed tightly between her thighs. Without those aggravating eyes teasing her, provoking her, she could wallow in sensation…and pretend that the lover in her dreams didn’t, in real life, frustrate the shite out of her.
When a knock sounded on her bedchamber door, she squeezed her arms around his neck, trying to hold him in place—to hold the dream in place.
She wasn’t ready to let him go yet…at least, not here.
The knock sounded again, more insistent this time, dragging her up from the depths of sleep, and she slowly opened her eyes and gazed around her dimly lit bedchamber. The fire in the hearth had burned down, and the air had the cool, crisp bite of an early summer morning, making her shiver despite the quilts piled on top of her.
Light seeped through the crack in the shutters, and she turned her face into the pillow with a groan. She’d been up late working on her trap for her brother, Gavin, and she wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep—preferably returning to her dream.
She may still be an unmarried lass of twenty-three, but she knew where the dream was headed…and she wanted to finish it.
The steward’s voice drifted through the heavy wooden door. “Lady MacKinnon, you asked me to notify you as soon as I heard from the lairds. They’re on their way back. The message came in just after dawn… My lady?”
She turned her head, eyes opening again, and this time she pushed herself upright. Gathering her hair behind her neck, she then pulled the swathe over her shoulder so the tangled strands hung down the front of her linen shift to her waist.
“I’m coming, Master Carmichael. Hold on.” She said the last with a yawn as she stretched toward the silk canopy over her bed.
The cool air hit her bare skin, and she quickly wrapped the loose plaid from the bottom of her bed around her shoulders before padding across the wool rug to the door.
She opened it wide enough to stick her head through. The stooped, elderly steward, who’d been with her family for as long as she could remember, peered back at her, his sparse white hair standing up in tufts around his head, his expression, as always, disapproving. She fought the urge to push the door wide, toss her plaid to the ground, and run down the hallway in her shift, singing a ribald song she’d heard the warriors sing.
Or better yet, run naked.
The man had never quite approved of her, even as a wee lass, and the last few years, the tension had increased between the two of them as Isobel had taken on more responsibility at the castle while Gavin had searched for his son.
The problem was, she never did what Master Carmichael thought a woman should do.
Not that Isobel cared; she was just ornery enough to enjoy the steward’s disapproval. If she thought it would do some good, and if Master Carmichael weren’t so old, she would set one of her traps for him.
The man wore propriety like a shield, and Isobel was a cannonball of inappropriateness flung straight at his head.
He wanted her married to another laird of her brother’s choosing and kept occupied with children and the needs of her family. Which was a noble calling, and something her new sister-in-law, Deirdre, did perfectly.
But Isobel was not married, did not have children, and enjoyed devising elaborate plots and traps to put deserving people in their place. She was judge and jury for bad behavior, and when it wasn’t a crime that warranted her brother’s intervention, or when the offender was her brother, beloved or not, she took it upon herself to call the person out.
Publicly.
Nobody wanted to get on her bad side—except maybe Kerr MacAlister. Aye, that particular laird liked figuring out her schemes and unraveling her traps before they were sprung. She’d long since given up trying to teach him a lesson—and if anyone deserved a comeuppance, it was him.
She stretched out her hand to the steward, palm up.
The man stilled, and the tiny muscles around his eyes tightened. “My lady?” he asked, as if confused about what she wanted when she knew he was not.
She barely repressed a sigh. “The message, Master Carmichael.”
“’Tis waiting for the laird in the laird’s solar.”
“But ’tis not for the laird. It’s for me from the laird.”
“Aye, my lady.” He nodded as he said it, as if in agreement with her, but he did not move toward the solar to retrieve the message. “It didnae have your name on it.”
This time she did sigh. And rolled her eyes. “Doona worry, Master Carmichael. I shall use my key to get into the laird’s solar. I need to look through the rest of my brother’s papers, anyway. Pray to God I doona mix up any of your neat, important piles.”
As his face began to flush and his mouth pinch, she closed the door and snickered quietly. That would teach him.
I truly am a wicked woman to enjoy riling an old man.
She turned back to her room and crossed to the window, so she could open the shutters and let in more light before retracing her steps and adding several logs to the smoldering fire. It began to flame, and she sighed as the blessed heat wafted over her.
The water on her washstand would be freezing, but she couldn’t wait for the maids to bring up hot water from the kitchen. She had too much to do. Gavin and his foster family, including Kerr, would arrive sometime today, and she still had to prepare for their stay. More importantly, she hadn’t finished the trap she’d planned for her brother.
He’d treated his wife, Deirdre, with little respect when he first met her last spring, dragging her about like an ox rather than a person with rights of her own, and he deserved—nay, he needed—to be censured for it, despite his and Deirdre’s happy outcome.
Of course, Isobel didn’t intend to hurt Gavin—not much, anyway.
Kerr, on the other hand, she’d be quite happy to drag through a prickle bush or two. Bloody contrary man.
He liked it when she tried to best him—which completely missed the point.
The only power she held in their relationship was that Kerr wanted to marry her—not that he’d actually asked her yet—and Isobel, thanks to a dying wish from her mother, planned to say no.
Her choice of husband was entirely up to her.
Feeling rejuvenated by that thought, she tossed her plaid and shift on the bed and moved toward her washstand. She made quick work of her morning ablutions, then dressed in a sturdy arisaid that suited her morning tasks.
After brushing out her hair, she pushed the bright swathe behind her shoulders, grabbed her plans and her key to the laird’s solar, and headed out the door into a wide passageway lit by candles.
At the end of the hall, she easily unlocked the door to her brother’s solar. Part of her had expected Master Carmichael to have jammed the lock, and a soft spurt of laughter burst from her lips.
She retrieved a candle from the sconce in the wall and stepped inside.
After crossing to the shutters, she opened them to let in the morning light, and then lit the pre-laid fire in the hearth, careful not to smear any ash on her clothes.
The nearby desk was filled with neat piles of organized parchments, as she’d expected, and the quills lay in a straight line. Even the excess sand had been swept away.
She strode toward it and laid down the diagram of her latest trap, pushing back the piles to make room.
Sinking into her brother’s chair, she took a moment to go over her plan again with fresh eyes. The problem with trying to catch her brother or one of his foster brothers off guard was that they’d been trained to spot any anomaly—whether it was people who were out of place or changes in their environment.
Luckily, her brother had been distracted with his bride and newly found son, Ewan, and Isobel felt she had a good chance of tricking him this time. But something about the plan was bothering her…something she’d missed.
The sound of lightly running feet caught her attention, and Isobel looked up in time to see her sister-in-law, also twenty-three, hurry through the door. Hope and excitement shone from her beautiful face, but when she saw Isobel at the desk, the light faded.
“Oh,” Deirdre said, her disappointment palpable. “I thought maybe you were Gavin. Not that I’m unhappy to see you, of course.”
Isobel laughed. “Aye, you are. But ’tis understandable. You’re as daft as a duck in love with my brother.”
Deirdre plopped down on the chair in front of the desk, facing Isobel, her hands resting on her belly. “I am not daft. Well, maybe a little.” She sighed. “I thought they’d be back by now. It’s been seven weeks.”
“They will be. Soon. I received word earlier.” She found the message on top of one of Master Carmichael’s piles and held it out to Deirdre. “Here.”
Deirdre leaned forward eagerly and pulled the letter from her hand.
Isobel turned her gaze back to her plan and walked her fingers across the paper to guess the number of paces between the edge of the glade and the pit of manure she’d filled up a few days ago.
That’s when it struck her. Even if she could distract Gavin long enough so he didn’t notice the pit before he stepped into it, how could she stop him from smelling it?
“How’d you get in here?”
The question distracted Isobel, and she looked up to find her sister-in-law’s gaze upon her.
Deirdre continued, “I asked Master Carmichael to let me in a few weeks ago, but he was most reluctant. He didn’t actually say no, but he also never let me in. And he gave me such a look that I ne’er asked again.”
Isobel grinned and held up her key. “He canna keep me out—no matter how hard he tries.”
Deirdre’s eyes widened. “Did Gavin give you that?”
“Nay.” She slipped the key back within the folds of her arisaid. “I took his and had a copy made. How else could I know what was going on in the clan and with his foster brothers? He doesn’t tell me everything.”
Deirdre’s mouth opened in surprise. “So you break in?”
“Nay, that’s what I would do if I didn’t have a key. I simply unlock the door and step inside. Until he changes the locks, there’s naught he can do about it—and he knows it.”
Deirdre shook her head. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said that as soon as he’s back.”
“Tell Master Carmichael, too, and watch his face turn purple. ’Tis most amusing.”
“Oh, Isobel. That’s terrible,” Deirdre laughed, shaking her head at the same time. “’Tis a wonder he’s still alive.” Her amusement made her gray eyes dance.
When she dropped her palm back to her stomach and rubbed softly, Isobel’s brow creased. That was the second time her sister-in-law had rubbed or patted her belly. She scrutinized Deirdre’s face. She was as lovely as ever with her lush features and long, dark hair—almost as dark as Kerr’s hair, which wasn’t surprising as they shared a great-grandmother—but her eyes were shadowed and her fair skin peaked.
“Are you feeling well?” she asked.
“Aye. A little tired, ’tis all.”
“And the sickness has subsided?”
“For the most part.”
The plaid Deirdre had pleated around her middle hid her pregnancy well—not that there was much to see. Based on her last menses, the healer guessed the wee bairn inside her was barely three months old.
When she’d first found out, Deirdre hadn’t told anyone, as Gavin had already left with their allies to finish the fight with the MacIntyres and the MacColls, and she’d wanted her husband to be the first to know. Followed by Ewan, of course, Gavin’s son from his first marriage, whom Deirdre had raised as her own son after Ewan had been abducted.
But Isobel had figured it out.
It frightened her to think of losing Deirdre to childbirth like so many women before her. If that were to happen, she feared for her brother.
To lose her now would shatter him—would shatter them all. Deirdre hadn’t just rescued Ewan after he’d disappeared three years ago, she hadn’t just brought Gavin back to them from the dark place that had consumed him, she’d saved all the MacKinnons, Gavin’s foster brothers, and Gregor MacLeod as well. When the MacIntyres and MacColls had first attacked, it was Deirdre who’d crumbled the half-built cathedral down on top of them—killing them all.
Except one man, of course—the dark-haired mastermind behind all the attacks on the foster brothers and Gregor MacLeod in the last few years.
Verily, Deirdre was an angel sent to save them, and Gavin loved her beyond reason. So did Isobel.
Not that Deirdre needed to know that.
“Enjoy the fresh air and sunlight while you can,” she said, her lips tilting into a wicked grin. “My brother will take one look at you—your breasts even bigger than before, although God knows how that’s possible—and you will be on your back staring at the ceiling for days.”
Deirdre sniffed—a dismissive, disdainful sound. “Shows how little you know, Sister. ’Tis not always the ceiling I’ll be facing. Gavin and I are more imaginative than that.”
Isobel burst into laughter. Aye, her beloved friend had a wee bit of the devil inside her too. “Well, take advantage while you still can. Before long, you willna be able to move. You married into a family of giants, not to mention you have Kerr’s blood running through your veins. He’s part monster. That wee lad you’re carrying will be half your size by the time he comes out.”
“Nay, I’m going to have a wee lass, as sweet and patient and kind-spoken as you.”
Isobel put on a beatific smile. “I am sweet, aren’t I? And I do say the nicest things.” Never mind that she had a plan laid out before her to lure her brother into a pit of manure.
Deirdre snorted, but then she sighed and placed her hands over her belly again. “You’re fortunate to be so tall, Isobel. Your body will easily accommodate a growing bairn. ’Tis how it was with my sisters. I’m afraid I will look like Farmer Busby’s prize sow before long.”
“You should be so lucky. Ophelia is a dear. I love that pig.”
Deirdre’s gaze turned speculative as she looked at her. “Your body will change too, when you have bairns. And not only your belly. You may not mind growing rounder at all.”
A familiar pang of envy squeezed Isobel’s chest—her very flat chest. “I doona think I’ll e’er be pregnant. I willna marry Kerr, and he runs off any other man who might be interested in me. I’ll have to make do with being an indulgent aunt to Ewan and the rest of yours and Gavin’s horde.”
Deirdre frowned. “I’ll speak to Gavin about that when he returns. And to Kerr as well. It was my intention to do so before, but with Gavin being injured, I forgot. I canna believe Kerr means to cause you distress. You’ve had an understanding of sorts between the two of you for a long time. ’Tis possible he thinks it’s only a matter of time before you marry. If your heart is truly set against him, Gavin must make it clear that he isna to interfere—even if it means he’s no longer welcome here for a while.”
Isobel dropped her eyes, her lips clamped together to hold in the protest that had risen in her breast. It filled her throat until she couldn’t breathe around it.
Gah, I’m an addlepated woman! Kerr MacAlister is not the man for me.
“Doona worry yourself,” she said, trying to lighten her voice. “If your cousin e’er works up the courage to ask me, I’ll make it verra clear to him that I havenae any intention of marrying him. But for now, there is none other who has caught my eye, and it saves me having to turn down suitors who only want me for this.” She circled her finger around her face. “They think they’re getting the Beauty of the Highlands, when in actual fact they’re getting…” She had to think about how to describe herself. Her real self.
Deirdre raised a brow. “The Devil of the Highlands?”
A puff of laughter blew out. “Aye, maybe. I was going to say the Best Plotter or Trap-Setter of the Highlands, but Devil sounds better.”
“Is that what you do? Set traps for people who deserve it? I haven’t been here long, but that’s what I’ve heard the castle-folk say.”
“I suppose so, but it’s not always an elaborate trap. As long as I let them know in some way that their behavior has been noted and found wanting.”
Deirdre looked doubtful. “So…a public shaming of sorts?”
“Perhaps.” She leaned toward Deirdre. “Doona you see? It balances the scales. Restores power to the person who has been maltreated and maintains the equilibrium of the clan. If ’tis a serious crime like theft or murder, I leave that to Gavin. But in this case,” she indicated the parchment spread over the desk in front of her, “the offender was Gavin. He treated you terribly and has to pay for it.”
Deirdre’s eyes grew round as she looked—upside down—at the plan Isobel had devised.
“But…I’ve forgiven him. What if he gets hurt?”
“The only thing that will be hurt is his dignity. And maybe his shoes. And believe me, he’ll feel better afterward. And you will too. I am declaring, on behalf of the clan, that I saw what he did to you and I’ve condemned it. You’ll both thank me for it later.”
Deirdre shook her head. “Isobel MacKinnon, you’ve lost your mind.”
“Nay, I havenae. It facilitates healing within the clan. You’ll see.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Gavin reuniting me with Ewan and marrying me facilitates healing. Every time he tells me he loves me facilitates healing.” She rose and turned the parchment around so she could look at it more closely, then stabbed her finger on the pit. “Manure does not facilitate healing!”
Isobel shrugged. “I think it does. Besides, I’ve already declared that Gavin is on my list. The clan is waiting.”
“Let them wait!”
“Nay.”
She could almost see Deirdre’s brilliant, mathematical mind analyzing and discarding the different options. “Well, then…I’m going to tell him.”
Isobel had to bite her lip to hide her amusement. “Nay, you won’t. You’re an angel, and I’ve asked you not to.”
“You did not.”
“Deirdre, please doona tell Gavin about my plans—in any way. Even if he tries to trick you.”
“If he’s tricking me, I willna know that he’s tricking me, will I?”
“Aye, you will. You’re a smart woman.”
She glared at Isobel. “Well, what about Kerr?”
“What about him?”
“Have you set up a trap for him?”
“Nay.”
“Why not? If anyone deserves your ire, it’s him. He deliberately provokes you.”
Isobel’s lips tightened, and she turned the parchment back to face her. “I’ve tried. Numerous times. He always sees through it. ’Tis verra annoying—much like him. Kerr MacAlister enjoys being on my bad side.”
“When was the last time you tried?”
“Over a year ago.”
“Over a year ago!”
Isobel looked up at the stone ceiling and around the room. “Is there an echo in here?”
Deirdre huffed and turned the parchment back toward her. She leaned on the desk, eyes intent on the plan. “You obviously haven’t tried hard enough. It seems to me you should punish Kerr before you punish Gavin. How will the clan feel if you let Kerr get away with being annoying? You must redress things, Isobel.”
“Now who’s lost their mind? The clan doesn’t care about Kerr. That was for me. Kerr’s punishment now is in me not punishing him.”
Deirdre scoffed. “You just need a good enough distraction. How are you planning to distract Gavin?”
“I’m not. The man’s been walking around with his head in the clouds since he met you. He’ll not notice anything amiss until it’s too late.” Deirdre blushed prettily and smiled. Isobel rolled her eyes. “For the love of God, that’s not a good thing.”
Her sister-in-law grumbled and then sat back down in her chair. “All you need to do is make Kerr think you’re planning to pull the wool over Gavin’s eyes, when the trap is actually for him.”
Isobel stilled and her heart began to race. A budding excitement heated her skin. “I could ask for his help.”
“Is that something you would normally do?”
“Nay.”
“Then doona do that this time either. Doona do anything out of the ordinary, or he’ll suspect you’re up to something.”
“But how will I get him out there?”
“Out where?”
“To the forest where I’ve set the trap.”
“He’ll look for you. He always does.”
Isobel sat back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the desk as her mind sorted through the possibilities. It might work! She could distract Kerr with a second trap. Maybe a bag of prickles in the tree or a bucket of honey. Meanwhile, she would draw him toward the pit.
She whooped excitedly. “Deirdre, you’re a genius!” She picked up a quill and began jotting down the ideas that tumbled through her head.
“Does that mean Gavin’s off the hook?” Deirdre asked.
“For now. I canna believe I ne’er thought of this before. Kerr will be looking up at the tree instead of down toward the pit. It’s sure to work!”
She jumped up and was organizing her various parchments when a high-pitched screech filled the air.
“Mama!” Ewan yelled as he ran into the solar. He stopped and eyed Deirdre almost accusingly. “I was looking for you. You weren’t in your bedchamber.”
Deirdre opened her arms, and the lad crawled onto her lap. He was an exact replica of Gavin, with his blond hair and blue-green eyes.
And Isobel’s eyes too. Aye, the MacKinnon line still had the bearing and coloring of their Norse ancestors. Maybe Deirdre would change all that with their next bairn.
“She was conspiring with me in here, Ewan,” Isobel said, stepping around the desk to scoop up her nephew. “We were planning to bring down a monster. Can you imagine? Your mother, a monster-slayer!”
His eyes widened, looking like two brightly colored fairy ponds. “A monster! Can I come? I’ll need my bow and Horsey.” He referred to his pony, of course, and squirmed down. “Doona leave yet. I’ll be right back.”
Isobel laughed as he ran from the room as quickly as he came in. “Well, that’s your day planned,” she said to Deirdre.
“Aye, thank you for that.”
“You can send him with me if you like—to my open pit of horse manure. I’m sure he’ll be much help. Although I canna guarantee he willna fall in.”
“Sounds like a wonderful adventure,” Deirdre said dryly. “Maybe next time.”
Isobel gave her friend a quick hug before gathering up her papers and then hurrying from the room. She crossed to the circular stairwell on the other side of the passageway and headed down. Near the bottom, the stairs opened up to the great hall where servers and kitchen staff hurriedly cleared dirty trenchers and platters of food from long tables in the middle of the room. Soon they would be neatly stacked, along with the benches, against the wall in the opposite corner—until the next meal.
A second stairwell was located at the opposite end of the cavernous room. In between, a fire burned in a grand hearth that heated the hall and the rest of the castle.
Candles burned along the walls and in two large, circular chandeliers that hung from the ceiling on chains. Light also streamed in from outside through a ring of murder holes high up along the exterior wall. The small windows were accessed by an interior balcony used by archers to defend the castle in times of need.
“Master Carmichael!” she called as she stepped off the last stair and hurried toward a breakfast table set up for the laird’s family in front of a smaller hearth. A flowered wall-hanging hung above the mantel and several chairs with embroidered seats and foot stools had been pushed back against the wall to make room for the table.
Fresh rushes crunched underfoot as she weaved her way around the busy castle-folk. At the table, she spooned oats into a bowl and poured milk over top, not even sitting down to eat. She had too much to do to ready her trap in time for Kerr’s arrival—and to prepare for the men coming.
“My lady,” Master Carmichael said from behind her, and she jumped.
How did he always manage to sneak up on her? “Is everything ready for my brother and the other lairds?”
“Aye. We’ve been preparing for days.”
Isobel was a head taller than him, and still he managed to look down his nose at her—or at least give the impression of it. He must have practiced that look just for her. She couldn’t imagine he would ever use it on her brother.
Judgmental ablach.
What was he upset about now? That she hadn’t waited for the others to eat? Or that she was eating while standing, scooping the oats into her mouth? Something she’d seen the men do hundreds of times.
Well, she’d give him something else to be upset about.
“If there’s naught else to do, then please tell the stable hands I need more manure.”
Master Carmichael turned an astonishing shade of purple.