Highland Thief by Alyson McLayne
Sixteen
“You promise not to look?” Isobel asked him.
Kerr squeezed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes and tried to picture Gavin’s face glaring at him. Or better yet, Gavin’s and Gregor’s faces glaring at him. They stood in front of him in the woods, frowning down at him as he sat with his back against a tree—not peeking at Isobel.
“Of course I willna look,” he said over his bare shoulder toward the creek below. He’d stripped off his shirt earlier and given it to her to change into after her dip in the cool water.
“Because my shift will get wet washing my arisaid, and it willna hide anything.”
He clenched his jaw to contain the demented laugh that rose in his throat. “I’m well aware of that, Izzy.”
When the water splashed behind him, he puffed out a heavy breath and tried to distract himself from the scene he imagined taking place—her thin linen chemise soaked and clinging to her body as she washed her arisaid, the bar of soap he’d given her clenched in her hand, her hair rolled up and tied back in that mysterious way women had of securing it…although soft, silky strands had already started to escape the knot and tumble down the sides of her face.
He bit back a groan.
Or maybe she’d chosen to bathe first and was using the soap on herself, running her hands across her skin, pushing the lather over all those places he wanted to lick and kiss, her breasts lifting, her waist twisting and bending.
He was rock-hard thinking about it—hell, he’d been rock-hard all day—and that part of him with a mind of its own was jutting upward obscenely against the soft wool of his plaid, thick and long and desperate for the soft clutch of Isobel’s body.
This time he did groan. Loudly.
“What was that?” she yelled from behind him.
“’Tis naught,” he said and wrapped his hand over his plaid and around his cock, desperate to relieve the ache. It wouldn’t take much; he hadn’t touched another woman since he’d decided he wanted to marry Isobel.
For four long years, his hand had been his only intimate companion.
He’d tried to woo her during that time, but war, Ewan’s disappearance, and that thing between them, whatever it was, had gotten in the way. If she still rejected him after their time together here, he didn’t know what he would do.
“Kerr!”
“Aye?” he ground out.
“How will I know when it’s done?”
His mind was so clouded with need, he couldn’t discern her meaning. “When what’s done?”
“My arisaid. How will I know when it’s clean?”
“I doona know, Izzy. Just guess. Make sure you’ve squeezed soap through all of the material and then rinse it well.”
“All right.”
More splashing, and he gripped his fist harder around his cock before letting go and forcing his hands away. Nay, he couldn’t disrespect her in that way. He rose quickly and looked for something he could do—anything—to distract himself. He would find Diabhla and repack his supply bag. He was about to whistle for the stallion, when Isobel let out a high-pitched screech, and he spun toward her, his warrior rising in an instant as his mind honed in on how to keep her safe.
“Isobel!” he yelled, drawing his sword and leaping down the embankment. His eyes darted around as he ran along the rocky shore toward her, but he couldn’t see any attackers.
She clutched her soaked arisaid in front of her. “Turn around!” she screamed and took several steps backward, the water rising above her knees. “And doona step on your shirt or I’ll have to wash that too, and then what will I wear?”
He slowed and glanced down. The shirt he had given her lay at his feet. Still dry, but definitely in need of cleaning after the day they’d had traipsing through the woods. He almost picked it up and threw it at her to teach her a lesson. She obviously wasn’t under attack or in any kind of trouble.
He sheathed his sword and stared at her, hands on his hips and his brow furrowed. After several deep, hard breaths, he loosened his jaw enough to speak.
“You screamed,” he said, trying not to notice the exposed curve of her hip on one side and the length of her thigh on the other.
“You turned around,” she said accusingly.
“I didn’t turn around until after you screamed.”
“Well, you stood up, and I thought you were going to turn around.”
“Why would I do that? I gave you my word. Does my promise mean nothing to you?”
“Nay.” She chewed her lip guiltily. “I just…my nerves overwhelmed me.”
He huffed out a frustrated breath and rolled his eyes heavenward—partly asking the Almighty for patience but also to avoid looking at Isobel directly. He was a powerful, determined laird. He could trust himself to keep his eyes up.
But did she truly not trust him?
There was an easy way to find out… And if Isobel agreed to do as he asked, it would tell him so much about the future of their relationship.
He dropped his gaze back down and looked her directly in the eyes. “Have you rinsed out your dress?”
“Aye.”
“Then toss it to me so you can have your bath while I squeeze out the water.”
Her jaw gaped. “I canna do that. Have you lost your mind?”
“Nay.” He held out his hand to her. “Your dress, Isobel.”
He could see in her face the moment she decided to do as he asked. Her chin lifted slightly, those rosebud-red lips pursed almost in defiance, and her shoulders pulled back. He almost punched the air in triumph. Isobel wanted him to see her like this—practically naked—otherwise she would never consider it.
No one tells Isobel MacKinnon—soon to be MacAlister—what to do.
She balled up her wet dress and lobbed it straight at his chest.
He took his gaze from hers for only a second as he caught the dress. When he looked back, he tried to do the right thing—to anchor himself on her eyes and not look down—but she’d spun away from him and was stepping deeper into the water.
And without her gaze to lock onto, he faltered.
His eyes dropped from the bright halo of her hair piled on top of her head, slid down the length of her back, her waist tucked in at the bottom, and came to rest on the rounded globes of her backside—high and tight and curved like an apple he wanted to bite.
His knees weakened.
The wet chemise clung to her skin, dipped into the cleft of her arse, and molded over the tops of her legs, bringing to mind all the fantasies he’d had over the years about wrapping them around him.
He took an involuntary step toward her, like a predator scenting its prey, only to have her dive beneath the water. Her head appeared a moment later, her hair down and slicked back. He watched avidly as she worked her fingers through the strands and lifted her chemise over her head.
She caught his gaze as she reached for the soap on a nearby rock, and then turned away from him and rose out of the creek up to her waist to wash her linen shift. Her hair, darkened and sleek from the water, hung down her naked back. “I thought you were going to squeeze out my dress?” she asked.
“I am.”
“Liar. You’re watching me.”
He shook out the sodden material and wrung it with his hands. Water poured out onto the rocks at his feet. “There.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You’re still watching.”
“You ne’er asked me to turn around.”
When her only response was the sound of water splashing as she spun back and rinsed out her chemise, he couldn’t help the exultant smile that creased his face. She dipped under again up to her shoulders, and then faced him. He quickly schooled his features.
“Here,” she said, and flung her chemise at him.
He caught it easily.
She dunked under again and appeared farther out into the creek, with the soap still in her hand. He couldn’t see beneath the water, but he assumed she was washing herself. He clenched his jaw as his imagination went wild—especially when her eyes landed on him…roaming his bare chest and stomach. And lower.
There was no hiding his body’s response beneath his plaid, and he decided he didn’t want to. He liked having her eyes on him. Hopefully, her interest in his body was as keen as his interest was in hers.
They were both vulnerable here, and he wanted her to know how much he desired her.
For good measure, he flexed a little harder as he squeezed out her chemise, bulging his arms and shoulders, popping out his chest, and clenching his stomach. ’Twas a lucky happenstance he’d given her his shirt to put on.
“Is it cold in there?” he asked as she lathered up the soap and rubbed it into her hair.
If he saw her naked, he would even things up by showing her his body as well—preferably before he took his own dip in the cool water to rinse off the day’s dirt and sweat.
Isobel was curious—about everything. He was certain she would be curious about that part of him as well.
He would show her his full potential.
She dunked under the water to rinse her hair, and he laid her clothes flat on the rocks to dry. When he straightened, she’d swum closer.
“Are you coming out now?” he asked.
“Maybe. Turn around.”
He shook his head, and then released his sword, his sporran, and loosened his plaid. Her eyes widened with surprise, but also with excitement as his plaid dipped low.
“You need to dry off,” he said. He grasped the edge of the rectangular-shaped material and stretched it out in front of him, as naked now as she was. “Come, Isobel. I canna take much more of you frolicking in the water.”
“I’m not frolicking.”
He shrugged and let the silence stretch between them. The pressure mounted for her to do as he’d asked.
Finally, she spoke. “Lift the plaid higher so you canna see me. And this time, no peeking.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, one eyebrow quirking.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m sure.”
He raised the plaid until he could no longer see her face. The bottom edge hit the tops of his knees, and he wondered if she was hoping it would go higher.
Then he heard splashing, and when she rose from the water and started walking toward him, her face came into view. He adjusted the plaid as she moved closer, so as not to expose her body. He would not break her trust in this.
But he would watch her. When she saw his eyes on her face she hesitated, and panic flitted there briefly.
“I canna see anything, Isobel. Keep coming.”
She rushed the last few steps. Before she could grab the plaid, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, covering her all the way down to her knees, and pulled her tight into his embrace.
She fit perfectly against him, tucked beneath his chin.
“I’m getting your plaid wet,” she protested, sounding breathless.
He smiled against her hair. “I doona mind. It will be wet after I bathe too.”
He wanted to kiss her. Nay, he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that. Her pelvis rocked against him, maybe unconsciously, but he knew what it was even if she didn’t—an invitation.
His stones jerked in response, tight and hard against the base of his cock, swelling so taut, he gritted his teeth against the ache. Without thinking, he slid his palm down her spine and over her arse to grip the back of her thigh before he stopped himself.
“Izzy?” he ground out, more a grunt than an actual word.
“Aye,” she croaked.
“Should I take that swim now?”
Seconds passed that seemed like hours. Time seemed to stop between them. Finally, she said, “Aye.”
He let out a frustrated breath, and then closed his eyes, trying to find some calm in the middle of the storm. When he opened them, he released her leg and cupped her jaw with both hands. He stared at her…and then lowered his head and kissed her. Hard.
Letting go was a test of his resolve, especially when she rose up on her tiptoes and pushed against his lips.
He pulled away abruptly, his heart pounding. He could see she wanted more, and when she dropped her eyes to his mouth, he quickly stepped past her and strode to the water. One hand gripped his cock and stones to relieve the ache. He didn’t look back, but he knew without a doubt that her gaze traced his backside like his had traced hers.
“Dry off, Isobel,” he said over his shoulder. “I may be a while. I wouldnae want you to get a chill while I cool off.”
***
“You want to do what?” Kerr asked as he wheeled toward Isobel, his eyebrows raised so high he wondered if they would ever come down. Around them, the birds chirped loudly to one another, and he could almost imagine they were as perturbed as he was.
Although he didn’t know why he was surprised. He’d known it was coming.
She took another step along the trail, the leaves crunching beneath her shoes, before seeing he’d stopped and turning to face him. Diabhla stopped as well and swung his head around to watch them.
“You said you would teach me everything Gregor taught you,” she said. “Well, a lot of your time spent with him was learning sword play and other forms of combat.”
“I have ne’er played with a sword in my life. Nor have my brothers. We learned how to use weapons to kill other men with weapons. Is that what you want, Isobel?”
“If that’s what it comes to, aye.” She took a step toward him, and he almost grabbed her by the folds of his shirt—looking so damn provocative on her, despite how big it was—and dragged her all the way in for a kiss. Except his arms were full of her wet plaid and chemise, and he feared if he started kissing her, he would not be able to stop—and neither would she.
Lord help him. How was he going to get through the night?
“I want to know how all the different weapons work, and how to defend myself if I need to—like Maggie and Amber. And I want to know about war and strategy and the best ways to take a castle or defend it.”
“You want to lead.”
She stilled, and her eyes darted to his. “And why not? Because I’m a woman?”
He sighed. He’d always known it would come to this. “Nay, because you doona have a castle to defend or a clan to lead. Gavin does…and now Deirdre along with him.” She gasped, and he could see the hurt in her eyes, but he pushed on. “And when Gavin dies, then Ewan will have a castle. You are not the heir, Isobel.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because unless you plan to get rid of your loved ones, you need to find another castle to defend, another clan to lead.” He stepped closer. “My castle, Izzy. My clan. Say the word, love, and we can be married.” He shifted her wet clothes to one arm and grasped her hand. “We can do it right now. Handfast one another right here. And then we can have a church ceremony with Father Lundie and our families when we return.”
He moved even closer, and her gaze rose to his.
He dropped his voice seductively. “Think of everything I could teach you about bed play. We could have a wedding night tonight. You like to learn new things. I have no doubt you’d become an expert at it in no time…and you wouldnae have to worry about sleeping in my dirty shirt.”
Her cheeks flushed and her fingers tightened on his, but after a moment she took a step back. Then another, as if she still didn’t trust herself standing so close. When she released his hand and turned around to continue along the path back to the cabin, he suppressed a sigh and caught up.
He’d made progress with her the last few days. Great progress. She just needed time to come to a proper conclusion—one that ended with them in their marriage bed…and leading his clan together.
“What if Eirik had turned out to be a bad man?” she continued, as if he hadn’t just asked her to marry him…again. “I wouldnae have been able to fight him off.”
He snorted. “You’re not the only one. Eirik is like Gregor—a force of nature—but even bigger.”
“Well, you can beat Gregor. I’m sure you could beat Eirik too. You would think of something.”
Warmth exploded in his chest as pleasure coursed through his veins. ’Twas the greatest boon, knowing that she thought him capable of such feats; that boded well for her assessment of him as a husband.
“I would protect you to the death, sweetling. If Eirik did get the better of me, it wouldnae be an easy fight. Besides, I think Siv would turn on Eirik if he e’er put a foot wrong with you.”
She smiled. “My great defender. Maybe I’ll keep an eye out for an abandoned wolf pup like her and raise it as my own.”
“I doona think there are any other wolves like her.”
She made a sound of agreement in the back of her throat, and they continued, walking in silence back to the cabin. He could see she was tired, and he considered asking if she wanted to ride Diabhla. But he liked having her next to him.
The sun was low in the sky, and the air had begun to cool. In her arms she carried a basket of greens, fruit, and herbs they’d foraged for in the woods earlier. He’d shown her where to look for them, which plants were edible and which ones were not. And he’d made a special point of testing her over and over again on the plants that would kill you if you made a mistake and put them in your stew.
In addition, they’d made a crude bow and arrow that she’d practiced with, but when it came time to use it on a rabbit they spotted, she’d put the bow down. Instead, she’d started investigating ways to build a trap. He could have shown her how, but in this she didn’t want—or need—his help. Of course, he doubted she’d be able to kill the rabbit once she caught it.
“Are you tired, love?” he asked when she sighed.
“Aye. ’Tis a pleasant kind of tired, though. Tramping through the woods always leaves me feeling this way—happy and content—yet feeling like once I stop, I willna rise again until morning. And my head is full of everything you’ve taught me today.” She reached across and slipped her hand into his, linking their fingers. “Thank you.”
His heart swelled in his chest. “You’re welcome.”
She grinned up at him. “And tomorrow, after our lesson, I’ll be even more tired, I’m sure.”
“You have no idea. You will hurt in places you ne’er even knew you could hurt. At the end of the day, you’ll be glad to slip into the cold stream…although you may not be able to get out again.”
She looked at him sideways, and he had to repress a grin. Maybe if he pushed her hard enough, she wouldn’t want to keep training. God knows Gregor had pushed him and his brothers beyond their limit countless times. He suspected that once Isobel had a basic understanding of things, she would delegate tasks that were better handled by other people—like sword fighting.
’Twas part of being a good leader.
“Maybe we shouldn’t start with sword play, then,” she said, sounding a little leery. “You can teach me some of what Amber knows—how to defend myself if I’m attacked.”
“I can do that. But remember that most of what Amber knows depends on her aggressor being surprised. The techniques I’ll teach you aren’t to be used to fight a bigger opponent. You doona have the strength or knowledge for that. They’re to give you time to run away.”
“Run away?”
“Aye. Take Eirik for example. If he had come after you, there’s naught you could have done to save yourself. He’s too strong and too skilled. He could easily contain you with one hand. But if you did something he didn’t expect and broke his hold on you—maybe imparted a little pain, like when Amber twisted my stones, or if you were to bash in his nose with the back of your head—then you might have time to get away.”
Her eyes lit up. “The first one…that sounds like a great move! I want to know how to do that.”
“Of course you do,” he said with a sigh. “But if you want to learn the technique as an excuse to fondle my privates, you doona have to go to so much trouble. You may fondle them at will—after you handfast me.”
“Kerr!” she reprimanded—but he thought he detected a hint of laughter beneath the rebuke. Excitement too.
“What? You doona want to fondle them? Or you doona want to handfast me?”
She shot him an exasperated look, and then pulled her hand free, making him regret his joke. He almost grabbed her hand back and apologized, but another part of him wanted to see where this conversation would lead.
She ran her fingers through her drying hair, lifting it away from her face and behind her shoulder. It was an unconscious movement, but from his experience, when women tried to spark his interest, they often played with their hair.
It encouraged him to see Isobel do the same.
“I doona know yet what I want,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes straight ahead.
Which means shemight want me.
Hope burst like a bubble in his heart and he almost danced a wee jig. Although he was pretty sure if he did, his chances with Isobel would diminish. It would be best if she didn’t see him dance like that until after they were married.
Ahead of them, the trail dwindled to an end. He slowed, placing a hand on Isobel’s arm and whistling softly to Diabhla. The stallion stopped without making a sound. Isobel glanced up at him inquiringly, and he put a finger to his lips. He crept forward through the trees, still hidden, and settled in to watch the cabin and surrounding glen to make sure no one had arrived while they were gone.
Isobel crawled up beside him. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Nothing that I know of. But we need to be certain.”
She settled on the forest floor beside him, and he tried not to be distracted by her fresh scent and the way her hair shone in the dying rays of the sun. Or the way her legs were exposed above her knees when his shirt rode up on her.
He returned his attention to the glen, looking for any sign of disturbance at the cabin or the lean-to, scanning for any movement or a glint of steel. He listened, too, sensing for disturbances in the forest, including sounds that should be there but weren’t.
When he was certain it was safe, he said, “We can go.” He helped Isobel up and whistled for Diabhla.
Approaching the cabin felt almost like coming home, and he imagined he was a farmer, not a laird, and Isobel was his wife, not another clan’s lady. Reaching out, he took her hand, palm to palm.
She squeezed back, and the only thing that could have made the moment any better was if she had a baby balanced on her hip and he held the hand of another child. And maybe a third child riding Diabhla.
He hoped what he saw in his mind’s eye was a vision of their future.
When they reached the cabin, he hesitated for a second before he laid her wet clothes on the railing, took the basket from her hands and put it down, and then opened the door wide. She raised her brow at him.
He took both of her hands in his. “Can I carry you over the threshold, lass?”
Understanding bloomed in her eyes, and her cheeks reddened.
She knew what he was asking—would she handfast him, right here, right now. Say the words and then allow him to carry her into the cabin, over the threshold, and to their marriage bed.
She dropped her gaze from his and peered into the cabin. Her eyes landed on the mattress covered in Kerr’s extra plaid. Slowly, she returned her gaze to him. “You didnae listen before. I said I wasn’t certain yet.”
“All right… When will you be certain?”
She sighed and met his eyes. “I doona know, Kerr. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.” Releasing his hands, she picked up the basket she’d been carrying and entered the cabin on her own.
He scraped his fingers through his beard in frustration. It had been worth asking her again—if for no other reason than to keep his intentions in the forefront of her mind.
Still, the rejection hurt, and he knew deep down that he shouldn’t have pushed.
“Kerr.”
He glanced over and saw Isobel standing at the door, hands on her hips. She didn’t look mad, exactly, but definitely determined. “Aye?” he answered warily.
“Other than the days Ewan was found and Gavin and Deirdre were married, this has been the best day of my life. Please, doona ruin it by pressing me for something I’m not yet ready to give.” Then she spun around and went back into the cabin, softly closing the door behind her.
He grinned, and then danced that little jig. When he finished, he said loudly so she could hear, “And tomorrow will be even better. I’ll knock you into the dirt with the flat of my sword more times that you can count. Your wish is my command, Lady MacKinnon!”