Highland Thief by Alyson McLayne

Seventeen

Isobel was lost in one of those secret dreams about Kerr that seemed so real, the heat of his body pressed to the length of hers was scorching. The scent of him—musky, male, and enticing—drifted up her nose and across her senses like nectar to a honeybee.

She burrowed in deeper…her arms pulling that big, muscled body closer, her legs opening to him, so he pressed hard against her center. Her cheek rested on a firm chest covered with a sprinkling of hair, and she nuzzled into it.

He shifted closer, angling his shoulder, and she found the tiny nub of his nipple.

Greedily, she sucked on it.

Kerr’s low groan filled her ears, and the vibration that rumbled through his warm chest and into her body woke her. Slowly, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at the notch in his throat…and she realized she wasn’t dreaming this time.

Heart racing, she raised her head, expecting to see his dark gaze upon her filled with wicked amusement, but his eyes were still closed in sleep. Even so, his breaths had quickened, and his cock lay hard against the front of her hip.

God’s blood…he was huge down there too.

His bare thigh had somehow become wedged between hers—and need crashed through her body. She clenched her jaw, trying to contain it, but it raged uncontrollably.

Unable to help herself, she rocked her pelvis against the bulging muscles in his leg. Heat and heaviness spread in her loins, and then arced like lighting through her belly to the tips of her breasts and lips, making her gasp.

Dropping her eyes, she quietly panted as she stared at the expanse of his chest—so big, so tanned. She wanted to rub her cheek along his skin like a cat, her teeth grazing—nipping occasionally—her throat filled with the sound of purring.

Even in sleep, his pectorals bowed outward with a little valley down the center, and she wanted her breasts pressed there with nothing in between them; she wanted that coarse hair to tease her own hardened nubs.

Without stopping to think, she found the tie of his shirt, which she was wearing, and pulled it loose, so the too-big neckline fell off her shoulders and exposed her small, sensitive breasts.

The lightest of touches from her own fingers made her breath catch… She couldn’t imagine the pleasure from Kerr’s fingers drifting over them, from his mouth sucking on them.

And she wanted to know. Desperately.

She rocked against him again, her whole body undulating, and he responded, the beast at her hip growing even bigger, harder. His arm wrapped around her back and pulled her closer, and the sensitive tips of her breasts brushed through the hair on his chest. She cried out, sharp and needy, and he woke immediately—she felt it in the sudden stillness of his body, heard it in the changed rhythm of his breathing.

Impatiently, she stroked her hands up and over his shoulders, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth down to hers.

Their lips touched, and he let out a growl that sent shivers down her spine and to the tips of her nose and toes. She rubbed against him as he filled her mouth, their tongues tangling and sucking. He teased the sensitive cavern in a carnal dance—in and out, rubbing and licking, teeth grinding and nibbling.

When he pulled back for air, she was too filled with fire to stop. She trailed hot, wet kisses down his throat and laved her tongue into the dips of his clavicle—completely lost to the sensuality of the moment.

His breath shuddered from his lungs. He cupped her head and tilted up her chin. “Isobel?” he asked roughly, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with arousal. A flush tinged his cheeks, and his mouth was swollen.

She answered by nipping his bottom lip before drawing it into her mouth and sucking on it.

His hands fisted in her hair as he thrust his pelvis forward, his cock pushing upward on the inside of her hip. Holding her tight and at his mercy, he angled his head and delved back inside her mouth, taking over, commanding her until all she could do was open up to him and accept all that carnal power.

Surrender to it.

She writhed against him as he kissed her like a man possessed—wanting more, wanting everything—and she whimpered with need and physical pleasure.

Her leg wrapped around his hip, and her heel pressed into his muscled backside, trying to get closer, to rub all her soft dips and curves against his brawny strength.

Releasing her hair, he slid one hand down her body to palm her exposed breast.

She groaned at the contact, her head falling back and eyes closing. Arching her spine, she pressed the hard, sensitive nub at the center tightly against his palm. The rough calluses drove her mad.

“God’s blood, Isobel. You’re awake, aye?” His voice was gruff, demanding.

A brief laugh puffed up from her lungs. “Aye.”

“Thank Christ,” he growled and then rolled her onto her back and settled heavily between her legs.

She let out a surprised gasp and moaned at the weight and pressure of him right where she needed it. She wrapped her arms around his back, her legs around his hips…engulfed him with her body.

It felt like coming home.

Lowering his head, he took her nipple into his mouth and swirled it with his tongue. Then he stretched his jaw wide and took the soft mound deep inside.

Her eyes rolled back as he sucked on it. Then he cupped her other breast and squeezed the nipple. She cried out and bucked her hips. She couldn’t think, only ride the waves of pleasure crashing through her.

He pressed down with his pelvis, rotating his hips in a slow, steady circle. She squirmed against him, panting as the heat and pressure built in her loins. “Kerr! Oh, God. Aye, right there. Doona stop. Whate’er you do, doona stop!”

Fisting her hands in his hair, like he’d done to her, she tried to tug his head upward for another kiss. But after releasing her breast from his mouth, he stopped. She glanced up…and saw that he was staring at her breasts.

A moment of uncertainty squirmed in her belly.

Does he like them?

They were small and teardrop-shaped, with round distended nipples. He’d rejected her once before because of their size—or that’s how it felt at the time—was he thinking the same now?

The memories came crashing back, and the lust that had ridden her moments before fled. Her cheeks flushed, but for different reasons this time, and she tried to sit up.

It was impossible, of course; his weight trapped her beneath him, but she kept trying—releasing her legs from around his hips and shoving on his chest.

He glanced up, startled, and a concerned expression quickly replaced his heavy-eyed arousal. He pushed off her immediately, sitting up on his knees.

She scooted to the top of the bed, still facing him, and wrapped the shirt she wore across her chest and over her knees.

“What’s wrong?” He grasped her foot in his hand as if to anchor her in place, to keep her close to him. “Did I frighten you?”

“Nay, I’m not afraid.” She tilted her chin up and knew she was giving him her haughty look, but it was an instinctive movement.

“Then what is it? You’re upset about something. Talk to me, Isobel.”

“I’m not upset.” Liar.

“Then why are you giving me that look?” he asked. “You do that when…” He trailed off, and a line appeared between his eyes.

She didn’t want to know what he was thinking…except she did. Desperately. “When what?” she asked, shrinking a little inside at the scorn she heard in her voice.

He crawled closer to her on his knees, a determined look on his face, and trailed his fingers down her face. “When you feel vulnerable.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Nay, you do it with me often. You use it to rule too, to remind people of your authority when you’re displeased about something, but with me…”

“With you what?” This time her voice cracked a little, and tears pricked behind her eyes. He’d moved closer again and caged her within his arms, his palms pressed to the wall on either side of her shoulders.

She had no escape. Nowhere to hide.

“You do it when you’re scared about something.” He said the words slowly, as if he was putting the pieces together. “And when you feel rejected.”

She glared at him and pushed against his chest again, but this time he refused to move. “Well, you weren’t rejecting me, so your theory is wrong. If I had allowed us to continue, you would ne’er have stopped.”

He didn’t answer at first—he just stared at her. She forced herself to remain still, her eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder.

“That’s not true, love,” he finally said. “No matter how hard it would have been for me—for us—I would have stopped. I want us handfasted before we join our bodies together. There is no escaping that outcome for us.” He gently cupped her cheek with one hand and turned her head slightly so she looked at him. “But you’re right, I hadn’t rejected you…so why did you think I had?”

Everything inside her froze. And then her heart began to race. She had thought that—felt it in her heart, her body.

She dropped her gaze to her knees, which were pulled tightly against her chest. Her fingers squeezed around the material of his shirt. “You were looking at my breasts,” she said softly.

“I remember.” His voice had roughened a little, and she glanced up again. Desire was etched in every line of his face, and those dark, hooded eyes seemed even darker, more intense.

“Did you like them?”

His brows raised, and an overwhelming desire to escape welled within her. Why did I ask that?

“I’m skinny, Laird MacAlister,” she blurted out angrily. “My legs, my hips, my chest. ’Tis naught I can do about my breasts being small.”

“Is that what this is about, Izzy?” He sounded incredulous, and she squirmed in her skin.

She tried to duck beneath his arm but he refused to let her go, and when she continued to fight him, he slid forward to sit on her feet. Slipping his hands into her hair like he had when they were kissing, he held her still and forced her chin up so he could see the truth in her expression.

And she could see the truth in his.

He shook his head in wonder. “The most beautiful lass in all the Highlands, Isobel MacKinnon—my Izzy—afraid I’ll see her naked and find her wanting.” He brushed his thumbs across her cheeks. “Ye wee idiot, that couldnae be further from the truth. I find everything about you, everything you do, appealing, even when you’re trying to dunk me in manure. You’re not individual bits and pieces, Isobel, you’re a whole woman, and I want you in your entirety.”

Those damn tears pricked the backs of her eyes again. “You didn’t always think that.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was younger. You said cruel things.”

A stricken look crossed his face. “Tell me. I knew something was wedged between us. This is it, aye? What foolish, addlepated thing did I say?”

She sighed and dropped her head forward until her brow rested on his chest. He loosened his hands around the strands and used his fingers to stroke her scalp. It soothed her.

“It doesn’t matter. I was fifteen. I’m sure my perspective now would be different.”

“’Tis true, but the feelings are still there between us. Is this when you tried to kiss me at Gavin’s wedding to Cristel? I’m sorry if I was cruel. I doona remember much of it. I was deep in my cups with the lads. Gavin was the first of us to marry, and we all felt he was making a mistake.”

She snorted. “It was a mistake, but if he hadn’t made it, we wouldnae have Ewan. Or Deirdre.”

“Aye, ’tis also true, and well worth Gavin’s years of torment. But I still want to know what I did, lass. Please.”

She forced her mouth to open and her tongue to work. It would be good to say the words, to exorcise the memory from her mind. “You laughed at me. Pushed me away. You told me to come find you when I’d grown a bosom—which I never did—and then you went off with a very well-endowed widow.”

He groaned. “I’m sorry. I should have handled it better. In fairness, I was a grown man, and you were still a lass. If I had been receptive to your advances, that would have made me the kind of man my brothers and I have put down.” His muscles tensed beneath her forehead. “A man like my father.”

She looked up at him. Those dark eyes had hardened, and his jaw had clenched.

“I may have overreacted because of that,” he continued. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Isobel. I can only imagine I must have been…discomfited.”

She nodded, sympathy for him welling in her breast. “I can see that now. I know you aren’t a cruel man, Kerr, and you love bairns of all ages.”

“Including you at that age.”

“Aye. And I adored you. But I didn’t feel like a child at fifteen. Most of the lasses I knew were already flirting with the lads, some were kissing them, some were doing more than that. One girl in the village had even married at that age.”

“And probably had a bairn six months later.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I canna remember. The point is…” She struggled to put her thoughts into words, to describe the strength of her feelings back then—and the gaping wound that had ripped through her young body when he’d turned and walked down that hall with another woman. “I had such certainty, back then, and…”

“And you knew that I was meant to be yours, as surely as I know now that you are meant to be mine. Me pushing you away—laughing at you—was the greatest of betrayals.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “It hurt me.”

He pulled her into his embrace. “I’m sorry, love.”

She rested her cheek against his chest, feeling spent…yet also lighter, somehow, at the same time. Maybe she would say “yes” the next time Kerr asked her to marry him. Or maybe she would ask him.

Aye, that sounds like me.

“Izzy?”

“Mmmm hmmm?” she murmured, feeling like she could stay exactly where she was forever.

“Can we speak about your breasts now?”

Her eyes popped open, and she yanked back her head so she could see his face. “What?”

“Well, you asked me a question, and then you ne’er let me answer.”

“What question?”

“If I liked them.”

“Liked what?” But she knew what he meant, and heat scorched her cheeks. Now would be a good time for a horde of Englishmen to attack.

“Your breasts. I do like them. Verra much. I can describe them to you from memory, if you like—the velvet feel of them, the sweet honey taste, the hard round nubs at the end that almost made me lose my seed like a lad—but I’d do a better job if I could see them again.”

She pushed on his chest—hard—and he laughed as he tipped back all the way. He gripped her waist and pulled her with him so she sat with her legs splayed over his waist, staring down at him.

The shirt she wore gaped open. His eyes drifted down to her breasts, and his laughter turned into a sigh. She fought the urge to cover up…but at the same time, she wanted him to look at her—to feast his eyes on her body.

It filled her with nervous excitement, like a lass about to ride a horse for the first time.

She was exposed to him, open to him. And he was right—she felt so vulnerable. But she also felt like she’d mounted that horse and was galloping across an open field, screaming with exhilaration.

She searched his face for clues as to what he was thinking, feeling. His cheeks and lips were tinged red, and his eyes were dark and intent—the lids at half-mast and his pupils slightly dilated.

A vein pulsed quickly in his neck, and she slid her hand up his chest and laid her finger on it. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the feel of his blood pounding through his veins—for her.

When he released her waist and brushed over her nipple, she sucked in a startled breath—more a moan, really—and opened her eyes to watch his thumb circle the nub in a steady, intoxicating rhythm. The rough calluses scraped across her sensitive skin and sent little forks of lightning down between her legs and to her swollen lips.

“In case you had any doubt,” he said huskily, “the sight of your breasts, so small yet still so soft and plump, with those hard round nipples pointing out at me, makes me want to throw away all my good intentions and bury myself here.” He gripped her hip and pushed up with his pelvis, his cock rubbing against her, causing her breath to escape on a shuddering sigh. “You make me lose myself, Isobel.”

He grasped her hands, entwining their fingers so they were palm to palm, and brought them down to rest on his chest.

His gaze was aroused yet determined, and she had a moment of disquiet. She let her eyelids drift shut, knowing where he was going next and wanting to delay it. This was Kerr, after all.

“Isobel, look at me.”

She shook her head. The blissful fog she’d been floating in was almost gone.

“Look at me.”

He’d commanded her, but beneath the words was an entreaty that spoke to a neediness within her. She opened her eyes…and found herself lost in the dark intensity of his gaze.

He really had such a powerful, striking face. She could stare at it for hours.

“We canna do this…” He pushed up with his hips again, and her lips parted on a groan. “…until we do this.” He squeezed her hands. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Aye…I understand, Laird MacAlister. And I’m not happy about it.”

His eyes jumped to hers. “Why not?”

“Last night, I asked you to stop pressuring me about marriage, but you ne’er listened—again. You do what you want, and to hell with what I want. You’re moving too fast. I feel like you’re trying to trap me.”

Not only him; she felt trapped by her own needs as well.

His brow rose incredulously. “I woke up, Isobel, and you were kissing me. More than that. I was practically inside you.”

“Did you want me to stop?”

He chuffed out a frustrated breath. “Of course not.”

“Then if I wake up beside you again, I’ll do it again—if I want.”

He squeezed her hands. “Only if you say the words, sweetling. Not before. Tell me you intend to marry me, Isobel. Commit to me. Please.”

It felt like an ultimatum, and her jaw clenched. “You’re not listening. Besides, I havenae heard you commit to me yet.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes. “You’re right.”

He sat up quickly, and she let out a startled squeak. He pressed her hands tightly between their bodies, causing her breath to catch in her chest. She did not want this now, but God’s blood, a part of her wanted to hear the words.

What will he say? How will he commit to me?

He lifted her hand and kissed her palm, the softness of his lips against her skin making her shiver. “I want to marry you, Isobel MacKinnon. I want to join our lives and our clans together.” He kissed her other palm. “I want to have children together, to lead our people together. Isobel, I want you. I commit my life to you.” He released her and slid his hands into her hair. “Please, dearling…say you’ll marry me.”

She hesitated, that softer side of her wanting so badly to do as he asked, to be his…to shelter against him and lead beside him, to finally know how it felt to have that big body inside of hers—God knows she’d wanted that for years.

But another part of her felt backed into a corner, like he was controlling her—again.

And most importantly, not once in all those heartfelt words had he told her he loved her.

A hollow ache formed in her stomach. “Nay,” she said quickly and swung her leg over his body. She stood and hastily retied the neck of his shirt over her body.

He stared at her, a baffled, frustrated look on his face. “Isobel—”

She fled to the table and stood behind the chair, her hands resting on the back of it. “I think we should return.”

“Return?”

“Aye. I want to go home. Gavin will be worried.”

He stared at her, not moving a muscle—in that predatory way that made her feel so uncomfortable. Finally, he scraped his fingers through his beard and placed his feet into the shoes that sat on the floor next to hers.

His plaid was a rumpled mess, and it jutted upward over his loins. She lowered her eyes, feeing awkward, like he was a stranger and not the man she’d known all her life and had happily slept beside the last few nights.

He rose, grasped his sword that leaned against the side of the bed, and walked heavily across the floor. The scrape of the bar sliding across the wood reverberated through the cabin, and the door squeaked open. Bright morning sunlight poured through the opening. She squinted when she looked over.

“Get ready. I’ll be back shortly, and I’ll take you home.” He sounded distant, and her heart sank. Her Kerr was gone, and that other side of him, the dark side that scared the wits out of her with the raging anger buried deep within his eyes, had taken his place.

The door slammed shut behind him, and she slumped against the table.

A sob caught her by surprise, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. She’d been so happy. Why did he have to keep pushing her?

She slumped into her chair and rested her head in her hands. Had she finally crossed some line? Would Kerr leave her and stay away for good this time? She didn’t want that either.

Panic twisted her stomach, and she tried to squash it down. She wasn’t ready to say yes. Especially not like that.

But what was the alternative?

She rose from the table and paced back and forth in the small room, four steps across, four steps back. Her jaw clenched, and her panic slowly dissipated as a growing anger took hold of her. He’d told her what he wanted—their clans joined as one, to lead together and have children together—but nothing about his feelings for her. Had she been deluding herself all these years? She thought back on the first time he’d asked her to marry him, in the wind, on the top turret at her castle.

He’d shown more emotion then, but she couldn’t remember him telling her how he felt then either. She stopped and slipped on her shoes, her anger at a fever pitch.

Thisfelt better. This was what they had between them—a storm of thunder and fire.

She would demand he tell her his true feelings. She would demand to know if he loved her.

She would not marry someone who didn’t think she was the sun, moon, and stars all rolled into one. She would be his only choice—as he would be hers.

Reaching out, she grasped the handle and yanked the door open. It crashed against the inside wall with a loud bang. She didn’t bother to cover herself with the extra plaid, and she sure as hell didn’t take the time to put on her arisaid.

She crossed the threshold and had taken only a few steps away from the cabin when a strong arm wrapped around her from behind and a hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her scream.

Not for a second did she think it was Kerr, and terror exploded in her stomach. The man wasn’t quite tall enough or broad enough or muscled enough—although he was certainly powerful enough to contain her struggles, as she thrashed her body and kicked her feet, rendering her helpless.

This was what Kerr had meant. A big, strong man could easily overwhelm and restrain her. She’d have but one chance to surprise him, and then she’d run for Kerr like the hounds of hell were on her heels.

But what could she do? Kerr had said to inflict pain, but she couldn’t reach around to twist his stones, and he held her head so tightly, she couldn’t jerk back with it and smash his nose.

She darted her eyes in every direction, looking for some way to escape. She couldn’t see the man, but she noticed something was wrong with his arm—it was twisted and scarred—and his hand and fingers were misshapen. The wounds, healed but still pink, crisscrossed his skin like the gashes on a chopping block.

She’d seen scars like these before—on the town miller. His hand had been crushed in a terrible accident years ago. These wounds looked relatively recent.

“Well, well. Who do we have here?” the man said into her ear, his tone triumphant. “As I looked upon thee, I saw a great Highland beauty. It seems I’ve caught not just a lass, but a lady. Tell me, dearest, where is your laird?”

Isobel dug her nails into the man’s pink scars, tearing and scraping at the still-tender flesh.

He cried out in pain, and his arms loosened. Without hesitation, she smashed the back of her head into his face and heard a sickening crunching sound. He stumbled and she leapt ahead, racing across the clearing toward the trail she’d taken yesterday with Kerr.

“Bloody whore! I’m going to kill you,” the man screamed behind her. “Get her!”

“Kerr!” she yelled. “Kerr!”

Men appeared from out of the woods—three of them—and converged on her. She shrieked and darted toward the lean-to. She was as fast or faster than most of the men she knew; she could outrun the warriors in the forest…and hopefully find Kerr.

She was almost there, passing the lean-to that stood at the edge of the clearing, when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back.