Highland Thief by Alyson McLayne

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.

Like a donkey’s arse.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb, he barely repressed a groan. That was not the kind of slight a woman like Isobel would forget—or forgive.

Aye, he was surprised she hadn’t tried to spring one of her traps on him lately. He should have walked into the last one. Let her win. But knowing Isobel, she would have realized he’d tricked her, and it would have backfired on him. Besides, he wasn’t the kind of man to lie about anything—and she wasn’t the kind of woman who would appreciate it if he did.

“Laird MacAlister, may I take your horse?”

Kerr dropped his gaze to the eager young groomsman who stood beside Diabhla, holding onto Gavin’s stallion.

“I’ll wipe Diabhla down for you and put him in the stable,” the lad continued. “And we’ll bring your saddlebag to your room.”

Kerr swung his leg over his horse and dismounted. “Aye, thank you, lad.”

He patted Diabhla on the neck before stepping around the groomsman and up the stairs toward the keep. When he looked at Isobel again, it was to see her cresting the top of the stairs as she hurried to the keep’s entrance. Her hair swayed from the movement and curled softly down her back and over her arse.

Heat warmed his belly and spread outward as he imagined that bright swathe of silk trailing over his bare shoulders as she leaned over him, riding him slowly as he lay flat on his back. His hands had ahold of her arse and squeezed gently as he raised and lowered her along his cock—

“By the love of Christ, Kerr, you’ll want to take care of that before you follow her upstairs,” Lachlan said as he brushed past him.

Kerr came back to himself with a start and looked down to see his plaid tenting obscenely in the front. A slow burn of embarrassment heated his cheeks.

“Aye, you’ll take out the dogs’ eyes if you’re not careful,” Darach said, and his foster brothers burst out laughing. Darach’s two huge deerhounds, Hati and Skoll, raced ahead of them as Darach mounted the steps.

Kerr was a big man, and that wayward part of him, with a mind of its own, matched his size. He’d had women pursue him over the years for that alone—not that he’d taken them up on it. He hadn’t been with a woman since he’d decided on Isobel four years ago.

But it was well past time he made her his wife—for that reason alone, as well as all the others.

Callum stepped past him next and drilled him hard and sharp on the shoulder with his fist. Pain exploded in his arm, and Kerr hollered, clapping his hand over the nerve that Callum had surely hit on purpose.

“Think on the pain, Brother. That’ll help,” Callum said as the others howled.

“Ye wee shite,” Kerr groused through gritted teeth as he kicked out with his foot. But Callum was expecting his retaliation and jumped several steps out of range. Kerr leaned over, trying to breathe through the pain.

“Hit him again on the other arm before Gavin sees him,” Gregor added as he moved past. “Although I doona think either he or Deirdre will be joining us for the midday meal.”

Lachlan had reached the top of the stairs and faced them. “Nay, but Ewan will be there, especially if Gavin and Deirdre are occupied. And you know how curious the lad is. He’ll be full of questions.” He cocked his head, and an evil grin creased his face. “On second thought, come on up as you are, Brother.”

Between the pain in his arm and the thought of Ewan asking embarrassing questions in front of Isobel—while his brothers made comments to amuse themselves in the background—Kerr’s lust waned, and his plaid fell flat.

He straightened with a sigh, still rubbing his arm.

Maybe he could convince Isobel to turn her talents for revenge against his foster brothers. If anybody needed to be taught a lesson, it was the four of them. And Gregor too.

Gavin may not have been part of this particular ribbing, but he’d been right in the thick of it in the past.

The bastards.

Yet another reason for him to marry Isobel. None of them would aggravate him afterward for fear of getting on his wife’s bad side.

Not that Kerr considered it a bad side. Or a side at all.

Nay, it was simply Isobel.

The others were crowding through the door to the keep when he started to lumber up the stairs. “You’ll regret it. All of you! My sweet Isobel is going to have your hides one day.”

***

Isobel heard the door to the keep slam shut behind her and refused to turn around. She continued checking the table that had been set out for the family—foster family and actual family—as she listened to the approaching men. A washstand had been set up against the wall by the small hearth, and Gregor MacLeod and his foster sons headed there first to clean off the day’s dirt before they ate.

She strained to identify the laughing voices and heard Lachlan, Darach, Callum, and Gregor, but not the deep-throated growl of Kerr. Was he there? Maybe even sneaking up behind her? He should be inside the keep by now.

God’s truth, she only listened so she could prepare a sharp- witted retort in case she needed one—which she always did.

An arm slipped around her waist, and she caught her breath, but it was only Gregor. “Hello, lass,” he said and gave her an affectionate hug.

She returned the embrace. “Hello yourself, you old badger. Glad to see you made it back alive.” She braced her shoulders and faced the rest of the group, but Kerr was not among them. “And all of you, too,” she said to her brother’s foster brothers—which sort of made them her foster brothers as well.

Except Kerr. She wouldn’t claim that man for anything—neither as a foster brother nor a husband…no matter how often in her dreams she’d claimed him as a lover.

The men swarmed in to greet her before taking their seats around the table. She signaled the servers to bring the trenchers of meat and greens and to fill their cups with ale.

Behind her, the door opened and banged shut, and this time she did whirl around to see who had entered. Immediately, her gaze clashed with Kerr’s. He stared at her intently as he crossed the cavernous great room toward her. Those dark brown, almost black hooded eyes pinned her in place like a hawk, making her feel like a trapped little mouse.

Or maybe a mare watching her stallion approach, causing her flanks to quiver and her head to toss in defiance—but wanting his claim nonetheless.

Nay, this man wasn’t a stallion, he was a marauding bear.

His thick hair was as dark as his eyes and hung in wind-blown tangles to his shoulders.

She gasped when she saw it, and disappointment tightened her chest. “You cut your hair,” she blurted out, and then regretted it. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she cared—or had even noticed.

She bit her lip. Too late.

He raised his hand, gripped the shorter strands, and then released them. “Aye. A close call during battle. Gregor had to even it out.”

“A small price to pay,” Gregor said, as he tore a hunk of bread in half.

“Aye,” the others agreed.

The hollow in her stomach turned to ice. How close had the sword or dagger come to his throat to cut off a chunk of his hair?

Usually, it was tied back with a leather thong, emphasizing a face too hard and ruthless-looking to be considered handsome. Except for his lips. Aye, those lips—full and prone to laughing—hinted at Kerr’s softer side…the side that had loved his mother and hers, and adored bairns of all ages.

His nose had been broken several times, but it didn’t detract from his face. Nay, it made him look even more roguish, while the thick sweep of lashes around those intent eyes turned them almost pretty.

Not that he was a handsome man—not like Gavin or Darach—but according to every woman who’d ever been within his powerful presence, he was a desirable one.

Every woman but her, that is.

He was the biggest of the foster brothers—in every way, if one believed the rumors. Rumors that were confirmed by the ribald jests Kerr and his brothers had thrown at each other when they thought no one was listening.

But Isobel was always listening. Sitting in a wee alcove unobserved while the folks of the village and the castle talked was one of her favorite things to do—that and planning, then executing, one of her traps.

Which she’d been doing all morning and part of the afternoon. And she’d finished just in time.

She could hardly contain her glee that finally she would catch Kerr unaware.

She. Would. Win.

And then what?

The strange question came out of nowhere, and her stomach hollowed, leaving her feeling a little empty inside. When Kerr stopped in front of her, he must have seen it in her eyes, for he lifted his hand and brushed his thumb down her cheek. Those hard eyes softened as he gazed at her.

“Isobel, sweetling, what is it?” he asked quietly.

She dropped her chin, appalled at the sudden prick of tears at the back of her eyes and the thickening of her throat.

She shook her head and coughed to clear the obstruction. “’Tis naught. A piece of dandelion fluff that I inhaled earlier. You know how I react to them.”

He lowered his hand and stepped back. “Aye. Were you in the forest?”

The question threw her, and she coughed again as she considered her answer. What could she say to make him follow her back to her manure pit later on without giving the game away? “’Tis not your business, Kerr MacAlister.”

Perfect.

“Were you setting a trap for Gavin? Or someone else?”

She raised a brow and tried to look down her nose at him in the manner of Master Carmichael. It didn’t work. “Whate’er I was doing has naught to do with you, so keep out of it.”

“Do you want my help? If it’s for Gavin, he’ll be hard to catch unaware, and he’ll spot the trap ahead of time. Same as I would.”

She rolled her eyes. “I could catch you if I tried, but I doona care to.”

He winced, and she felt a stab of guilt.

“He’s distracted by Deirdre right now,” she added, rushing past the uncomfortable emotion. “He’s not as sharp as he used to be. Well, not here. I’m sure he was verra sharp on the battlefield.”

Kerr planted his hands on his hips, making him look even bigger and a wee bit ferocious. “He’ll see it, Isobel.”

“Nay. His head will be in the clouds. Especially once Deirdre tells him she’s with bairn.”

His brows shot up, and a smile cracked his face. Her stomach flipped again, and her toes curled, but this time it wasn’t from unease. Nay, it was because with that grin on his face, and the joy radiating from his eyes, Kerr MacAlister was as handsome as any of his foster brothers.

“Gavin’s having another bairn?” he asked.

“Aye,” she said a little breathlessly, not liking the feeling that was besieging her at all. Kerr MacAlister did not make her toes curl. Only her fists, right before she decided to punch him. “And Gavin isna having the bairn. Deirdre is. A man may be able to stab someone in the guts or take a blow to the head on the battlefield, but not a one of you could go through what a woman goes through on the birthing bed or the nine months leading up to it. Or even the monthly discomfort before that!”

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide with astonishment, and then he threw back his head and laughed. “You have the right of it, sweetling. We’d all be reduced to mewling ablachs, for sure.” Then he swept her into a bear hug and twirled her around.

She’d been hugged by Kerr before—many times—but somehow this felt different. Or maybe she was different.

She’d been worried about him when he went to fight the MacIntyres and the MacColls. Nay, not only him. She’d been worried about all of them. Especially as she’d found out about the conspiracy against them just before they’d left. She’d confronted Gavin about it immediately, and she could see he wasn’t pleased that she knew—or that she’d gone through his papers to find out—but she didn’t care.

She wasn’t pleased he hadn’t told her.

If Gavin and the others would confide in her and talk to her about things, she could help. They had to know they could trust her. She’d bring a different perspective to a problem that needed solving. She was good at figuring out intrigue in the clan and knowing what needed to be done. She would be good at figuring out things on a larger scale too.

It took her a moment to realize that Kerr had stopped spinning her around and her feet were back on the ground—and that her arms were still linked around his neck. She inhaled deeply, and the scent of horses and leather, the outdoors, and smoke from the fire filled her nose. And something more than that. Something that was purely Kerr.

Her mouth watered, and she suddenly found herself light-headed. From him twirling her around, no doubt. She unclenched her fists from where she gripped his hair at the back of his neck and trailed them down his chest. The rough-looking locks had been surprisingly soft, and she missed the silken feel of them in her hands.

For the love of God, what’s the matter with me? I doona miss anything about this…this…behemoth.

Never mind that when her body was against his and her feet were touching the floor, her head had tucked perfectly beneath his chin—which, for a woman as tall as her, had made her sigh. She felt small against him.

His hands slipped around to grasp her hips, and she stepped back as he pressed her away from him. She ended up going farther than either of them had intended, and she let out a little yelp as she almost toppled over. Luckily, Kerr gripped her hard, and she steadied.

The lairds at the table stopped talking and looked over. “Are you well, lass?” Gregor asked, sounding a little uncertain as he looked from Isobel, to Kerr, then back to Isobel—not wanting to step on Kerr’s toes, no doubt. Well, she had no such reservations.

“No more than a mishap,” she said, as she moved past Kerr to the head of the table, grinding down on his toes with her heel when she walked by.

He grunted but didn’t follow her like he might have done before. Instead, he moved stiffly away from her and sat next to Callum, several seats along the bench. He whispered something to his foster brother, who grinned and nailed Kerr on his shoulder with his fist.

Kerr groaned in pain, and the men snickered softly.

“What?” she asked, confused about what was happening.

“’Tis naught, Isobel,” Gregor said.

She frowned at him and leaned forward. “But—”

“Isobel told me that Deirdre is with bairn,” Kerr interrupted, flashing her a pained smile. He’d wrapped his hand around his arm where Callum had punched him.

The men erupted in celebratory shouts and cheers. “Another grandbairn for me to spoil!” said Gregor, lifting his mug in celebration. “That makes three out of the five of you who’ve done your duty.” He shot a mock glare at Lachlan, who shrugged—the lone holdout of the married lairds.

“If Amber and I decide to have bairns, there’s time,” he said.

Isobel’s eyes widened. She couldn’t imagine that Lachlan would abstain from intimacy, and Amber was a renowned healer with knowledge of herbs… Did that mean she knew of a reliable way to stop her husband’s seed from taking root? A safe way?

She leaned forward again and pinned him with her gaze. Color slowly crept up his cheeks when he noticed.

“Lachlan MacKay, are you saying—”

“Nay, Isobel,” Kerr cut her off, his voice sharp.

She turned her head. He sat on the opposite side of the table from Lachlan near the other end. He no longer looked in pain. Instead, his mouth was compressed into a taut line, and his hand was clenched into a fist.

He’s angry! Because I would question Lachlan about Amber’s herbs?

She slowly sat back in her chair, her shoulders straightening and her chin lifting high enough to show him her displeasure. He forgot himself, to speak to her in such a manner. She was lady of this castle. “Did I hear you were travelling back to your clan tomorrow, Laird MacAlister?”

A muscle jumped steadily in his jaw above his dark, shaggy beard. They stared at each other, neither willing to give an inch. “I willna be leaving so soon, Lady MacKinnon. I would beg a rest at your home, a chance to see my brothers before we go our separate ways for the winter.”

“Verily, you’ve spent the last two months with your brothers,” she said, her voice still icy. “Surely that’s enough for any man?”

“It’s enough for me,” Lachlan said, and Gregor jabbed him with his elbow.

She looked at Lachlan again until he slumped back in his chair. Then she passed her gaze over all the men, one by one. Except Kerr—she was afraid if she looked at him again, she wouldn’t be able to look away.

They may be her brother’s foster family, but they were in her home. She ruled here. No one told her what to do. Her eyes finally fell on Kerr.

No one.

And she opened her mouth to tell him so—

“Grandda Gregor!” Ewan yelled from the bottom of the stairs that led to the upper levels. Everyone looked up to see Ewan barreling toward them, and the tension dissipated. She sighed and let Kerr’s transgression go as the moment passed.

“Da said you had a present for me,” Ewan hollered.

“He did, did he?” Gregor patted down his léine and plaid. “Hmmm, I think maybe your da was mistak—oh! What’s this?”

Gregor pulled a wooden warrior, intricately whittled and smoothed over, from the folds of his plaid. Ewan reached his side, his eyes pleading as his hands stretched upward. “’Tis a Highlander swinging a sword,” Gregor said. “Do you think he’s battling his enemy?”

“Aye!” Ewan enthused. “A giant or maybe a dragon!”

“Or maybe an Englishman,” Darach added.

The men all nodded in agreement, and Isobel snorted. The reviled Englishmen.

“May I have it?” Ewan begged.

“This?” Gregor asked, holding up the warrior. “I didnae think you liked these kinds of toys.”

Ewan had a table full of toy warriors in his room, and Gregor knew the lad spent hours setting up battles between them or against a bigger, deadlier foe—much to his mother’s chagrin.

“I do!” Ewan said.

Isobel rubbed her hand down his back. “Your grandda will give it to you if you sit down and eat.” The lad hesitated, then ran around to an empty spot beside her.

Gregor handed the small carving across to him. “If you’re sure you like it…”

Ewan grabbed it with an excited smile and settled back in his seat. “I’ll name him Gregor. He’s big and strong.”

Gregor beamed.

Then Ewan pulled a second toy warrior from his sporran. “But he’s not quite as big as Kerr.”

“Verra observant, lad!” Kerr grinned as Gregor scoffed loudly.

“But my da is the biggest and strongest of all.” Ewan pulled a third warrior from his sporran and proceeded to bash the other two with it.

“What?” Kerr bellowed. “If you knew the number of times I knocked your da flat on his back—”

But Ewan wasn’t listening as he used the wee Gavin to pummel the wee Kerr. Then he picked up his newest warrior, Gregor, and the two of them hacked Kerr with their swords.

Isobel was certain if Deirdre were here, she would be horrified.

When the servers came around with the food, she dished greens and meat onto her trencher and then Ewan’s. “So, how did the battles go?” she asked between bites. “I know the MacColls surrendered and Boyd MacColl, the wee weasel, was hanged by his sister’s husband before you arrived, but what happened earlier at Clan MacIntyre?”

“It was a siege, lass,” Gregor said.

“Aye, but what happened? You were there for almost three weeks before you took the castle.”

“Mostly we waited until the time was right,” Darach added.

“And when was that?” she asked.

“When all our men were in place, and we wouldnae be turned into an army of hedgehogs stuck with arrows,” Lachlan said. The men, including Ewan, laughed.

Isobel did not. Instead, she repressed an irritated sigh. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Another time, lass,” Kerr said. “Everyone’s tired from the long march.”

She bit her tongue in frustration. She wanted details, but when she asked, she was made to feel like her questions were an imposition—like always. The lairds would never speak freely in front of her about certain things, as if she were a child in need of protection. She assumed they held back because she was a woman, and it irked her—and made her do things like copy the key to Gavin’s solar to keep informed.

Now she wanted to dump them all into her manure pit.

Surely she wasn’t the only woman who was interested in leadership? From everything the men had said about Callum’s wife, Maggie, and Lachlan’s wife, Amber, they led as much as the men did. And the men accepted those women for who they were: strong and capable of defending themselves and others.

So why not me?

Was it because she didn’t know how to fight or shoot an arrow? If that were so, then it was their fault for not teaching her. Besides, there had been many strong queens and kings in history who weren’t fighters yet commanded respect and led their people well.

She could be one of them.

With a disgruntled sigh, Isobel pushed back her trencher, no longer hungry. She summoned a smile for the lairds, albeit a frosty one, her anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, and rose from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have much to do. Enjoy your meal…and your visit to my home.”

“Stay with us, Isobel. Eat with us,” Kerr said, his eyes filling with concern.

“Aye, lass. We’d like your company,” Gregor said.

“Nay, thank you. My duties are calling. I’ve had enough to eat.” She stepped away from the table.

“Can I come with you, Aunt Isobel?” Ewan asked, jumping up to stand on the bench.

Her smile softened, and she stepped toward him to kiss the top of his head. “Not this time, sweets. I’m sure your uncles and grandda want to spend time with you.”

“Aye, lad,” Lachlan said. “Let’s see your da pummel your uncle Kerr again.”

Ewan grinned, pulled the toy Kerr from his pocket, lifted him high in the air and dropped him onto the table with a crash.

Isobel bit her tongue—hard. It was time for her to leave.

She’d work on her plan to catch Kerr unaware, and then maybe she’d start with Gregor and set a trap for each of the other foster brothers as well.

She could be an asset to these idiotic men, but they couldn’t see past the ends of their swords—neither the steel ones nor the ones made of flesh.