Highland Thief by Alyson McLayne

Eight

Kerr took the stairs two at a time up toward the highest turret in Castle MacKinnon. The lairds had regrouped in Gavin’s solar after the interrogation, and they’d all agreed that Branon Campbell was most likely a spy, putting Laird Campbell at the top of the list for who led the conspiracy against them—or at least provided the men and the gold for it.

Gavin remained adamant that the man who’d led the attack against him last spring, the tall one with the long black hair, was the leader. If Laird Campbell was involved, and it made sense that he was, the other man was still the driving force behind the attacks.

But Gavin had also said that Branon Campbell seemed…familiar. Kerr had had the same feeling, and his gut was telling him Branon was more than just a pawn or a soldier.

They’d released him only after Alec had finished his first few drawings and their trackers had been set in place. He had no doubt they would lose Branon at one point, but now that they knew his face, they would find him again.

He paused on the landing at the top of the stairs and placed his candle next to another lit one in a wall sconce—a clear indication that someone, most likely Isobel, was outside. This was a favorite spot of hers when she wanted to be alone.

Perhaps he shouldn’t disturb her. He hesitated and looked back down the stairs. If she hadn’t ordered him out of her home in two days’ time, he would be able to continue their courtship at a slower pace. But even with the progress he’d made with her today—touching her intimately for the first time—he didn’t think he could convince her to marry him so soon.

Every moment had to count.

He reached into his sporran for a leather tie and secured his hair at the back of his neck. He knew from experience that the wind blew harder up here than down below, no matter what time of day or year. When he was done, he braced his hand on the heavy wooden door, pushed it open, and stepped outside into the cool, gusty breeze.

The turret was only about four paces square, and in the distance, Kerr could see the half-built cathedral, the village, and the forest beyond. The loch snaked down one side of the village.

Isobel sat on the stone floor with her plaid covering her head, her back against the castle wall, and her legs stretched out in front of her toward the battlements.

She did not look up at him when he came out.

He eased the door closed so the wind wouldn’t bang it shut, and then slid down the wall perpendicular to her.

The battlements blocked some of the wind from blowing down this low, but it was still cool, and the occasional gust caught his plaid and tried to rip it from his body. Kerr did as she did and tucked the material around his knees and over his head.

He stretched out his legs so their feet almost touched. When she pulled her heels up toward her arse and tucked her skirts in around her knees, his gut tightened.

She would not make this easy for him.

“I remember you coming up here often when you were younger, especially after your father died,” he said.

Her fingers, which had been restlessly plucking at her plaid, stilled. “Aye. ’Tis a good place to grieve. No one can hear you if you cry out your heart to the wind.”

He nodded. “’Tis what Gavin did when Ewan went missing.”

Sadness transformed her face, despite the fact that her nephew had been recovered and Deirdre had been brought into their lives because of it.

“I’m sure this spot felt like his only refuge,” she said. “He still had to be laird, he still had to be strong for his allies. He couldnae fall apart, no matter how much he might have wanted to.”

“You stayed strong too, Isobel. We managed—all of us—to help Gavin through it as much as we could. We worked together.”

“We did.”

“You and I made a good team.”

Her fingers tapped against her leg—once, and then twice more. She looked at him. “You know what else I do up here?”

He paused, knowing that she was setting him up for something—something he wouldn’t like. “What?”

“I think. And I plan. Some of my best traps have been imagined up here.”

“Is that what you were doing? Planning another trap…for me?”

She turned her face forward again and pulled her hood farther over her head. “Perhaps. But two days isna much time to execute it.”

Two days. It hung in the air between them like an executioner’s blade.

“Isobel—”

“Nay, Kerr. I willna change my mind, and ’tis beneath you to beg.”

Now he tapped his fingers on his leg. If she would not relent and let him stay until fall, how could he possibly convince her? He did not want to spend another winter alone in his castle.

“If I’m to go home so soon, then we doona have much time.”

“Time for what?” she asked.

“Time to talk about us.”

“There is no us.”

“Aye, there is. There has been for years.” He said it quietly, yet with steel in his tone. “We just havenae been saying it with words.”

Her brow furrowed. “Your brains are addled if you think me dumping you in manure is the same as me professing our togetherness.”

It was a lie. He heard it in her voice and saw it in the way she shoved a stray lock of hair that had blown across her face back under her hood.

“Be brave, Isobel. Take a chance.”

“I willna be with someone who annoys me.”

“I only annoy you because you want something else from me. Something you’re afraid to ask for or to receive. You doona have to be strong with me all the time—like the castle’s curtain wall. I’m not an invader. Let me in, and I will fight with you, beside you.”

In a heartbeat, he shifted his body next to hers. She glanced at him, startled, and panic crossed her face.

At me being so close? Or at the conversation we’re having?

Or her response to it?

He trailed his knuckles down her cheek. “If there’s something between us, something I’ve done in the past that’s hurt you, tell me so I can make it right.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Pain of some kind.

“What is it, love? Isobel…let me in.”

For half a moment, he thought she would relent; he could see she wanted to, but then she pulled her head away and scooted sideways—still within reach, but their bodies no longer touched.

She cleared her throat and then said, “Two days, Kerr.”

He ground his teeth together. What could he say to get through to her? They needed time together to dig out what was wedged between them, to relearn how to behave with each other. She had to know that he was her safe place.

“If I am to go home in two days’ time, Isobel, then you shall be coming with me—that is what we need to plan for.” There. He’d said it. Truth…even though she wouldn’t want to hear it.

Her brow rose. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Besides, I have other plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

She shrugged.

“Tell me, Isobel!” His voice had deepened, and he knew he wasn’t doing himself any favors.

“My plans doona include you, Kerr. They are not your concern.”

“Are you going somewhere?” he rasped.

She looked at him, her lips pressed tightly together.

“For God’s sake, Izzy, answer me!”

“I havenae decided yet, but it looks better and better by the second that yes, I am going somewhere. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Nay! I want to hear again that you missed me when I was gone. That you worried about me—like you admitted to before. That you were happy to see me arrive back safe and sound. That when I kissed your neck today, your knees grew weak and shivers ran up your spine. That when we spar, or you try to trick me and dump me in a pile of dung, you feel more alive than at any other time during your day. That when you see my hands, or my body, or my lips, you think about them touching your hands, and your body, and your lips.

“That when you see me, really see me, Isobel, that you know I really see you too.”

Her cheeks had flushed a bright pink, and her mouth had parted on a little “oh.” The vein in her neck beat quickly, matching the quick pace of his own heart.

He took a breath, tried to calm himself before he said…

“Isobel, I want you to marry me!”

***

Emotion swamped Isobel—turbulent, choppy waves of ecstasy and anger, disbelief and frustration, desire and denial—all underscored by a great need and confusion. She experienced so much all at once that she didn’t feel like she could contain it within the confines of her body.

She wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to laugh and whoop. She wanted to run away screaming. She wanted to hurl herself into his arms.

To shout “Nay!” To sob “Aye!”

Isobel wanted to melt into his skin so no space existed between their bodies, so she was a part of him and nothing existed but them. But she also wanted to hit him. Hard. To shove him backward against the wall and…and what? Crawl up his big, braw body? Or smack him in that beloved face?

Nay, not beloved—smirking face!

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Being with him scared her to death. Kerr would take her over. Not only would she lose herself, she’d be left with no ability to think for herself.

“You canna force me to go anywhere,” she rasped, ignoring what he’d asked her. How his words had made her feel.

She finally looked at him. He’d raised his brow, his eyes intent on her. A muscle twitched in his jaw above his scraggly black beard that he’d probably hacked at with a knife and no more. Rarely had she seen him clean-shaven. The last time had been at Gavin’s wedding. She’d wanted to rub her fingers over his skin then, feel the tiny prick of the whiskers growing back in. Now, after two months of him sleeping around campfires and bathing in streams, she wanted to scrape her fingers through the coarse hair, grab hold of it, and tug.

He rubbed his hand over his nape and sighed. “Then doona make me leave the day after tomorrow. Isobel, I asked you a question.”

She shoved herself up from the stone floor, and he rose to face her, his big body swamping hers in every way—taller, broader, thicker, harder. And blocking her from the door.

Fear at her own weakness drove her, and she stumbled backward until she hit the battlements behind her. He followed, his arms raised to steady her.

She wanted to swat his hands away, but at the same time she wanted him to pull her safely into his arms and tuck her beneath his chin.

Like he had before.

Turning around, she leaned on the merlons that topped the stone wall and tried to remember every reason why she didn’t want to be with Kerr. All the things he’d done or hadn’t done, said or hadn’t said that had turned her against him—and she had a list of them, starting when she was fifteen.

And she vividly remembered each one.

All the words they’d exchanged were etched into her memory. Every time he’d touched her was burned into her skin—especially after today.

He stepped up beside her, not touching her, and they stared outward. The wind tugged at her hair and clothes, whistled in her ears, and she felt battered and buffeted both inside and out.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus. Took a deep breath in…and exhaled.

Doona get distracted, Isobel.

When she opened her eyes again, she felt calmer. Back in control. Kerr had asked her to marry him. Why had that surprised her? They both knew what his expectations were for them.

But there was no them. No us.

And she didn’t have to say yes.

Besides, she had another goal. Another plan she’d already put into motion. One that had formed in her mind as she’d ridden back to the castle from her failed trap site and crystallized when Kerr had treated her as if she were a cow and Branon Campbell was set on reaving her from his territory.

Kerr intimidated any man who might look at her with appreciation in his eyes.

Well, if he was willing to chase after real suitors, he could chase after imaginary ones too.

She raised her chin and pulled back her shoulders, most likely looking haughty and queenly, exactly as Deirdre had said. “Do you want to know how I knew Branon Campbell was either addle-pated or up to no good?” she asked.

That muscle jumped again in his cheek. “How?”

“He tried to entice me. A subtle tease and seduction. No sane man would do that, knowing what you would do to him.”

He frowned. “You make it sound like—”

“Nay,” she interrupted. “I doona make it sound like anything. I am stating fact. You have made claims on me that I do not accept. You have threatened people who might want to get close to me. You have forced me to act in a stealthy manner, to hide my behavior and my true feelings from my friends and family…in case you hurt someone I care about.”

He spun toward her. “I havenae hurt anyone!”

“You haven’t had to. Yet.”

“God’s blood, Isobel. Branon Campbell could be a spy, a thief, an assassin. I was protecting you, and I willna stop doing that. Ever. And what do you mean you hide your true feelings? What aren’t you telling me?”

The wind tugged her plaid from her hair, and her long locks tangled angrily around her shoulders. “’Tis not your business, Kerr. We are not married, nor are we betrothed.” Her voice trembled a wee bit as she said it, and she took a quick breath before continuing.

“For future reference, I want you to know that I have ne’er spoken to Branon Campbell before today, so doona make assumptions that aren’t true about him, or me, in the next few days. Doona make assumptions about any man in my acquaintance that aren’t true.”

His brow pulled down over his eyes, and she felt like a mouse being observed by a hungry hawk. He seemed to grow bigger, harder, darker all at once. Yet he also stilled in a way that she found so disconcerting, so deadly. She understood that he changed when he sensed a threat, especially to those he loved—or in this case, an unknown threat to them—but it never made it any easier.

“What kind of assumptions do you think I’ll make, Isobel?” His voice was low, the words clipped. “And why?”

She’d set up her trap, more of a trick this time, and now she had to carry it through—without any buckets of ants, pits of manure, or bags of hedgehog quills to give her away.

Still, she had a moment’s hesitation. How big is the price to fool Kerr like this?

“You might assume that I have been with someone. A man. That I have feelings for him. And that I plan to leave with him.”

“Who?” he ground out, those hawk-like eyes narrowed on her and his jaw clenched.

“Perhaps no one,” she said. “Perhaps I havenae decided yet. Perhaps I ne’er will.”

He moved closer, and her heartbeat accelerated—fear and excitement dancing in her blood.

“Tell me, Isobel. Now.”

“Or what?” she asked.

He ran his hand up her arm and under her hood to cup the back of her neck. “Perhaps I havenae decided yet,” he said.

The last time she’d experienced Kerr’s dark, deadly stillness, so different from his usual personality, was when Gavin had lied to them so he could separate Deirdre from Ewan—in order take her back to her former husband and break Ewan’s bond to her.

Thankfully, her brother had changed his mind and returned home with Deirdre, a changed man.

And Kerr had come back to himself.

But not this time. Not yet.

Anger rode hard on the heels of her fear, and she poked her finger into his chest to emphasize her words. “Your implied threats and possessiveness are not loving, or exciting, Kerr. They’re controlling and manipulative. And I willna stand for it. Ever. I am free to do as I like, to choose whomever I like.

“And I doona choose you!” Isobel lifted her skirts and darted away from him to the door. He reached it at the same time she did and simply laid his palm against the wood to stop her from opening it.

She wrenched on the handle several times before glaring up at him. The wind had torn back his hood, and strands of inky hair whipped around his face. The color of his eyes had intensified, turning them darker than she’d ever seen, and all that power that emanated from him was centered on her.

She didn’t know whether to quake in her boots or glory in his undivided attention. It was like being showered with primal potency.

“Let me go, Kerr.”

“I will ne’er let you go, Isobel.”

“Did you not hear a word I just said?”

“I heard everything you said. I always do. And I know when you’re lying. You’ve been mixing lies with truth e’er since I came back this afternoon.”

She stretched up as high as she could and tried to look down her nose at him, even though he towered over her. God’s blood, the man was a giant!

“Then hear this truth. I’m going to open the door now, and you are going to let me pass. You canna hold me against my will. You are not a monster, even though you act like it sometimes.”

“Are you sure about that, sweetling? I feel verra much a monster right now. You’ve banished me from your home, and you’ve implied there’s someone else you have feelings for—and that you may be going away soon. What am I to think, Isobel?”

“You can think whate’er you like. You’re a free man and I’m a free woman.”

“Nay, we are tied to each other. Mayhap not through words or ceremonies but through something deeper. You are meant for me, Isobel MacKinnon, as I am meant for you.”

“Perhaps, but I still get to choose, Kerr. And I havenae chosen you.”

“Yet. You haven’t chosen me yet.”

He stepped back and removed his hand from the door. She yanked it open, her hood falling off and her hair catching in the wind. But when she tried to step inside, he wrapped his arm around her middle and pulled her back against his body.

He cocooned her—an oasis from the cool, blustery wind. When his lips touched her ear, she shivered. “Doona do something you’ll regret because you want to defy me, love. We aren’t enemies. You and I doona spark against one another to make ash, we create flame.”