Authors: Allison Butler
‘Ah, Christ,’ Lachlan muttered, lunging forward to catch her.
***
‘Have you lost your touch with the lasses, laird?’ Iona, the Elliots’ ancient healer, cackled at her own wit and drove her needle into the torn flesh of his arm.
Lachlan flinched, then sipped his ale as the bite of the needle subsided.
Lundy, Duff, Adair, and Callum sat across from him at the laird’s table, doing a poor job of hiding their mirth as they shovelled steaming porridge into their mouths.
‘How is our thief?’ he asked, ignoring Iona’s question, and his smirking clansmen. After riding back to the keep with the senseless wench in his arms, he’d carried her up to the spare chamber they used for uninvited guests. Sadly, Castle Redheugh didn’t have a dungeon.
‘She’s a lively one,’ Iona said. ‘Made a fuss when the women stripped off her sodden clothes.’
Lachlan flinched again as Iona sewed another stitch. ‘Was she injured in any way?’
‘Not that I could see,’ Iona said, tying off the next stitch.
Relief swept through him that the woman—
thief
—was unharmed.
‘The she-devil did fall at his feet,’ Lundy said. Lachlan smiled at his clansman’s support. ‘Right after she cut him,’ Lundy added.
‘With his own knife,’ Iona said, cackling anew.
Lachlan frowned at Lundy and said, ‘Are you done yet, old woman?’
‘Aye.’ She pulled tight on the final stitch and bent low to sever the thread with her few remaining teeth. ‘Slap this on the wound before you find your bed.’
Lachlan took the clay pot of salve she thrust at him. ‘My thanks, Iona.’
‘Nae need to thank me for patching you up, lad,’ she said, gathering her tools and herbs. ‘But if you’re wanting advice about snaring a woman, you know where to find me. It’s been too long for a young, able lad as yourse—
‘Did the wench speak?’ Lachlan said, cutting her off.
‘Nae.’ The furrows and ruts on her wrinkled face deepened until her small dark eyes were almost lost in the folds. ‘Not a word,’ she said, tilting her head to one side as if she too found the thief’s silence odd.
‘Nae matter,’ he said, thrusting the image of their mysterious guest from his mind. ‘My thanks, again.’
Iona nodded and shuffled her way to the spiral stone staircase. Lachlan gestured to one of the young servants to aid the healer’s ascent. The hunched old woman was too stubborn to ask for assistance. Light from the flaming torches washed over her silver-white hair, reminding Lachlan of how she’d looked when he’d been a lad. Reminding him how swiftly time slipped by. Reminding him that time waited for no man.
Lachlan drained the last of his ale, and turned his thoughts to a concern that had robbed him of sleep for almost a year. Now he’d caught the thief, he’d run out of reasons to delay. He needed to marry. He’d come close last winter’s end, but close wasn’t good enough.
Lachlan scanned the hall. Dawn had barely come and gone, but more than the usual number of his people were up and about, no doubt due to his return from sentry duty, carrying his prize. Some clansmen slumbered on, while others began their chores. These were his people. His responsibility.
Murdoch, Castle Redheugh’s steward, emerged from the kitchens with a fresh jug of ale. Spying the empty wooden bowls on the table, he summoned a maid to clear them away, and topped up the six empty cups.
‘Where is Caelan?’ Lachlan asked.
‘He’s on his way from the stable,’ Murdoch replied.
‘Sit, Murdoch,’ Lachlan said. ‘We’ll fill the lad in when he arrives.’
Lachlan lifted his ale and took a long swig. He lowered his cup and met each man’s gaze before leaning forward, resting his bare forearms on the worn timber surface. The five men, sharing the halo of light from the torches in the sconces behind him, waited expectantly.
‘I know four of you are eager to find your beds,’ Lachlan said quietly. ‘God willing, this won’t take long.’
Lundy, Duff, Dair and Cal, his companions and best swordsmen, straightened where they sat. Murdoch gave a slight nod, the glint in his faded blue eyes spoke of his awareness regarding the subject Lachlan was about to broach, and his approval. Though Lachlan didn’t need his steward’s recognition, he respected the seasoned Borderer’s opinion.
‘The reason I’ve asked for your counsel is it’s time I married.’ Lachlan toyed with the cup in his hands as he waited for a reaction.
‘Who’s the lucky lass?’ Duff asked.
‘I haven’t decided yet.’
Dair’s fair brows lifted in mischief. ‘So you want our help in choosing a bride?’
‘Aye.’
Lundy winked at Cal, leaned forward and said, ‘What do you find most appealing about women, laird?’
Lachlan smiled at the question. ‘I find everything about women appealing.’
Grins wreathed his friends’ faces. Having accompanied Lachlan to the surrounding villages and towns for a bout of womanly comfort on more than one occasion, the four were well aware of his preferences in women. Murdoch tried to hide his knowing smile.
Downing the rest of his ale, Lachlan set the empty cup on the wooden table with a thud. ‘But it isn’t just a woman I’m looking for.’ His lips tightened. ‘I need a
wife
.’
If his plan to wed Jeanne Irvine had succeeded—
‘Pity the Irvine lass married another,’ Murdoch said, as if reading his mind.
Lachlan nodded. ‘An alliance with the Irvine’s would have been ideal. They could have watched our backs, granting us more time to harass the English.’
‘Ah! You want
that
kind of wife,’ Lundy said.
‘Aye.’ Lachlan accepted the refilled cup pushed toward him as Caelan approached and took his seat beside him. ‘Marrying the daughter of one of our neighbours will strengthen our position on the border.’
‘With Jeanne Irvine out, that narrows your choice to either the Armstrongs or the English,’ Cal said thoughtfully.
‘We all know I’d rather be strung up by my entrails than wed an Englishwoman,’ Lachlan said.
‘You seem to favour William’s young wife well enough,’ Murdoch said, pushing Caelan’s cup toward him.
Lachlan’s mind filled with the recent memory of attending William Kirkpatrick’s wedding. His friend had appeared content for the first time in many years, and Lachlan had no doubt the change had everything to do with the Englishwoman with red-gold hair who Will had married. Witnessing Will’s marriage had reminded him of his own need to wed. But that’s where any similarities ended. Will had chosen to marry. Lachlan had given his word.
‘Lynelle is the exception,’ Lachlan said. ‘And she’s Will’s wife, not mine,’ he added with a grin.
‘That leaves the wild Armstrongs then,’ Duff said.
Caelan lowered his cup. ‘Or you could wed Irvine’s younger daughter.’
Lachlan turned and looked at his brother. Caelan was his only kin, and until Lachlan married and sired a son, his only heir. Caelan’s fair hair, the same as his own, stuck up at all angles, but his dark eyes were serious.
‘Lennox didn’t mention having another daughter.’
Caelan shrugged. ‘All I know is I saw her in the Irvine stable last winter while you were hunting her sister in Irvine Hall.’
Lachlan ignored the word ‘hunting’ and cocked a brow at the five men struggling to contain their laughter.
His attention settled on Caelan once more. ‘How do you know she was Lennox Irvine’s daughter? Did you speak with her?’
Caelan shook his head. ‘One of the stable lads pointed her out and said who she was, but I didn’t speak with her.’
Lachlan stared at his brother. The news intrigued and annoyed him. He hadn’t known a second daughter existed. Unless she was too young to marry.
‘What age would you guess her to be?’ Lachlan asked.
Caelan shrugged, again. ‘You’d know better than I.’
Lachlan frowned at his brother. ‘How so?’
‘She’s the lass you carried home this morn after you caught her stealing your horse.’
Lachlan slowly straightened in his chair. ‘Are you saying the woman locked in the chamber upstairs is Irvine’s younger daughter?’
‘Aye.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Aye.’
Lachlan sank back into his seat, his mind stirring with promise.
‘Is she old enough to marry?’ Murdoch asked.
It took little effort for Lachlan to recall the thief’s bonny face. ‘I believe so,’ he replied. ‘At a guess I’d say she’d be close to eighteen summers.’ Around ten years younger than Lachlan’s twenty-seven summers, but definitely old enough to wed. He turned to Caelan. ‘Did the stable lad say her name?’
Caelan frowned in thought.
‘If she’s Irvine’s daughter,’ Cal said, ‘Why was she stealing your horse?’
Lachlan met Cal’s questioning gaze. ‘Good question.’
‘Perhaps she’s shy and was seeking an introduction,’ Adair said, straight-faced.
‘And perhaps you’ll swear off women for the next year, Dair,’ Lundy said.
A moment of silence passed before a chorus of masculine laughter filled the Great Hall, drawing many a smiling eye their way.
Once their merriment eased, Lachlan said, ‘I’d like to know if she’s the one who stole Elliot cattle as well as stealing De Brus.’
‘Kenzie. The stable lad called her Kenzie,’ Caelan suddenly said.
‘Kenzie.’ Lachlan tested the name on his tongue. ‘My thanks, brother. You’ve done well.’
Caelan gave a pleased smile.
‘Could be Old Lennox didn’t offer the younger one, ‘cause she’s his bastard daughter,’ Murdoch said.
‘Aye,’ Lachlan nodded slowly as he glanced at each of his companions, and then looked at his steward. ‘But it would be best to make sure,’ he added, and then drained his cup. Lachlan’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he stood. ‘Get some sleep, lads. We leave for Irvine Keep at noon.’
‘Does lads include me?’ Caelan asked, his tone edged with excitement.
‘Aye. You’ve given me hope that I’ll not be bound to one of the Armstrong’s wild daughters.’ Lachlan shuddered.
Caelan’s smile stretched from ear to ear. The other men chuckled.
‘I trust you will keep the peace here when we go?’ Lachlan said to Murdoch.
‘Aye,’ the older man said. ‘Anything you want done with our “guest”?’
Lachlan peered at his tended wound. ‘Keep an eye on her, feed her, but be certain nothing sharp is left within her reach. I’ll deal with our thief when I return. I’ll know more then.’
Murdoch gave a brisk nod.
Lachlan lifted the pot of salve off the table and strode to the stairs. The weariness that had plagued him lessened with every step he climbed. He knew the cause. With the smell of damp wool filling his nostrils, he paused on the landing outside his chamber. He plucked the woollen cap from his waistband and turned to stare at the solid oak door further along the corridor, wondering if snaring a bride was really going to be so easy. Pushing his doubts aside, he tucked her cap back into his waistband and changed his line of thought. Would Kenzie Irvine swoon at the sight of his naked chest, as she had at seeing his blood?
A slow smile tugged at his lips. There was only one way to find out.
How in God’s name had she allowed the Elliot laird to catch her? Perched on the end of the pallet with her back against the cold wall, she drew her knees closer to her chest and flattened her feet on the tick mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the sight of the solid stone walls imprisoning her, only to have her captor’s handsome face fill the darkness. Her eyes shot open.
She knew of Lachlan Elliot. She’d seen him from afar while she’d studied the movement of his herd and the changing of the guards. But he wouldn’t know her—as the unwanted second daughter of a man desperate for a son, few knew Kenzie even existed. Those who did simply ignored her. He’d asked her name. As if she’d tell him; as if it was his right to know. Perhaps in this instance it was, but even if she hadn’t stolen the horse, he was a man in a position of power and he’d still believe he was all-deserving. She’d learned well from her father’s example. Yet she hadn’t told him her name. Nor would she—ever. She needed to escape. People depended on her.
The door’s latch scraped. Clutching the coarse woollen blanket closed at her throat, she made sure every inch of her near-naked flesh was hidden from view. If the crone and her henchwomen had returned to strip her of her shift, she vowed not to part with it without a fight.
She glared at the door, as it slowly, almost painfully, creaked open.
Instead of the ancient, withered woman, a tall, muscular, bare-chested man filled the doorway. She clenched her teeth to stop her mouth falling open. Despite expecting Lachlan Elliot to confront her at some point, she’d never imagined he’d do so almost naked. Was it his habit to deal with his prisoners without his shirt?
She studied the smooth lines of his shoulders and then continued down the hard-packed length of his stomach. Her heartbeat fluttered like the wings of a trapped bird. She’d seen shirtless men before when her father’s men had trained for battle, but never had she been entranced by the view. Burning heat flamed through her. She should look away. Her eyes refused to obey.
‘I am Lachlan Elliot, laird of Redheugh Castle.’
The deep timbre of his voice drew her attention to his face. Familiar blue eyes stared into hers. She was well aware of who he was. Well aware of how he’d covered her with his lean, firm body. Annoyance soared at precisely how aware of him she now was. She tilted her chin. It didn’t matter who he was or how fascinating he looked without his shirt, she’d not tell him who she was—or anything else.
Pressing her lips together, she held his gaze.
‘Still not prepared to offer your name?’ His words were quiet, thoughtful. The glint in his blue eyes suggested he found her puzzling. Good. The only way he could possibly discover her identity was if she told him, and she had no intention of doing so.
‘Keep your secrets a while longer, my little thief. But when I next open this door, you will tell me all.’
The warm smile that curved his full lips and lit his eyes left her believing she would indeed tell him everything he wanted to know, and more. His confidence told her that he always got what he wanted.