Her Enemy Highlander

The murderer sensed the change in the air and attempted to put up his hood. ‘I never touched the wench! This is all untoward; I bid you both goodnight.’

The swift whip of air was all she heard as Caird’s sword came up in front of the man. He could move, but only if he wanted to be cut in half.

‘She called you thief,’ Caird said. ‘Exactly what were you thieving?’

‘Nothing, the wench—’

‘Stop...calling her wench; she’s a lady compared to the likes of you.’

The man’s entire demeanour changed from umbrage to overly pleasing. He raised his hands, and shrugged his shoulders as if in defeat. ‘You are welcome to the lady. It was an accident. She bumped—’

‘It wasn’t an accident!’ she interrupted. Mairead wouldn’t let the man’s false humbleness ruin her only chance for retrieving the dagger. ‘This is the man I was to meet. But he saw me come from your room and in a rage he tore my gown!’

The man’s eyes widened in fright; if it wasn’t dark, she’d swear she saw sweat break over his brow. Even better, he looked guilty. Good, he should feel guilt. Especially since she was wishing him dead.

Caird’s sword sliced the cloak’s tie under the man’s chin. The cloak billowed to the ground, revealing her dagger and a sword strapped to his belt.

‘You need to apologise to the lady,’ Caird said.

‘But I didn’t—’

Another slight movement and this time the sword neatly slashed the man’s tunic. Right across his heart.

Mairead bit her lip to hide her reaction. Grief, desperation, anger...and now this?

Caird did everything she wished to do, but it wasn’t enough, not for what this man, this thief, had taken from her. She wanted to swipe the sword and slice the black heart of her brother’s killer.

The man’s eyes grew wide. There was no calculating gleam there now. His eyes darted to the sword, to Mairead and then to the staircase; his right hand visibly twitched. Was it because he feared Caird? She hoped so.

Being half-undressed didn’t make Caird look vulnerable. In fact, his well-muscled, well-trained body looked more formidable than the sword he held. She couldn’t believe she had curled her body around the man as if he was safe. Right now, he looked anything but safe.

A flash of movement.

‘The stairs!’ she yelled.

Caird lunged, but the murderer wasn’t planning escape. He had the dagger in his hand and he swung it around. Moving his sword and body to the side, Caird pounded his great fist on the man’s head.

The murderer teetered on the edge of the stairs. Caird clutched the man’s shredded tunic. It tore and the murderer tumbled down the stairs like wet clothes in a river.

A door opened behind them and a tall lean man stepped out. His short dark hair was tousled, and a lock fell over his forehead. A recently healed scar ran the length of his left cheek and down across his bare chest. He looked menacing even as he carelessly leaned against the doorframe and looked pointedly at Caird, Mairead, then the man crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

His lips quirked before he burst out laughing. When he was done, he pretended to wipe his very green eyes and asked, ‘Need any help?’

‘You took your sweet time, Malcolm,’ Caird said.

Malcolm shrugged. ‘I was occupied. You left me with two of them.’ He pointed to Mairead. ‘Who’s this?’

Caird frowned.

Malcolm laughed again. ‘How about that down there?’

‘I doona know about that either.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly kept yourself entertained.’

Giggling floated out of Malcolm’s room and he closed the door.

Mairead desperately wanted to run down the stairs, grab the dagger and escape. But now there were two of them. She must keep lying.

Trying her best to look worried for the murderer, she asked, ‘Shouldn’t we see if he is dead?’

Caird’s eyes narrowed on her. To avoid his stare, she looked down the stairs and bit her lip.

‘I’ll go.’ Malcolm’s mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Out of the three of us, it seems I’m the only one decently clothed.’

Mairead snatched her hands to her breasts again. She’d forgotten about her gown.

Malcolm went down the steps and checked the inert body. ‘Not dead,’ he whispered up.

Her immediate relief surprised her. She’d thought she wanted him dead.

Malcolm ripped the torn tunic and tied the murderer’s arms behind him. He then searched the man’s pouch and boots before he ran up the stairs. ‘His pouch held a few coins, but nae seal or any identification.’ He pulled his hand from behind his back. ‘He did have this in his hand.’

Malcolm held Mairead’s dagger. The rubies winked.

She tried not to gasp, but part of the sound escaped. Caird’s eyes went to hers briefly and she quickly lowered her gaze. Now what was she supposed to do? Say the dagger was hers, and that she’d be on her way? They wouldn’t believe her. She’d have to stay quiet.

Caird took the dagger, his fingers caressing the decorative handle. When he looked again at Mairead, his eyes were no longer soft from desire or drink. Instead, they were as cold as the dagger in his hands.

‘The man’s clothes are too poor for such a fine piece,’ he said.

‘I agree,’ Malcolm replied. ‘Most likely it is stolen.’

Caird nodded. ‘Aye, a thief.’

Was it her imagination, or did Caird emphasise the word thief? Feigning nonchalance, she fiddled with her bodice.

‘Doona harm the man,’ Caird said. ‘Leave him his coins and sword, and take him outside the town’s gates. Preferably further than that.’

‘Off the land?’

‘I wouldn’t burden you that distance.’

Malcolm nodded his head towards his room. ‘I’ll grieve enough for leaving those two.’

Caird shook his head. ‘Do you think of anything else?’

‘Aye, food.’

Caird hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something more.

Malcolm lifted his eyebrow. ‘Worried for me again, Brother?’

Caird huffed and shook his head. ‘I’ll keep this dagger. I must think. See that he continues away from our land.’

A groan and movement from below caught their attention.

Malcolm ran down the steps and roughly pulled the murderer to his feet. The man stumbled, clearly not ready to rise.

‘’Ere, now, where’s my sword?’

‘You’ll get it soon enough,’ Malcolm replied.

The man acted resigned, but then in a struggle, he wrenched his arm free. ‘The dagger. Where is it?’

‘Here,’ Caird called out.

Malcolm resumed his hold and the man struggled to remain upright. ‘The dagger’s mine,’ he argued. ‘Surely you wouldn’t take that. A man’s got to have some defence.’

Mairead stayed silent and dug her fingers into her bodice. She glared all her hatred at him. She’d never forgive or forget what he did.

‘You have the sword,’ Caird replied. ‘The dagger’s not yours.’

The man tugged uselessly to free his arm. ‘I’ve got to have the dagger. Take my pouch, take my sword, but the dagger holds sentimental value to me.’

‘Nae.’

The man stopped his pleading, his movements frantic now. Anger and fear flashed in his eyes as he pierced them on Mairead.

‘You stupid wench. It wasn’t me who did it. If you—’ The man tried to butt his head against Malcolm, but Malcolm cuffed him on the jaw and the man slumped heavily in his arms.

‘I may have wanted to hear the end of that sentence,’ Caird said drily.

Malcolm shrugged. ‘His head must have still been ringing.’

Caird looked at the dagger again. Mairead did, too.

‘Take him away,’ Caird demanded.

‘Nae, wait!’ Mairead said. ‘Shouldn’t we wait until he wakes to see what he was going to say?’

‘Too late. I’m missing my sleep,’ Caird said.

Oh, but she needed to hear what the man was going to say. It had all happened so fast when Ailbert was killed. She had only seen the one man running away. This man. Had there been another? If this man was only a thief, then who was the murderer?

‘But he should at least be awake for his journey,’ she argued.

‘I think not,’ Caird replied. ‘I ask my brother too much as it is. An unconscious burden will be easier for him.’

Malcolm’s door flew open and two dishevelled women came out. They clutched one piece of bed linen and each other with equal amounts of clumsiness. ‘Malcolm,’ one of them trilled. ‘Malcolm, come back. Where are you?’

‘Oh!’ The brunette stopped so suddenly the red-haired one stumbled and lost her share of the linen covering her naked body.

‘Look at this one here, Annie.’ The brunette pointed to Caird.

‘Oooh, now he’s a triumph,’ slurred the redhead, trying in vain to reach for the corner of the linen. She curled her lips at Caird. ‘Come with us, pretty.’

Caird, clothed only in his tunic, lightly held his sword to his side. He was covered, but barely. Mairead’s anger switched from Malcolm for hitting the thief to Caird for having no modesty. Did he intend to parade around for all the women of Scotland and why did she even care?

‘The man you want is downstairs,’ Caird began, ‘and, as you can see, I’m well taken care of by a friend of yours.’

Mairead wanted to punch him in the stomach.

‘Oh, she’s nae friend of ours,’ said the brunette.

‘Never seen her before in my life,’ said the redhead. ‘Malcolm’s downstairs?’

‘Lasses!’ Malcolm cried jovially.

They stumbled towards the stairs.

Caird didn’t watch the women, he watched Mairead. From the look in his eyes, he wasn’t surprised the two women didn’t know her.

She was right in thinking he was too intelligent. If she wasn’t careful, he would link her trespass in his room with the dagger and the thief.

But she couldn’t just leave. Caird had the dagger. So how was she to get it and keep his mind from making the correct assumptions? The only way she knew how.

Mairead dropped her hands from her gown. His eyes flickered to her chest. But they didn’t stay there.

Instead his eyes narrowed, his cheeks hollowed and his lips pressed tight together.

‘Get in my room,’ he said.

Chapter Four

Mairead mostly prided herself on her impulsiveness, but right now she felt no pride. Right now she was in danger. Especially when she had no plan and there was a well-armed, vexed stranger following behind her and closing the door.

Her anger and fury had disappeared and her legs didn’t feel as if they would hold her much longer.

In the dark and quiet room, she could almost hear his mind making connections between her and the thief.

If it wasn’t for her family, she’d have run. They needed the money that dagger represented. Not that her mother and sisters knew about their predicament, but Ailbert had known. Ailbert had... Oh, she didn’t want to think about him. Not now. There was no time.

She had to choose: humiliate herself here, or in front of her entire clan. She’d prefer to do it here.

Straightening what was left of the top of her gown, she took a candle and walked to the fireplace. The fire was dim, but enough to light the wick.

‘Not now.’

‘I was just lighting it. It’s dark.’

‘We doona need light to sleep.’

But she did. She needed the light to see if his expression matched the biting tone of voice. Setting the unlit candle by the table, she turned towards him.

He had rested the sword by the bedside and was right behind her. Quickly, he took his tunic off. ‘Here.’ He gestured with the tunic.

As she tugged on the fabric of her hopelessly torn gown, she tried not to look at him. ‘What will you wear?’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He shoved the tunic into her hands and turned towards the door. ‘And I’ll not be doing any more thinking tonight.’

She clutched the tunic and tried to think of an excuse to stay. But instead of opening the door and demanding she leave, he retrieved his boot dagger still embedded in the thick wood.

Her fingers eased on the fabric, but she wasn’t completely safe. He turned around and gazed pointedly at the tunic still in her hands. Walking past her, he placed his boot blade on the windowsill.

She wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension. But he acted as though he felt none and he was still...naked. He might be comfortable, but his state of undress played havoc with her emotions.

Even thanking him seemed moot as he straightened the bed covers and lay down. Just above his head, he placed her dagger.

Not only was she mute, but she didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t only his tone of voice that was different. He was different. His speech was shortened. The warm lilting voice that made her limbs go heavy was gone. He wasn’t even looking at her any more.

So she just stood there.

‘My head’s aching and I’m tired. You can either put that tunic on or not, climb into the bed to sleep or not, makes nae difference to me.’

Feeling helpless, Mairead stared. The bed creaked as Caird adjusted himself. His back was to her now and he was partially covered with the thin blanket he pulled up around him.

It wasn’t daylight yet, but it would come and soon. There was still a chance to get the dagger, but only if she stayed. Pulling on the tunic, she climbed into bed. It wasn’t a large bed and she adjusted her position so as not to touch him.

He might be a heavy sleeper. If she hadn’t upended the stool and made a noise, she might have made an escape, but it wouldn’t do to think of her mistakes.

For now, she’d just have to wait until Caird fell asleep.

* * *

Mairead woke with the sudden awareness of the sun rising. The room was just growing light, but she did not need the daylight to see her impulsiveness had landed her in danger. Again.

She didn’t need to see at all. All she had to do was feel.

Her upper body was still contorted away from Caird, but her legs were wrapped neatly under his. Her feet were warm, which was probably why she’d slept. Her feet were never warm.

She kept still, waiting to see if Caird woke as well, but his breath remained steady and his body relaxed. He still slept.

The dagger still rested above his head.

To keep silent, she held back her sigh of relief. There was still a chance to get the dagger and walk away. Then she could grieve. She needed to grieve. Her nerves frayed more with every delay.

Carefully, almost painfully, she reached for the dagger.

‘Oomph!’

A fierce grip on her wrist, a twist of a large body and she was on her back, hand above her head, her fingers wrapped around the dagger.

‘Admiring its beauty?’

His tone was calm, but not idle.

And he was heavy. She couldn’t breathe to protest. She shoved her legs up.

‘You’re...’ She huffed.

He eased his weight, but not his hold on her wrist.

His loose hair fell forward. A long scar curved from his right shoulder into the splattering of dark hair on his chest.

And his eyes were a changeable shade of grey.

‘Answer me!’ He shook her wrist.

* * *

Caird hadn’t been thinking last night. The fact he could even remember last night was a miracle after the amount of ale he and Malcolm had drunk.

The woman lay absolutely motionless beneath him and she hadn’t said a word. But she didn’t need to.

Her dark-brown eyes were wide with fear and something else making them darker still. Her cheeks were flushed from sleep and her lips were full and impossibly pink. Beneath his hips and legs, he could feel her ample hips and buttocks cushioning him.

He had not dreamed of this woman beneath him, or the effect she had on him. She was not some fantasy conjured from the wedding celebrations.

She was like having Spring’s first ripe berry after a hard winter, and just as tempting.

‘What do you want with this dagger?’ he repeated.

‘I...was looking at it.’

It was more than that. There was the admiring gleam in her eyes, but also one of intent. ‘You were doing more than looking.’

‘Nae, it was just there. I picked it up. That’s all.’ She shook her head. Her abundant dark brown curls bounced like a tarnished halo around her head.

But she was no fallen angel. She was in his room last night. If he hadn’t been so drunk, so tired and so stupid, he wouldn’t be having this argument with her.

Instead, she would be fully and completely underneath him. Or he would have thrown her from his room and been done with all the temptation and trouble.

He might not have been thinking straight last night, but he was this morning. Now, he needed to solve the problem of why she was here. ‘Why were you in my room?’ he demanded.

She looked down, but her eyes widened and her eyes flew back to his. Her flush deepened, too. He was still naked, the thin blanket inadequate covering.

Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight after all. He prised her fingers from the dagger and stood from the bed. Keeping his eyes on her, he set the dagger on the table by the fireplace and reached for his braies.

Mairead tried to keep her eyes trained on the man, not the dagger. What she had come for was now almost within her grasp and she felt a mixture of relief and tension. She knew all she had to do was either lie for or steal the dagger. Now was her time. Just a little longer and she’d be done with all of this.

She sat up. ‘I told you it was a mistake.’

Finishing tucking the braies, he said, ‘The room’s a mistake. Not the reason why you were here.’

This man was too intelligent to fool and too fast and strong for her to make a run for it with the dagger. A little bit of truth wouldn’t hurt.

She gave a sigh as if she couldn’t hold up the pretence any more. ‘The dagger belongs to my family.’

‘How convenient.’

Never taking his eyes from hers, he reached for the brown leather leggings.

‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me. It’s why I didn’t say anything before.’ She pushed the cover away from her legs and stood. ‘Why would you believe me? We’re strangers; the dagger has some value. But I ask, why would a lone woman enter an unknown inn at the dead of night if not to retrieve something of great value to her?’

‘To steal.’

Too true. Lowering her eyes, she rubbed her hands down the tunic to ease the creases there. ‘If I was such an expert thief, I could do it in broad daylight, within the comforts of safety. What I did was anything but safe.’

‘Maybe you’re not a good thief.’

‘Exactly!’ She looked up and gave him a wide smile.

His only response was to raise one brow.

She continued, ‘An inept thief, who doesn’t know any better or have the sense not to search rooms in the dead of night.’

The last line took a dent to her pride, but it worked. He was starting to believe her.

He pulled the leggings up over his braies until everything fit properly. Without a tunic, it didn’t hide the muscles and scars on his arms and broad shoulders.

‘How did the man steal it?’ he asked.

Flashes of memory. The sudden shock, the man running away, her brother collapsing to the ground. Ah, the grief.

‘I doona know.’ She held up her hand when she saw him begin to doubt.

‘The dagger isn’t mine, but my brother’s,’ she said. ‘I was there when it was stolen, but didn’t see what happened. My brother told me and said he would get it back.’

‘Where’s your brother?’

Crumpled on the ground. Her call for help. Her mother’s scream.

She wrinkled her nose, trying to stop the threatening tears. ‘He thought that man in the hallway, that thief, went west and decided to pursue him.’

‘And he sent you east.’

She shifted and tried to look guilty. ‘Nae. I came this way on my own. He described the thief to me. I thought I’d help.’

He huffed.

‘I wasn’t confronting the man on my own, just getting the dagger back. It’s the reason I searched the room at night.’

He straightened the upended stool, sat on it and proceeded to put on his boots. ‘The thief seemed to know you.’

Despite being drunk, he had too good a memory.

‘Did he?’ she said.

‘He said it wasn’t him.’

She acted like she couldn’t remember. But she did. Vividly. If only Malcolm had not hit the man, she’d know what the thief meant to say!

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t ken his meaning. He had my dagger.’

Caird bent and picked up his pouch. Without attaching it, he stared at her. She kept her eyes straight on him. He almost believed her, but something was bothering him. She’d have to make certain he had no doubts.

He nodded. ‘You were lucky.’

Only if he believed her.

He wrapped the belt with the pouch around his waist. ‘You could be dead.’

Ah, gratefulness and flattery. Those were easy emotions to fake. ‘I know. Strange as it may seem, I am glad I came to your room.’

Something besides doubt flitted in his grey eyes, making them almost green. Something like...heat.

He took a step towards her. She had risen from the bed and straightened her clothes, but she hadn’t gone any further. If she had, she’d have somewhere to move. As it was, she was stuck between Caird and the bed.

He was measuring her again, weighing something. His eyes moved from hers down her cheeks to her lips. Between her torn gown and his deeply cut tunic, her neck and most of her shoulders were bare. There, his eyes stilled and her bare skin felt even more exposed.

‘Me, too,’ he said as his eyes caught hers. His voice had lowered, softened. The beautiful lilt of last night wasn’t there. He wasn’t talking enough for that.

Which was probably good because just the tone of his voice was causing her to remember last night. Before the thief. The darkened room and their kiss.

She swallowed, trying to moisten her suddenly parched mouth. ‘I woke you, caused you trouble.’

His mouth quirked and he took another step. ‘Nae trouble.’

What was wrong with her? She needed to get out of here. She needed to keep lying like she always did with the Buchanan men.

But this man didn’t affect her like Buchanan men, and she couldn’t think fast enough. ‘I...’ she started, then licked her lips.

His breath stopped, released.

For some reason, her breath did the same.

‘I should thank you,’ she said, her voice catching.

Slowly, so slowly, she felt the heat of him as he leaned towards her.

Oh, he was going to kiss her. Again.

And she didn’t want to stop it. Didn’t want the heat of him to go away or the heady scent of him to vanish. All she wanted—

Her stomach growled.

His mouth twitched and his eyes flashed with more green than grey.

If she thought herself incapable of moving before, she was wrong. Now, her very feet were nailed to the floor. How did eyes do that?

‘Trestles are being moved for breakfast.’ Turning rapidly, he looked around the room. ‘I’ll see about a gown and food.’

Her knees shaking, she sat abruptly on the bed. ‘I have nae coin to repay you,’ she said.

Shaking his head, he said, ‘A gift.’

‘Thank you,’ she answered. He was being generous despite the trouble she’d given him. She didn’t feel guilty for tricking him, but she wished she could repay him. He truly was different from any Buchanan man she had ever known.

He was too breathtaking, too honourable and now kind as well. A Buchanan man wouldn’t have believed her. They would have shoved her out of the room and kept the costly dagger. Instead, he was giving the dagger to her, feeding her, clothing her.

She tried not to think about the kiss he hadn’t given her. He was still walking around the room. ‘Where’s my small blade?’

She smiled. ‘The one you threw at me? You left it over there.’

Following her arm movement to the window, he reached for his dagger on the windowsill.

The bright morning light shone against his still loose hair, making the red hidden in his brown locks glow. Odd, how she hadn’t noticed he had red hair before.