Free The Thief by Allison Butler Page A

enough.’
    ‘Good.’ It seemed his thief had the ability to inflame more than his ire. He turned to the young stablehand. ‘Give De Brus an extra long rub, lad. He’s earned it.’
    ‘Aye, sir.’
    Placing one arm around the troublesome wench’s upper back and the other behind her knees, Lachlan scooped her up into his arms.
    ‘Put. Me. Down.’ She spoke as if he were hers to command.
    Ignoring her order, Lachlan strode toward the keep’s entrance. ‘What of our other guests?’ he asked Caelan, who fell into step beside him.
    The inflexible bundle against his chest jerked her head upward, butting the underside of his chin. ‘I am not your guest.’
    Lachlan grunted, turning his face to the side in time to see Caelan glance away and up as if the night sky called to him.
    ‘You’re right. You are nae guest, only my future bride.’ Kenzie squirmed in his arms.
    ‘Lundy has our guests warming themselves in the kitchens,’ Caelan eventually said, though he kept his eyes averted. ‘Cal and Dair have gone to assess any damage.’
    ‘Once the men not on watch are inside the bailey, have the torches doused, bar the usual two above the gates, and meet me at the laird’s table.’
    ‘Aye.’ Caelan left them at the foot of the stairs.
    The woman in his arms shivered.
    Lachlan’s gaze skimmed Kenzie’s pale cheeks and blue lips. Pulling her closer to share his heat, she surprised him by relaxing against him. He climbed the steps and inclined his head at the guard, who opened the door to the Great Hall. Heat bathed his face. A hush fell over the crowded chamber as he carried his burden toward the blazing hearth behind the laird’s table. Kenzie’s warm breath bathed his upper chest and neck.
    ‘‘Tis good to have you home, laird.’
    ‘It’s good to be home, Murdoch.’ He gave his steward a tight smile. ‘I hear there was some mischief inside the keep during my absence.’
    Murdoch glanced at the woman in Lachlan’s arms. ‘But all seems well, now.’
    ‘Aye,’ Lachlan replied. ‘It’s been an eventful night, but nothing a basin of warm water, some mead and a few moments before the fire won’t fix.’
    Murdoch nodded and left.
    Bypassing the high-backed laird’s chair and its mate, Lachlan sat on one of the bench seats facing the crackling fire. The hush behind him finally gave way to murmurs as he relaxed his hold on the woman now resting in his lap, her face buried in the folds of his mantle.
    ‘Hiding, Kenzie?’ he asked quietly.
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
    ‘Though I welcome the feel of your fingers clutching my shirt and your hot breath ruffling the fur of my mantle …’ Her hands pushed against him. She sat upright across his thighs. ‘Ah, much better. I’d prefer to see your face.’
    ‘I wasn’t hiding,’ she said stubbornly. ‘And I wasn’t clutching your shirt.’ She scrambled off his lap onto the bench beside him.
    ‘Of course you weren’t.’
    ‘I was cold,’ she said holding her palms up toward the fire, staring into the flames.
    ‘And perhaps uncertain about facing my clansmen?’
    The smooth skin of her throat rippled as she swallowed. ‘Perhaps a little.’
    There was no perhaps about it. Why else would she have clung to him when he’d carried her into his hall?
    ‘Never fear. A few words from me and all will be well.’
    With a slight turn of her head, her gaze slowly climbed to meet his. ‘The last thing I wanted was for anyone to be hurt.’ Despite the regal set of her chin, regret darkened the brown of her eyes.
    Lachlan believed her. ‘Nae one was,’ he reminded her and himself. Voicing the truth aloud and viewing her remorse eased the anger coiling low in his belly.
    Turning back to peer into the hearth, she inhaled deeply. Through the opening of her cloak, Lachlan watched the thin fabric of her gown stretch taut over rounded breasts. He stared at the rise and fall of her chest, his breathing matching hers.
    Approaching footsteps brought him back to