Page 10 of Jack (Highland Outlaws #1)

J ack stormed from his hut. His mind was racing. He had to get away from her.

God’s Blood, she was beautiful with her full soft lips and silken skin. He raked his hand through his hair in frustration.

What did her beauty matter? He’d known many beautiful women. He needed to remember that she was the enemy.

He had no business kissing her or even pitying her. By God, he had robbed dozens of English nobles. She was no different. Her title belonged to King Edward. Had it not been for the support of his nobles, nobles like her, his cruel hammer would not have possessed the power to thrash Berwick to dust.

Doubtless, she remained oblivious to her king’s cruelty, living within the confines of her gilded cage.

The attack against her today had likely been her first taste of suffering.

Her smooth, flawless palms had never known toil.

She could not imagine the heartache of a world torn asunder or the murder of ones so dearly loved.

He closed his eyes against the images that flashed in his mind—a wee lass with a basket of apples, a woman whose laughter had been as warm and rich as her black eyes, a man who had taught Jack self-worth.

His parents and youngest sister had perished during the massacre, their bodies buried in one of the mass graves.

He shook his head, chasing away the painful images.

Nothing could bring them back, but he had vowed to avenge them, and that was what he was doing.

He and his brothers had trained day in and day out, honing their skills under the watchful eye of Bishop Lamberton, one of the foremost supporters of Scotland’s cause.

With the money they stole, the bishop was rebuilding Scotland’s army and feeding those who had felt Edward’s hammer first-hand.

Together, they were fighting for freedom.

But for the first time since he had been forced to flee his home, he felt conflicted.

He couldn’t deny the attraction he felt towards their English captive, even if it was wrong.

Her piercing green eyes had caught him off guard, and her fear had made him want to protect her.

He had seen the terror in her gaze when those fiends attacked her, and it had struck him to his core.

In that moment, she had not been an English noble or he a Scottish rebel.

She had simply been a woman who needed his help.

He drew to a sudden halt.

How had it come to pass that he was bound to the enemy?

Surrounded by towering Scots pines, he quickly spun on his heel and started walking back to the clearing.

When he stepped out into the open, Quinn spotted him and crossed to his side.

“Jack, I’ve been looking for ye. We have to talk about what we’re going to do with the lass. ”

Jack grabbed a hold of Quinn’s tunic, jerking him close.

“ We aren’t going to do anything,” he hissed.

Then he turned, dropping his hands to his sides, and looked pointedly at all his brothers, save Alec, who would likely remain in his quarters for the night.

“Listen to me, all of ye. Stay away from Bella.”

Rory came forward, a smile playing at his lips. “Her name is Bella?”

Hearing her name on Rory’s tongue angered Jack, which only served to fuel his ire to new heights. “She isn’t yer concern,” he said, his voice firm.

Quinn cleared his throat. “It would seem ye’ve become better acquainted with the lass.”

Jack turned and met Quinn’s amused gaze. “Wipe that smirk from yer face. I’m not in the mood.”

Quinn’s expression changed to one of concern. “Ye ken she’s a lady, Jack?”

Was his attraction to her so transparent?

“What of it?” Jack growled.

“Well, ‘tis just that ye’re a commoner,” Quinn answered.

“And a rebel,” Rory chimed in.

“Not to mention a thief,” Ian added.

Jack shrugged. “We’re all commoners and rebels.”

“Aye,” Quinn said. “But ye seem to be the only one forgetting it.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing. She’s the enemy,” Jack hissed before turning on his heel.

“Where are ye going?” Quinn called after him.

“To talk to Rose. The princess needs a change of clothes.”

“With there being another female in camp, Rose is going to declare a feast day and throw a party,” Rory called out, laughing.

“She’ll have yer hide if she finds out you supported Alec’s idea of throwing her in the hole,” Jack shot back.

“It wasn’t my idea!”

“True, but one expects that sort of thing from Alec.”

Jack wove his way down the path that led to his sister’s hut, which was deeper in the woods, providing her with privacy from her five younger brothers.

When he stepped into the small clearing, he spied her standing beside the fire, adding some scraps to a hanging pot.

“It took ye long enough to come around and prove that ye’re still whole,” she said with a slight accusation in her voice.

Jack bent down and kissed Rose’s cheek. Her fiery red hair framed her beautiful face, and her gentle blue eyes looked up at him warmly. She and Ian resembled their father, while the rest of them took after their mother with their black hair.

Rose scrutinized his face. “Whatever ye’re brooding about, stop it, ye hear? Now, sit down, eat some pottage, and ye can tell me all about the lass ye abducted.”

Jack swore under his breath, for which he received a cuff upside his head.

“Rose, could we have one visit where ye don’t beat the hell out of me for once?

” He pretended to look cross, then gave her a pinch around the middle that bent her over with laughter.

Rose’s two weaknesses were easy to exploit.

She was extremely ticklish and a champion for anyone or anything she deemed vulnerable.

“Who told ye?” Jack asked after she handed him a bowl of thick stew. “Let me venture a guess, Ian?”

“Nay, ‘twas Rory. He told me about her fine looks.” Her smile vanished. She stopped stirring the pottage and pointed her spoon at him. “Ye listen to me, Jack MacVie. Ye keep Rory away from the poor lass. Ye know what he’ll do. Love her and leave her, he will.”

An image of Rory plying Isabella with his charms flitted through Jack’s mind. He put down his bowl.

“What’s the matter with my stew?” Rose asked, scowling.

“’Tis delicious, but I’ve no appetite suddenly.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Trust me. Rory will not lay a finger on her unless he’s interested in losing one.”

Rose nodded her approval. “See that he doesn’t.”

Jack stood. “I need to borrow one of yer tunics.”

Rose scrutinized his form from head to toe, then shook her head.

“Nay, it won’t suit ye.” She laughed heartily.

“’Twas only a jest. I ken ‘tis for the lady. Wait here,” she said before disappearing inside her hut.

She emerged moments later with what Jack recognized as her finest tunic and surcoat, reserved for their yearly sojourn to Inverness.

Jack shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Rory said she is the daughter of Lord Redesdale. She’s accustomed to finery. We should try to make her feel at home.”

Jack grabbed the violet tunic from Rose’s hand. An image of Isabella clad in the soft gown with her olive skin and pale green eyes stirred his desire. Despite being dirt smeared, she had smelled like an angel. He closed his eyes and felt the curve of her lips yielding to his own.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Rose gazing at him with amusement. “What are ye thinking about?” she asked with a knowing grin.

Jack cleared his throat. “Nothing that concerns ye, sister.” He shook his head.

“She absolutely cannot wear this.” He stormed inside Rose’s hut, determined to find something that might diminish, not enhance, their captive’s beauty.

Anyway, he had no intention of pampering his princess.

It would be good for her to taste life’s meager offerings.

Jack flipped open Rose’s chest and shuffled through the clothing until he came across a stained, threadbare woolen tunic. “This will do nicely.”

“Nay! That is my oldest work dress. I only wear it when the task is truly filthy, like cleaning out the animal pens.”

“Perfect,” Jack said, walking past her and stepping outside.

“What has the lass ever done to ye?” Rose called after him.

He ignored both her question and the scolding tone in her voice. He owed the lady nothing—he had already saved her life, which he was certain she would soon forget. Noble ladies were all narcissistic creatures—puddles had greater depth.

Then why had he kissed her?

He thought back to that moment in his hut.

She had been standing before him, willing herself to appear brave and resolute, despite how terrified she must have been.

She had thrust out her chin, putting her full lips on display.

Then she had made that quip about him not being a gentleman.

She had practically dared him to kiss her, and now that she’d had time to ruminate on his ungentlemanly advance, he was certain to hear all about his uncouth manners and inferior station.

Ready for battle, Jack made his way back to the clearing and stormed inside his hut, but the scene that awaited him could not have been more unexpected.

She was asleep, lying on his pallet, and despite the warmth of the day, wrapped tightly in his blanket.

With great care to be silent, he laid the bundle of worn, albeit clean, clothing beside her, lit a candle against the encroaching darkness, and took a seat at the table, where he quietly kept an eye on her as she slumbered.

After an hour passed, she began to stir. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, which had been warmed pink by the fire. She opened her eyes and straightaway spied the bundle he had left her. Sitting up, she unfolded the tunic and smiled.