Page 12 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)

God’s teeth, where the hell is she now?

The bloody woman was driving him insane. Normally, if Ian showed the slightest interest in a woman, he was all but tripping over the lass. But not Kate. Nay, he’d come to consider himself lucky if he even caught a glimpse of her in passing. Which he had done just a bit ago when she bolted out of the hall heading toward the main staircase.

Thinking she’d gone toward the baileys again, he had gone down and out, only to learn he’d misjudged. By the time he’d charged up the stairs she’d disappeared without a trace. Ack!

She was deliberately avoiding him. He was sure of it.

Giving serious thought to tethering her should he ever find her again, he was knocked sideways by Kate as she came racing around the corner of the staircase at breakneck speed. He reached out a hand to steady her. ”Whoa, my lady! ”

Seeing her normally bright, honey-colored countenance ashen, her eyes as glossy as wet sapphires, he cursed under his breath and pulled her to him. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and tried to jerk free.

“Katie, my lass, I’ve had quite enough of this.”

Since he’d been old enough to sprout hair on his balls, women had been seeking him out to share their woes. He need only hold their hand and murmur a few sympathetic “mmms,” and he’d ken all from their first breath to their last tup. But not this woman. Kate. She had to be the exception that proved the rule. And he was bloody sick and tired of it.

He wanted to know what made her so feisty one moment and so shy the next. He wanted to know why she sighed when he kissed her yet kept saying nay whenever he tried to get her alone. He wanted to know what she adored, what she disliked and most importantly what she feared.

And why he wanted to know all these things didn’t bear contemplation, for it might mean he could be falling in love for the first time in his life, which was simply unthinkable. ‘Twas the wrong place and the wrong time.

He threaded his fingers through her right hand and headed down the stairs. “Come, we need to talk.”

She moaned and pulled back. “Please, Ian, not now.”

“Aye, now.” Without bothering to look back, he kept walking, pulling her behind him .

Suddenly he was jerked to a halt. He looked back and was astounded to find Kate lying on the stairs, her heels dug into the wall’s mortar and her free hand holding onto the safety rope for dear life.

“Augh!” He leaned over her and pried her fingers off the rope, and then grabbed her by the waist. Muttering a string of Gael curses, he tossed her over his shoulder. Her head and shoulders behind him, her lovely round hurdies in the air, her long legs flailing before him, he started down the stairs. When she nearly kicked him in the head, he clasped her ankles in an iron grip.

Her fists pounded his back. “Let me go you, you... brute !”

“Nay! You’re mine until such time as I say otherwise.”

In response Kate swatted at his arms. “I hate you, Ian MacKay!”

“Nay, ye don’t. Ye adore me, but you’re frightened, and I mean to find out why.”

“Aaugh!”

Just as he passed the entrance to the great hall, Lady Beth MacDougall stepped into his path, her hands on her hips, a scowl distorting her sweet countenance. “Ian Mackay, put that woman down right this minute!”

“Lady Beth, this is no any concern of--”

“I mean it, Ian, or I screech bloody murder. Right here. Right now.”

Warily, he eyed Duncan’s cantankerous ladywife. He’d heard tell she’d brought Angus the Blood to his knees on one occasion. Lips in a tight line, she waited, tapping her foot.

Damn woman.

His jaw muscles clenching, he set Kate down but kept a tight hold on her hand.

Kate, throwing a scathing glance his way, tried to straighten her eschewed headdress with her free hand. “Thank you, my lady.”

Lady Beth shook her head at both of them. “Behave like bairns, you get treated as such. Now come. We’re to dine together.”

Scarlet-faced just a moment ago, Kate blanched. “No, no...I’m not hungry. And...and I don’t have my blade.”

Beth took Kate’s free hand. “You can use Ian’s. I’m sure he’ll not mind.

~#~

Stopping at a long dining table, Lady Beth waved toward the open seating next to Laird MacDougall. Through clenched teeth she hissed, “Sit, the pair of you.”

Kate, her middle roiling, her palms sweating, sat. Ian, fuming at her side, heat shimmering off him in waves, sat. He was apparently as upset as she but for entirely different reasons.

She looked about hoping to find an excuse to leave and found Alistair Campbell staring at her from across the room. He raised his goblet and grinned. Oh no. Had he already poisoned the food? No, he’d not had time. But then...

Ready to plead illness, Kate turned toward Lady Beth and found a serving girl weighted down with a square leather budget nearly as tall as she. From its depths her quick hands pulled bread trencher after bread trencher out and placed them before each of the men. Right behind her came two lads of about thirteen. The first lad took each goblet from the table and filled it from the bulging wine budget that the second lad carried. Behind them came the squires carrying huge pewter trays laden with all manner of meat and fruit.

Kate held her breath as the boy filled the MacDougall’s goblet with wine. Before he could pick up the one before Ian, Kate snatched it up and began wiping out the goblet with the edge of the tablecloth.

Ian leaned toward her and hissed, “What are ye doing?”

Praying she’d removed any poison that might have been in or on the goblet, Kate muttered, “‘Tis dirty.” She managed to smile when she held the goblet out to the boy.

Ian filled their trencher then whispered, “Kate, I truly wish you to trust me.”

A pleading note in his tone caught her attention and she faced him. His eyebrows were contracted over the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, his gaze searching hers for a clue as to what she might be thinking. So beautiful.

Kate licked her lower lip and his gaze followed. Her middle trembled. Wishing he wouldn’t do that, she looked away. How was it possible that even a look could tear at her heart? Life was so unfair.

“Here.” Ian held a piece of egg out to her. She stared at it. Logic dictated Campbell could not have known which platter she would be served from but her hand still shook as she took it from Ian’s fingers. Before she could bring it to her mouth, shouting erupted at the far end of the hall. All around her men stood, their hands reaching for their dirks. A woman keened, benches toppled and pandemonium ensued.

Ian, his gaze now locked on the combatants, put a hand on her arm. “I’ll be right back.” He then strode away, the MacDougall and several others following.

Kate glanced at Lady MacDougall and found her--along with every other woman in the hall-—staring or pointing toward the shouting men. Her pulse bounding, Kate looked about again. ‘Tis now or never.

She rose and hurried from the hall.

~#~

In the ladies’ bed chamber, Kate frantically searched through the bed coverings and pallets piled haphazardly in the right-hand corner. She’d placed her satchel right here, in this corner of the room. She was certain of it. She straightened and huffed, her gaze raking the cluttered room. Where could they have put—-

“Thank God.” Her battered leather bag sat on a trunk beneath the window. She snatched it up and heard something fall. She looked down. A small velvet pouch sat at her feet. Frowning, she picked up the little blue bundle. A tag was attached by a narrow ribbon.

Sweets for the sweet.

-Ian

Her heart tripped. He’d given her a present?

Tears stung the back of her throat as she brought the pouch to her lips and caught the unmistakable scent of cinnamon, which called to mind a stolen apple tart and their first kiss.

She took a deep breath, recalling the feel of his lips on hers, the scent of him. Delicious and warm.

Dear God, she would miss him so.

A loud shout and the clang of metal on metal jerked Kate out of her reverie.

Oh no! Now what?

Heart thudding, she strained on tiptoes to peer out the window and found a large crowd circling the inner close. The fight that had started in the hall had apparently moved outside.

The fates were being kind. Those in the hall were still fully occupied. She needed to go while she still could.

Kate brushed the tears from her cheeks and carefully placed Ian’s gift next to her satchel. Later she’d have time to open the pouch and think on the man who had given her the gift. One thing was certain. She would never eat whatever the pouch contained. They were the only tangible proof she would have in the years to come that the incredible Ian MacKay wasn’t an illusion, a product of her lonely yet fertile mind.

Praying her meager belongings hadn’t been pilfered, she opened her satchel and was relieved to find her two hooded capes, her two spare gowns, the stained slippers, a sliver of rose soap and her hairbrush. What jewelry she had she already wore: a jet belt and a plain gold band that had once belonged to her mother. Her blade, a gift from her Nana, was tucked in her pocket.

She donned her black cape and placed Ian’s gift in the satchel, being careful to pad it well. She then took a deep breath and peeked into the hall. Finding it empty, she raced down the stairs that would lead to the windowless lower level.

Jogging along the cool, deserted hallways that ran around Stirling’s great foundation, she opened each door she passed, looking for the one that held James’s possessions. Her every step echoed, making her cringe, but she continued to make haste. After turning left yet again, her breath caught. Before her at the very end of the hall stood a door with a gold and scarlet crest on it. As she drew closer, her heart began to race. Twin lions adorned the seal. She’d found it!

Heart hammering, she ran the length of hall, only to find the door secured by a rusty wrought iron lock. Augh !

Kate dropped her satchel and pulled out her blade. She then routed under her headdress and pulled out two sturdy pins. There was something to be said for having heavy hair.

She knelt before the lock and examined the keyhole. Someone had taken the time to oil the lock. Very good. When she’d seen the rust, she’d feared the inner workings would be frozen in place.

She’d picked only one lock in her life and that had been the one on her grandmother’s wedding chest after she had lost the key, but surely the works were similar. A lock after all, was just a lock.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she carefully fitted the point of the blade into the hole to hold the lock stable and then slipped in a hairpin.

~#~

Hearing a familiar feminine huff, Ian grinned. He’d finally found her. Very considerate of her to hide in such a dark, secluded place.

Mayhap now he could find out what truly ailed her without being interrupted. Once he knew all her secrets and put her fears to rest, he’d kiss her senseless and give her the gift he’d been carrying in his sporran for the last four hours.

Grinning, he peeked around the corner.

What the bloody hell ?

Kate knelt before the royal storage room, her hands frantically working at the lock.

Nay. This cannot be. She’s a thief?

His earlier joy in finding her evaporated as he eased forward, staying close to the exterior wall and out of her line of sight should she turn.

Just feet from her, he pressed his back to the wall and looked heavenward.

Please do not let her be doing what I suspect. Please.

As if in answer, he heard the lock’s inner workings click. He then heard Kate heave a sigh and the lock drop to the stone floor. A heartbeat later she muttered, “About bloody time.”

English.

Pain bloomed in the pit of his stomach. She’d spoken in English just as a Londoner might. Son of a bloody bitch!

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Think! What the hell does she seek? ‘Twas naught within the chamber but old clothing, toys and a few pieces of furniture. Mayhap a painting or two.

Naught made sense, and because it didn’t he would wait. Wait for her to lay hands on whatever it was that she’d risked her very life to get. For she had done that.