Page 8 of The Thief (Castle Blackstone #3)

When the door closed behind MacKay, Kate blew through her teeth and turned her attention to the brass cage sitting on the table.

Edging closer, she murmured, “Hello.” The bird cocked his head as if listening intently and she grinned.

Oh, how I wish I could touch you.

She placed a finger on the bar, hoping the grey and white creature would come closer. “Hello, pretty bird.”

Mayhap she should spend her coins on a parrot instead of a horse. Horses lived for only a score, and they certainly didn’t speak. A parrot might live two score and could prove grand company.

The bird bobbed in comical fashion, making her laugh.

“Aye, ‘twould be fun having a pretty bird.”

“ Awk ! Pretty bird! Pretty bird!”

Oh! He’d repeated her. In English!

“Oh, no. No, no. Beidheach eun, Leo, Beidheach eun. ”

“Awk, pretty bird!”

She flapped her hands at him. “Shhhhh! Shhhhh!” Merciful mother in heaven. What to do, what to do? She couldn’t have the bird screaming pretty bird when MacKay returned. He’d likely run her and the bird through and ask questions later.

Kate pressed her face to the bars. The bird trilled and bopped in response. Very good. He’s paying attention. Mayhap if she changed her tone?

As quietly and calmly as she could manage with her heart beating itself black and blue against her ribs, Kate whispered, “ Beidheach eun , Leo, beidheach eun .”

“ Awk . Pretty Leo.”

Augh! She wrung her hands and knelt before the cage. Mayhap if she could distract him...

“Ian, Leo, Ian.” The bird could repeat that.

The bird ruffled his feathers and stretched its neck. In a high feminine voice it keened, “ Awk , Ian, oow, ooow, ah, ah, sooo big, aye, oow, oow, oh, oh, oh, ooh, oooooooh, Iiiian!”

Mouth agape, Kate stared at the parrot. Having spent a goodly number of nights in a crowded Salisbury great hall she recognized only too well what the bird mimicked.

“ Awk , ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh,” the bird told her before making an impressive masculine growl, then heaving a huge sigh. He then ruffled his feathers and winked at her.

Kate burst out laughing. First she’d been kissed nearly senseless, then deserted, then threatened at blade point, and now a parrot was telling her the infamous Thief of Hearts’s intimate secrets. She laughed even harder.

“ Awk, bhahahahawhaha .”

Oh, lord. She covered her mouth in an effort to muffle her peels. My, my, my. Did MacKay know about this? Picturing his ire, she laughed all the harder, making her middle burn.

“What, may I ask, do you find so funny?”

Kate tumbled backward. Seeing MacKay frowning in the doorway, his arms cradling enough food to feed Henry’s army, she dashed her mirth-induced tears from her cheeks and scrambled to her feet. “Nothing.”

“ Awk , Ian, oh, oh, Ian.”

“Silence, Leo!” Ian placed the food and wine on the table, then strode toward the cage. “I’ve heard quite enough for one night.” MacKay dropped a cloth over the cage and pulled the screen back in place. “Miserable breast.”

Kate had all she could do to keep her expression placid. “I find him quite entertaining, actually.”

Scowling, MacKay moved about the room arranging the table and stools to his liking. Unlike most men who thumped about with splayed feet, MacKay’s large feet headed quietly in the direction he intended to go. His calves were long and well muscled. His thighs-—what she could see of them whenever he bent to pick something up--were as thick as many a tree in London. His hips were narrow as was his waist, then he flared long and muscular to incredibly wide shoulders that rolled as he walked. Yet as solid as he was, there was something fluid, dare she say predatory, about his every move. Hmmm. And how odd that she should notice such. By and large she noticed only the face and gait of a man.

He returned to her side and held out an amber keltie, a large glass goblet with a rounded bottom. “Splendid,” Ian muttered, “he’s yours.”

She gave herself a shake. “Who is mine?”

“Leo.”

“You can’t be serious?” Who in their right mind would want to give away so unique a creature? The bird would fetch a small fortune in any market.

MacKay had positioned the stools on either side of the cross-legged table and motioned for her to take a seat.

“I’m verra serious. I’ve been trying to give him away for years, but no one will take him.”

She could well understand why, having heard the bird squawk, but then...

Kate reached for the slice of coarse dark bread he held out to her. “I should like to think on it.”

“By all means.”

She tasted the wine, found it surprisingly good, and then tried to set the goblet down, only to realize she could not without spilling its contents. Humph. She took another sip .

MacKay, his amber eyes hooded, raised his goblet. “To the loveliest lady in Stirling.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And who might that be?”

Looking affronted, he murmured, “Why ye, of course.”

Picturing herself left alone in the dark bailey, again feeling the sting of betrayal, hearing the parrot mimic an unknown lady oowing and ahing at the top of her voice, Kate took her time raising her goblet. Looking him in the eyes, she murmured, “To the handsomest liar in Stirling.”

He cocked his head much as the bird had. “Ye wound me, lass.”

She snorted in decidedly unladylike fashion. “Better ye than me.”

“Humph!” He took a sip of his wine. As if reading her mind he said, “My lady, Fraser finding me at yer side would have done ye irreparable harm.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yet here I am in your chamber and well your brother knows it.”

He smiled. “Ah, but the difference lies in my brother kenning me well whilst others, not kenning, often think the worst of me.”

“Oh.” Well, mayhap she could give him the benefit of the doubt. Not that all this really mattered. She’d be long gone before she crossed his thoughts again.

MacKay drained his goblet, laid it down and pierced a piece of venison with his dirk. To her surprise, he pulled it from the blade and held the meat to her lips. Not something a near stranger should do.

She looked at the offering and then into his eyes. He said not a word. Didn’t have to. Amber and gold sparked, challenging her. Heart thudding, she parted her lips. He eased the meat into her mouth. His index finger and thumb gently slid across the side of her tongue and then the inside of her lower lip before departing. The simple act of his feeding her caused an immediate quiver in her middle and heat to bloom much lower still.

His gaze shifted to her mouth. “Tell me of Robbie.”

Her gaze settled on his beautifully shaped lips. “Robbie?”

Double dimples suddenly bracketed either side of his mouth. “How soon we forget. Yer husband?”

Oh!

She straightened, giving herself a good mental shake. What was it about this man that he could so easily distract her? “Umm...he was five and twenty.”

MacKay arched a brow and speared another piece of meat. “That I ken. Was he kind?”

Kind? Given what Laird MacDougall had said but a few hours ago, she suspected not. Preferring not to get caught in a lie, she shrugged and looked about. Hoping to distract MacKay, she pointed toward the armory propped in the corner by his bed. “Lovely crossbow.” In her experience men could go on for hours about their weapons .

He grinned. “Thank you.”

Thank you? That’s all? Seeing a number of books on the wooden trunk at her side, she reached for the one on top. Epitome, Flavius Vegetius Renatus.

Out of habit born from having too few books of her own and the need to keep the reading fresh, she set the book on its spine and let the text fall open as it would. She closed her eyes and touched the page. Where her finger landed, she read, “It is much better to overcome the enemy by famine, surprise or terror than by general actions, for in the latter instance fortune has often a greater share than valor.”

How dreadful.

She looked up and found MacKay, goblet in hand, studying her from beneath hooded lids once nore. “It is the nature of war,” he quoted, “that what is beneficial to you is detrimental to the enemy and what is of service to him always hurts you.”

The wine which had tasted so sweet just moments ago suddenly turned to vinegar in Kate’s middle. Closing the book, she murmured, “Words to live by.” Or die by.

“Yet they disturb ye.”

“I believe I shall go to the ladies’ chamber now.” She started to rise, and he placed his hand over hers.

“Please stay, eat. Ye’ve had verra little, and I don’t want ye getting ill.”

He released her hand and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his clasped hands. “Ye read well.”

Aye, Ian thought, verra well indeed, and it had been too many seasons since a lilting voice had read to him. Decades, actually. Too, Kate Campbell did much well, kissing not the least among them. And he was in sore need of distraction.

Since leaving Albany, his gut had been in turmoil. Did the man really plan to ransom Murdock before ransoming their king? Logical, aye, given Albany was already an auld man and Murdock had years of battle experience, but still the idea didn’t set well. Second, the lady before him would soon have to face twelve lieges, something he suspected wouldn’t set well with her.

He held another piece of venison out to her.

Hands clutched in her lap, she shook her head. “I should take my leave now.”

He popped the meat into his mouth. As he chewed he studied her, trying to fathom what about her specifically was holding his imagination captive. “Why are ye really here, Kate Campbell?”

She blanched and looked to the door. “Ah...the music.”

He grined. “Not an hour ago ye were complaining our pipes squawked.” When she blushed to her hair roots he murmured, “Ah, Kate, be at yer ease, lass. None here would take offense. Pipes are an acquired taste, something ye’ll eventually feel in ye heart and bones should ye stay long enough.”

“I cannot stay. ”

Interesting. He held out another piece of meat, hoping she’d take it. She eyed him warily for a moment, then did, her full lips parting, her even white teeth closing over the pink flesh and his fingers. Ah, her mouth felt as slick as satin. Hmm, the possibilities. After she chewed and swallowed he asked, “And when will ye leave?”

Instead of answering she drained her keltie. He grabbed the flagon and refilled it before she could put it down.

Her brow crinkled. “Now why did you do that? I told you I need to leave.”

“Aye, ye must, but not so soon.” He held out another piece of meat to her and this time she snatched it with her fingers, her eyes narrow and assessing, like a hungry hound ready for a hunt.

She then tipped her head and studied him. “What do ye want, Ian MacKay?”

“Peace, a good crop, a mild winter.”

She huffed. “You ask for the truth, yet you do not answer in kind. What do you really want?”

Clever lass. To garner confidences one often had to share confidences. So why was he hesitating to do so? Humph. “As ye wish. I want to see ye safe.”

“Why? You know me not.”

Why indeed. “The truth? I find ye unique to the point of being totally distracting.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his, admiring the long, fine bones, the skin far softer than his own. He then looked into her eyes and pondered how they had captivated him from the very first moment they looked upon him, “For I dare swear, without doubt, that as the summer’s sun bright is fair, clear, and hath more light than any planet is in heaven,” he quoted Chaucer, “the moon or the stars seven, for all the world so had she surmounts then all of beauty, of manner and of comeliness, of stature,” he grinned for that was most certainly true, “and well set gladness, of goodlier so well be she.”

Kate, rather than swooning, gaped at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. To his annoyance she continued to laugh until tears streamed down her cheeks.

Taking a gasping breath she managed, “Ian MacKay, how have you survived so long? You’re such a poor liar.”

He blinked. “I beg ye pardon?”

Taken aback, his jaw muscles twitching, he sat silent as she drained her keltie, wiped the tears from her cheeks and strode to the door.

Ack! The blasted woman was rebuffing him. Again ! He, the Thief of Hearts, the man who can set any woman’s knees to quaking by simply smiling? The hell she was!

As she pulled open the door, he came up behind her and slapped a hand against the wood, slamming it shut. He then placed both hands on the door, effectively trapping her betwixt his arms. “My dear, we are yet through. ”

Her back to him, she tugged on the latch, “Oh, but we are.”

He grinned. Not so, my lady, not by a longbow’s shot.

He slipped an arm about her wasp-like waist and hauled her backward, her skirt brushing the tops of his boots. Groin to lovely, round hurdies, aye.

With both her hands now on the door for balance, she tipped her head trying to see what he was about and inadvertently gave him ample access to her long neck. He brushed his lips across the smooth white flesh just beneath her jaw. She gasped, her skin pebbled.

Inhaling the scent of rose and woman, he murmured, “Tis petal soft, Kate, just as I imagined.”

“Cease imagining!”

Grinning, he stroked her earlobe then took it into his mouth and was rewarded by her soft keening, “Aaaah.”

His lips edged lower still and he felt her pulse bound. Suspecting her neck might prove her Achilles’ heel, his tongue trailed lower, then licked. She shivered. Splendid.

Ian then did what he had been craving to do since holding her in the garden. He latched--his teeth gentle but his mouth firm--onto her neck where the soft flesh met the slope of her lovely shoulders. As he sucked his left hand slipped up her ribs and palmed the weight of one ripe breast.

“Ooh!” Her moan, breathy and high, came as her legs buckled. To keep her upright, his right hand slipped from her waist to her stomach, the soft roundness coming as a delicious surprise. Immediately her palms flattened on the door and her back arched, bringing her heart-shaped hurdies into perfect contact with his swelling staff. Feeling her soft yet firm flesh inadvertently cradled him, he nearly groaned aloud himself. Good God, she felt like a thick, overstuffed, downy mattress waiting to envelope him.

“Must go,” she panted as his thumb gently stroked the underside of her now-heaving breast.

“Mmm,” he agreed, pressing against her while sliding his right hand over her stomach, just a bit closer to the apex of her thighs. In response, her muscles quivered as a virgin’s might. Unexpected yet delightful.

She craned her neck to look at him but was thwarted by his very closeness. Her pulse raced beneath his lips as she managed, “Must go...now.”

Ack, she’s still thinking too much. He nuzzled her ear, knowing his breath to be hot and moist. “In a moment.”

He brushed a finger across her nipple and felt it grow taut, the breast swelling in his hand. He could barely wait to lay eyes on them, to discover if her nipples were pink, dusky rose or cinnamon. Ack, to suck—

Bham! Bham! A pause. Bham! Bham!

Kate, startled, turned to wood in his arms. Her body tense, ready for flight.

Shit !

“Shhhh, Katie, tis alright.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Shamus, what do ye want?”

Too long a silence, then, “How did ye ken it was me?”

His brother would prove the death of him. Since toppling off his destrier last year, Shamus could be so astute one minute and then be so damn dense the next...and because of the dreadful inconsistency, Ian’s cross to bear.

He rested his forehead against the door, his hold easy on Kate, who had thankfully started to relax. “You used our secret knock, Shamus.”

“Oh. Right.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. “What do ye need, Shamus?”

“Albany said to tell you and the lady that the tribunal has been moved up to Wednesday eve. And that the lairds will be drawn from a bowl so Campbell can’t cry foul.”

God’s teeth! Could naught go right this day? He grunted in resignation. “Thank you, Shamus. Good night.”

His brother humphed on the other side of the door. When his footsteps faded away, Ian straightened, and Kate turned in his arms.

Eyes round with alarm, she asked, “What tribunal?”

He patted her back and placed a kiss on her forehead. “‘Tis naught to fash about. Alistair has asked for a hearing to be sure ye will not gain overmuch from his brother’s death.”

“But I...I want naught!” She spun out of his arms and began pacing before the hearth. Wringing her hands, she muttered, “I do not understand this. I told that loathsome cur not but two hours past that all I wanted was the brooch he took from me.” She stopped and looked at him, her face nearly as stark as the whitewashed wall at her back. “Will they interrogate me? Should they find in his favor, will they lock me away?”

“Oh, lass.” He went to her and wrapped his arms about her. “Nay, they’ll do no any such thing. The very worst that can happen will be that Alistair is declared sole heir to Robbie’s entitlements. ‘Tis all.” He brushed a lock from her cheek and grinned. “We’re civilized people, Kate. We neither lock our women away nor lop off their heads like the vile pockpuds. English.”