Highland Thief – an excerpt

The Sons of Gregor MacLeod | Book 5 

Grasping the reins, Kerr led the stallion away from the main trail Isobel expected him to ride down and toward the head of a steeper trail he knew emerged onto the beach closer to the boat. If she was watching the other bluff, it would also put him behind her.

He might be able to surprise her, and she wouldn’t have as much time to make her escape.

Not that he didn’t want her to. Aye, that would play right into his hands.

At the trail’s head, he dropped the reins and whispered for Diabhla to halt. He didn’t want the horse to lose his footing and run him down, even though he was more likely to take a tumble in the dark. Over the years, Diabhla had proved that his senses were sharper than Kerr’s at night.

He waited until Isobel turned away from him and paced in the opposite direction along the shore. Her steps on the loose rocks echoed loudly in the quiet of the night, making his ire rise all over again.

She was alone, unprotected, when their enemies could be anywhere—anyone. And they were deadly.

He maneuvered down the steep decline—knees bent, crouched over, hands grabbing rocks and shrubs to stop him falling. He reached the bottom as she turned around and saw him. She stopped in her tracks with a loud gasp as he straightened to his full height.

“Isobel,” he said evenly, so she would know it was him and wouldn’t be frightened.

She let out a squeak—a sound she would surely deny were he to remind her of it later—before lifting her skirts and dashing toward the boat. The exertion caused her hood to fall back and the bright strands of her hair to loosen behind her. Her long, quick gait ate up the distance.

He could have beaten her there, but that wasn’t his intent. Nay, he wanted her on that boat.

Striding toward her, he let out a sharp whistle for Diabhla. The stallion whickered in response before following Kerr down the trail, his hooves thumping on the dirt path and loosing rocks that slid noisily to the bottom. When he reached the beach, his iron shoes clipped rhythmically along the stony shore toward Kerr.

Isobel shoved hard on the boat to push it into the loch, and then she scrambled on board, her skirts and leather shoes getting soaked in the process. Fierce triumph shone on her face in the moonlight as the skiff glided away from him.

His heart expanded proudly, and a grin tilted up the corners of his mouth. That was his lass. She hadn’t trained in weapons, like Callum’s wife, Maggie, or self-defense, like Lachlan’s wife, Amber, yet she was still out here, executing her plan—successfully!

She’d had to escape the castle, get him here alone while sending the others in another direction, and trick him into thinking she was eloping.

“Well done, love,” he shouted as she used an oar to shove the boat out farther, causing the rope to stretch taut between them. Diabhla huffed in his ear behind him, almost as if he laughed at the two of them.

“You canna stop me, Kerr MacAlister,” she said, standing to face him, her voice filled with glee. “I love another.”

“I doona intend to stop you. I intend to join you.”

“What?”

Without missing a step, he reached behind his shoulder, pulled his big sword from the sheath that was strapped across his back, and in one swing, cut through the rope that anchored the little boat to shore.

“Kerr, nay!” she yelled. He felt a moment’s guilt upon hearing the fear and panic in her voice as the boat floated untethered upon the water. Then he hardened his heart. He had to do this. For both their sakes.

He stepped into the loch as he re-sheathed his sword, the icy cold soaking through his leathers and freezing his skin beneath his wool socks. The air had cooled, and the chill wasn’t pleasant—the days may still retain the warmth of summer, but at night, fall approached like a charging boar.

Reaching behind him again, he grasped Diabhla’s lead and slid his hand to the end before tugging on it. The stallion followed without protest, his hooves splashing into the water.

“What are you doing?” Isobel yelled as she tried to control the boat with the oar—and failed miserably.

In his other hand, he grasped the rope floating nearby that had anchored the skiff to shore. He quickly knotted it to Diabhla’s lead and then let go. He stepped toward her, the water rising icily along his legs with every stride. “I canna have you leaving with another, Isobel—whether your intent to do so is true or not.”

“You canna stop me. You doona own me, Laird MacAlister!”

“Maybe not, but you sure as shite own me.”

He grasped his pack from around his neck and tossed it toward the boat. It landed at Isobel’s feet, and she jumped in surprise, her arms flailing as the boat rocked. She tumbled backward and landed on her arse on the wooden bench behind her with a yelp.

He pushed off with his feet and made it to the boat in a few long strokes, fear that she would fall in or toss his pack into the water fueling his speed.

“Hold on,” he said, as he grasped the side and then hauled himself upward.

She screeched again, curses filling the air this time as his weight caused the boat to almost tip over—or at least it felt that way. He pulled himself over the edge, and then grasped her arm as the keel straightened, so she didn’t fly off the other side and into the water. They had a long night ahead of them. He did not want her soaked too.

Instead, she fell against his chest, causing him to tumble backward against the stern. He squeezed his arm tightly around her waist to steady both of them, and her breath puffed like hot, wet kisses against his neck…and despite the freezing swim he’d taken in the loch, his body stirred as warmth spread through him like wildfire.

He grunted in response, and she raised her face to his—so stunning in the moonlight—her eyes filled with anger and fear, but also with excitement. And something else…desire.

He raised his other hand and stroked back the bright stands of hair that had fallen across her cheek. “Good plan, love. It’s worked out beautifully.”

Then he cupped the back of her head, lowered his mouth, and for the first time ever, pressed his lips to hers.