Heart's Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) (15 page)

Colin dropped several coins into the drowsy stable lad’s hands.

“See that he is verra well cared for,” he said firmly, patting Ruith’s neck. “I’ll be back in a matter of days, and I expect to see him content as a pig in slops and his coat gleaming, ye understand?”

The stable lad, who wasn’t really a lad at all, bobbed his gray head. “Aye, milord. We’ll see to the animal’s every care. Ye needn’t worry.”

With a curt nod and another stroke of Ruith’s neck, Colin hoisted his saddlebags over one shoulder and turned back to the stable’s doors. Sabine stood just at the edge of the flickering lantern light looking like a ghost.

She was so pale and fragile, her cloak hanging heavily around her shoulders and her ruined dress clinging wetly to her slight frame. Those wide, dark eyes looked haunted as they gazed at naught.

He needed to get her warm and dry once they could secure passage to Ireland. But more than that, he needed to get her talking, crying—anything to help her crawl from the black hole she’d sunken into and start her toward healing.

Taking her hand, he gently pulled her away from the stables and toward the sleepy little village’s docks.

The storm that had blown in from the west was finally starting to clear, and streaks of moonlight fell through patchy clouds. In the pale light, he squinted at the row of dark ships that bobbed and groaned quietly against the wooden docks.

His gaze landed on a long, thin birlinn. The ship would be perfect for a swift crossing to Ireland. As he drew Sabine nearer, though, he realized that the birlinn, built for speed and transporting men, would require a crew of at least two dozen men to work the oars when the large, square sail was lowered.

Colin strode on past several more birlinns and larger vessels before his gaze landed on a small, squat cog at the far end of the docks. Judging by its round, deep hull, the cog was no doubt used for cargo runs. That extra room below deck would be perfect for allowing Sabine to rest. And the whole ship looked small enough to be sailed with only a skeleton crew.

When they reached the far end of the docks, Colin released Sabine and stepped up to the cog’s high wooden sides.

“Anyone here?” he called, rapping his knuckles atop one of the oak gunwales.

The little ship rocked gently alongside the dock, the lap of water against wood the only sound breaking the still night.

Then the faint hiss of metal being unsheathed from leather whispered through the air.

Without thinking, Colin bolted in front of Sabine, one hand coming around the hilt of his sword.

“Who is poking his nose around my ship at this black hour?” The gruff voice drifted from a large shadow that suddenly rose from the cog’s deck and moved toward them.

“Hold, man, I mean no harm,” Colin snapped, keeping his grip firm on the hilt but willing himself not to draw.

The shadow stepped into a beam of moonlight, revealing a gnarled, barrel-chested man holding a long dagger. The man eyed them critically under lowered eyebrows that were the same color—copper streaked with white—as his hair.

“What’s this about, then?” the man asked, shifting his narrowed gaze over Colin.

Colin’s mind sped ahead as he opened his mouth. The man was already suspicious and on guard. If Colin tried to force him to set sail for Ireland, undoubtedly the salty old sailor would have no problem escalating the situation. They didn’t need trouble, just a quick passage out of here—now.

Colin lifted his hand from his sword and raised it disarmingly, sliding a friendly smile onto his face.

“Och, my apologies for rousing ye,” he said lightly. “We would have been to Portpatrick at a decent hour if it hadnae have been for this cursed weather.”

The man still held the dagger aloft, though he didn’t make a move toward them. Instead, he waited in silence, the line of his mouth turned down in a frown behind a bushy copper beard.

“Ye see, my wife and I need to reach Ireland with all haste.” He stepped aside so that the man could see Sabine. “She’s Irish, ye ken, and her brother is set to wed on the morrow.”

“If ye need transportation, ye can catch the ferry in the morning,” the man said gruffly. His grizzled featured shifted slightly from suspicious to annoyed, though—a sign of progress.

“Aye, well, that’s the problem,” Colin said with a sigh. “We were supposed to be there yesterday, but this damned rain made the roads slow-going. I fear what my wife’s mother will do to me if we miss her son’s wedding.”

The man’s snort was vaguely pitying for Colin’s plight, but he still seemed unmoved.

“And of course my mother-in-law is eager to see her only daughter now that a bairn is on the way.”

Colin felt Sabine stiffen next to him as the man’s eyes shifted to her.

“It is early yet, but my mother-in-law insisted we attend the wedding before my wife cannae travel.”

The man’s gruff façade softened ever so slightly. “The wee lass looks half drowned.”

“Aye, as I said, we were caught in that blasted storm. I’d hoped to get her warm and dry, but the town’s inn is full, and we are behind schedule already…”

Colin slipped an arm around Sabine, drawing her protectively to his side. He let his heart-wrenching plea hang in the air as the old sea dog considered them.

The man slid the dagger into the sheath on his hip, then rubbed his bearded cheek in thought.

“We were planning on setting sail at first light, since we received the last delivery we were waiting on this evening.”

He looked out over the dark water, which was silvered with moonlight.

“I dinnae like to sail at night,” he muttered. “But the seas will be calm now that the storm has blown off.”

“We’ll compensate ye for the trouble, of course,” Colin said apologetically. He lifted the pouch on his belt and let the noise of the heavy coins clinking together fill the air.

The sound of money was the final straw. The man’s eyes lost all trace of suspicion as he assessed the pouch. He was a cargo transporter, after all, a trade where coin controlled all but the weather.

“Arran! Keith!” the man barked over his shoulder. Turning back to Colin and Sabine, the man said, “When the ship is full of her cargo, we sleep aboard. Never can be too sure about the men snooping around on the docks at this hour.”

“Oh, aye,” Colin said, giving him a wide grin. “Ye never can be too careful.”

The man snorted again, clearly enjoying Colin’s good humor despite the fact that he’d been taken for a troublemaker little more than a heartbeat before.

After a moment, two more men stumbled bleary-eyed onto the cog’s deck, looking in confusion between Colin and the man.

“I’m Duff, the captain of this vessel,” the old man said proudly. “This here is Arran, my brother, and his son Keith.” Duff motioned toward the one called Arran, who looked identical to him except with a slightly less weathered appearance. The younger lad, Keith, was tall and thin, but bore his father and uncle’s coppery hair.

Colin removed the entire coin pouch from his belt and tossed it across the gunwale to Duff.

“I cannae thank ye enough, and I’m sure my mother-in-law would give ye her thanks as well for seeing her daughter safely to the wedding.”

Duff caught the pouch and hefted it appreciatively.

“My wife needs to rest,” Colin added, making his kindly voice a hair firmer.

“Ye can both go into the hold,” Duff replied. “We three will have our hands full with the crossing. Ye’ll be undisturbed, I assure ye.”

“We are grateful,” Colin said, no longer needing to pretend sincerity.

He scooped Sabine into his arms and lifted her over the ship’s high gunwales, then threw his legs over after her.

As Keith and Arran set about untying the cog from the dock, Duff led them to the middle of the deck. He bent and lifted up a large section of planking, revealing a dark hole that led down to the cargo hold.

“There’s a lantern down there. Once ye have it lit, I’ll close ye in. Just mind that ye dinnae light my cargo and ship on fire,” Duff said with a gruff bark that must have been a laugh.

Colin helped Sabine into the hold, then jumped down after her.

The weak moonlight streaming from the hole in the deck provided just enough illumination for him to fumble his way toward where a lantern hung from the low wooden planking overhead. Removing his flint from the saddlebags over his shoulder, he sparked the candle to life.

“Just shove the boards aside if ye need aught,” Duff said from above. “Keith, the sail! Arran, ye take the tiller while I—”

His barking orders were cut off as he dropped the board covering the hole. With the planking down, all the sounds from abovedeck were muted. Colin and Sabine were suddenly encased in a silent, dim little world within the hold.

Colin looked around. The hold was indeed nigh full with its cargo. Piles of canvas sacks covered almost every inch of the cog’s flat hull, and most of the piles rose to the wooden planks overhead.

The familiar, earthy scents of wool and leather filled the hold. No doubt if Colin opened the sacks, he’d find both materials in great quantity there.

Toward the front of the ship, there was a little empty space just before the hull curved upward. He took Sabine’s hand and guided her toward it, having to stoop as they neared the prow.

Colin removed his length of plaid from the saddlebags, then dropped them to the planks below. Drawing the plaid around Sabine, he gently lowered her down with him.

“Sabine,” he said softly. “I ken ye are in shock and still hurting, but please, talk to me.”

He swept a damp lock of hair away from her face. “Ye are safe now, lass. I am here.”

She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable in the dim lantern light. At last, she dragged in a breath and parted trembling lips to speak.

Sabine wasn’t sure if it was Colin’s gentle hand on her cheek or his whispered words that roused her from the pitch-black chasm that had swallowed her.

Somehow, her tongue managed to form words.

“I am the greatest fool that has ever lived.”

Colin’s tawny brows lowered and his mouth flattened. “Nay, ye arenae a fool, lass.”

“Aye, I am. My whole life has been a lie, and I was the last to know.” The words burned hot in her throat as shame washed over her.

“And Fabian is responsible for that, no’ ye.” He took her hands in his, the warm roughness of them penetrating the numbing cold in her limbs. “Ye were just a child when he found ye, is that right?”

She nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.

“He took ye in from the streets. He raised ye and made ye feel loyal to him.”

He’d remembered what she told him all those days past, even though he’d been suspicious that she was lying.

“How were ye to ken that he’d turn on ye when ye were no longer of use to him?” The question was spoken softly, yet Sabine could see an angry muscle twitch in his jaw.

She wished she could direct her pain and hatred at Fabian as well, but all she could muster was anger for herself. She’d defended Fabian to Colin even as the man she’d thought of as a father was plotting to kill her.

“Mayhap I couldn’t have known what sort of man he was then, but I’m no longer a child. I remained loyal to him despite everything he’s done to hurt me.”

That muscle jumped in Colin’s jaw again. He held her with a grim gaze. “What exactly did he do to ye, lass?”

Sabine’s mind crashed through more than a dozen years of smiles, praise, and kindness, spiked with slaps, thrown objects, screams of rage, and words meant to leave scars as surely as a knife did.

“He…he taught me to read and memorize. He praised me when I did well, and hit me when I didn’t.”

Colin flinched but didn’t interrupt. His hands squeezed hers gently, so she went on.

“He gave me my dagger and sent me on my first assignment when I was nine. As a child, it was easy to move in crowded streets or inns unnoticed. I excelled at my work, and he told me he was proud of me.”

She had to force down the bile that rose in her throat at what came next.

“When I was fourteen, he told me that I was no longer a child, that I had to start using different tactics to retrieve the missives, records, and documents he needed. He made me dress differently, walk and talk differently. I had to…had to be able to tease men, dangle myself in front of them to get what I wanted. Once, Fabian locked me in a room without food for a sennight. It took me that long to realize he expected me to charm a meal from the man guarding the chamber door.”

Aye, that had been a lesson she would never forget. The gnawing hunger, the faintness, the spinning head and empty stomach. She’d learned to lie, to play the part of the coquettish woman, quickly and effortlessly after that.

“Did he…did he make ye follow through with yer flirtations as well?” Colin asked, his voice hard and low.

Sabine exhaled slowly. “Nay, for he said I couldn’t risk myself in that way. I had to move quickly, tell a heart-wrenching or enticing tale—just enough to get close to my mark—and then disappear with the information I was sent for. He told me to guard myself carefully, for men would use me and discard me.”

Her voice broke on the last words. She dropped her gaze from Colin, feeling too exposed, too vulnerable. Hadn’t Fabian been right about that part at least? Colin had been kind and gentle with her, yet he’d pulled away after he’d taken his pleasure from her.

Colin’s hand suddenly cupped her chin. “Sabine, look at me.”

Reluctantly, she dragged her eyes up to his. They were dark and filled with storming emotion as he held her gaze.

“Fabian is wrong,” he rasped. “No’ everyone is so cold and uncaring. I ken I hurt ye, but ye need to believe that it was no’ yer fault.”

She shook her head, unable to get words out around the lump in her throat.

“I didnae pull away because I had gotten what I wanted from ye. And I will never toss ye aside as Fabian has.” He struggled for a moment, a battle waging across his hard features. “I was a coward,” he murmured at last. “I have been afraid, too—afraid of caring for ye.”

Shock flooded her, sweeping away the pain and shame for a blessed heartbeat.

“What?”

He held her with his searching gaze, a soft smile touching his lips. “I care for ye, lass. Wrong as it might be, I do. I cannae deny it.”

She let the words spread warmth through her aching heart for a long moment before a question arose in her mind.

“Why were you afraid?”

Pain flashed in Colin’s eyes, but he didn’t turn away. “Someone once broke my trust—broke my heart. Someone betrayed me, as Fabian has with ye, lass.”

“Tell me,” she whispered.

Colin dragged in a breath and released it slowly through his teeth. “I joined the Bruce and the fight for Scottish independence from England nine years past. I thought the whole thing a grand adventure—noble and exciting, as most young men imagine war to be.”

Colin’s eyes grew distant with memory as he went on. “I had no reason to doubt that life in the Bruce’s army would be any different than life back home on MacKay lands. Everything had come easy for me before then. Aye, my da wasnae always well, but he had my mother and sister to look after him. We had enough to eat, we had a roof over our heads, and I had a woman who loved me.”

Sabine’s chest involuntarily squeezed. Was it simply the thought that Colin’s perfect youth had been destroyed in some way that left him guarded and suspicious? Or was it the thought of him loving another woman, even in his past?

“Her name was Joan,” he continued, his voice turning hard. “She was the most sought-after lass in the entire clan. She was quick with a smile or a bat of the eye, though she wouldnae let any of the men chasing her bind themselves to her—until me. I wooed her, and she agreed to wed me, but first we were handfasted.”

Sabine could very well imagine that no woman could deny Colin when he used that heart-stopping smile or let his dancing blue eyes imply something wicked. What would that carefree lad have been like? She suddenly wished she could have known him then, before the world had turned them both hard and untrusting.

“What does it mean to be handfasted?”

“It is a Scottish tradition. We were bound together for a year and a day. At the end of that time, we were expected to get married, though we could break the agreement if we found we didnae suit.”

A dark shadow crossed his features and he paused, seemingly lost in memory, before going on.

“No’ long after we were handfasted, I joined the Bruce in the Lowlands to help him beat the English back from the borders. I wasnae able to return to MacKay lands for almost a year, but I remained faithful to Joan. I kenned it would be hard on her, for she so enjoyed other men’s attention. But she vowed that she wanted only me, and I believed her.”

“But…but she betrayed you,” Sabine murmured.

“Aye. When I finally managed to return home, I found her rolling in the hay with another man—a man who had once been my closest friend. While I’d been away fighting for Scotland, she’d grown bored and decided to turn her charms elsewhere.”

Colin dragged a hand through his mane of golden hair. “I vowed that day never to be taken in again, never to be duped by honeyed words and whispered promises.”

His eyes were hard chips of blue in the low light. “I felt lied to, made a fool. But I also realized that charm could be a tool—a weapon—to manipulate people, as Joan had manipulated me. I’ve wielded that weapon in the service of the Scottish cause for independence ever since.”

Sabine swallowed. It hurt to think that she’d been on the receiving end of his calculated charm when Colin smiled at her or touched her, but she understood him now. He was like her—though in truth the weapon of lies and charm was actually more of a shield. It kept others at a safe distance and protected against the fear of being hurt.

“What became of Joan?”

“She married the man I found her with, partly to appease her parents once word spread about her actions. Last I heard, she is still seeking other men’s attention, for she cannae be satisfied with being loved by only one man. It seems a fitting punishment for both of them—they are alone even in marriage to each other.”

“And you?” Sabine breathed. Eight years was a long time to carry around such a burden. Did the pain still haunt him?

“I left home and rejoined the Bruce’s army. I threw myself into the war, and distinguished myself both on and off the battlefield. Few ken about Joan, so I am thought to be a merry, even-keeled man by most—always the one with a quick smile or an easy word.”

“But in truth you are hiding a deeper pain,” she murmured.

“I prefer it that way.”

A silence fell between them, broken only by the muffled lap of the sea as the ship cut through the water.

“Ye see, ye are no’ the only one to be taken in by a deceiver,” Colin said at last. “But I ken that ye have suffered worse than I. Joan only broke my heart. Fabian hurt ye in so many more ways.”

He exhaled slowly between his teeth. “And ye are no’ a fool for trusting the only person who’s ever shown ye a sliver of kindness, lass. I am the real fool, for I have let one lass’s actions eight years ago make me suspicious and guarded. My own cowardice led me to hurt ye, and I never want to do that again.”

“If you are a fool for being suspicious, then I am a fool for trusting. Even when Fabian was cruel, I remained loyal to him.”

“Nay, lass,” he said softly. “Yer willingness to trust is a strength, no’ a weakness. It shows that ye still believed in the goodness of people, despite what Fabian tried to make ye think. That takes far more courage than mere cynicism.”

His words struck her like a powerful blast of cool, clarifying wind.

Aye, she’d trusted Fabian, even when he’d hurt her. He’d made her afraid of the world beyond his controlling embrace. He’d kept her isolated and constantly seeking his approval.

Yet even with all his insistence that only he would ever look out for her, Colin had held her gaze and told her that he cared. While Fabian sought to have her killed for the slightest threat to his own safety, Colin had risked his life for her.

“I’m sorry I pushed ye away,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “I dinnae want to live as I have for the last eight years any longer. I dinnae want to hurt ye with my pride or my suspicion anymore. And I dinnae want ye to hurt yourself for Fabian’s wrongs. It wasnae your fault.”

Sabine drew in a breath as if it was her first. The ancient stone wall that Fabian taught her to build around her heart began to crumble.

“It wasnae yer fault,” Colin repeated, soft but firm.

A sob rose up from her chest and escaped her lips, then another.

“It wasnae yer fault.”

Each time she heard the words, another stone fell and the truth pushed its way through the cracks. In a way, though she’d grown into a woman, a part of her had always remained the scared, abandoned child she’d been when Fabian found her.

He’d kept her that way, she realized now. He’d praised and then berated her, showered her with gifts and then beat her so that she was always frightened, always believing she was on the verge of losing the only person who loved her.

“It wasnae yer fault.”

The last bits of the old wall fell, and Sabine let go and wept.

She wept for the innocent child she’d once been.

She wept for the wrongs she’d committed when she’d been willing to do aught for Fabian.

She wept for all the years lost to him and his lies.

And she wept in joy, for now that she finally saw the truth, she was free of Fabian, free of her past, and free to make a new life for herself.

Colin’s arms came around her in a fierce embrace, dragging her against his chest. He buried his face in her hair and murmured to her, though she could hardly understand the words over her own sobs.

After the hard tears had passed, her breathing slowed and she nestled against Colin’s chest. Never had she felt so safe than she did in Colin’s arms.

Without thinking, she lifted her head and brushed her lips against his.

He stiffened and froze. “Ye have been through much this day,” he murmured. “I dinnae want ye to do aught ye’ll regret in the light of morning.”

Even though his words warned her against the desire that suddenly coursed in her veins, she could feel his manhood growing hard where she pressed into him.

“I won’t regret this,” she said, holding his gaze steadily with hers.

“I dinnae ken if I will be able to stop once we start,” he rasped, liquid blue heat flickering in his eyes.

This was no game, no tease. She was making this decision for herself and no one else. “For the first time in my life, I feel free—and I choose this. I choose
you
, Colin.”