The Highlander's Sin (3 page)

“Deliver me?” Where and to whom was he to deliver her? Dear God… “Ye’re a—
”

“Never mind what I am. All ye need know is, if ye do what I tell ye, then ye’ll arrive unscathed.”

Heather bit her lip. “And…with my honor intact?”

The man chuckled. “That I canna promise.”

Dread, cold and heavy, sank into her belly. Why did the thought of this wicked man taking her innocence send a thrill of excitement thrumming through her veins? “My brother will pay ye double whatever ye’ve been paid.”

“No doubt he would.”

“Aye!” She nodded empathically. “He will. I promise.”

“’Tis not just about the money, lass.” He pressed his nose to the hair above her temple and breathed in deeply.

Heather held her breath. She’d never been embraced like this by a man before. Never had one breathe in the scent of her hair. There’d been men to dance with at feasts, even a couple who had stolen quick kisses, but never crushed her to them.

This man was her captor. S
he should have wanted to vomit in his tight hold, but instead, her body betrayed that notion, warming and tingling. This would simply not do. She couldn’t allow him to treat her this way, and she couldn’t allow herself to like it. ’Twas absurd. She shoved against him, her moves futile against his hold.

“What
is
it about?” she asked, instead of demanding he unhand her. The man struck her as someone who didn’t do so well when being issued orders.

“Nothing to get your pretty little head wrapped up in.”

Heather chose to ignore his condescending answer. Being called pretty at the same time as describing her head as little—in essence, calling her stupid—didn’t go over well with her.

“I assure ye
, my pretty little head
is
truly concerned.”

Whatever his answer was, she had no choice in going with him. If she refused, he’d slice her up with that gruesome battle ax. At least alive she had a chance to escape. Besides,
she’d planned to leave today anyway. At least leaving with him, she’d have protection against the would-be outside threats.

“Och, lass, we’ll discuss it on the way. We’d best be leaving. As ye said, your family will be here any moment—and your chaplain is bound to wake.”

“How did ye sneak in here?” she asked, glancing around.

“The same way we’ll be leaving.” He tugged at her to follow him, but Heather rooted her feet to the ground, refusing to leave.
’Twas taking a chance, aye, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t slice her up just yet.

The man turned on his heel and gave her a warning glance—one that said if she didn’t move her arse, he’d sever it from her body.

Hmm.
Maybe he wouldn’t have any qualms about it. Still she forged on.

“I w
ill not leave until ye tell me your name.” She was stalling, and he probably knew it, but she couldn’t just run off with him without having a chance to leave her family a note or know where she was headed so she could somehow figure out a way to leave a clue.

“Priest.”

“Priest?”

He nodded, his mouth in a long
, grim line. “Dinna ye see the robes?”

“Men of God dinna take ladies as their hostages.”

“’Haps I’m not a man of God.” His expression was unreadable.

Heather’s brows wrinkled with bewilderment.
“But ye are a priest.”

“Aye,” he drawled out.

“I dinna understand.”

“Good thing for ye, understanding was not part of the plan. Let’s go.” He tugged on her hand, his overlarge palm engulfing her
s, but Heather yanked back.

“Where are ye taking me?”
she demanded.

“South.”

“
Where
south?” Lord, he was infuriating.

Instead of trying to keep tuggin
g on her, the man swiveled, his face an inch from hers and his warm breath washing over her skin. He smelled of mint and the earth.

“If ye dinna move your feet and shut your mouth, I will tie ye up and gag ye.”

He did not sound as though he were bluffing. Heather nodded in answer.

“Let’s go
,” he said.

She inched forward, finding it hard to walk in all the layers of clothes.

“Wait,” she said, stopping.

Priest
turned, growling under his breath. “I warned ye.” He pulled rope from somewhere beneath his cloak.

“Nay
!” She held out her hands in a motion for him to stop. “There is no need, I’m not trying to stop ye, I will go with ye. ’Tis simply that I’ve forgotten my bag.”

Priest laughed as though she’d just told some genius joke. “How stupid do ye think I am, lass? I’ll not allow ye time to go and pack for our journey. Do ye nay understand? I am
abducting
ye.”

Heather shook her head and pressed a hand to his arm, feeling
flashes of interest fly over her fingertips. His muscles were bunched beneath his shirt and cloak, and she had the insane urge to pull back his layers and lay her palm flat on his muscled flesh. “I’ve already packed. My bag is just there.”

Heather pointed toward a bench beside the altar where
her leather satchel sat, filled with a pouch of coins and a few provisions.

“Nay,” he said, studying the satchel like she’d asked to take a week’s worth of manure with them.

“Please, I need it.”

He shook his head. “N
ay. And I’ll not hear another word on it.”

Heather chewed the inside of her cheek. The
priest settled his expression grimly. “Time to go.”

“If my family sees my satchel filled, the
y’ll know I planned to run away but was not able to do it on my own. They will know as soon as they arrive here for morning Mass that I’ve been taken. We’ll barely make it a mile before they’re on our tail.”

The
priest growled again, and beneath her fingertips, Heather felt the frustration ripple through his muscles.

“All right. But
I’ll be holding onto it. No need for ye to try and stab me in the back.” As he said the words, he dragged her to the bench, took the satchel, and then whipped the dagger from her hip and shoved it into the bag. “Let us be on our way. One more word out of ye, and ye’ll be tied and gagged.”

Heather nodded, not wanting to answer him and test his resolve.
Truly, she had no choice in the matter.

Maybe it would be better this way. She’d have an escort
of a sort. Though he was her captor, he wouldn’t allow anyone else to take her away. A secret part of her was excited. This was the adventure she’d been looking for. Aye, ’twas dangerous, the man was half-mad for certain, and his weapons were frightening. But, she’d be getting away from Dunrobin and her family. Setting out on her own—never mind she’d be with a deranged priest. There would be ample opportunity to escape, and if she ran into the men of the resistance camp along the way, all the better.

Because there was no way in hell she was going to end up wherever this wayward Highlander
intended, or sliced up by his blade.

Chapter Two

D
uncan regarded the lass with ill ease. She’d simply nodded. Hadn’t uttered a word. Up until that moment, she’d been full of things to say. What had changed? Certainly not his threat to tie her up and gag her—hell, he’d threatened her more than once.

Heather Sutherland was up to something. Given who her family was, he wouldn’t be in the least surprised.
Sutherlands were all liars. They betrayed anyone who laid their trust in them, no matter how much they tried to appear good on the outside. Hadn’t several of them married English wenches?

Heather
’s outward appearance wasn’t exactly as he’d been informed. Although her attitude was precisely as he’d been warned. Headstrong, stubborn and spoiled.

Those who’d paid him to take her away had warned him of her wild beauty and
lithe form. This lass
was
wildly beautiful with untamed blonde curls, peaches-and-cream skin, haughty arched brows and pouty pink lips. Her eyes were the color of heather—a fitting name for her. But lithe was not entirely correct. Though the line of her jaw, the length of her neck gave way to a trimmer body, she was poofy in the middle, with arms as thick as a squire’s—only not as firm.

At first, he’d not been sure it was her. The chapel had been dark. The closer he
’d gotten, the more his gut had told him it was she. When she’d opened her mouth, all doubt disappeared.

No matter. He could
n’t care less what she looked like, as long as he completed his mission and delivered her into the hand of his employers and walked away with a pouch full of silver.

T
ypically, he actually liked a woman with sass. Meant she could hold her own. Had confidence. Wasn’t afraid to put up a fight. The only exception to that rule was when he was attempting to abduct them. Then they needed to comply. Everyone was better off when they did what he told them. Cooperate and live, he often repeated.
Fight me and die
.

So why did her compliance bother him so much?

“Priest, will ye take me away?” She held out her arms, wrists together as though she expected him to cart her off to the dungeon.

“Aye.”
Duncan grabbed hold of her hand, soft and warm and petite. He tightened his grasp in an attempt to dull the sensations of holding her hand.

“When?” she asked, a brow raised.

Ballocks!
He couldn’t think around her.

“Didna I tell ye to keep your mouth closed?” he growled.

Heather shrugged and with exaggerated movements pressed her lips tightly together. Duncan had to keep himself from groaning. She was spirited to be sure. He shook his head. The woman who’d hired him to take her would have her hands full. And in two days’ time, he’d be richer and free of the Sutherland chit.

Duncan led Heather past
the priest’s chambers, the door slightly ajar. He glanced inside to make sure the chaplain had not roused. The lass gasped, and he turned to see her peering over his shoulder. The man still lay collapsed on his back upon the small cot. Mouth open, he snored like a hundred hammers in a quarry.

“Did ye kill him?”

“Are ye serious?” He eyed her like she’d grown a second head. “He is snoring. I simply subdued him with a little tap on his temple.”

Heather
shrugged. “I…uh…hadn’t noticed. Never mind that.” She waved her hand in the air. “He’s a kind man and did not deserve ye bashing him on the head.”

“He’ll wake with a headache. Nothing more.”

She frowned at Duncan, her eyes squinting as she assessed him. Lord, her lashes were long. And why should he notice such a detail?

“Are ye a cruel man?”

“Some would say,” his voice came out harsher than he’d intended, but all the better to keep him from getting distracted by the angles of her mesmerizing face. Besides, there was no use in lying to her. Those who died at the end of his sword would say he was cruel, unmerciful. But he always had a reason behind taking on each task he was hired to. And he never killed innocents. As a plus, he gave them all the last rites before he sliced into them.

“Are ye going to kill me?” It was the first ti
me he’d sensed true fear in her. Candlelight flicked in her lavender gaze which was trained on his, and he had the distinct feeling she could read behind the lies in his eyes.

“Nay.”

“Are
they
going to kill me?” she whispered.

Duncan hesitated and decided to tell her the truth. “I dinna know.”

“Ye would abduct me and deliver me into evil’s hands without knowing their plans?”

“I dinna care.”

Heather looked stunned at his admission. ’Twas the truth he’d never cared about such things before. But for some reason, with her, there was a tiny flare of concern inching its way into his heart. He quashed it.

“Enough talking.” The bells would soon toll for the family to come to morning
Mass before they broke their fast. They needed to hurry, else his entire plan would go awry.

Duncan tugged
a tripping Heather along the wall to the corner where a door led to a slim circular stairwell in the belfry tower. Up the stairs was a sleeping boy who’d soon wake to ring the bell. Down was the way out.

“Shh,” he warned. If she woke that boy, he could toll out a warning and soldiers would meet them at the base of the stairwell.

Heather nodded, a little too compliant for his liking.

“Careful descending,” Duncan warned, not that he needed to, but the stairs were especially narrow, and the lass seemed to be having trouble walking as it was.

“My skirts are giving me trouble,” she grumbled.

“I’d be happy to remove them if it he
lps us to move with more speed,” he offered.

She gasped
, and he held in a laugh. “Ye would not dare!”

“Och, lass, dinna dare me to do anything. I’m always up for a challenge, and seeing a lass without her skirt would be a delight to a man in the morn.”
It was hard to tell what she would look like skirtless. There seemed to be a tremendous amount of cloth covering her lower extremities.

“Scoundrel.”

Duncan chuckled. Teasing her about her skirts seemed to have distracted her enough that she made it down the stairs without incident.

He lifted the wooden bar
slowly, making sure that he caused no sound to echo through the tower. Placing the bar on the ground, he opened the door an inch to stare outside. The door led to the gardens of the castle and, given that it was just now dawn, no one was about picking herbs or taking a stroll. He shoved the door all the way open and tugged her just outside into the darkened morning. He nudged the door quietly closed.

“Stay put,” he murmured. Glancing around
, he found a stone bench a few feet away. He lifted the heavy bench, upending it to hold the door in place.

“What are ye doing?” she whispered.

“Slowing down anyone who would try to rescue ye.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, but instead
walked right up to her, grabbed her about the waist and tossed her over his shoulder, surprised that she didn’t weigh as much as she appeared to.

“Put me down! I can walk,” she ground out breathlessly.

“Aye, but ye canna run as fast as I need ye to. And we’ve a need to make haste. Now hush else ye draw any of your precious brother’s men to their death.” He slapped her on the bottom and was rewarded with an outraged gasp.

Duncan ran with her to the end of the garden
and stopped at the twenty-foot-high stone wall where he set her down. A cursory glance showed him that no one appeared to be watching them. The guards on the tower closest to them had their eyes on the sea. There had been four guards standing watch beyond this wall, but he’d taken care they would no longer be an issue when he’d climbed the wall just after three in the morning. No one had yet to miss them. Duncan was in the clear.

“Hold on
to my back,” he instructed, turning around and glancing at her over his shoulder. “Wrap your legs around my waist and your arms around my neck.”

She gave him an incredulous look
, which he ignored. Turning back toward the wall, he tested the rope he’d used to climb down. Still secure. Good.

“What?” she whispered harshly. “Ye canna possibly—
”

He cut her off, flicked her another annoyed gaze over his shoulder.
“I assure ye, ’tis possible, and I do intend to.” Duncan again presented her with his back. “Grab hold. Now.”

Heather didn’t hesitate,
thank goodness, but touched her hands to his shoulders and jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist and a death grip around his neck. Duncan swallowed and tugged at her arms. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought she was trying to kill him.

“Not so tight, else I lose my breath and we both fall.”

Heather loosened her grip on his neck, but tightened her thighs around his hips. Duncan had to force himself not to groan. The lass had yanked up her skirts a little to allow enough flexibility in her clothing to grip him. A smooth calf brushed his elbow.

Mo
chreach
… he might just drop her. It had been much better when he’d imagined her legs to be as burly as his own.

“Where are the guards?” she asked.

“Gone.” He didn’t expound but began to climb.

Hand over hand, feet gripping the rope. He pulled them up at a steady pace, his muscles working with the added weight. Sweat trickled over his back, his arms. His palms grew damp but didn’t hinder his progress.
Heather clung tight to him. Whispered prayers, begged forgiveness for her sins, and wished not to die. Duncan held in his laughter, and at last they reached the ledge.

“Let go of my neck and pull yourself up onto the top.”
Pushing off the wall gently with his foot, he twisted his body around so Heather’s back was against the stone.

“I dinna know if I can.” Fear ebbed around the edges of her words.

“Aye, lass, ye can,” Duncan spoke with knowing authority. “Go on. Do it now.”

Heather blew out a breath, warm against his neck, then let go with one hand.

“That’s it, Heather. Grip the wall.” Letting go of the rope with one hand, he slid it under her thigh—gritting his teeth at the suppleness of her flesh. He didn’t know which was more painful—holding up their weight on the rope with a single hand or touching the softness of her thigh. “I’ve got hold of ye. Ye can do it.”

She seemed to gain some measure of safety from his grip on her thigh and took off her other hand, hoisting herself up onto the
wall walk of the battlements.

Duncan made quick work of
hoisting himself onto the stone floor and pulling up his rope. The sun was quickly rising. It wouldn’t be long before guards came to relieve those Duncan had dispatched of. He tied off the rope on a crenellation, preparing for them to go down the other side.

“Get on.” He crouched down, and Heather climbed onto his back
again.

“Do ye make it a habit of having women ride ye?” she asked.

Duncan choked on his tongue. Holy Mother, did she realize what she’d just asked? With a wicked grin, he turned to glance over his shoulder. “Aye, lass, as often as I can.”

Even in the dusky morning
, he could see her face color red as a berry. Just to make her glow redder, he winked, satisfied when she let out a little gasp.

After making sure
that the area below the wall was clear, he gripped the rope tight and climbed over the side. With measured movements, he walked them down the wall. The climb down was always easier than up. Once they were on solid ground, Heather dropped to her feet. He turned to see her smoothing out her skirts.

“Dinna be modest on my account, I’ve had your legs wrapped around me, your bare thigh under my fingers.”

She let out an outraged snarl. “Only because if ye didna, I’d have ended up dead.”

He snickered. “’Haps. Or maybe I just wanted the privilege.”

“Ye’re a brute.”