Heart's Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) (9 page)

The day had been warm enough that they’d both discarded their cloaks. Sabine should have been pleased at the loss of the layer of thick wool separating them, for it meant that she could better feel Colin’s desire for her. Instead, her skin itched and felt warm beneath her dress and shift—a warmth that if she were honest with herself was only partly due to the turn in the weather.

She’d never experienced a genuine attraction to one of her marks before. Then again, her marks were never brawny warriors stacked with muscle and oozing lethal grace.

They’d stayed away from roads and villages all day. Colin had murmured something about not being able to trust her to play nicely with others as he’d urged his stallion through the dense woods.

Though she’d assured him that she would not risk an escape attempt again—not until she’d secured the contents of the King’s missive, that was, but she kept that to herself—he’d kept her lashed to the saddle. Even when she needed to stop and seek privacy, he simply unwound the rope from the pommel and left her wrist bound, creating a leash several feet long which he held as she sought a dense shrub.

When at last the sun dipped toward the treetops ahead of them, Colin reined in his steed and dismounted.

“Another night on the ground?” she asked, trying to lace her voice with tight dismay. In truth, she’d slept in far worse conditions than on a forest floor, but if she were going to get him to trust her, she needed him to feel compassion for her.

“Aye,” Colin said, swinging down from the saddle. “How is yer shoulder?”

Sabine started. She actually hadn’t thought of it much all day.

She glanced down at the sling he’d made for her. Though she’d never been farther north than she was now in the Lowlands, she knew enough about Scots to comprehend that the blue and green patterned scrap of wool was Colin’s clan plaid.

“It truly does feel better—thanks to your ministrations this morning.”

Colin tilted his golden head back and pinned her with his gaze where she sat atop the stallion. Those vibrant blue eyes seemed to penetrate to her very core. A slow smile curved his lips, and suddenly his whole face transformed from hard granite to honeyed sensuality.

Sabine nearly gasped, but she managed to catch her breath in her throat before revealing her shock.

He’d been undeniably handsome before—all hard lines and trained control. But now…by God, seeing him smile was like staring into the sun. He radiated a seductive heat mingled with a mischievous playfulness. Those sea-blue eyes danced suggestively, his curved lips promising wicked delight.

“I’m glad I could bring ye pleasure, lass,” he murmured.

This time she couldn’t stop the sudden inhale of breath through her parted lips. The wheels of her brain ground slowly as she kept mentally tripping over the word “pleasure,” spoken so softly in that lilting Highland brogue.

“Oh, aye, my shoulder,” she blurted at last. “Thank you again.”

He sent another honeyed smile at her before wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her from his horse’s back. Heat licked at her skin where those large hands gripped her through her dress.

Had her seduction worked so quickly and easily? Was he truly already succumbing to her after little more than a few mysterious comments about her past and a couple of bats of her eyelashes at him?

It was possible. She’d taken men down quicker than this, and with less effort, though they’d been lonely and desperate for female attention.

Her thoughts churned as he went about unsaddling the horse. She was forced to stand in close proximity to him as he did, for he’d left her bound to the pommel.

That was proof aplenty that he didn’t trust her enough—care for her enough—to let his guard down just yet. She’d laid the groundwork for her plan, but she still needed him to free her wrist—and that was only the first of many steps to get her close enough to the missive he carried over his heart.

While his back was turned, she gave herself a little shake. She couldn’t become distracted by Colin’s handsomeness or near-blinding smile. She had to remain in charge, which meant getting him to believe and trust her.

And if he were like most men, the fastest way to turn him into a bowl of willing porridge was to guide his mind toward lust.

As Colin turned toward her, an idea began to form.

“I need privacy,” she said, lowering her chin demurely.

“Again?”

“Not for that,” she replied quickly. “I…I have been wearing this dress and shift for three days now, and my skin is beginning to itch. If there is a stream or pond nearby, I would like to wash.”

To Sabine’s surprise, she only had to half fake the nervous flutter in her voice. The thought of undressing and bathing near this lion of a man sent an unnerving spike of heat into her belly. She could only hope that the thought had a similar effect on him.

As she watched, one of his golden brows lifted slowly. With any luck, his mind was running a string of images across his eyes.

Sabine was always amazed at how little she actually had to
do
when seducing a mark. Just a mere suggestion, and men’s minds usually did most of the work for her.

“Verra well,” he said at last. “There is a wee loch no’ far from here. I’ll accompany ye.”

Once again, Sabine silently cursed herself for hoping that Colin would be like the other men she’d targeted. How far would she have to go with this ruse?

“You cannot!” she breathed, again only half feigning shock and embarrassment. “I…that is, I have never…I’ll be—”

That slow, sensuous smile played around his lips, but his eyes, which held her in their blue depths, were like those of an animal of prey. “Ye’ll be naked? Aye, but I’ll no’ risk ye attempting to escape again.”

“As I told you before, I will not—”

“Aye, aye,” he said with a dismissive tilt of his head. “Ye say ye willnae flee again. But I’m afraid ye havenae earned my trust on that just yet.”

Sabine swallowed. Nay, Colin would not go down as easily as the others. Straightening her spine, she held his gaze steadily. Mayhap she could use this opportunity to her advantage. After all, if some men fell to their knees at the mere thought of a naked woman, how much more could be accomplished by actually showing some skin?

“Fine,” she said. “You may accompany me. But I would still request some privacy.”

She hated the prudish edge to her voice—not exactly the note she’d been hoping to strike as she attempted to seduce him into trusting her.

He eyed her for a long moment, but to her surprise, he only nodded.

As he dug for something in one of the saddlebags, she took in their surroundings.

It was shaded beneath the pine and oak bows overhead, but the air was still warm from the sunny day. Through the trees, she thought she spied a flash of late-afternoon sun playing on water. Mayhap that was the loch Colin had mentioned.

The warmth of Colin’s callused hands on her bound wrist snapped her attention back to him. With a few expert tugs and twists, he undid the knot tethering her to the saddle and the rope fell away.

She wanted to scream at how easily she was made immobile. If her left arm had been functional, she would have long ago freed herself, but as it was, she remained at Colin’s mercy.

“Ye shouldnae tug against yer bindings so much,” he said, his brows lowered as he inspected her red wrist, which was chafed from the coarse rope.

She would have retorted, but decided it was best to swallow the sharp words and instead focus on the task before her.

Just as she pulled her wrist from his grasp, he placed a small lump of soap into her hand.

“It doesnae have whatever scent that is in yer hair, but it will do the job.”

He’d noticed the smell of her hair? Something warm coiled in her stomach even as heat went to her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said quickly.

Before he could give her another one of those devastating smiles, she spun on her heels and strode toward the water. In no more than one pace, he was at her side, never letting any more than a few feet of distance open between them.

This was what she wanted, she reminded herself. This was all part of her plan. He’d soon enough lower his guard, and when he did, she could at last complete her assignment and make her way back to Fabian.

When they reached the water, though, her nervousness hitched higher. Fortunately, Colin turned and gave her his back without her having to ask.

How could she have played the harlot, the whore, the promiscuous farm girl on her way to the nunnery so many times, and yet she’d never been naked before a man?

Fabian had warned her never to take one of her ruses too far, for he said she should guard her innocence with great care. She was not a simple prostitute after all, he frequently reminded her. She was special, he said.

Yet even without Fabian’s warning, Sabine wouldn’t have approached that dangerous line. Men were easily controlled with seduction. Sex—even the hint or promise of it—was a tool, naught more. She saw what became of the men she charmed. They’d spill their secrets, or drink themselves silly, or simply turn their back on her, never suspecting that she could harm them. She’d vowed long ago never to be as vulnerable, as trusting, as the men she seduced.

She fumbled with the laces running down the back of her dress, twisting her good arm first over her head and then around her back to try to get at the ties. To her dawning horror, she realized that she was not going to be able to undress herself—not with her left arm in a sling.

Cursing silently, she dragged in a fortifying breath. This would work to her benefit, she reminded herself. This was all part of her scheme.

“Colin? I need help removing my gown.”

Colin gritted his teeth at her breathy request.

By God, the lass must truly know what she was about.

Though he’d seen a crack in her resolve when he’d given her his first alluring smile, she seemed unfazed enough to continue with her own scheme.

He would just have to try harder—and keep his mind on his task even as he undressed the lass.

He turned to find her twisting to reach the laces running down her back at the loch’s rocky edge.

“Easy, lass,” he said, stepping toward her. “Ye’ll dislocate yer other shoulder if ye keep that up.”

She made a little huffing noise that sounded part defeated, part amused. “And we can’t have that. Then you’d no longer be able to tie me to your saddle.”

“Och, I’m sure I’d find a way to keep ye close,” he said, intentionally letting his voice drop seductively.

Her back stiffened slightly at his remark, but she let her hand drop. “Please,” she said softly, glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes were shadowed and unreadable, for behind her the slanting sun danced blindingly across the loch’s surface.

Something about her earnest vulnerability tugged at his chest. Aye, that was exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it? But he still had his own aims as well.

He untied the laces cinching the top of her dress tight over her slim form, letting his fingers play lightly along her spine.

“Thank you. I can do the rest,” she said.

“No’ with that hurt shoulder,” he replied.

Sure enough, when she went to shrug out of the green wool, she drew in a sharp breath and froze, clearly in pain.

Colin quickly slipped the plaid sling from around her neck, then placed stilling hands on her shoulders.

“Let me. I willnae hurt ye.”

After a long pause, she nodded, though he couldn’t see her face from where he stood behind her.

Carefully, he eased the dress off first her uninjured shoulder. The white linen shift beneath the green wool was warm to the touch—warm from her bare skin beneath.

She pulled her right arm free of the dress, but to his surprise, she did not attempt to swat his hand away from her injured shoulder. Instead, she held herself still, hardly even breathing as he slowly peeled back the dress.

This time, she didn’t lift her arm free of the dress’s sleeve, for it hung limp at her side. He gingerly took her elbow, easing the strain on her shoulder, and rolled the sleeve all the way down.

When at last the most delicate work was done, she stood with her back to him, her dress peeled to her waist. Her shift, along with both creamy arms, was exposed.

Colin repressed a shocked inhale as his eyes landed on her wounded shoulder. Dark purple bruises marred her pale skin, and the shoulder looked decidedly more swollen than its healthy match. How had Sabine held back the pain that no doubt even now racked her?

He shoved down the swell of admiration. He needed information, damn it, not respect for a spy.

“Hold yer arm,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended.

Without comment, and hardly seeming to breathe, Sabine cradled her left arm in her right.

Colin gripped the dress where it bunched around her hips, willing his mind to focus. “How is it that ye came to know how to count?”

She stiffened again, but he couldn’t be sure if it was from his abrupt question or the fact that he’d cupped her hips in his hands to draw down her dress.

“Count?”

“Aye. When I reset yer shoulder, ye counted backwards quite well. Most wouldnae have been able to, especially in so much pain.”

Sabine audibly swallowed. He slid her dress around her bottom, clenching his hands in the wool to keep them away from the delectable curve.

“The man who trained me taught me many things,” she said at last.

“Ye said he raised ye from childhood. How old were ye when he took ye in?”

As the dress slid the rest of the way down her legs to pool around her feet, she wobbled. Instinctively, his hands shot out to her hips, steadying her.

“He…he found me wandering the streets of London when I was five. I don’t remember much before him—only being very cold and hungry, and being surrounded by strange faces.”

Her quiet voice, distant with memory, sent an ache into his heart. Slowly, he turned her in his grip so that she faced him.

“Is that the truth, or another one of yer lies?” he ground out, refusing to soften his gaze as he searched her face.

Pain flickered across her eyes, which shone with unusual moisture all of a sudden. “It is the truth. Fa—…the man who found me took care of me. He fed me, clothed me, and taught me more than an orphan girl could ever hope to learn. He is like a father to me.”

She’d almost let the man’s name slip before she’d caught herself. A name alone wouldn’t unravel the entire network behind the breach in the Bruce’s correspondence, but it was a start. Colin pushed on despite the hurt that still lingered in Sabine’s eyes.

“He must have taught ye to read as well.”

Her delicate brows rose with surprise, but she quickly smoothed them once more. “What makes you think that?”

Colin felt amusement playing around his mouth. Well, if he wanted to get more information from her, mayhap he’d have to give some as well.

“I assume yer boss has been behind the other interceptions of the Bruce’s missives. Yet the letters always arrived where they were sent, their seals unbroken. I can only guess at how long this operation has been going on.”

She stared at him blankly, yet a faint white line appeared around her lips as she compressed them.

“When I found Osborn unconscious in our chamber, I checked the missive he was carrying. It was sealed, of course, but the wax was still soft from where ye’d melted it on the underside.”

“Ah, so that is how you knew to chase after me,” she said, a weak smile quirking one side of her mouth.

“Aye. And if ye were opening missives only to reseal them and let them go on their way, it means that ye can read.”

“And memorize,” she added, holding his stare.

Christ, so much for seduction. He’d managed to turn this sensual moment into an interrogation. He was gaining ground, but he needed take control of the situation once more.

“What of this necklace?” he asked, sliding a finger under the thin chain around her neck. “I’ve seen ye touch it several times already.”

Her skin was like silken cream along her collar bone. He could feel her pulse quicken under his fingertip, but he wasn’t sure if it was because she was preparing another lie or if his touch was having the intended effect.

“The man who employs me gave it to me.”

Though a flush had crept up her neck and to her cheeks, Colin detected no guile in her steady gaze.

“It must be verra special to ye, then.”

“Aye, it is.” She withdrew slightly so that his finger slipped from the chain.

Something hung on the end of the necklace, for there was an anchoring weight to the chain, but the metal disappeared beneath the edge of her shift. The bauble at the end no doubt hung between those two pert, round breasts.

“Do ye wish for me to help ye remove yer shift as well?”

“Nay,” she said quickly.

She placed one foot on the heel of the other and yanked out of her boot, then repeated the motion on the other side. Reaching under the hem of her shift with her good hand, she swiftly removed both stockings as well.

“You promised to give me some privacy,” she said, looking up at him.

He didn’t remember making any such promise, but he grudgingly stepped away, then turned his back on her.

At the sound of the loch waters lapping around her legs, he clenched his fists at his sides. Images of that thin shift plastered against her lithe form barraged him.

Bloody hell
.

She was better at this game than he’d thought—mayhap even better than he was.