Heart's Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) (12 page)

It wasn’t until her teeth began to chatter that Sabine realized just how deeply the cold and dampness had burrowed into her bones.

After slowly rising to his feet by the riverbank, Colin had walked Ruith away from the rushing water and into a little copse of trees that provided shelter from the misty rain that had started up once more.

Numbly, she’d followed, his question still ringing in her ears.

Why
? Why had she helped him? Why had she stayed and saved his life instead of turning her back and never thinking of him again?

In her scramble for an answer, all she could come up with was that he still carried the missive she’d been sent to intercept. If he’d been swept away by the river, she would have never learned what that missive bore. She wouldn’t have been able to deliver the information it contained to Fabian, which would have angered—or worse, disappointed—him.

But that answer rang false. Sabine had worked her whole life at fooling people into trusting her, believing her. Yet the only one she feared she was fooling now was herself.

She watched in silence as Colin started a fire, not feeling any of its warmth penetrate through her sodden layers of wool.

When her teeth began to clack together, either with cold or shock at what had transpired, she did not know, she looked up to find those vivid blue eyes examining her.

“Ye’d best get out of those wet clothes, lass.” He tossed a damp log into the fire, never taking his gaze from her.

“I have naught else to wear.”

He walked woodenly to where he’d chucked Ruith’s saddlebags on the ground near their fire. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out the same length of green and blue plaid from which he’d removed a strip for her sling.

Unthinking, she glanced down at where that scrap of fabric had wrapped around her injured arm. She hadn’t worn the sling for almost two days—ever since Colin had removed it along with her dress for her bath in the loch. For some reason she didn’t want to contemplate, she missed seeing its vibrant colors and feeling the soft wool that still faintly bore Colin’s scent.

She forced her thoughts away from Colin’s kind gesture in making her that sling. Instead, she focused on her soiled and dripping garments.

“I cannot take that. It will only become wet and muddy if I wear it now.”

“No’ if ye remove that dress and cloak.”

Her gaze darted up to his, searching for the deceptively enthralling smile he’d used against her once before. Exhausted, cold, and wet as she was, she feared she wouldn’t be able to resist him if he started his charm offensive once more.

But instead of a beguiling grin or a suggestive glint in his eyes, she found her own raw fatigue mirrored on his weary features.

“And what will you use to warm yourself?”

An invisible guard seemed to lift behind his eyes and he grew hard and flat as a stone wall.

Too late, she realized how he’d taken her question. He thought she meant to encourage him to cast off his tunic so that she could make a move for the missive.

A flood of hot pain cut through her exhaustion. Of course he didn’t trust her. Why should he? Aye, she’d saved him, but she couldn’t even form the words to explain why.

“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly.

All she could manage was a nod, the lump in her throat too large to speak around.

He held out the plaid, and she stood from the damp log she’d been sitting on to retrieve it. When her legs came under her, however, she swayed like a leaf in a stiff breeze.

Colin was there suddenly, his hands steadying her.

“Do ye need help, lass?”

She looked up at him, the tears welling in her eyes blurring the hard, handsome lines of his face. She nodded again, blinking back her foolish emotion.

Colin undid the pin holding her cloak at her throat and let the wet material fall heavily at her feet. Then he turned her gently by the shoulders and began working the ties running down her back.

“I dinnae ken what ye were thinking, lass,” he said, his voice a low caress behind her as he loosened the ties. “When ye reached the shore and leapt from Ruith’s back, ye looked ready to barrel into the river and fetch me, raging current be damned.”

Sabine swallowed hard, forcing her throat to slacken. “I-I don’t know what I was thinking, either. I couldn’t think at all when I believed you might die.”

Colin’s hands stilled for a moment on her back. After a long pause, he began peeling down the dress from her shoulders, just as he had by the loch when she’d thought to seduce him. How much had changed in so little time.

When his hands slid around her waist, with naught separating their skin except for her sodden shift, the thread of control she’d been clinging to finally snapped.

She spun to face him, her dress falling limply to the ground alongside her cloak. Rising on her toes, she brushed her lips against his in a questioning kiss.

The battle that waged in his depthless blue eyes took her breath away. Pain and desire, distrust and longing warred for dominance as he held her with his gaze, his hands still resting on her waist.

When at last his features turned to granite, she knew the hardened warrior in him had won out over the passionate lover she’d glimpsed by the loch.

Questions skittered through her mind as she watched him straighten and drop his hands from her waist. The easy smile, the playful glint in his eyes—she’d thought them acts before, but might they actually reveal his true nature? If so, what had turned him so cold inside, so hard and suspicious—so like her?

He reached for the length of plaid, which he’d tossed over one shoulder.

“Get some rest,” he said curtly. “And stay close to the fire. Ye need to get warm.”

He looped the plaid around her shoulders and wrapped her snugly in its thick, dry folds. The scent of pine—Colin’s scent—drifted around her, making a tight knot low in her belly.

She did as he commanded, lowering herself to the mossy forest floor near the weak fire. Yet even as she grew warm and drowsy within the plaid, she could not tear her eyes from Colin. She watched him through her lashes, trying to burrow as deep as possible in his plaid.

He paced around their little camp, busying himself despite his obvious exhaustion. His face was set in a scowl as he restlessly moved around her.

Once he’d seen to Ruith, he spread her cloak and dress over a large rock to help them dry, then piled sodden logs near the fire. Every once in a while, she caught a shiver he no doubt tried to repress as he paced in his soaking tunic and breeches.

At last, he settled by the fire, holding his hands out to catch some of its heat. Still, he could not seem to get warm, for his large body trembled with shivers. To make matters worse, even though the misty rain let up, night began to fall in earnest.

Standing, he muttered something that sounded like a curse and finally yanked off his tunic. His skin glowed orange in the flickering firelight, which cast deep shadows across the plains and valleys of muscle stacking his torso. Gooseflesh rippled across his taut skin, confirming her fear that he’d remained too long in his cold, wet garments.

As he turned to drape the tunic next to hers on the rock, she sat up, dropping the ruse of sleep. He must have sensed her movement, for he spun quickly, his gaze hard and dark on her in the low light.

Sabine rose slowly to her feet, hugging the plaid around her shoulders. When she took a step toward him, he purposefully angled his body to block her from his tunic.

Even as the sting of his motion registered, she took another step forward, holding his gaze.

She couldn’t muster the bravery to speak the truth, so she would show him instead. She didn’t want the missive in this moment. She only wanted him.

Opening her arms slowly, she beckoned him wordlessly into the warmth of the plaid. She held his gaze unfalteringly, letting him glimpse the raw need swirling through her.

He stood motionless for one heartbeat, then two, then three. Just when Sabine was ready to retreat back into herself, he stepped forward into the spread plaid.

Hard arms enveloped her, his cold skin sending shivers through her at every point of contact. She wrapped the plaid around both of them, willingly giving him her heat.

He dragged her to the ground before the fire. He turned so that she lay partially draped across his hard body, both of them bound together in the tightly wrapped plaid.

Sabine lifted her head from his chest, gazing at his hooded eyes. In the shadows cast by the fire, his features were unreadable.

His hands tightened around her, drawing a gasp from her lips. Her pulse hammered as his body heated against hers. Unbidden, her tongue darted out to wet her lips in anticipation for his kiss.

But his kiss never came.

Deliberately, he drew in a deep breath, then another. His hands unclenched from her shift and his head fell back, his gaze searching the night sky overhead.

All the events of the last few days seemed to hit Sabine at once. If she weren’t so exhausted, she probably would have wept like a silly girl in Colin’s arms. The warmth of his embrace and the now familiar scent of pine and male skin saved her, though.

“Good night, lass.” Colin’s voice rumbled against her cheek as her head relaxed against his chest and sleep stole her away.

When the first rays of sunshine gilded the tops of the trees overhead, Colin stirred awake.

He was wrapped in warmth, his plaid softening the forest floor.

For a moment, he thought he was in the Highlands, sleeping on the ground with his plaid as a bedroll, just as he had done countless times while fighting for the Bruce and Scottish independence.

But then he registered the arm draped over his stomach, the sable head nestled against his chest, and the slim thigh thrown over his leg.

Nay, he wasn’t in the Highlands, nor was he still dreaming. Sabine lay in his arms, limp and soft in sleep.

The sweet smell of her hair drifted around him like a cloud. He could feel the curve of her breast rhythmically press against him with her slow, steady breaths.

He must have stiffened, for she shifted and nuzzled against him as if silently urging him to relax.

Dragging in a ragged breath, he forced himself to lie still, though he couldn’t quite convince every part of him to soften.

Unable to move without disturbing her, he let his eyes drink their fill.

Those full, pink lips were parted slightly. Her cheeks bore a healthy, warm glow to match her lips. Her lashes made dark fans against her skin, with her brows relaxed in innocent rest.

Innocent
.

Bloody hell, why did he have to think of that word? The implications swirled through his mind, destroying the peace he’d experienced a moment before.

She claimed not to be a spy, but did it make a difference? Did being a thief of secrets make her any more innocent of treason for opening the King’s missive?

And when he’d kissed her, her response had been far from innocent, yet when he’d cruelly implied that she was a prostitute, the flush that had rushed to her cheeks seemed to be more than just outrage.

Was it possible that somehow through a life of stealing and lying, seduction and evasion, Sabine had come through it all holding on to a piece of her innocence, either in body or soul?

Mayhap the better question was why Colin was so desperate to know the secrets tucked away in Sabine’s heart. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known before. She rivaled him at his own game—control and manipulation through a look or a smile—yet behind those hazel eyes he sensed a deeper truth, an unfathomable pain, that remained just out of his reach.

And she’d saved his life, damn it all.

Something stretched in his chest. Some buried and unused part of him expanded where her head rested just above his heart.

She’d been hurt, of that he was sure. Yet there was something trusting in the way she slept so soundly curled against him.

Tentatively, he lifted a hand and brushed a lock of dark hair from her cheek. She stirred against him, burrowing into his chest as if she were starved for more of his touch.

He traced her ear with the pad of his thumb, and a soft sigh fanned across his bare chest.

Heat scorched through his body at her response. By God, why did he want to give her anything and everything she desired just to hear that breathy sigh again?

He let his fingertips graze down the slim column of her neck, drawing gooseflesh across her skin in their wake.

She shivered against him and murmured something, but the words were incoherent.

His fingers played over her injured shoulder lightly. The bruises were already fading—a good sign that she was recovering quickly.

Still, irrational anger burned in his chest just at the sight of the marks marring her creamy flesh. The man to whom she was still loyal had likely left marks like that.

He’d noticed that she’d gained increasing mobility in her shoulder the last two days, though she still kept her arm tucked against her or rested it in her lap while they rode. Soon, he would have to decide if he should tie her to the saddle once more.

The thought of binding her sent a sick swell rising in his stomach, but she was still his captive. Naught had changed, despite the fact that she’d saved his life.

Sabine murmured again, and he realized that he’d frozen, his hands turning unconsciously into fists in the plaid. He softened his hands and let them run soothingly down her back. She settled against him once more like an attention-starved cat, drinking in his touches.

As one hand reached her lower back, she arched against him, her head rolling so that her lips brushed his chest.

Bloody hell, what was he doing? He hadn’t kissed her last night for fear that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Yet here he was, cock achingly stiff and hands all over her just to satisfy his desire to draw another contented noise from her.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

He started at her voice, which was far too distinct to be mistaken for a drowsy mumble. Christ, how long had she been awake while he’d indulged in touching her?

“Please,” she whispered again, lifting her head and capturing him with her gaze. Her eyes were as richly green as a Highland forest, with flecks of gold like the morning sun streaming overhead.

Before his brain could tell him nay, his hand slid further down to cup her bottom. He ground his hips against her, wordlessly showing her his desire.

Aye, he wanted to pet and stroke her until she purred for him, but she needed to know what he truly longed for—to bury himself in her, claim her body with his. This was no longer about a flirtatious smile or a teasing wink. The base male animal within him wanted her,
needed
her.

If she had pulled back, he would have stopped. If she had hesitated, a hand on his chest to stay him, he would have found a way to drop his hands and move away. If there had been even a flicker of fear or uncertainty in the depths of her dark eyes, he would have cooled his blood and let her go.

Instead, she rocked forward and pressed her lips to his.

Like a wild animal being set loose, Colin unleashed his tightly reined desire.

With a low growl, he rolled over so that she was pinned beneath him. She gasped, but the sound died as he took her mouth in a commanding kiss.