The Highlander's Thief

Chapter Two

"My lord, I didn't do it," Rosa declared, and even she could hear the desperation creeping into her own voice.

"Right." The Scot giant practically rolled his eyes.

"I'm not guilty. You have to believe me."

"The only thing I have to do is take you back to my estate."

"No!" She shook her head. Stupid, judgmental man. Why wasn't he listening to her? "I'm innocent." She tried to step out of his hold, and he let go her shoulders only to grasp her waist as if in preparation to lift her back into the saddle. In doing so he shifted forward a step, leaving barely a hand's width between them.

There was a hardness to his mouth as he stared down at her, and a small furrow between his brows. Stubble covered his checks and chin as though he hadn't had the time or the inclination to shave these last few days. It lent him an air of wildness that English gentlemen, with their wigs and groomed three-piece suits, lacked.

This close she could see a small scar at the corner of his right eye, and she imagined someone's sword slicing downwards, just skimming his temple. Her hand drifted up, and she realized with a jolt that she'd subconsciously moved to touch the imperfection. She crossed her arms over her chest instead, her gaze sliding away from his face. Of course she didn't want to touch the man who was snatching her away from Amelia, the man who'd pulled her bodily from her bed in the dead of night, and the man who still, indigently and indecently, had his hands about her waist.

Her body alert to his every move; she could feel each one of his fingers through the fabric of her clothes. He radiated heat. She'd never met anyone else in her whole life so naturally warm-blooded. He was like fire: hot, angry and without mercy. And if she stood still for too long he'd burn her.

"Let go," she said with as much authority as she could muster. "I'm innocent."

"Thistle, if you're innocent then I'm a haggis," and he lifted her onto the horse as though she weighed nothing.

In another second, he'd mount up behind her and they'd be on their way again, moving further and further from Runner Smith. She had to make him understand.

"Please, my lord." And she pushed her hand against his shoulder to halt his progress. "Just listen to me for a second."

He eyed her but stayed in place.

She hurried on before he could change his mind: "Two days ago I received an anonymous letter saying that if I didn't take the blame for the McWilliam heist my cousin would be killed. That's why I handed myself in. I had to let the Runner arrest me. I have to face the magistrate at the next court hearing in Leeds or Amelia is dead."

A crease appeared between his brows. "Show me the letter."

"You believe me?" Her mouth dropped opened.

"Show me the letter."

"I cannot. I don't have it anymore."

The muscles in his forearms twitched, and Rosa swallowed. If he attacked her there'd be no way she could defend herself. Her strength was nothing when compared with his. She had no knife, no weapon to defend herself with, just her words.

"I didn't want the magistrate to find the letter so I burnt it," she said attempting to keep her voice even.

"Then you have no proof." A statement, not a question. And his gravelly voice sent a rush of goose bumps over her skin.

She couldn't lie, he'd spot it in an instance and she needed him to believe her. "No, my lord. But I'm telling the truth. There's no way I could have stolen that money. I've been working as a governess here in Bradford for the last two years. If you talk with my employers, I'm sure they'll vouch for my whereabouts during the time of the theft."