The Highlander's Thief

Chapter Four

The rest of the night crept by at a snail's pace. Rosa lay stiff beside him, her arms crossed over her chest, her breaths coming in short huffs. The longer the silence stretched on, the more her sadness seemed to retreat and the angrier she became.

I had more than one cousin. Rosa's words echoed, unbidden, through his mind.

McWilliam rolled over, once again turning his back to her. He wasn't apologizing, dammit. She probably didn't have any cousins. She was probably the only child of an only child.

Or maybe her cousin had died. And maybe her father had been a drunk.

He pressed his eyes shut. Many people's cousins died. This wasn't any of his damn concern. He was taking her back home to face retribution for her crimes; getting involved in her personal life, truths or lies, had nothing to do with it.

He must have eventually slept for weak sunlight flittered in through the closed shutters, casting strips of muted light across the whitewashed walls. Rosa's breathing had also calmed, and she had slipped back to his side of the bed. Her cheek was pressed against his bare back and one arm was draped, possessively, over his chest.

He scowled down at the hand. Her fingers were loosely curled towards her palm, her nails filed to a perfect oval, her skin unblemished. Right at the point where palm met wrist was another freckle. Unobtrusive, it did nothing to mar the beauty of her hands. What would it feel like to press his lips against the imperfection?

His body twitched in eager response.

Thief's hands, McWilliam reminded himself.

Not that it did any good. This body didn't seem to care one straw that she was a thief. To his body, she was a woman, and a mighty fine one to boot.

He rolled onto his back. Apparently he'd been rather obliging in sleep and had tangled one leg around both of Rosa's. His belted plaid had knotted around his thighs, leaving the rest of his legs exposed. He lifted his arm up and over her head to rest on the pillow. Muttering incoherently, she willingly adjusted her position to accommodate his arm, tucking her head onto the crook of his elbow.

His groin strained.

Rosa's own nightdress had also become dislodged in sleep, its hem pushed up towards her calves. Creamy skin lightly colored with faint freckles met his gaze and the fingers of his free hand itched to brush against her leg. Surely her skin was as soft as it looked.

Hell. What was he doing?

He snatched his blasted arm back, and Rosa's head fell a few inches to land on the pillow. Her eyes jerked open, and she scuttled backwards, dragging the blanket with her.

"I've seen your nightdress before," he snapped, swiftly pulling on his knee-high wooden stockings and shoes. "Hurry up and get dressed. We can't stay here any longer than necessary."

She rose, stifling a yawn with such ferocity she looked a little like she was sucking lemons.

"You can't still be tired."

"I'm a very light sleeper," she huffed. "And I'm certainly not used to sharing a room with a man."

"A light sleeper?" He raised an eyebrow as he returned his dirk to its sheath hanging from his belt. Like hell she was. A light sleeper didn't coil herself around him.

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me a liar, again?"

Evidently, she was still angry about the whole 'cousin' thing. He wanted to scoff. Instead, he said, "Get dressed. We're leaving."