The Highlander's Thief

Chapter Eleven

"I dare you!" Amelia pointed a finger towards her younger sister, a mischievous twinkle in her sky-blue eyes.

Emily pulled her hand from Rosa's grasp, glancing back towards the snoozing governess.

Rosa rolled her eyes. "That's ridiculous."

"That's ridiculous," Amelia pressed her hands to her hips and rolled her slim shoulders back in imitation of their governess. Sunlight glinted off the top of her head, turning her blond hair into a halo.

"That's ridiculous," Emily laughed as she began pulling off her shoes and stockings, her chubby fingers stumbling over the laces.

Rosa took a step back, her feet tangling in the worn hem of her too-long hand-me-down gown. "Amelia Blair, I'm three years older. You cannot—"

"You're poor." Amelia stuck her perfectly pointed nose in the air. "You're father's a drunk."

Shame stabbed through Rosa. She could feel it like a physical sickness churning through her stomach.

"Fine!" she yelled. "Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore." And Rosa turned her back on her two cousins and the still waters of Loch Mackenzie.

"Rosa!"

Her eyes snapped open. A dark figure loomed over her.

A scream caught in her throat, and she lashed out. The blankets tangled around her hands, and the figure reached forward.

"You're safe. Ye were just dreaming."

"No, no!" She pushed herself upright, the blankets falling into her lap. "Where am I?"

The answer came back to her instantaneously. Fortress Doom with Laird McWilliam.

The laird stood by her bed, one hand on Rosa's shoulder, the other brushing loose strands of hair from her face.

"You're safe," he said again, his voice low, the words almost indistinguishable.

Safe. In Scotland. With the man who'd stolen her from police custody and had sworn a personal vendetta against her.

Right. But even as she was scoffing, Rosa felt her heartbeat slow and her breathing calm as her body settled back against the headboard. She was warm and well fed and safe. Despite everything—despite all their arguments and disagreements—McWilliam had always taken care of her.

Even now, when she'd woken screaming with the memory of Emily's death fresh in her mind, he was looking after her.

"How long was I screaming for?" she asked, under no misconception that he wouldn't have heard the first cry that had ripped from her mouth.

"Not long." He nudged her legs over, sitting on the edge of the bed facing her. "My room is just one over. I came as soon as I heard."

She could feel his thigh pressed against her own, even though the blankets. He was warm and big and strong.

He bowed his head as though causally dismissing her thanks. "Ye said her name again."

A whisper: "Emily?"

He gave a single nod and released her shoulder, his hand dropping to lie on top of the counterpane.

She stared down at it, his fingers just half an inch from her hip. The slightest movement would bring her close enough to touch.

Rosa tugged up the counterpane, tucking her hands under her arms to stop herself reaching out and brushing the tiny circular burn by the corner of his eye. Even in the darkness, she could see the mark that had come so close to damaging his beautiful, grey eye.