The Highlander's Sin by Eliza Knight

completely black was the full moon shining through the gaping hole in the roof above them.
    “I will light a candle.” That much he could do for her. As soon as she was asleep, he’d blow it out to save the precious wax.
    Seeming satisfied, Heather knelt on the plaid before rolling onto her side and curling up into a ball, facing away from him.
    Duncan rummaged through his sack for a candle and flint. He lit the wick and set it in a makeshift holder he fashioned with a piece of wood.
    “Thank ye,” she said meekly.
    “Ye’re welcome.” He studied the way she lay so vulnerable, shoulders sunken in. All the fight had gone out of the poor lass.
    Poor lass . Here he was, the one who’d stolen her away, and he was feeling sorry for her, empathizing with her plight. But it wasn’t just that he felt sorry for her. She’d hit something deep inside him. He’d never reacted the way he did to her with any other captive. Heather was not the first beautiful, feisty woman he’d been paid to abduct.
    There was something different about her , though. The quirk of her brow or the way her lips curled mischievously when she smiled. The spark of fire in her unusually colored eyes. How she was willing to fight with him, despite his threats, and even how she seemed to take his abducting her as a bit of adventure.
    Odd, truly, that she would interpret it that way. But it only made him admire her more.
    Duncan shook himself out of staring at her and lay down on top of the plaid, elbows bent and his hands behind his head. He stared up into the rafters, watching the way the small amount of flame from the candle made large slow-moving shadows on the old wood. Within a year’s time, what was left of the roof would likely fall.
    There were char marks on the walls, and he guessed it was from a fire, though he could never be certain whether it was from the siege laid to this place or a campfire gone wild. He’d been drawn here since he was an adolescent. He’d been on a week-long hunt-and-gather with the other monks of Pluscarden when he’d happened upon it. They’d often gone on these journeys, looking for new plant life and animals that didn’t live in the vicinity of their abbey.
    The prior had been inquisitive, scientific even, although he believed wholeheartedly in God being the almighty healer in all things—he’d also believed the Lord had given them everything within their reach to see his potential grow and will be done.
    But the prior had not adventured with them that time. A younger, more adventurous monk had taken them out, and his excitement at finding these ruins had been addictive. From that moment on, whenever they’d left the abbey, Duncan had tried to make his way back here. When others had found it foreboding, he’d found comfort in its walls.
    Almost like it were home. But that was impossible. His home was far north of here.
    Beside him, Heather’s breathing slowed and grew even. Falling asleep had not taken her long. He was surprised. Most of his captives stayed up all night worrying themselves sick over what would happen when the morning came.
    Heather must have been extremely exhausted—or she trusted him to keep her safe. A jest if there ever was one. How could she trust him when he was her enemy?
    Duncan leaned up on his elbow and blew out the c andle. The scent of the snuffed-out wick surrounding them. He yanked off his shirt, leaving his plaid in place. When he lay back down, Heather murmured something in her sleep and rolled toward him, flinging a warm leg over his thighs and an arm across his chest, her fingers stroking lightly across his nipple.
    He jerked with her touch, but she only murmured something else unintelligible, then sighed. This wasn’t a jest . She was well and truly asleep.
    Ballocks. It was going to be a long, long night.
     

Chapter Seven

     
    H eather woke with a start, trembling from a nightmare—a rat jumping like a crazed loon straight for her throat. Sweat dripped over her