The Thief by Allison Butler Page A

side turned rigid.
    ‘I see nae reason to delay,’ Father Tremayne said.
    ‘Good,’ Lachlan said. ‘Let’s have it done.’
    ***
    Breathe, Kenzie.
    Tiny black spots dotted the blurred faces of the mob. Her mind whirled. She was getting married. Now.
    Nae! It couldn’t be. There must be some way out, some way for her to elude the initial misery and the hollow sadness that followed. But there wasn’t and she was about to pay the ultimate price for stealing Lachlan Elliot’s horse. The black dots faded as the faces of a hundred strangers took shape, all different, yet all wearing the same expression of delight.
    A short time ago she’d been so cold it seemed ice had flowed through her veins. Now, her blood bubbled hot and swift beneath her skin. Her heart knocked loud against the wall of her chest but couldn’t drown out the priest’s voice raised in prayer.
    ‘I will.’ Another’s voice. The man holding her close. His acceptance. Too fast. She hadn’t even had time to think. Her head swam. The mob swayed. Then she caught a glimpse of Ailsa’s sweet face, showing like the sun on a bleak day, from the doorway to the right.
    Ailsa? Straining against Lachlan Elliot’s hold, she tried to get a better view but a tall, redheaded man blocked the doorway. Had she really seen Ailsa or had the sighting only been a desperate hope? Kenzie could see no good reason for Ailsa to be here and for her friend’s sake, she was glad she was not.
    More words, like shards, filled her ears. ‘Kenzie … troth … Lachlan …’
    The hand about her waist drew her closer. Kenzie started to look away from the entrance when the flaming-haired clansman turned sideways and Ailsa’s familiar face appeared. Her friend was here. Why?
    A brutal tightness filled her chest.
    Once again she tried to close the distance between herself and Ailsa. Hopeless. Fear for her friend’s safety sent a chill through her belly. If Lachlan Elliot chose to marry a woman who’d rather hang than wed him, what was he capable of doing to gentle Ailsa? Kenzie was the one who’d stolen Lachlan Elliot’s horse and deserved to be punished. Ailsa was an innocent; her only crime was being Kenzie’s friend. Guilt churned inside her.
    ‘Death … you … him?’ A question.
    Silence.
    ‘Say the words, Kenzie.’ A whispered command.
    She stiffened in response.
    ‘Say it, Kenzie.’ Harsher. Bordering on desperation. What could Lachlan Elliot ever feel desperation for?
    Her gaze darted to the older man standing in front of the trestle, his thick grey brows lifted in expectation. She glanced back at the opening. Empty. Be safe, Ailsa.
    ‘Two simple words and it’s done,’ Lachlan Elliot said softly in her ear.
    Wed him, secure Ailsa’s release, then have the marriage annulled.
    ‘Kenzie.’ Almost a plea.
    ‘I will.’ The words spilled from her mouth in a rush.
    The priest’s lips were moving but the violent buzzing in her head muted all sound. The arm supporting her shifted and turned her. Large warm hands slid along each side of her face, tilting her head back. Lachlan Elliot’s handsome, rugged features filled her view.
    ‘Hello, wife,’ he whispered.
    Oh God, she was married.
    Kenzie’s fingers clutched his forearms. ‘Curse you.’
    ‘Too late.’
    His face dipped closer, drawing her in until she could only see the determination in his eyes.
    ‘Nae,’ she whispered, lifting one foot and stamping down on top of his. How she wished she wore her sturdy boots rather than borrowed slippers.
    ‘Aye,’ he whispered. Eyes smiling, he showed no hint of pain.
    Damn him.
    His lips touched hers, warm, petal-soft. Her eyes widened, staring into his. Her belly fluttered. Her fingers tightened about his wrists as he stole the very air she’d fought so hard to breathe.
    A mighty cheer roared through the chamber. Stunned by the softness of his mouth, Kenzie found herself scooped up into powerful arms and carried across the room.
    ‘A feast at noon to