The Thief by Allison Butler Page B

celebrate,’ Lachlan Elliot shouted to the elated throng. A thunderous cry of approval erupted behind them as they ascended the stairs.
    He’d kissed her. She pressed cool fingertips to her tingling lips. Shivering warmth trickled through her at the memory of his sweet, gentle kiss.
    Huge double oaken doors loomed before them on the landing above. The man carting her about, as if she weighed no more than a wheat husk, adjusted his hold and reached for the iron latch. The door swung inward, revealing a massive bed set to one side of the chamber. A laird’s bed, where unwanted children were conceived.
    An icy chill swept all trace of heat from her body. She’d done what she’d sworn never to do: she’d married. And not just anyone. She’d married someone of power. A man who bent those around him to do his bidding. A man just like her father.
    Struggling out of his arms, she dropped onto a thick pile of soft furs and scrambled off the bed on the opposite side. Chest heaving, she glared at the laird responsible for stealing her breath and her freedom.
    Heart pounding, she ignored his single raised brow. ‘I will never be your wife in truth, Lachlan Elliot.’

Chapter 7
    Lachlan stared at the slender fury glaring at him from the far side of his ancestral bed. Gone was the soft, sedate woman he’d carried only moments ago; the she-devil had returned.
    Dragging a hand along his bristled jaw, his interest dipped to her heaving chest and then lifted to pause on the sweet lips he’d barely tasted, before coming to rest on the dark circles under her eyes. His fingers stilled on his chin. Bedding his bride appeared to be an unwise notion at present. His body sighed its disappointment, while his mind churned with her vow to never be his wife in truth. A denial he hadn’t expected and one he could ill afford.
    ‘It has always been my understanding that every woman longs to wed,’ he said, dropping his arm by his side. ‘Tell me, Kenzie, what is it about marriage you detest?’
    ‘It’s a little late for such questions, is it not?’
    ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Even so, I’m asking now.’
    She slowly shook her head. ‘You have been gravely misinformed. Not every woman longs to wed,’ she said with quiet intensity. ‘I, for one, vowed never to marry any man.’
    ‘You didn’t marry just any man. You married me .’
    ‘And you are a beast for forcing sweet Ailsa to be a part of this … this tragedy.’
    Lachlan’s gut clenched at the fierceness in his wife’s tone and her description of their marriage. It seemed marrying Kenzie had been the easy part.
    ‘So, you’ve seen Ailsa?’ He folded his arms across his chest.
    ‘Of course I saw her. Just as you’d planned for me to.’
    ‘And?’ he said, arching a brow.
    ‘One of your fellow beasts was holding her prisoner in a doorway below.’ Her hands clenched by her sides. ‘I warn you now, if you harm even one—’
    ‘Why do you think she is here at Redheugh Castle?’ he said.
    ‘How else would you have gained my consent to wed you?’
    Lachlan stared into her accusing eyes. His blood began to boil. Stubborn, infuriating wench. He could talk to her until the whiskers on his chin grew down to his navel, but he knew it would do no good.
    ‘Whatever you believe, Kenzie, ‘tis done and ‘tis late. Get into bed.’
    Her eyes widened. ‘I will not lie with you.’
    ‘Aye, you will. But not tonight.’
    ‘I won’t share your bed,’ she said, stepping back into the shadows.
    ‘Fine.’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘You have the bed, I’ll take a chair.’ He turned to look at the two wide chairs positioned before the flickering fire. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spent the night sprawled in one or the other.
    ‘I’ll not sleep in your bed. I’ll take the chair.’
    ‘Good God, woman. Take the chair, then,’ he said grabbing a pillow and one of the furs from his bed and throwing them onto the closest chair. Withdrawing the dagger