The Dark Highlander

But ’twas too late for honor. She hadn’t stayed on the street like a good lass. She was here in his bed. And he was a man, and not an honorable one at that.

And when you leave her? the tatters of his honor hissed.

I’ll leave her so weel pleasured she’ll no’ rue it. Some other bumbling fool would hurt her. I’ll awaken her in ways she’ll never forget. I’ll give her fantasies that will heat her dreams for the rest of her life.

And that was the end of that argument, so far as he was concerned. He needed. The darkness in him grew wild without a woman. He no longer had the option of entertaining Katie, or any other women, in his home. But seduction, not conquest, was the main course on the table this eve. He would give her this night, mayhap the morrow, but anon, ’twould be conquest.

“So, um, are you going to untie me?”

With effort, he pried his gaze from her twisted skirt. She’d clamped her knees together anyway. Wise lass, he thought darkly, but ’twill do you no good in the end.

“You can’t just keep me,” she said frostily.

“But I can.”

“People will be looking for me.”

“But no’ here. None will press me, you know that.”

When he eased himself down on the bed facing her, she plastered herself back against the headboard.

“You’ll come to no harm at my hands, lass. I give you my word.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if she’d thought better of it. Then she seemed to change her mind, shrugged, and said, “How can I believe that? I’m sitting in the middle of all this stolen stuff and you’ve tied me up. I can’t help but worry about how you plan to deal with me. So, how do you?” When he didn’t respond immediately, she added heatedly. “If you’re going to kill me, I’m warning you right now—I’ll haunt you till the end of your thieving days. I’ll make your life a living hell. I’ll make your legendary banshee seem demure and soft-spoken by comparison. You … you … you barbarian Visigoth,” she spat.

“Och, and there’s your Scots blood, lass,” he said with a faint smile. “A fine bit o’ temper too. Though Visigoth is a bit far-fetched, I’m hardly doing anything so epic as the sacking of Rome.”

She scowled. “Lots of books were lost then too.”

“I treat them with care. And you needn’t fash yourself, lass. I will no’ harm you. Naught will be done to you that you doona wish done. I may borrow a few tomes, but that’s the extent of my crimes. I’ll be leaving soon. When I do, I’ll release you.”

Chloe searched his face intently, thinking she didn’t quite like that part about “naught will be done to you that you doona wish done.” Just what did he mean by that? Still, his gaze was level. She couldn’t imagine why he would bother lying. “I could almost believe you mean that,” she finally said.

“I do, lass.”

“Hmph,” she said noncommittally. A pause, then, “So, why do you do it?” she asked, nodding her head in the direction of the stolen texts.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, it shouldn’t, but it sort of does. You see, I know those collections you stole from. There were far more valuable relics in them.”

“I seek certain information. I merely borrowed them. They will be returned when I leave.”

“And the moon is made of cheese,” she said dryly.

“They will, though you doona believe me.”

“And all the other things you’ve stolen?”

“What other things?”

“All that Celtic stuff. The knives and swords and badges and coins and—”

“All of that is mine by right of birth.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“ ’Tis.”

Chloe snorted.

“ ’Tis Keltar regalia. I am a Keltar.”

Her gaze turned measuring. “Are you saying the only things you’ve actually stolen are the texts?”

“Borrowed. And aye.”

“I don’t know what to make of you,” she said, shaking her head.

“What does your viscera”—nay, that wasn’t quite the right word—“instinct tell you?”

She looked at him intently, so intently that it was intimate. He wondered if a lass had ever looked at him so piercingly before. As if trying to probe the depths of his soul, down to the blackest heart of it. How would she judge him, this innocent? Would she damn him as he’d damned himself?