Her Enemy Highlander. Nicole Locke

braies, he said, ‘The room’s a mistake. Not the reason why you were here.’

      This man was too intelligent to fool and too fast and strong for her to make a run for it with the dagger. A little bit of truth wouldn’t hurt.

      She gave a sigh as if she couldn’t hold up the pretence any more. ‘The dagger belongs to my family.’

      ‘How convenient.’

      Never taking his eyes from hers, he reached for the brown leather leggings.

      ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me. It’s why I didn’t say anything before.’ She pushed the cover away from her legs and stood. ‘Why would you believe me? We’re strangers; the dagger has some value. But I ask, why would a lone woman enter an unknown inn at the dead of night if not to retrieve something of great value to her?’

      ‘To steal.’

      Too true. Lowering her eyes, she rubbed her hands down the tunic to ease the creases there. ‘If I was such an expert thief, I could do it in broad daylight, within the comforts of safety. What I did was anything but safe.’

      ‘Maybe you’re not a good thief.’

      ‘Exactly!’ She looked up and gave him a wide smile.

      His only response was to raise one brow.

      She continued, ‘An inept thief, who doesn’t know any better or have the sense not to search rooms in the dead of night.’

      The last line took a dent to her pride, but it worked. He was starting to believe her.

      He pulled the leggings up over his braies until everything fit properly. Without a tunic, it didn’t hide the muscles and scars on his arms and broad shoulders.

      ‘How did the man steal it?’ he asked.

      Flashes of memory. The sudden shock, the man running away, her brother collapsing to the ground. Ah, the grief.

      ‘I doona know.’ She held up her hand when she saw him begin to doubt.

      ‘The dagger isn’t mine, but my brother’s,’ she said. ‘I was there when it was stolen, but didn’t see what happened. My brother told me and said he would get it back.’

      ‘Where’s your brother?’

      Crumpled on the ground. Her call for help. Her mother’s scream.

      She wrinkled her nose, trying to stop the threatening tears. ‘He thought that man in the hallway, that thief, went west and decided to pursue him.’

      ‘And he sent you east.’

      She shifted and tried to look guilty. ‘Nae. I came this way on my own. He described the thief to me. I thought I’d help.’

      He huffed.

      ‘I wasn’t confronting the man on my own, just getting the dagger back. It’s the reason I searched the room at night.’

      He straightened the upended stool, sat on it and proceeded to put on his boots. ‘The thief seemed to know you.’

      Despite being drunk, he had too good a memory.

      ‘Did he?’ she said.

      ‘He said it wasn’t him.’

      She acted like she couldn’t remember. But she did. Vividly. If only Malcolm had not hit the man, she’d know what the thief meant to say!

      She shrugged. ‘I didn’t ken his meaning. He had my dagger.’

      Caird bent and picked up his pouch. Without attaching it, he stared at her. She kept her eyes straight on him. He almost believed her, but something was bothering him. She’d have to make certain he had no doubts.

      He nodded. ‘You were lucky.’

      Only if he believed her.

      He wrapped the belt with the pouch around his waist. ‘You could be dead.’

      Ah, gratefulness and flattery. Those were easy emotions to fake. ‘I know. Strange as it may seem, I am glad I came to your room.’

      Something besides doubt flitted in his grey eyes, making them almost green. Something like...heat.

      He took a step towards her. She had risen from the bed and straightened her clothes, but she hadn’t gone any further. If she had, she’d have somewhere to move. As it was, she was stuck between Caird and the bed.

      He was measuring her again, weighing something. His eyes moved from hers down her cheeks to her lips. Between her torn gown and his deeply cut tunic, her neck and most of her shoulders were bare. There, his eyes stilled and her bare skin felt even more exposed.

      ‘Me, too,’ he said as his eyes caught hers. His voice had lowered, softened. The beautiful lilt of last night wasn’t there. He wasn’t talking enough for that.

      Which was probably good because just the tone of his voice was causing her to remember last night. Before the thief. The darkened room and their kiss.

      She swallowed, trying to moisten her suddenly parched mouth. ‘I woke you, caused you trouble.’

      His mouth quirked and he took another step. ‘Nae trouble.’

      What was wrong with her? She needed to get out of here. She needed to keep lying like she always did with the Buchanan men.

      But this man didn’t affect her like Buchanan men, and she couldn’t think fast enough. ‘I...’ she started, then licked her lips.

      His breath stopped, released.

      For some reason, her breath did the same.

      ‘I should thank you,’ she said, her voice catching.

      Slowly, so slowly, she felt the heat of him as he leaned towards her.

      Oh, he was going to kiss her. Again.

      And she didn’t want to stop it. Didn’t want the heat of him to go away or the heady scent of him to vanish. All she wanted—

      Her stomach growled.

      His mouth twitched and his eyes flashed with more green than grey.

      If she thought herself incapable of moving before, she was wrong. Now, her very feet were nailed to the floor. How did eyes do that?

      ‘Trestles are being moved for breakfast.’ Turning rapidly, he looked around the room. ‘I’ll see about a gown and food.’

      Her knees shaking, she sat abruptly on the bed. ‘I have nae coin to repay you,’ she said.

      Shaking his head, he said, ‘A gift.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she answered. He was being generous despite the trouble she’d given him. She didn’t feel guilty for tricking him, but she wished she could repay him. He truly was different from any Buchanan man she had ever known.

      He was too breathtaking, too honourable and now kind as well. A Buchanan man wouldn’t have believed her. They would have shoved her out of the room and kept the costly dagger. Instead, he was giving the dagger to her, feeding her, clothing her.

      She tried not to think about the kiss he hadn’t given her. He was still walking around the room. ‘Where’s my small blade?’

      She smiled. ‘The one you threw at me? You left it over there.’

      Following her arm movement to the window, he reached for his dagger on the windowsill.

      The bright morning light shone against his still loose hair, making the red hidden in his brown locks glow. Odd, how she hadn’t noticed he had red hair before.

      Red.

      ‘You’re a Colquhoun!’ she gasped, too surprised to stay quiet.

      He turned around. ‘Aye, I am, but that wouldn’t matter unless...’ His eyes narrowed, and took in her every feature.