The Highlander's Thief

Chapter Four

"What about breakfast?" she asked, disappearing behind the screen.

"We'll eat on the move."

* * *

Rosa dressed quickly, her fingers flying with the confidence of a woman long used to dressing herself. Although Rosa couldn't manage to fasten the straps as tight as she would have liked—the previous owner being a woman of rather flat proportions—she couldn't complain. Mistress Thomas's second-hand clothes were simple but neat and clean; they were as good as any clothes gifted to her by Mrs Wright during Rosa's two years as governess to her children.

Despite her speed, Rosa could hear the Scotsman standing on the other side of the screen clicking his tongue with impatience. And rain tapped at the windows and the roof with increasing persistence until the air hung heavy around Rosa.

She ran her hands down her stomach as a sudden rush of panic speared her chest. How could she trust him? All she knew about him was that he'd kidnapped her from custody. He said he was the McWilliam laird, but how could she know he spoke the truth? He could be lying to her.

She froze, her feet refusing to make the three steps around the dressing screen and back into McWilliam's view.

The Scotsman could be planning to harm her. She knew from her father's daily subscription to London's Gazetteer that the paper had never been short for grizzly news.

She could see the headline now: Suspected thief Rosa Alice Blair murdered in vengeance killing by Scottish lunatic.

Oh, sweet heaven, she couldn't go with McWilliam. She couldn't let him take her across the border. She had to get back to Leeds. If she died, her cousin died too.

"Come on," he barked.

Rosa pushed her left foot forward, but her right didn't want to follow.

McWilliam stepped around the screen. Power rolled off him. He stood straight with his shoulders level, but there was an ease about his body that gave the appearance of supreme confidence and self-assurance as though he wasn't used to being disobeyed. His gaze raked her body. "I can see no reason for the delay."

"No." She glanced at the door over his shoulder.

"Then come." He turned, obviously fully expecting her follow. Unlocking the bedchamber door, he strode out onto the landing.

Rosa darted forward, slamming the door shut. Her fingers groped for the key but it wasn't in the lock. McWilliam must still have it.

For an instant, her heart stopped beating. She could hear the Scot turning around on the landing, the heels of his worn shoes scrapping against the wooden floorboards as he stared at the closed door. She could almost feel his anger burning through the wood.

She grabbed the heavy chair by the burnt-out fire, dragging it with panic-fueled strength and jammed it under the door handle.

The handle rattled and the door shook as McWilliam swore loudly in Gaelic. She stepped back, biting her bottom lip. This might not have been the best idea. It seemed, when it came to McWilliam, she had trouble thinking her plans through.

She couldn't stay in this room forever. Eventually, the chair would break under the sheer pressure of his assault and she'd be back under McWilliam's command.

"Open the door, Thistle."

"I'm not going with you."

Bang.

"I said, open the door." More swearing.

"What is going on?" came Mistress's Thomas's voice.

Rosa's eyes widened. She'd completely forgotten the buffer.