The Highlander's Thief

Chapter Seventeen

If he had to go for a swim in the freezing loch every time he thought of Rosa or saw Rosa or kissed Rosa or pleasured Rosa, then he might as well become the next loch ness monster. He just could not get her out of his head.

Striding from Rosa's room, leaving her sated and, hopefully, a little calmer, McWilliam tried hard to ignore the bulge in his kilt that was demanding his full attention. Now wasn't the time. Not even when Rosa, her eyes hazy with contentment, had glanced down at his bulge, a look of confusion crossing her beautifully rosy face.

He'd explained to her as quickly as he could, while backing out the room, that he didn't want their first time to be a simple tupping and that he didn't have the time to take it slow when he had a manhunt to supervise, so it was better he leave now while he still had the willpower. But with each passing second the urge to stride back into her chamber and tear the lacing from her stays was becoming almost unbearable.

Taking the stairs two at a time, McWilliam tried to force his thoughts to more serious matters. Like Rodd and telling his sister about Duncan's death. He ground his teeth. How could someone as good as Rosa have come into his life under such abhorrent circumstances? Why couldn't he have met her like normal lovers did? At an assembly room or...God only knew. McWilliam hadn't had much time over the last few years for anything other than his family business. And it wasn't exactly flourishing at the moment, despite the fact theirs was the finest wool in all of Europe, if he did say so himself.

After quickly changing his shirt, he found Fenella in the kitchen. He quickly passed on instructions for the housekeeper to organize the changing of Rosa's bedding and the airing out of her room. She wasn't a prisoner anymore, and it was high time they did something about that broken window. He'd find the money to replace the glass, somehow.

Fenella had the decency to blush when he mentioned Rosa—word of Rodd's involvement in the theft and Duncan's demise obviously hadn't taken long to spread, as usual.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, her eyes watching his face with keen interest.

"We'll need to arrange a funeral for Duncan. He doesn't have any family"—Duncan's parents had passed away many years ago and Duncan had never married—"so it's up to us."

"He was as good as family," Fenella agreed. "I'll see to the preparations personally."

He nodded his thanks. "Could you also organize lunch for the search teams? They've been out for a couple of hours and are probably getting hungry." He was now itching to get back outside himself, but there were still a few things he had to do before he could help look for Rodd and Amelia. "If you pack it up, I'll take it down to the village myself."

"I'm sure they'll be reassured to see you."

He narrowed his eyes, wondering if Fenella was trying to butter him up after their last conversation, when she'd accused Rosa of being the thief and had attempted to seduce her into stealing his mother's wedding ring from his room.

Ignoring his suspicious expression, she patted him on the arm. "Duncan was everyone's friend and so, too, was Rodd. They need to know that you're going to lead them safely through this."

Her words followed him back into the residence tower house and all the way up the stairs.

The storm was already beginning to fade away, leaving behind a courtyard of slush that was impossible to avoid on his way back from the kitchen to the residence tower. He trailed mud inside with him, unable to shake it from his boots.

Perhaps Fenella was right. Duncan's murder must be bringing back memories of his grandfather's era and that was a time nobody wanted to return to.