A Forbidden Night with a Scot (Sins in a Kilt #1)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

H e didn’t feel the pain. He was too exhilarated to feel anything but joy and delight at his victory. The crowd was nearly manic at his win, and Owen Sinclair was loving it. It gave him such a thrill, he was more than ecstatic. In fact, he had never felt anything like it in his life. As he breathlessly took in the room, he realized how much he was going to miss all of this, but a promise was a promise, and he could not go back on it now.

Pushing through the excited men, he headed towards Daire, who was hard to miss, given he was nearly a foot taller than all those there. His striking white blonde hair and Viking-like features also made him stand out in a crowd.

Daire grinned broadly and flung his arms around Owen once he managed to reach him. “Well done, me friend,” he yelled. “Ye fought well.”

Owen beamed back. “Thank ye. It felt great.”

“Aye, well, I’m nae sure yer face would agree with ye. That eye will look like a pig’s ear in the morning.”

“I dinnae care,” Owen panted. “Right now, I cannae feel a thing.”

They were interrupted when another man approached holding a large leather purse. Handing it to Owen, he said, “Yer winnings, Mask.”

It was a name he had been given by all those who had watched his many fights so far, and if Owen was honest, he kind of liked it. It was mysterious and only added to the persona of his character. He hadn’t imagined, when he first donned the mask, that it would become such a feature of his fight, but it had been necessary. No one could know who he was. No one.

“This is great,” Owen exclaimed, grabbing the heavy bag. “What a win.”

Daire raised an eyebrow and gave him a stern look. “Ye promised,” he said.

“Aye, I ken,” Owen relented. “Me last fight.”

“Yer last fight?” the man balked. “But why? Look at the crowds.” He flung an arm out at the gathered men, who were now trying to make their way to the bar. “These fellas would pay tae see ye fight every week!”

Owen looked the man squarely in the eye, and though he didn’t really feel his words, he said them anyway. “Me last fight,” he said, lifting up the purse.

The man looked crestfallen, but Owen shrugged and then walked past him, closely followed by Daire. They were carried along by the throng of men until eventually, they made it out of the room and headed to the bar.

Daire ordered two tankards of ale and Owen dropped himself onto a stool, relieved to be able to rest and get his breath back.

“Here,” he said, handing Daire the heavy purse. “I’ll let ye keep hold o’ that.”

“Why?” Daire smirked. “Are ye too exhausted tae lift it?”

Owen chuckled, shook his head, and took a long draw of his ale. It felt cool and refreshing on his dry throat and, in a matter of minutes, the men ordered another.

“So, dae ye have a plan?” Owen asked.

Daire gave him a steady look. “I’m working on it. I told ye last week, when I found ye at that fight, that I would help ye, Owen. I’ll nae be the man who has tae report tae Madigan that his son was killed in a fight. It was only that ye had this fight already organized that I let yer carry on tonight.”

Owen sighed. “I dinnae have much time, Daire. If I dinnae get this money soon, I’m a dead man.”

“Aye, I ken that. But if ye carry on the way ye’re going, ye’ll be a dead man anyway. Ye’re winning now, but what if one day, ye dinnae? What if, one day, ye’re hit with a fatal blow? What then?”

“Och, that’ll never happen.”

“Dinnae be so cocky. It’s happened tae better men than ye. Besides, ye promised. Tonight was the last fight.”

“I ken, I ken,” Owen moaned. “But I got mesel’ intae this mess. It’s up tae me tae get out o’ it.”

“Nae by putting yer life at risk.”

“I think it’s a bit late fer that,” Owen quipped back.

“Aye, well,” Daire sighed. “Ye will go getting involved in matters ye ken little about.”

“She was in trouble. What was I supposed tae dae? Leave her?” Owen argued.

Daire nodded knowingly. “I ken ye thought ye were doing the right thing, Owen, but now ye have a gang of men after ye fer a great sum o’ money. Did it nae occur tae ye that they’d kill ye if ye couldnae produce it?”

Of course, it had. But he hadn’t thought about that at the time. He was more concerned about the lass’s welfare. On a scouting mission for his father, he had come upon a group of unsavory men in a tavern beyond his own clan lands. At first, he had not understood why they were unsavory, he had just felt it in his gut.

It was only later, when he had been speaking to them for a while, trying to find some information for his mission, that he had truly discovered the depth of their depravity. With many drinks, their lips loosened, and they let slip that they were able to get him a lass if he was interested. Owen could not have known their true meaning, until later, when he discovered these men stole young girls from their homes and sold them to the highest bidder.

Though he had tried to discover where they kept her, they were very tight-lipped on that subject, and in the end, he just agreed to buy her from them. He had promised them his entire savings, but in his heart, he had had no intention of paying. It was only later, he discovered how ruthless this gang really was, and he had been hunted by them ever since. He could have asked his father for help, for he was Laird Madigan Sinclair, after all, and the clan had more than enough coin to pay the men off. But Owen had not wanted to involve him, or use the clan’s wealth. This was his mess and he had to clean it up.

In a tavern a month ago, he had heard whisperings of these secret fights, and engaging the men who had spoken about it, Owen had managed to infiltrate the arrangements. The mask had been for his own protection. For a start, there were dangerous men hunting him, but more importantly, he had not wanted his father to discover what he was doing. People knew him as the heir to Clan Sinclair. It would only take one whisper to travel back to the castle, and his father would put an immediate stop to it all.

But last week, his plan had failed in a big way. Daire Robertson, his father’s best friend and confidant, had arrived at the same tavern, and watching the fight, he had recognized Owen immediately, even with the mask. Afterward, he had furiously pulled him aside.

Owen had then been forced to confess the reason he was battling random men in secret fights in private rooms, expecting Daire to understand. And he did, in a way. He just refused to accept that what Owen was doing was the only solution.

Owen had felt dejected when Daire made him promise he would stop, for inasmuch as the fighting was tough, he had discovered he was rather good at it. That ought to have come as no surprise. He was one of the best warriors in Clan Sinclair. He was also one of the best scouts. That was likely the reason he had not yet been caught by these men. He had other scouts across the glen reporting back to him. He had instructed them to keep him informed if any strangers inquired about his whereabouts.

There had been a few reports already, and upon discovering where they had come from, Owen had gone there himself to check. On two of those occasions, he had discovered that the men who were going to kill him, had indeed, been present in the villages. It had been the only way he had been able to get ahead of them. His only saving grace was the fact that they did not know who he was, for he was certain, they would have arrived at the castle directly if they did.

And now, his last fight was over. Daire had come to the tavern to make sure of it. Even the large bag of coins did not make him feel fully satisfied. Of course, it was going to help with the money he owed. He had already gathered quite a bit of coin from the fights he had won, but he was still going to miss it.

“Ye’re pouting,” Daire said, bringing Owen out of his thoughts.

“I am nae,” he retorted.

Daire grinned. “Ye are, too. It’s obvious tae anyone with eyes that these fights are nae just about the money, Owen. Ye enjoy them.”

Owen smiled and shrugged. “I’m nae going tae deny it. They’re exhilarating.”

“Aye, I can see that.” Daire smirked. “So going forward, I’m nae letting ye out o’ me sight. I’ll nae have ye sneaking off and putting yersel’ in any more danger.”

“Ye sound like me maither,” Owen chuckled.

Absently, his hand wandered up to the crystal that hung around his neck. It was not a gift from his mother. His mother had been murdered some time ago, an ever-present wound to his heart, even though a few years had passed. The man who had killed her was dead and gone, but the pain still remained.

In strange circumstances, his father had married again. His wife, Eden, had actually been betrothed to Owen, but Eden and Madigan had fallen in love, and given it had been an arranged betrothal, Owen had gladly stepped aside and was now pleased that his father had found love and happiness once more.

The necklace he now played with had been a gift from his stepmother. A strong woman endowed with gifts from birth, she was aware of many others with such gifts, and while most people used them for good, she had warned him there were others who did not.

When she had tied it around his neck, she had smiled and said, “This will protect ye, Owen. Always wear it, fer then, naeone can use their powers on ye.”

“Even ye?” Owen had joked.

She had smiled up at him. “Even me.”

“So, I can lie tae ye all I like now, and ye’ll never ken,” he had quipped back jokingly.

Eden had raised her eyebrows and given him a knowing look. “I dinnae need me powers tae ken when ye are lying tae me, Owen. I can see it in yer eyes.”

Owen had laughed and then wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug. “Thank ye. I promise, I will never tak’ it off.”

“Good.”

Eden had given Madigan a piece of the same crystal, as well as her father. She wanted the men closest to her to be protected, and her kindness had made Owen feel more than special. She was a good lass, and he was grateful that his father had met such a woman to love him.

The innkeeper had just placed another two tankards in front of himself and Daire, when Owen sensed someone approaching from his left. Turning to look, he noticed the beautiful woman he had saved from being crushed earlier.

“Ye made it out o’ there safely, I see,” he said with a grin.

“I did.” She smiled, the action lighting up her ocean green eyes, and making her even more alluring. “I thought I ought tae come over and thank ye.” She then turned to Daire with a smile. “Nice tae meet ye, too. I see that ye need tae go tae the innkeeper and get yersel’ another drink.”

Daire blinked and then stood. “Aye. I dae, ye are right.”

Before Owen had a chance to protest, for two full tankards stood on the bar beside them, Daire had moved past him and headed away down the bar.

The woman sat on the stool Daire had just vacated, and placing her hand on his, she gazed into his eyes. “I must also congratulate ye on yer win. Ye fought very well.”

“Thank ye,” Owen replied, still wondering what had just happened.

“Ye are very strong,” the woman continued. “I’m sure ye are a great warrior.”

“I’ve had me moments,” Owen replied, smiling as he enjoyed her attention. She truly was a stunningly beautiful woman. Not that he had any problems attracting attention from the lasses, but he could not compare any others to the beauty this woman possessed. “May I ask yer name?”

“I’m Soirsche,” she replied. “And now, ye must tell me yer name.”

“Me name is…” Owen hesitated. “They call me Mask.”

A strange look of excitement flickered across her face, which was the second unusual thing that had happened in less than five minutes.

“Aye,” she smiled, “I can see why. Dae ye ever take it off? I mean, dae ye wear it fer everything ye dae?”

Her flirtatious question was brazen, and yet, Owen couldn’t help feeling aroused by it. Nor could he help but wonder what this lass was like beneath her cloak, what those full lips would feel like on his, what her body might feel like beneath his hands.

“That depends,” he growled.

She smiled seductively and then stood up slowly. “Ye must excuse me. It’s very warm and crowded in here.” She fanned her face with a slender hand. “I’d like tae go out fer some fresh air.”

“Then I’ll join ye,” Owen said. “A lass shouldnae be wandering about at night on her own.” As he stood, excitement grew in his gut, for he was certain her obvious invitation involved far more than fresh air.

Pushing through the crowd, he followed her through the main door until they were both outside, but Iseabail did not stop there. She walked around the side of the tavern, where it was far quieter and more private.

Eventually, she came to a stop beside the wall, and taking his hand, she pulled him in closer. “I would like tae ken what ye look like. Will ye nae take the mask off fer me?” she breathed.

Owen shook his head, pulled the mask just above his mouth, and then leaned in and kissed her. She tasted sweet, and her lips were as soft as he imagined they would be. His hand roved beneath the cloak, finding the fine cloth of her blouse, and her firm bosom beneath it. Softly, he brushed his fingers across her hardening nipple, causing her to gasp.

He could feel her hands moving up his chest. They were roving about, but not in any way he had experienced before. In fact, as he continued to kiss her, he was certain she was reaching for something. As her fingers travelled further and further, he realized what she was after. His necklace.

Just as her fingers wrapped around it, Owen reached for his dirk, and in a swift movement, he stepped back from her, spun her around until her back slammed against his chest, and pressed the cold blade against her throat.

Soirsche gasped.

“Tell me who ye really are and what ye really want?” he growled.

“I dinnae ken what ye mean,” she cried, clearly terrified.

“Ye ken exactly what I mean,” he spat. “How did ye get me friend tae go and get another drink when he had one right there beside him?”

Just as she was about to reply, Owen heard the sound of crunching stones, and turning, he saw Daire rounding the corner.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” he spat.

The lass struggled to get away, but Owen held her fast against him, the dirk pressing deeply into the soft flesh of her neck.

“Stop struggling, or I swear, I’ll slit yer throat,” he hissed. Turning to Daire, he continued. “We’re going tae the castle immediately.”

“What?” Soirsche cried, her eyes flying wide open. “But why?”

Bending his face close to hers, he whispered, “Because ye were silly enough tae try and steal from the laird’s son, Soirsche. If that is even yer real name. Yer seduction very nearly worked. But now, the dungeons are awaiting ye.”