Ravished By A Highlander Part 10

Then he let her go.

His release was so sudden that it left Davina reaching for him with one hand and holding her heart with the other. As if letting her go pained him as much as it did her, he clutched her fingers grasping at his plaid and held them to his mouth.

"Fergive me," his voice broke on a ragged, remorseful breath. "I fear I canna' resist ye, even knowin' ye belong to G.o.d."

She watched his lips while he spoke, enraptured by their sensuous contours, remembering how they felt pressed so tenderly against hers, how he tasted of berries and checked desire. Always so in control. She had begun to fear that he didn't like her, but it was G.o.d he was worried about. She wanted to tell him the whole truth of it, but not now. She might tell him later and pray he would not turn her away. Now though, she wanted him to kiss her again.

She pulled him down slowly, knowing by his own words that he couldn't resist her. He was the first man in her life who couldn't. Even her father had stayed away.

Shyly at first, she tested the supple surrender of his mouth, dragging her lips over his, inhaling the hot sweetness of his breath. He groaned as if she'd caused him pain, and then closed his arms around her, pressing her to all his hard angles. She opened her mouth to his, clutching his plaid in both hands as he crushed her in his arms. She felt his tongue against her teeth, soft, thrilling, probing while the scent of him, the size of him enveloped her like smoke. She wanted to take refuge in it, to hide away in the shelter of his embrace, to feel wanted as she did right now for the rest of her life. But her life was not her own and too many warnings were going off in her head, though now they had nothing to do with her enemies.

"No." She fisted her hands at his chest and pushed off him. "We mustn't."

This time, he did not ask her forgiveness but stared at her, his breath short and heavy and his eyes burning into her like gleaming steel.

She looked away, closing her arms around herself in a futile attempt to drive out the cold longing she let invade her. "It will be dark soon. We should be getting back to the others."

"Aye." His voice was low and rough as he flicked his reins and turned his mount around.

They rode back in silence. Davina tried to concentrate on the sounds of life teeming around her, rather than on the truth that her life had not changed at all. Edward was correct, she was still James VII's daughter. There was no place for love in her future. If her enemies didn't find her, a marriage would be arranged for her, either to G.o.d, or one that best served the kingdom. She would never have a true family and while her heart longed for one, she had prepared herself for the lonely years ahead. She wished Rob had left her at Courlochcraig, when her heart was still guarded, her expectations, realistic. Now, after days of being held in the indomitable power of his embrace, after knowing the pa.s.sion of his kiss, the thought of him leaving her left her trembling with a fear far greater than for her safety... or for his.

Peter Gilles tugged at the tips of his gloved fingers before pulling his hands free. The b.i.t.c.h was a wildcat, he thought, striding across the courtyard of Courlochcraig Abbey. He lifted his fingers to his face and winced at the stinging marks the Abbess had left there while he was strangling her. She'd fought hard and clung to her silence, even at the threat of death. Not that he would have left her or any of her novices alive after they'd seen him. They all had to die, but the rest he left to his men. Killing the Abbess was satisfying enough.

He would have liked to have taken a little more time with her. He enjoyed breaking courageous, spitfire women, but he'd grown impatient-one of his many faults to which he freely admitted. In the end though, her death served his purpose-as death usually did. Upon seeing her holy mother gasp her last breath, a rather striking young novice screamed what he wanted to know. A traveling novice called Davina had arrived at Courlochcraig, but she hadn't arrived alone.

Reaching the front gate, Gilles mounted his horse and scowled at the quiet Abbey. He hated Highlanders, and according to the fair Sister Elaine, their guest was escorted by four of them-and an English captain who had arrived later and needed healers. The captain couldn't be Asher, as Gilles had seen him dead. If he wasn't dead, he soon would be. The Highlanders could prove to be a more taxing nuisance, though. What Gilles knew of them from his years at Dutch court was that they fought with purpose and pa.s.sion, mainly for their religious beliefs. Zealots. The Admiral spat onto the ground. There was nothing worse.

He tapped his boot against his mount's flank. How long did it take to kill a few women? They were losing precious time. If all went as planned, the exiled Earl of Argyll should have landed his s.h.i.+ps in the west of Scotland by now to secure support. Monmouth would be arriving in England soon after that to p.r.o.nounce himself king. Gilles didn't think the duke would make a satisfactory leader, but really, what concern was it of his? He only had to make certain there was no one else left to claim the throne after he killed Monmouth and Argyll and made the way for the true king.

Elaine had said the Highlanders were from the clan MacGregor, but she knew nothing more about them or where they were heading when they left. Their tracks were probably gone by now, but at least he knew which direction to take, that is, if they could get the h.e.l.l out of Ayr.

"Maarten!" he shouted toward the Abbey. Clicking his tongue, his glare grew blacker at the silence around him. He was about to ride through the Abbey doors and finish the nuns himself when his captain exited, followed by the rest of his men.

"What was the holdup?" he asked when Maarten reached him.

The captain looked up, but only for a moment, then pulled his sickened gaze away and dropped his bloodstained dagger to the ground. "Nothing. It is done."

"Good. Now let us be off. With any luck, Edgar and his party are on the lady's trail and have left us markers. We-"

"Not unless the lady has drowned in the river we crossed getting here," Hendrick informed him, reaching for his reins. "One of the sisters took great pleasure in telling me that the Highlanders killed our men and dumped them in the river. The leader, she said, slew six on his own."

Gilles's face contorted with rage and beneath him, his mount pranced backward at the viselike grip of its rider's thighs. "So, James's daughter has a champion. I'll make certain to kill her while he watches."

Maarten watched his Admiral wheel his horse around and thunder away from the front gate. "De Duivel," he whispered to himself, horrified by what he and the others had just done... again. "Perhaps G.o.d has finally sent a warrior to deliver us all to h.e.l.l, where we belong."

Chapter Sixteen.

Davina knew something was amiss just before they reached the tree line. It was too quiet. The sun was not yet down, so the men could not be asleep. She turned nervously to Rob and found him studying the campsite and slowing his mount to a silent halt.

He held his finger to his lips to quiet her while he peered through the thin tree trunks.

A moment later Davina heard the roar of hooves pounding the bank from the north. An army! Her heart nearly fainted in her chest. Where was Finn... Colin? She clutched at Rob's plaid to keep herself from calling out to them. Somewhere to her left a bird whistled softly, seemingly unfazed by the oncoming intruders. When Rob whistled back, her heart slowed, knowing who the bird was. She was still afraid to look at who was coming though. What if it was Gilles's men, or Argyll's? They'd found her before.

"Forgive me," she whispered, looking at Rob instead of over her shoulder at the approaching riders.

"Fer what, la.s.s?" he asked just as quietly.

"For putting your life and the lives of the others in danger. I fear it will not stop."

Her name, falling so softly from his lips, set her pulse racing all over again. He brought his fingers to her face and traced the contour of her cheek. "Nae matter who comes, I'm no' goin' anywhere."

"But if you're hurt... or killed-"

He smiled directly at her and dipped his face closer to hers. "Trust me." His breath fell softly on her lips. "Ye have nothin' to fear."

Confidence, forged generations ago, lit his eyes like fiery kilns, igniting her faith in him. Allowing herself to give in to it, she exhaled the breath trapped in her lungs and nodded.

"Connor!"

She and Rob turned at the same time to see Finn charge through the trees on foot. "'Tis Connor! Connor!" he called out again, waving his arms at the riders.

"Dinna' move from here," Rob warned her and slipped from his saddle. His pulled his claymore from its sheath and held it at his side while he strode into the clearing.

Davina wanted to call out to him but covered her mouth with her hand instead. He knew what he was doing. He wouldn't die. With that thought firmly in her mind, she finally turned her eyes on the army. It was not as large as she feared, and the men were donned in the same deep red and white military attire as Edward.

Finn reached the soldiers first, tearing off his cap and waving it over his head. "Brother, 'tis me, Finn!"

The lead rider slowed his mount and leaped off before it came to a complete halt. He held up his hand to stop his men as he charged toward Finn, his smile wide and his sun-streaked hair peeking out from beneath a wide-brimmed hat c.o.c.ked up on one side.

"Connor, what the h.e.l.l are ye doin' here?" Rob threw down his sword and embraced the tall captain next.

"My men and I were sent to Glencoe last month to quell a small uprising between the MacDonalds and the Campbells. We are on our way back to England fer the coronation."

"Ye're a bit late," Rob pointed out.

"Aye," the other admitted with a dimpled smile as languid as his voice. "When I heard that most of the Highland chiefs were attending, I delayed my departure." He angled his head around Rob's shoulder and looked directly to where Davina was still hiding. "Is yer family with ye?"

Rob laughed and shook his head. "Nae, Mairi is in England."

"Then I am not late enough."

Everyone on Rob's side was smiling, save for Colin, whose scowl had grown blacker than Rob's on his angriest day. Still, it looked safe enough to Davina to dismount and join them.

Captain Connor Grant's wry grin deepened into something so nakedly male, so innately seductive, it near stopped her in her tracks.

"Yers?" he asked Rob without taking his eyes off her.

"Nae, she-"

"Davina," Finn plucked his cap from the ground, fit it back over his tousled hair, and raced to her side. "'Tis my brother, Captain Connor Grant."

Connor stepped around Rob and sauntered toward her. He moved with absolute power and the lithe, leisurely grace of a lion, confident in his prowess to catch his prey if it fled. Davina resisted the urge to step back and sized him up as boldly as he did her.

He wore the same military style short coat as Edward, but Connor's was crisper, silver b.u.t.tons polished against scarlet, and fitting more snugly over a trim waist and shoulders almost as wide as Rob's. Like Finn's, his hair, when he removed his hat to greet her, was absent of any curl, cut slightly shorter and streaked in bold shades of flaxen and honey. But that was where the resemblance ended. His nose was sharper, his startling blue eyes shaded by more experience, and his smile, accented with a deep, roguish dimple on each side, banished any trace of innocence.

He reached for her hand and then flicked his gaze to Edward when the other captain stepped forward and introduced himself.

"May I also present Davina Montgomery, who is in my care," Edward added and dropped his gaze to Connor's fingers wrapped around hers.

"In yer care?" Connor asked skeptically, swinging his glance to Rob.

"We found her at St. Christopher's Abbey just ootside Dumfries," Rob said, shoving Edward out of his way.

"They were burning it down," Finn added, getting in on the conversation. "When we arrived, there was little left, and then Rob got sh-"

"Who was burning it down?" Connor dropped Davina's hand and gave his full attention to Rob.

"The Dutch," Rob told him soberly, "We are no' certain whose orders they were followin', the Duke of Monmouth or the Earl of Argyll. They killed the sisters, and Asher's regime of men."

Connor's jaw went taut and when he looked at Edward again, sorrow and rage vied for dominance over his features. "What were yer men doing at the Abbey?"

When Edward didn't answer him right away, he settled his gaze back on Davina, but she looked away. She wasn't about to tell him anything. Captain Grant might be her cousin, but she knew firsthand that in n.o.ble courts, family sometimes meant very little.

"Connor." Rob pulled the captain's attention back to him. "'Tis gettin' dark. Make camp here tonight and I will tell ye what we know."

"Aye, my men could use the rest," Connor agreed, "We'll leave at first light. If the Dutch have arrived in England and have killed our soldiers, I must inform the king."

Davina bit her lip, worried what Rob might tell him, and then remembered that he didn't know much.

"So, ye are certain that the men who attacked the Abbey were Dutch?" Connor walked along the moonlit bank with Rob at his side. They did not venture far from the camp, but stayed well enough away so that the others could not hear them. "Did ye see them?"

"Aye, I saw what was left of them. I didna' know who they were until the la.s.s told me."

"Could she have been mistaken?"

Rob shrugged his shoulders. He hadn't considered that she had. "Could Asher?"

Connor looked back at the camp and at the dark-haired captain watching them from his place by the fire.

"Accordin' to him," Rob continued, "the men were led by Admiral Peter Gilles."

"Gilles?" Connor's attention snapped back to Rob.

"Aye. D'ye know him?"

"I know of him. Satan's b.l.o.o.d.y a.r.s.e, Rob," Connor said, raking his hand though his hair. "This does not bode well for the king. Though Gilles is the Duke of Monmouth's man, 'tis rumored that he has affiliations with William of Orange."

Rob thought about the implications while they walked. "So," he said after a moment, "the king may have enemies more powerful than he suspects."

"Aye, he may," Connor said thickly. "After Monmouth was exiled, Prince William staunchly denied any affiliation with him, or with Argyll, Gilles, or any of the Exclusionists who opposed a Catholic succession. Though my uncle did swear to having seen the Prince with Monmouth and Gilles when he was in Holland, William is James's son-in-law and with no other proof against him, remains in good standing with the new king."

"I understand why William would plan a rebellion against the king," Rob said, knowing firsthand now why England's politics were important to his clan. "With James gone, the prince's wife, Mary Stuart, is next in line fer the throne. But what will Monmouth benefit from such treason?"

"The Duke of Monmouth is Charles II's illegitimate son."

Rob stopped and looked at him. It made nae sense. If Monmouth deposed the king, Mary Stuart would claim the throne as James's firstborn legitimate daughter. Why would William give his support to a man who vied for his wife's succession? And why, after all Davina had told them about the new king and his policies, hadn't she told him that Monmouth claimed t.i.tles.h.i.+p to the throne?

"Supporters of a Protestant succession, including the Prince of Orange, rallied fer Monmouth to be named Charles's heir before the Exclusion Bill," Connor told him. "King Charles came very close to legitimizing Monmouth on a number of different occasions, but he never did."

What did any of this have to do with Davina?

"'Twas James who was formally acknowledged and Monmouth spoke severely against him in the House of Lords," Connor continued. "When Charles began hanging some of the duke's supporters, Monmouth fled to Holland with the already exiled Argyll. 'Tis been rumored that he returned a few months ago, but we did not know with any certainty."

"So Monmouth hates James fer religious-and more personal-reasons. Why no' strike James?" Rob asked. He hadn't tried to figure any of it out before. He hadn't cared, but now, feeling as if he was on the threshold of learning Davina's secrets, he did.

"Aye," Connor agreed. "And why an abbey full of nuns?"

"'Twas Davina they had come fer," Rob told him truthfully. Connor may have given his allegiance to his king, but he would die before betraying the MacGregors.

Connor looked at him, then over his shoulder again at the campsite. "Why her?"

"She will no' tell me why. No' the truth anyway." Rob's eyes found Davina when she laughed at something Finn said. "Nor will Asher." His eyes hardened when they settled on Davina's captain among the men. "He is in love with her."

"Are ye?"

Rob flicked his gaze to his friend. "She is a novice of the Order."

"Come now, Rob. She is obviously more than that," Connor pointed out dryly. "What has she told ye?"

"No' much, save that she is an orphan. Her parents were n.o.bles from Whithorn. She refuses to tell me any more."

Connor smiled and shook his head at him. "Mayhap she hasn't given ye answers because it's obvious ye don't really want them."

"Ye're right. I dinna' care," Rob said in a low, warning tone. "I'm no' goin' to let her die."

"Well, I don't believe her family is from Whithorn," Connor said, watching her loop her arm through Finn's. "'Twould seem she is more than a baron's daughter."

Rob sighed, giving in to his own curiosity. He didn't believe it either. He knew in his heart that she was someone very important to the kingdom, but he didn't want to know any more than that. He didn't want a sound reason why he shouldn't... couldn't bring her home.

"She could be Monmouth's sister," Connor ventured out loud. "King Charles was known to have fathered many b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. She is beautiful enough to be a Stuart." Connor's voice went soft as the firelight made Davina's hair s.h.i.+mmer like misty clouds around a full moon. "Of course, then," he added uneasily, "that would make her my cousin."