Ravished by a Highlander (7 page)

“Hendrick,” the Admiral called out to another of his men. “Look inside the chapel. I want body counts, regardless of what
is left of them. The same for the English soldiers scattered here. I want her found.”

He knew he had no right, but Edward prayed to God to keep Davina hidden if she lived.

“Gather our fallen and pile them there. After our search, burn them.”

“Admiral?” another voice to Edward’s right asked uneasily, as if he doubted what he had just heard.

“Shall we announce to all of England that we were here, Maarten?” Gilles answered, the clip of annoyance in his voice halting
any other queries.

Edward had no idea how long he lay there in the dirt and ash dreading a shout that they had found her. He waited with the
stillness of death while the fallen soldiers who had attacked the Abbey this morn were dragged somewhere to his left. He had
just begun to feel the heat from the fire when he heard a man call out over the crackling flames.

“The Abbey is empty from what we can tell, Admiral. No bodies, charred or otherwise.”

“Empty? Twenty-seven women resided here and you found not one?” Silence while something popped in the fire. “They must have
all gone to the chapel. Go and aid Hendrick in his search. If he has found even one, alert me.”

Edward almost opened his eyes. They would find bodies in the chapel, but none of them were Davina. She had been in the Abbey.
He knew it for certain because he had recognized her blue feathered arrow tip clutched in the Highlander’s fist just before
he…

MacGregor.

For the first time since dawn broke, a flicker of hope sparked in Edward’s heart when he remembered the giant warrior. Had
MacGregor saved her? He had not seemed interested in doing so when Edward beseeched him, but he looked fit enough to finish
off what was left of Monmouth’s men and canter off with the prize. Was it possible that his Davina still lived and was safe?
Where would MacGregor have taken her? His belly heaved as the stench of burning flesh and hair filled his lungs. He gritted
his teeth and imagined her smile to keep from retching. She had smiled at him often, those huge, glorious eyes going soft
with affection, melting his very bones. He knew she wasn’t in love with him, but that had never stopped him from loving her
with his whole heart.

Sometime later, Hendrick returned to the courtyard with news of his discovery. There were bodies in the chapel but all were
burned beyond recognition.

“I’ve no interest in what they looked like, Hendrick, you fool, since I’ve never seen the girl. Tell me, how many bodies did
you find?”

“Hard to tell, sir, but Edgar counted six and twenty.”

Edward could almost hear Gilles deducing that somehow Davina had escaped. His heart sank even before the Admiral spoke again.

“Let us finish here. We will search for tracks in the morning.”

How long ago had it been since Edward heard those last words? Ten sickening breaths or fifty? He’d heard them taking to their
mounts and leaving. He was sure of it. Or was it just the thumping of his heart? It didn’t matter. He had to find Davina before
Gilles did. He opened his eyes slowly. One, and then the other, only to close them an instant later, burning and tearing from
the acrid smoke. He allowed himself to cough, and then he retched until every muscle and joint in his body ached. Pushing
himself to his feet, he searched, as best he could, among his fallen men until he found a sword.

He had failed her, but perhaps God was giving him another chance to save her life. He turned toward the gates. He did have
a slight advantage. Gilles and his men would have to wait until morning to find any tracks. Edward didn’t need them—at least
not yet. He knew who had taken her, and Highlanders lived in the north.

Rob woke the next morning to the sound of Will’s cheerful account of the time he and Rob raided the MacPherson holding with
Rob’s younger brother, Tristan, and Connor Grant. It wasn’t a tale fit for a lady’s ears… or a soon-to-be nun’s. He’d nearly
sighed out loud with regret when she told him she was an orphan raised in the convent and not some rich Englishman’s daughter.
Was she truly a novice? Had her life been given over to God?

If it had, she gave no indication of it during Will’s interpretation… so far. She appeared unfazed while she sat with Colin
and Finn, nibbling on the last remaining berries they’d picked the night before.

“We were almost away free wi’ half a dozen cattle when Tristan spotted Brigid MacPherson and her six sisters traipsin’ across
the glen on their way home from their mornin’ bath.”

Finn smiled and Colin swore under his breath, both deducing where the tale was heading and each sharing a very different opinion
on it.

“I suspect,” Will continued, “the MacPherson gels recognized their faither’s livestock, but hell, ye lads know that Tristan
has a way wi’ lasses that makes them ferget, or no’ care aboot anything else.”

“Aye,” said Finn, his voice tinged with veneration. “I vow one smile from Tristan could steal the heart of even the king’s
mistress.”

“’Tis true,” Will laughed, “and the MacPherson lasses were nae different. Why, I swear on m’ sword, it took less than ten
breaths fer Brigid to strip oot o’ her…”

Rob cleared his throat as he rose to his feet and cast Will a warning look. He’d been reckless that day, risking injury to
himself and to his companions for a few hours of physical pleasure. He took no pride in the retelling of it, despite their
victorious raid.

Will answered with a bright grin, bid him good morn, and then turned back to his audience to finish the tale. “We all had…”

“Will, that’s enough,” Rob said more sternly this time. He didn’t want Davina hearing the rest.

He needn’t have bothered, for she was no longer listening. Her gaze was fastened on him as he strode toward her. For an instant,
she looked frightened—as if her breath was caught somewhere between her throat and her lips. Suspecting that she had seldom
seen any half-naked men roaming the Abbey, he tugged on the folds of his plaid draped low on his bare waist and tossed one
end over the shoulder she had bandaged the night before.

She blinked and then raised her gaze higher to meet his and blushed. “How does your arm feel?”

“Better.”

“I prayed for you last night.”

“Ye have my thanks fer that.” He was tempted to smile at her. Hell, how many times had he done the like last night? ’Twas
unsettling to think how easily he lost control over his own mouth when she looked at him. He’d lain awake deciding what it
was about her that attached itself to his heartstrings before he had time to guard against it. She was bonnie, to be sure,
but there were plenty of bonnie lasses at Camlochlin. Mayhap, it was the sweet vulnerability of her, or the spark of life
that, despite the tragedy that had befallen her, had not been extinguished. She looked as if a slight wind could carry her
off, but she would stand, legs braced, and face it first. She was braw. Aye, she was that. Shooting arrows at her enemies
instead of running for her life. Losing everything and everyone and weeping softly as she rested her head for the night instead
of wailing in her grief. He’d gone to sleep thinking that she was the kind of woman he could lose his heart to, and that he
should bring her home.

But he awoke this morning with a clear head. Tristan still bore the scar on his thigh from Donald MacPherson’s arrow when
the chieftain and his sons had come upon them that balmy summer morn. Rob’s lesson that day had been hard learned and not
forgotten. He would give Davina aid, but that was all. He would find a refuge quickly and return to his life. He would never
again let a lass rob him of his good senses and put his kin in jeopardy. Especially a lass who was responsible for the deaths
of over a hundred men.

Which brought him to his other quandary. Why did Monmouth or Argyll want her dead? Will had been correct when he called her
clever. She had avoided his questions by telling them all what anyone half interested in James of York might want to know.
But none of it had anything to do with the massacre at St. Christopher’s. Why would King Charles’s army be guarding a novice?
What else did she know that she had not read in a book? Did the attempt on her life have anything to do with the new king’s
coronation? She refused to tell him anything, but it didn’t matter. He knew all he needed to know. Davina Montgomery was danger
and risk, and Rob was never careless.

“There is an abbey in Ayrshire,” she said, as if reading the deep concern marring his brow. “I will be safe there.”

Rob studied her face in silence. She didn’t want to go there. It wasn’t fear he saw in her eyes that told him, but resignation—as
if she had no other choice but to accept her fate. “Ye said ye would no’ be safe anywhere.”

“I’d forgotten about Courlochcraig. I was not thinking clearly.”

’Twas a solution. He could leave her at the new abbey and keep her enemies away from his kin. “Verra well. We shall escort
ye to Ayrshire then.”

“I would be grateful for that,” she said, rising to her feet. She barely reached his chest but gathered her courage around
her like a mantle. “My life has already cost too much. I will not have it cost you yours.”

“Nor will I.” He turned away from her before he was tempted to ponder the extraordinary beauty of her eyes. Was it the filtered
sunlight streaming through the canopy of summer green leaves that changed their color to deep cerulean? Damnation, he could
find satisfaction gazing into them forever, stripping away all her secrets and…

“Let’s clear up and be gone from here.” He strode to his horse, pulled a fresh tunic from his saddlebag and tugged it over
his head. He disappeared behind a tree to empty his bladder, then thought better of it. He had to assume they might be followed
by any soldiers who had survived the attack on the Abbey and mayhap saw him riding off with Davina. A good tracker would spot—or
smell—whatever they were careless enough to leave behind.

Peering around the tree, he watched Davina share a word with Finn while they saddled the horses. She possessed no airs of
superiority, the way a noble lady might. She spoke softly and seemed to be even-tempered, save for when she’d tried to kill
him with his own dagger. She’d prayed for him…. He studied the heavy robes concealing much of her form and found himself wondering
what she looked like underneath. She was thin, that much he could tell. The coarse wool hung off her slender shoulders in
folds and bunched at her waist, barely defined by the rope she had belted there. She needed to eat something besides berries,
but there was no time to hunt. He prayed they were not being followed. “If we ride hard,” he told them all, stepping out from
behind the tree, “we can reach Ayrshire in a few hours.”

“Ride hard?” The lass turned to him, her eyes round with dread.

“Are ye sore?” he asked her, noting her hand slipping behind her to give her upper thighs a rub.

“I will be fine.” She offered him a quick smile then turned away.

Rob stared after her for another moment, cursing the effect her most casual smile had on him.

“We’ll need to cover our tracks from here on in,” he called out to the others. “We didna’ stop here. Will, ye and Colin haul
that fallen branch atop the embers. Finn, toss some twigs around the place.” His eyes found Davina’s again. “Movin’ aboot
will help ease yer soreness. Scout fer horse waste and cover whatever ye find with leaves.”

Her nose crinkled at him before she turned away to her task. This time, he couldn’t help smiling.

I
t took Davina nearly an hour before she relaxed on Rob’s stallion. She hadn’t realized her fingernails were embedded into
the Highlander’s wrist, or that her eyes were squeezed shut as they traveled northwest along pebbly streams and dewy glens
scented with heather. She had never been on a horse before. Where was there to go? The size of the beast, the girth, the sudden
snorts she was certain were warnings that the behemoth steed was about to fling them off its back… were completely new and
terrifying to her. She suspected she’d been too numb yesterday to fully appreciate the force of wind that the mount’s slim,
bony legs produced.

But Davina had learned well how to hold back her fears, lest they consume her, so after an hour, she forced herself to loosen
her grip and open her eyes.

What she saw enthralled her. All around her the world burst forth in radiant colors of crimson and green and purple—a world
she had never seen before. How many times had she lost herself to her daydreams, imagining a different life? One without gates,
with a mother and father who welcomed her into their lives, a husband and children who made her life vital for other, purer
reasons. A life without fear of what tomorrow might bring. If only she could abandon herself to the joy of feeling free as
easily as she defied her fears. She might take rest against the broad, fit chest behind her and bask in the wind in her hair
and the sun on her face. But her whole life was built around warnings and danger. She could not so carelessly cast her lessons
away. Not even nestled in the embrace of a man whose body would haunt her dreams for years to come. By all that was holy,
she understood now why Eve had given in to temptation in the Garden. Davina knew Rob MacGregor was hard and lean from touching
him last eve, but seeing all that male striding toward her in the light of morn sparked a longing of wanting to belong to
him. It was what the Abbess called “a base desire,” primitive, unholy. Rob MacGregor was unholy for certain, with a sinewy,
broad chest feathered with dark hair and a belly carved in small, tight squares. The most sinful of all though was the sensual
V curve of muscles below his abdomen, as if they sprang from someplace beneath his low-hanging plaid. It was that image that
had invaded her thoughts when he lifted her into his newly padded saddle this morn and then leaped up behind her. His scent
had rushed to her head, intensifying the warmth of his muscles, the intimacy of his arms closing around her.