Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (4 page)

Thank goodness Donna was cheering up, no longer as frightened. Kirstin could really only deal with her own fears and worries at the moment, as uncharitable as that was. She’d just run smack into a nightmare from her past. Aye, losing her parents and sister in the attack had been harsh, but she and her sister had since been reunited. The guilt at being the cause of her cousin’s disappearance, too, weighed heavily on her.

But, Gregor had taken so much more from her.

For a brief moment, Kirstin’s hand came to her belly, rubbing where a life could have been before she jerked it away.

They trotted down the road, two nuns surrounded by five Warriors of God and a dozen additional Highland warriors. Within the next few minutes, they’d be at Melrose Abbey, safe behind the stone walls.

Why then, did Kirstin feel so rattled? So
unsafe
?

’Twas nothing physical. Nay, she feared not for harm to her body, but what her mind was already doing, twisting and winding its way around her fortifications, like a snake trying to squeeze the breath from her, or her senses. Trying to erase the pain she felt, she grabbed hold of the good feelings of the past, the ones she wanted to repeat, but ultimately could not.

Gregor’s fault.

If she’d not come upon him now, she would never have considered…

Considered what?

Returning to a life of sin? She couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

It wouldn’t be a sin if they had married… Exactly what she’d thought would have happened. But he never asked. He used her and then discarded her.

And how dare he look so keen to see her? So full of emotion she could barely breathe at the look of him?

Oh, for the love of all that was holy! Why, oh why, did her mind play such games with her?

Gregor had only ever cared about one thing, and it hadn’t been to make a life with her. That was not a life she wanted to lead.

When they reached the abbey, before she spoke with the Abbot about his summons, Kirstin would go straight to confession. She would pray. She would accept her penance. Ask for guidance. Beg for direction. Plead for strength. For she needed it, because in just the few precious moments of their reconciliation, she’d been willing to forgo the past in search of a future.

She would shore up her firm decision to never, ever, ever, let her heart be deceived again. Not by any man, and especially not by Gregor Buchanan.

Chapter Five

Though he sat on his horse tall, his face void of emotion, Gregor was solidly shaken.

Kay—nay,
Kirstin
—was alive, well and sitting a horse just behind him.

In a nun’s habit.

If someone had told him that the feisty, sensual woman he’d loved more than life itself had been a nun, he’d have laughed them all the way to hell. Was he damned for loving her? For the things they did together? Beautiful, sinful things.

Had he somehow entered an alternate universe? Where the hell had she been? She’d not been at Melrose this whole time. He’d have found her. He’d searched months for her. Still looked for her when he traveled to Eilean Donan, crossed a loch or passed a fairy glen.

She’d simply vanished, and yet, here she was.

Right behind him.

Not six feet away. Alive. Full of life. Just as feisty even covered in her gray wool nun’s gown.

The blood running through his veins grew cold. He didn’t know whether to be relieved, grateful, to leap from his horse and kiss the ground then raise his hands to the sky and thank the divine she was still alive, or to rage at her for simply walking out of his life, no matter what untruths he’d spewed the night he pushed her away.

Samuel cleared his throat expectantly beside Gregor, obviously wanting an explanation that Gregor wasn’t ready or willing to give.

Samuel had not been with them when Kay had been at the castle. He wasn’t even certain Catriona would remember. She’d been a young girl then, spending most of her days with her tutors and the other young girls of the clan, practicing how to run a castle, and not keeping tabs on him as she did now.

They cleared the trees, the heath opening out before them and the bell tower of Melrose within full view. The sun had fully risen, not a cloud in sight. The mist had melted away leaving a dew that glistened on the grass like diamonds. Like the sparks of light that would shine in Kirstin’s eyes when candle flames lit a room.

Behind them he could hear Kirstin and her companion draw in a breath. Was this her first time seeing it? The abbey was something beautiful to behold. Bigger than most and the windows elegantly carved. He’d seen it many times before, but never had he tried to look at it through the eyes of another.

Doing so made him angry.

And there was the kicker, he
was
angry.

He might have pushed her away, but she didn’t have to disappear like that, simply vanish, making him fear for her life.

How many nights of sleep had he lost over the past nine years? Last night included?

By the time they reached the wooden gates, Gregor was ready to rip her from her horse and demand answers. His muscles were clenched, veins at his temples throbbing. Unable to speak, he simply nodded to Samuel, asking him to take the lead.

Without question, though his eyes were filled with plenty, Samuel dismounted, disarmed and knocked on the doors. A moment later a small square opening was pulled back and the slim, aged face of an elder nun appeared.

“Sister,” Samuel started. “I am Sir Samuel de Mowbray, loyal to the Scottish crown, brother-by-marriage to three of your countrymen, Laird Gregor Buchanan, the Earl of Sutherland and Lord Blane Sutherland. We have been summoned by the Bruce. Along our way, we found two of your sisters accompanied by Warriors of God.”

The woman’s eyes shifted, taking in each member of the group.

“Where is the laird?” she asked, her voice brittle with age.

The abbey was certainly trusting to have such a frail creature manning the gate.

Gregor dismounted and approached, finally able to move without fear of pulling Kirstin from her horse, though the urge was still strong. “Sister, I am Laird Gregor Buchanan. The Bruce is expecting us.”

She nodded. “Ye know the rules. Leave your weapons.”

Gregor disarmed, adding his weapons to the pile Samuel had already created. “My men will wait outside, save for Sir Samuel. He comes with me.”

“Them, too,” the nun nodded in the direction of the warriors flanking Kirstin and her companion.

The one who seemed to be in charge, who’d argued with Gregor before, quickly dismounted and joined him at the gate.

The warrior looked the nun right in the eyes and said, “Sister, I am Sir John of Dunkeld. Our weapons come with us. We have vowed to protect those who protect our souls. Our vows were given and blessed in the name of the Lord in the Lord’s house. To be without them is to not be able to honor our vows.”

The older nun frowned, pursing her wrinkled lips. “I need to check with the abbess.”

“We know the abbot is here. Check with him,” the warrior said.

Gregor raised a brow in Samuel’s direction finding his appalled expression mirrored in his brother’s.

“Wait here.” The nun shut the tiny wooden door.

Gregor crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard at the man. “Now there’s the possibility of none of us gaining entrance. What game are ye playing?”

“No games.” The man looked ready to tear into Gregor. “We have our orders just as ye have yours.”

“Who gives your orders?” Gregor asked.

“The Pope.”

Gregor grunted. “And here in Scotland? Who receives the Pope’s orders?”

“The Bishop of Dunkeld.”

“Quite a ways you have come, then, given Dunkeld is at least four days ride.”

“Longer, my laird,” the warrior said, his face so empty Gregor couldn’t help but wonder if all the warriors were simply vessels for the bishops and cardinals to wield. “We first went to Skye when summoned.”

The Isle of Skye. Was that where Kirstin was from? He’d not checked there. Though perhaps that should have been the first place given she’d come from across the loch to Eilean Donan. Was it possible his mind had purposefully forgotten that place? Didn’t want him to check there, afraid of what he’d truly find? That his love for her could have been a lie?

“By who?” Gregor demanded.

The man simply grinned, the first Gregor had seen. It sent a foreboding chill up his spine. Before the day was out, Gregor was pretty certain that he and this man would come to blows.

The little door reopened and the nun appeared. She looked haggard, and her gaze wearily touched on Gregor.

She addressed the warrior, John. “The Abbot says ye are approved to bring in your daggers only.” Her gaze roved back to Gregor. “All of ye. Leave your swords, maces, bows, and any other tools of your trade outside.”

The holy warrior grumbled, but acquiesced, tugging a pile of sharpened steel from nearly every inch of his body.

“My men will stay with yours, Buchanan.” John wasn’t asking.

And Gregor didn’t care. He shrugged. “So be it.”

Gregor’s gaze finally met Kirstin’s—how could he avoid her?—and his chest tightened. His heart still beat for her and her alone. She skillfully masked her emotions, perhaps what a nun—
a nun
!—was trained to do. But even still, he could see the way her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, the way she tried to hide her quickened breaths by slouching her shoulders. Was she nervous about the warriors, the weapons, the abbey, or because they had unfinished business?

Gregor had to get her alone, had to talk to her, at least to find out why in the world she had vanished. Had he been the reason she took vows? Had he pushed her so hard she never wanted to find love again? Wanted to be forever unavailable to him or any man?

“K—Sister Kirstin,” he corrected. “May I escort ye—”

John stepped in front of Gregor, blocking his view, his face close enough that Gregor could smell the spiced jerky he’d eaten to break his fast.

“She goes
no where
with ye.”

The warrior was too possessive of Kirstin. Did John care for her? Did she care for him? Was this all a ruse?

Fury, molten hot boiled in Gregor’s belly. Restraining his fisted hands at his side instead of pummeling the man in the face, he stepped even closer. “Who the hell are ye to say where she goes and with whom? There can be no claim to the lass, as she’s taken vows from the church. Ye’re nothing but a bishop’s errand boy.”

That was enough to give Gregor exactly what he wanted—a fight. John wrenched back his arm and swung. Gregor ducked, punching John in the stomach. On the periphery somewhere, he heard the ladies scream, but the sound seemed to fade somewhere with the pounding rage inside his head. He bounced back when John got a solid hit to his ribs, pain radiating through his side. Gregor charged, his shoulder slamming into John’s stomach, and he pushed forward, slamming the man to the ground with John’s fists bouncing off Gregor’s back.

The two men tussled on the ground, growling, punching, deflecting.

The other warriors allowed it to go on for a few minutes, before Samuel and a warrior of God, Owen perhaps, stepped forward and wrenched the men apart. Samuel held Gregor’s arms behind his back to keep him from lashing out, so blind was he by his need to see John’s blood spilled. John was similarly held, the both of them foaming like rabid animals.

Gregor was still flailing to get free of Samuel’s tight grip, rage fueling him, when Kirstin’s pretty face, screwed up in anger flashed before his. She stood between them, hands on her hips, lips thinned. Blue eyes, filled with diamond sparkles and fury. He couldn’t help but grin, the corner of his lip stinging from where it was probably cut.

“That’s quite enough,” she said, her voice not raised, but the tone demanding obedience. “What in heaven’s name did ye think ye were doing provoking him?” She whipped around to face John. “And ye? Ye know better than to start a fight. Ye are to live your life in peace, acting out in violence only when it serves the purpose of saving a life or keeping someone from desecrating holy grounds.”

Gregor yanked free and straightened his shirt. ’Twas a good thing they’d disarmed themselves, else what had started as a punching match would have most likely ended in someone’s death. The rush of the fight still pumped wildly in his veins, his breathing was hard. He barely felt the ache in the places John had hit him, but the hurt in his heart had only grown.

“Who is he to ye?” Gregor demanded.

Kirstin jerked back, looking confused, then understanding dawned and she scoffed. “He is my guard, tasked with keeping me safe, and if ye take issue with him, then ye take issue with me.”

Gregor shook his head while John smirked.

“I dinna trust him.”

“Ye dinna know him,” she countered.

“’Tis a warrior’s job to understand his enemy.”

“He is no more your enemy than I.” She glanced toward the gate, where the tiny little peep door had once more been opened, the old nun’s face peering out. “Ye’ll both be lucky if our kind Sister lets ye inside.”

As the rush of fury started to slowly ebb, Gregor felt remorse for his actions. Aye, he’d egged the bastard on, but he’d felt the need to prove a point. John wasn’t superior to him. Plus, he’d needed to release his anger and frustration. Fighting always helped.

Since seeing Kirstin perfectly well before him, he’d had the need to pummel something. Nearly a decade’s worth of worry, regret and fear for her life had come to the surface with no outlet. Pounding John’s face, a man who he suspected held feelings for
his
Kay, had seemed the perfect solution, however primal.

“Apologies to ye, Sister. I let personal feelings—my intense dislike of this man”—John hooked his finger in Gregor’s direction—“get in the way of my duties.”

Facing Gregor, Kirstin rolled her eyes discreetly, perhaps not meant for him even to see, but see he did. John might have harbored feelings for her, but those sentiments were thankfully not reciprocated, at least not on the surface. And the way she glowered at Gregor, they were likely not given to him either. But what more did he expect? She’d disappeared nine years ago without a word.

The gates slowly opened, and where Gregor expected to see the little old nun, their liege, Robert the Bruce, stepped forward, an abbot by his side.

“Well, gentleman, if ye are quite done trying to prove whose fist is bigger, we’ve business to attend to.”

Gregor dropped to his knee, hand over his heart, his men doing the same. The warriors of God bowed their heads, as did Kirstin and her female companion.