Ravished by a Highlander (4 page)

It wasn’t difficult to understand why an English captain would beg for her safety. But what were men from the Royal Army doing
at St. Christopher’s? A dozen questions nagged at Rob’s thoughts. The lass offered no answers, though he was certain she could
provide them. Save for a gasp now and then at the speed of his horse, she hadn’t uttered a single word in over an hour. She
barely moved against him, her soft body pressing into his chest, making him more uncomfortable than when she fought him. Shock,
he imagined. He could feel the sorrow in her heavy breath and he had to struggle to keep his heart from breaking for her.
If he lost everyone he loved, he would go mad with grief. She felt small and vulnerable in the crook of his arm and the need
to protect her flared in his veins more powerful than anything he’d ever felt before.

Hell, just what he needed, another responsibility in his life. At least, she would be until he delivered her to En—gland’s
new king. Already a part of him did not want to give her up, but it was obvious that whoever wanted her dead wanted it badly
enough to battle the king’s soldiers. The safety of Rob’s clan came first. If she belonged to the king, then let the king
protect her.

Shifting in his saddle, Rob held back a slight groan through a tightly clenched jaw. His arm was throbbing and growing stiffer
with each breath. It would be useless should they be attacked.

“Did ye discover who shot ye through, Rob?” The question was asked by Finlay Grant. Rob should have known the lad was riding
close enough to him to see his discomfort.

“Aye,” was all he replied.

“Yer faither will have all our heads when he learns o’ yer wound,” Angus mumbled out loud when they finally slowed their mounts
to a more leisurely pace.

Will accepted the small pouch Angus held out to him, and tossed the old warrior a challenging grin. “It gives me great humor
to know that ye’re as frightened o’ the laird as the village women are.” Ignoring Angus’s fervent protests to the contrary,
he took a hearty swig of the potent whisky, shivered in his saddle, and passed the pouch to Rob. “’Tis poison.”

Shaking his head, Rob declined the offering. “My faither will understand why I fought. The wound is no’ so bad and will be
on its way to healin’ by the time we reach Westminster—”

The lass whirled around so quickly, she near slipped from his lap. “You’re taking me to Westminster?”

Hell, her effect on him was worse than any lethal brew Angus carried in the folds of his plaid. Rob had wanted to look at
her again since they left the Abbey, to let his gaze linger over the pale coral of her lips, to take his time studying the
perfect symmetry of her countenance, the purity of her milky complexion. But it was the fear and desperation in her eyes as
she stared up at him that tugged stronger on his heart. Damnation, what came over him?

“To the Duke of York’s coronation, aye,” he told her, severing their gaze. He refused to allow a lass, even one as mesmerizing
as she, to make him forget his first duty. “We will meet up with my kin and—”

“No! I cannot go to England. You must not take me there.”

The terror in her voice dragged his eyes back to hers. Her bottom lip quivered and Rob resisted the urge to lift his finger
to it. “Why? Ye were bein’ protected by the Royal army, nae? Ye’ll be safe under the king’s care.”

She shook her head and clutched at his plaid. “I won’t be safe there.”

Slipping his gaze to the others, Rob caught their troubled expressions. He knew what they were thinking. If they did not return
to his father, the Devil MacGregor would suspect the worst. He would leave England with Graham hot on his heels; mayhap even
taking the heads of any who tried to stop them and bringing the law down upon the heads of his clan once again. Rob couldn’t
take that chance. Still…

“Where will ye be safe then?”

“Nae, Rob—”

Rob held up his palm to halt Angus’s objection and waited for her to speak. “Where?”

Everything she’d been through seemed to hit her all at once as she looked around, as if searching for something familiar.
She trembled against him then let go of his plaid and dipped her eyes to her hands.

“Nowhere.”

“She’s an outlaw.” Angus took another swill from his pouch, then cast a withering look to the heavens. “Had enough o’ them
to last ten lifetimes.”

“English soldiers dinna’ give their lives fer outlaws.” Will leaned forward in his saddle and smacked the pouch out of Angus’s
hand. “That shyt will kill ye. Look how dimwitted ’tis made ye already,” he added when Angus gaped at him and then at the
brew seeping into the ground.

Rob didn’t care if she was an outlaw, a witch, or some magical being who compelled armies to go to war over her. It took him
just an instant to decide what to do with her. She had nowhere to go where she could take refuge, even from her grief. He
would not deliver her over to her enemies just to be rid of her. “I’ll find ye someplace safe,” he said, ignoring the more
responsible voice in his head and the blasphemies spilling from Angus’s lips.

The lass did not appear relieved. In fact, she looked about ready to spring from his arms and take off running. He tightened
his arm just a wee bit around her waist.

“Angus, ye’ll ride to my faither and tell him what took place here, but tell him in private.”

“We need to think aboot—”Angus began, but the authority in Rob’s voice stopped him.

“I already have, and this is what ye will do. Assure him that we are well and no’ to come after us. ’Twill raise suspicions
if he leaves too soon. The king will learn of this soon enough on his own and until I know what is goin’ on, I dinna’ want
him to know we are involved. If the lady’s enemies reside at court, the moment they learn of her escape they will come after
us. We need all the time we can get. Tell my faither that I’ve gone to find her a refuge and I will meet him back at Camlochlin.
Go, and take the lads with ye.”

“I’m no’ going to England.”

Rob pivoted around to pin his brother with a murderous stare. Colin shrugged off its effect like an unwanted blanket. “If
ye send me off with him,” he said, his voice pitched low with determination, “I’ll break away and follow ye alone.”

“I’m staying, as well,” Finn announced, pushing back the woolen bonnet from his spray of flaxen hair. “Rob,” he added when
Rob’s eyes darkened on him, “our fathers did not leave us in Angus’s care, but in yers, trusting that ye would see us safely
returned to them. No offense to ye, Angus.” He cut the old Highlander a rueful glance before returning his attention to Rob.

Damn, but the lad was correct. If Colin broke away, and Rob had no doubts his brother would do exactly as he promised, for
the lad possessed more courage and arrogance than was good for him, and anything happened to them…

Grazing them with one last scorching look, Rob tightened his jaw and nodded. He’d pound both their arses into the ground later.
For now though, they had to keep moving.

“Go, Angus, and tell their faithers that their sons are safe with me.” Rob gave his reins a harsh snap and whirled his mount
around in the opposite direction. Hell. He didn’t need this.

“Let’s ride fer another few leagues and then make camp,” Will suggested, watching Angus veer off south. “M’ arse is killin’
me.”

Finn cast him a reproachful look before shielding his gaze beneath his lashes. Will caught the subtle rebuke and turned to
the lass. “Fergive m’ ill manners, m’lady.” He offered her a guilty smile shot through with a bit of recklessness and danger
that drew lasses to him like bees to honey.

Rob’s arm was making him irritable. That had to be the reason he wanted to punch his cousin off his horse.

“What are ye called, lass?” Will trotted his mount closer. He was in good kicking distance.

“Davina,” she told him quietly.

“Davina,” Will repeated as if it were the most profound sound he’d ever heard escaping his lips.

It was.

When his cousin reached for the pouch of water hanging from his saddle and handed it to her, Rob cursed himself for not thinking
of her thirst. He watched her drink, with brief glares at Will, who was watching her as well. Rob never cared that lasses
usually preferred Will over him. He didn’t blame them. Will’s purpose in life was to wreak the same havoc on a maiden’s heart
as he did on the raiding field, while Rob’s was to keep order.

“Thank you.”

“Will,” the scoundrel offered as if she had asked for his name. Which she hadn’t, “son of Brodie Mac—”

“Will,” Rob cut him off, not even trying to sound indifferent. “Leave her now.” The lass was weary and did not need to be
badgered, and to hell with whether or not Will liked it.

“Right, then.” His cousin threw him a knowing grin which Rob answered with an even darker scowl. “I’ll scout ahead. Come,
lads,” he called out, taking Colin and Finn with him.

When they were alone, Rob’s gaze returned to the back of Davina’s head. What had he just dragged them into? He had to question
her more about what had happened, but later, after she rested. He felt like hell for not offering her water sooner, but he
wasn’t a bloody nursemaid. He was a warrior, trained to be compassionate, but always hard. Though he’d grown to manhood in
the company of many women, he didn’t know anything about soothing them when they wept.

Bending close to her ear, Rob offered her the one thing he knew how to give. His protection.

I
’ll keep ye safe, lass.
The Highlander’s whispered promise echoed through Davina’s thoughts while she watched his companion, Will, yank the tip of
an arrow out of his shoulder.

Soft golden light from the setting sun filtered through the sparse canopy above their small campsite and fell on the man Davina
assumed was the troupe’s leader, the man who pulled her from the flames, the one who swore to protect her. His companions
had called him Rob. He was taller than the others, or perhaps it was his air of control, even as the wooden shaft tore through
his flesh, that made him appear bigger, stronger, and capable of anything.

But could he… would he truly protect her? She wanted to believe that he meant it, because every single person she knew in
her life was dead, and if Rob was her enemy disguising his purpose, then there was nothing more to hope for.

But she was no fool. Edward and more than a hundred of his men had not been able to protect her, though they had tried. Certainly
four Highlanders, two of them barely even men yet, would fall even quicker. Or would they? Saints, but they were savage looking,
with their bare knees and huge swords dangling from their hips. What were they doing at St. Christopher’s? Were they truly
bringing her someplace safe, or to her enemies? Either way, she could not stay with them. If they were innocent, she would
likely get them killed. She could ask them boldly if her enemy had sent them but they would not tell her the truth.

Grief clouded her thoughts, but not enough to make her trust the one who might or might not have rescued her. How had her
enemies found her even before the coronation? Someone had informed them. But who?

The sisters had never kept the truth from her. Davina knew why she had been taken from her mother’s arms as a babe, abandoned
by her father, and sent off to St. Christopher’s. She understood the value of her existence, for twice now it had cost her
everything she loved. When Edward had arrived at the Abbey from King Charles’s court, he had told her of the men who sought
her demise. And dear God, there were many. Though his warnings birthed a fear in Davina that was almost palpable, she understood
his reasons for telling her. Ignorance of one’s foe was as dangerous as facing them on a battlefield. And so, she lived in
uncertainty and unease, always aware of the danger around her.

In the fading light, she watched Rob walk toward the pebbly brook and bend to the water’s edge where she’d washed the soot
out of her own hair earlier. He scooped some water up in his hands to wash his face. His wound needed cleaning, but Davina
was thankful that he didn’t remove his clothing to bathe. She had lived among many men in her life, but not a single one of
them emanated such raw strength as this one, nor were any of them as broad of shoulder as he. She was certain it was the primitive
belted plaid swinging about his bare knees when he stood to his feet that helped accentuate the comparison—the dusty skins
wrapped around his calves—one, with the hilt of a dagger sticking out of it—that bore testimony to his vigor. This man spent
his days doing more than sitting idle with his comrades, drinking and waiting for battle to come to him. Following him with
her gaze as he turned from the stream and moved around the campsite, she found his gait easy and confident with the kind of
pride carried by generations before him. When he angled his head to look at her and found her staring at him, she swung her
gaze to a nearby tree.

“Ye know, lass,” he said, and she was aware of him moving toward her. “If my sister could be as quiet as ye are fer but a
quarter of the time, she’d likely have found a husband by now.”