by Paula Quinn
“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 buttons 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 noble 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 lass 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 bloody arse, 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 titleship 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 nobles 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 bastards. She is beautiful enough to be a Stuart.” Connor’s voice went soft as the firelight made Davina’s hair shimmer like misty clouds around a full moon. “Of course, then,” he added uneasily, “that would make her my cousin.”
His cousin. Your friends have become my friends,
my family. Nae, she couldn’t be. Rob looked at her, and then at Finn. They could be siblings. Och, hell, she couldn’t be a Stuart. But even as his mind rejected that appalling notion, everything seemed to make more sense now. He fought back the sickening wave that washed over him. He didn’t want to believe it. Hiding a novice from a duke was one thing; kidnapping the king’s daughter was another thing entirely.
“It still does no’ explain why Monmouth or anyone would try to have her killed,” Rob said, hoping they were wrong. “Even if she is one of Charles’s illegitimate bairns, she is no’ a threat. A son always precedes a daughter. Unless…” Unless she was not illegitimate—and Charles was not her faither. Rob stopped and closed his eyes as everything suddenly became clear. Hell, if he was correct he was about to bring the entire Royal Army down on Camlochlin, and mayhap the entire Dutch army with it. “Connor, could she be James’s daughter?”
For a moment, Connor simply stared at him, as if he could not comprehend such a possibility. “James is an ogler of women, to be sure, but I’ve heard of no children born to him save fer Mary and Anne from his marriage to Anne Hyde. He has no children from his second marriage to Mary of Modena. And why the hell would the king’s daughter be living in a convent?”
For protection, Rob thought. Protection James was able to provide for his other two daughters who were forced to wed Protestants. His eldest daughter, Mary, was William of Orange’s wife and next in line for the throne. Rob had another thought that drained the color from his face. What if Mary was not the king’s firstborn?
Rob didn’t realize he’d groaned out loud until Connor gripped his shoulder. “What is it?”
Davina hadn’t just been living in an abbey. James had hidden his true heir away to ensure a Catholic succession should he perish—which birthed a new question. If Connor didn’t know of her, no one else likely did, either. How had her enemies found her? She had been guarded by over a hundred men. Any one of them could have betrayed her to her enemies. They were no longer a concern. But something else was. Monmouth, Argyll, or William of Orange was trying to kill the king’s heir… and the only reason to do so was if they were planning to take out the king, as well.
“Rob, what is it that brings such terror to yer face? Ye must tell me.”
“Aye, I will,” Rob said setting his fiery blue eyes on his friend. “And then ye must swear to do somethin’ fer me.”
It didn’t take Davina long to decide she liked Connor Grant almost as much as she liked Finn. After his talk with Rob, he seemed more somber, even barking out to his men to be awake at the crack of dawn. But after an hour of sharing his rations and his memories of Camlochlin, the merriment that he shared with his younger brother returned to his eyes and his inescapably contagious laughter warmed her insides more than the flames crackling before her. She did catch him staring at her from across the fire. It made her uncomfortable because he was looking at her the way she often looked at Finn, as if trying to recognize similarities between them. But when their eyes met, he winked and flashed her a lighthearted smile before he turned his laughter back to the men around him.
She found Rob staring at her as well, and something in his quiet regard stirred her blood, her emotions. His smile was not frivolous when he graced her with it, but tender, somewhat pained, and utterly beautiful.
Davina knew, nestled in a circle of family and friends, tucked beneath a blanket of stars, that nothing in her future would ever be as difficult as resisting Robert MacGregor. If she lived to be forty she would never forget how his mouth felt against hers, or the shudders that weakened her when he pressed her to his body. Oh, he made her feel so alive. Even now, sitting close to him, close enough for his arm to brush hers, his musky male scent to invade her senses, her mettle dwindled, her breath stalled, and her nerve endings burned for something she did not fully understand. She closed her eyes to pray but the sound of his laughter lured her to look at him. When she did she forgot what she was asking of God. To change her path? To let her stay with Rob forever? What was a se’nnight of brooding compared to a smile so captivating it sucked the breath right out of her, or a kiss so beguiling that just the memory of it enraptured her? She wanted to be the one who brought joy to his life and fire to his eyes; the only one privy to his intimate expressions, his most private thoughts and desires.
And she wanted to trust him with hers.
“How does Tristan fare?” Connor asked Rob, bringing Davina’s thoughts back to the present.
“He’s still a careless rogue bastard,” Colin answered for his brother, his voice dripping with the anger he’d been holding back since Connor arrived. “Much like yerself.”
The blithe flicker in Connor’s eyes sharpened like frost-tipped daggers on Rob’s brother. “Ye wish to accuse me of something?”
“Aye, of tearing oot my sister’s heart,” Colin growled right back at him. “Talk of yer casual dips into the English loch of promiscuity has reached even our remote part of the world, Captain Grant.”
Connor’s features went hard. When he spoke, the deep, drawling pitch of his voice set a tremor to the air. “Ye speak with the boldness of a man. Use caution, else I’ll be forced to remind ye that ye’re still a lad.”
Colin met the warning with a slow, challenging snarl. “Heed yer own words, Captain, else I’ll be forced to make ye eat them.”
Instead of putting an end to what, Davina was sure, was about to become a fight, Rob merely exchanged a knowing smirk with Will. Connor Grant smiled as well, and looking at him, Davina could imagine him moments before a battle he knew he was going to win.
When they both rose to their feet, she shot a concerned look at Rob, and received a reassuring wink in return.
“Lads,” Will called out to Connor’s men, then took a bite from an apple he’d pilfered from one of their saddlebags, “ye’re aboot to see yer captain on his knees.”
“Never,” one of the English soldiers called back as Connor and Colin moved a safe distance away. “The boy is about to be taught to respect his better.”
“The MacGregors have nae betters.” Eyeing the soldier with amusement, Will spit a seed from his lips. “Aye, Rob?”
“Aye,” Rob agreed, still smiling, much to Davina’s vast delight. “Colin, show these English how a Highlander fights.”
His youngest brother’s thick claymore came down upon Connor’s sword with a clash that made half the men, including Will, cringe on impact. Connor met the blow with an upward thrust just as forceful. Davina shivered beside Rob, then froze altogether when he slipped his plaid off his shoulder and covered her with it. She did her best to ignore the warmth of his closeness, and the memory of all that hard muscle closing around her when he’d kissed her, by watching Colin parry and jab with brutal precision. The boy’s lean physique lent to his agility, but the force in his blows erupted from someplace stronger than sinew. In the end however, it was Connor’s experience and perhaps his own Highland upbringing that proved victorious. He took no joy in it though and even quieted his men when they began to cheer him.
“Hell, MacGregor,” he said, out of breath when he placed his hands on Colin’s shoulders, “my words are bitter indeed. Come to England with me. The new king needs men like ye.”
“The lad would rather be flayed skinless and thrown into a vat o’ hot oil,” Will laughed, tossing his apple core over his shoulder.
“I’ll only fight fer Scotland, Connor,” Colin told him, returning his sword to its sheath. Will nodded and leaned his head against the tree he was sitting under. “But I will go to England with ye.”
“What?” Will sat up and cast him a stunned look.
“I want to meet him, this new king.” Colin didn’t take his eyes off Connor, save for when he glanced at Davina. “What I have heard of him has piqued my interest.”
“Just dinna’ come back in an English uniform,” Will warned him, then closed his eyes again.
“Finn will come as well,” Connor told his brother as he returned to his place at
the fire opposite Davina.
“Nae!” Finn protested. “I don’t want to go to England.” He turned to Rob, his eyes wide with pleading. “I want to go home.”
Davina didn’t want him to go with Connor either. She didn’t know how long she would be in Skye or if she would ever see him again. She didn’t realize her shoulders had stiffened until Rob rubbed his hand over them.
“Ye’re a Stuart, lad,” Rob said gently, his affection for Finn evident in his voice. “England will likely be yer home one day, as ’tis yer brother’s.”
“I’m a Grant, as well. And my home is Camlochlin.”
Rob smiled, as did Davina, but both for different reasons.
“He’s stayin’,” Rob told Connor in a tone that put an end to the topic.
Davina didn’t know if Mairi MacGregor had anything to do with Connor leaving Skye, or if he left out of loyalty to the royal side of his family, but it was clear that the conversation between Rob and Finn pained him. “Captain Grant?” she said, hoping to return him to his pleasant mood. “Finn has told me wondrous stories about your mother. Is she truly as brave as he says?”
Connor looked up, his easy smile returning. “Probably more so.”
“I cannot wait to meet her,” Davina told him, sincerely eager for the day. “Tell me more about your family, won’t you?”
Connor looked at Rob and something secretive and cautious passed between them. Then he told her all she wanted to know, and their laughter lasted long into the night, coiling the threads of happiness and hope around Davina’s wary heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Rob walked along the bank alone, unmindful of the spectacular sunrise splashing the loch with glittering hues of gold and burnt orange. It was only the second time he’d left Davina since Courlochcraig, but there were enough men with her this morn. She would be safe without him for as long as it took him to bathe. But soon he found his need to think clearly prevailing over his need to be clean. So he walked slowly, barefoot over the reeds and mossy rocks, his boots dangling from his hand at his side. He had enough good sense to know that being plagued by thoughts of Davina Montgomery—or Stuart—would lead to no good. But what good was good sense when all his other senses were consumed with her? How would he be able to make wise decisions for his clan if he had to see Davina, talk to her every day at Camlochlin, without being able to touch her again? More importantly, when had his duties to his clan ceased to matter compared to her safety? How could he be so reckless and still consider taking her home knowing who she was? God have mercy on them all, she was the king’s daughter! Aye, he was certain of it now. He’d watched her last eve and the way she stared at Connor and Finn as if they were the brothers she’d been searching for all her life and finally found. Now, the emotion he saw in her eyes when she spoke of the king made sense. She was his daughter…. Hell, he was falling in love with the king’s daughter! ’Twas bad enough that he’d decided to risk God’s wrath by kissing her, by wanting her so badly nothing else mattered. But the bloody king…
