by Paula Quinn
“Davina, please, my laird.”
“Davina,” Rob’s father corrected with a slight nod. “I was just done tellin’ Robert that ye have one less enemy to fret aboot.”
“Oh?” She raised her brows, thankful for something to take her mind off the inevitable. They were foolish to believe that either of their fathers would allow love between them, let alone marriage. But it was too late. It was done, and by God, she wasn’t going to let anyone take from her again.
“Once the king discovered the names behind the tragedy at St. Christopher’s,” Rob’s father went on, all stoic and serious, much like his eldest son, “it didna’ take him long to discover what Argyll has been up to. Confident that the Campbells will stand with him in an uprisin’, the earl has returned to Scotland to build his army. When I left the king, he was already makin’ plans to stop him. Argyll will never make it to England alive.”
Davina didn’t know how she should feel. It was wrong to take joy in someone’s death, but she was happy that the king would soon have one less enemy. And so would she, thanks to Rob. If he had gone to the coronation with his father, she would be dead and her father would never have found out about Argyll until it was too late.
“Monmouth and Gilles will no’ be difficult to find with an army on their heels,” Rob told her, leaning in closer.
She looked up at him and relished the hope he always stirred in her. “The king owes you much,” she said, staring into his eyes, aching to stroke his jaw, to run her fingers along his lips.
“The king”—Callum’s voice was cold enough to cool the soup Agnes had just set in front of Davina—“so I am told by my son Colin, is inconsolable over the presumed death of his daughter.”
Davina went still, unaware and uninterested in her food or anything else, save for what Rob’s father had just told her. Why would he say such a thing? Her father… inconsolable… over her? It couldn’t be true. He had to be lying, perhaps hoping to touch some part of her heart that ached for a man she did not know so that she would want to go to him.
“The king has nae right to grieve over the daughter he abandoned at her birth,” Rob said, the anger in his voice pulling his father’s hard gaze to him.
“Ye presume to know the rights of a king now… or a faither?”
“A faither?” Rob laughed hollowly. “He doesna’ even know her. Mayhap he grieves because he sat passively by while his second daughter was wed to a Protestant who schemes fer his title.”
Davina angled her face toward Rob, but refrained at the last moment from defending the king’s reasons for allowing Mary to wed William of Orange.
“Robert.” The clip of annoyance in his father’s voice was emphasized by the clap of thunder that suddenly shook the walls, and Tristan, who until that moment had looked utterly bored with the topic, sat forward with a curious smirk slanting his mouth. “I dinna’ know what ye had in mind fer—”
“Callum.” Kate touched his husband’s arm. “You are upsetting our guest. Look, she has yet to take a sip from her cup.”
“Aye,” Maggie chimed in. “Let us speak of more pleasant things at the table. Tell me, Kate, did Mairi’s staying in England have anything to do with Connor?”
“We hope so,” Kate told her. “It is why we let her stay on with Claire when she asked.”
“Ye did no’ tell the king that his daughter lived, did ye, faither?”
Kate gave Rob an exasperated sigh and went back to eating.
“D’ye think I want an army ridin’ over those hills?” his father replied dryly.
“I had nae choice but to bring her here.”
“Of course you didn’t, Robert,” his mother agreed. “Your father knows that.”
Callum turned to grant her the full force of his scowl, which she ignored—much to Davina’s admiration.
“I’m no’ questionin’ yer valiant efforts to keep her safe,” the laird said, returning his attention to his son. “But now we must decide what to do with her.”
“I have already decided,” Rob said boldly, piquing Tristan’s interest yet again. “And my decision will no’ please ye.”
Callum’s jaw jumped with the effort it took to refrain from speaking words Davina suspected he might regret later. He drew in a deep breath before he spoke again, conceding only slightly to what was clear before his eyes. “Ye care fer her. But despite what ye believe, Robert, there are laws even we must abide.”
“And if we canna’ abide them?” Rob asked, matching the intensity of the gaze staring back at him. “What then, faither? Did ye obey the law when ’twas a crime to speak yer own name? Or when ye took a Campbell fer yer wife?”
“Nae, son, but—”
“No, he didn’t.” Kate set down her spoon and picked up her serviette to dab the corners of her mouth. “And we are not asking you to do something you cannot abide. We understand the Princess is in great danger and that the safest place for her right now is in Camlochlin. Isn’t that correct, husband.”
Judging by the flash of fire in his eyes when he set them on his wife, Callum MacGregor was losing his battle for control fast. Fortunately, before he could reply, Rob did.
“She will always be in danger anywhere but here.”
Callum opened his mouth to say something, but once again, his wife beat him to it.
“But the king will never let her—”
“Katie.” With one word the chief stilled the entire table, including his wife. “If ye continue to interrupt me every time I open my mouth, I will take our son to the solar and speak to him alone.”
“Forgive me,” Kate amended, albeit a bit stiffly, and severed her injured gaze from his.
It was clear to Davina in that moment how much the Devil MacGregor loved his wife. For his eyes lingered on her too long, as if willing her to look at him. When she didn’t, he muttered an oath under his breath even as he reached for her hand and covered it with his own.
The tender gesture was enough to earn him the forgiveness he sought when Kate rotated her wrist and entwined her fingers through his.
Here was what Davina wanted. She wanted to be sitting here twenty years from now with a husband who loved her more than his pride, a man who scowled at the rest of the world but melted at her slightest touch. She wanted Rob and she was tired of others dictating her life.
With a clear head and a determined heart, Davina slipped her hand to Rob’s and closed her fingers around his, just as his mother had done to his father. She did not pull away when Callum’s eyes lifted from their forbidden touch to meet her gaze.
“My laird, I want to stay here. I love your son and never wish to be parted from him. I will not abide any law—from king or father—that tries to take me from him.”
Callum said nothing as one eternal moment stretched into another. Davina was certain Kate had stopped breathing. Indeed, everyone at the table had.
“Faither”—Rob broke the silence and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze—“she is my wife.”
Kate closed her eyes as her husband sprang from his chair and raked his disbelieving gaze over Maggie and her husband first. “Is this true?” When his sister nodded, he brought his fist down on the table hard enough to rattle their cups. “He will be hanged fer this!”
“Nae, Callum,” Maggie defended quickly. “Not if the king does not know where she is or who she is.” She carefully told him about Rob’s plan to claim Davina was a novice called Elaine, but as she spoke, and her brother’s expression grew blacker, Davina had to admit to herself how ridiculous the scheme sounded.
The laird agreed, and settling his scorching gaze on his son, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Ye dinna’ realize what ye’ve done, or mayhap ye do and ye’re both too blinded by yer hearts to care. Either way, I will tell ye. Yer marriage will mean nothin’ to the king. ’Twill be annulled before she is dragged back to England. Ye, my son, will be hanged fer violatin’ her. Or mayhap, if her faither is merciful, tossed into a dark dungeon somewhere. I—” His words trailed o
ff as Davina covered her face in her hands and began to weep. “Fergive me, lass, if my words cut yer heart,” he said, softening his tone slightly, “but ye need to hear them. Ye both do.” He stared at his son as if he didn’t know him. “Rob, how could ye no’ have thought this through? What the hell did ye think ye were doin’? Weddin’ her willna’ keep her with ye. He’ll come fer her, and when he does ye must no’ tell him that ye took her as yer wife. D’ye understand?” He looked at Davina. “And ye, d’ye understand that ’twill cost my son his life?”
Davina nodded her head, knowing he was right. They’d both known it all along, but they chose to live as if they were asleep, safe from the world, lost in a dream. She turned to look at the man who had rescued her and taken her to a place where love meant more than her name. The man who had become her dream in the flesh.
But now it was time to wake up.
Beside her, Rob stood slowly to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was as hard and as sharp as steel. His words cut straight through to her heart. “And if she carries my bairn, faither? What should we tell him then? Ye’ve had yer say and now I shall have mine. I will do whatever needs to be done when the time comes. But I willna’ deny her. And whether or no’ ye or anyone else in this clan stands by me, I willna’ let him take her from Camlochlin.”
Rob took her hand and began to turn away from his father, but the chief’s strong hand stopped him. “I know ye well enough to know when ye willna’ be moved.” Callum’s smile looked pained as he turned to look at his wife, and then back to his son. “We’ll figure somethin’ oot and when the times comes, yer clan will stand at yer side.”
“Your father loves his family very much,” Davina said softly at Rob’s side as they climbed the stairs. “You are like him in many ways.”
She wasn’t going to tell him what she had decided. He would only try to convince her not to fear. A task she had already achieved, because of him. But this was different. This time, it wasn’t her life that was in danger. It was his. This time, she had the power to stop it.
“We mustn’t sleep together again.”
He laughed, but there was no trace of mirth in the sound. “The hell we won’t. Yer my wife and nothin’ will change that… or us.”
“But what if—”
“Everything will be well, Davina,” Rob interrupted her. “Yer faither may never come here. He may never need to. Angus tells me that the queen seems very much in love with him. Mayhap he will have his son.”
“He is inconsolable over me, Rob.” Saying it felt even more foreign to her ears than when she heard Callum speak it. “I wonder why he would be saddened by my death.”
She didn’t realize they’d reached the top of the stairs until Rob took her hand to walk with her down the hall.
“Mayhap he deserves what he feels… fer whatever reason he is feelin’ it.”
“He left me to protect me for a duty that might someday be mine to inherit.”
Rob stopped, dragging her to an abrupt halt with him. “An inheritance ye dinna’ want.”
“A duty, just like yours,” she reminded him.
“Nae, Davina,” he argued. “’Tis nothin’ like mine. I’ve trained my entire life fer mine. What d’ye know aboot leadin’ a kingdom?”
“Why are you shouting at me?”
“Why are ye considerin’ this fate?” he countered. Then, trying to regain his ever-composed temper, he clasped his hands behind his head and turned away from her. But not before Davina saw the flash of alarm in his eyes. He was afraid of losing her. She understood and she wanted to comfort him the same way he’d done for her so many times.
“Rob,” she whispered, coming up close to him. “There is no other life for me but you.”
He turned, gathering her in his arms, sweeping her away with a kiss that brought tears to her eyes, and then to their chamber, kicking the door closed and locking the rest of the world outside.
Chapter Thirty-one
Bloated, agitated clouds darkened what was left of the meager sun and the warmth she provided. The sky rumbled like a thousand horses charging across the heavens with Thor in the lead. Crackling bolts of lightning pierced the twilight, hurled by the angry god at the arrogant mountains. But they stood, impervious and unyielding against the onslaught. Nothing on earth or in heaven moved in the waiting stillness before the sky tore open and the clouds spewed forth sheets of icy rain in a violent flash for which the body had no time to prepare.
Admiral Peter Gilles hated the Highlands.
He cursed the Stuarts and all their descendants one more time as he hunkered low beneath the sparse branches he’d ripped from the trees earlier. But there was no relief to be found from the pelting rain.
He was used to cold weather, but this was the kind of frigid chill that seeped into the marrow of your bones and made you utterly miserable. The kind of cold that made you want to curl up in something warm and go to sleep. Forever.
“Is it close to morning?” Hendrick queried through clicking teeth when the rain finally stopped.
“How the hell should I know?” Maarten replied, sounding equally despondent from his makeshift shelter.
Gilles looked up at the heavens. Through the shadowy haze, he could make out the stars for the second time in the last four hours. Dead of night had passed quickly and the morning would be coming soon. It was the one thing, the only thing agreeable about this wretched place. Daylight was getting longer, giving him more time to hunt.
But he was going to have to find his prize soon or risk losing his men in a mutiny. He’d have to kill them, of course. Either way, he would be one man against the MacGregors. Not favorable odds.
The days were getting longer and his time was running out.
They were making progress, even though everything was wet here. All the time. It made maneuvering over the mossy hillsides difficult and dangerous. But there was at least one Tavernier in every village he and his men had traveled who knew of the MacGregors, leading them ever northward. Gilles did not find her with the MacGregors of Stronachlacher, but a most helpful fellow in Breadalbane was good enough to tell him of a clan of MacGregors living on one of the isles northwest. Exiled from the rest, they lived in the mists, rarely seen or heard of.
She was with them. Gilles knew it in his guts, but where? Which isle? No one knew, and if they did, they would not say.
He hated Highlanders too.
Something caught his attention and he looked around, realizing what it was. Birds chirping. The dawn had finally come. “Hendrick,” he ordered, leaving his shelter and slapping his soaked hat across his thigh, “find us something to eat. Nuts, berries, I don’t care.
“Maarten, gather the rest of the men and—” He stopped suddenly and tilted his head south. “What is that sound?”
“More thunder.”
“No.” He listened for another moment then beckoned Hendrick back to him. “Horses. Tell the men to take cover.”
A little while later, they watched the narrow road from the other side of a muddy hill.
“Sounds like a small army,” Hendrick murmured, waiting for the riders to appear.
“Twenty, perhaps thirty, no more.”
“Covenanters, perhaps,” Maarten offered.
The sound grew louder until it shook the ground and silenced the birds above. Gilles held his breath as the riders came into view. They wore no military regalia, but their tight formation, and their size, suggested otherwise. They could belong to any one of the Lowland barons, but what were they doing in the Highlands? Their pace was not urgent, but not leisurely either. As they passed him, Gilles spotted a younger man, too young to belong to an army, dressed in the unsightly garb of a Highlander. But it was the rider beside him, his face partially hidden behind his hooded cloak, that held Gilles’s cool gaze.
“Men,” he said with a smile, keeping his eyes on James of York. “We have found her.”
“Where?” Hendrick peered at the riders through narrowed lids.
“
There.” Gilles tugged his earlobe, directing Hendrick’s line of vision in the right direction. “That man is her father.”
“The king?”
“Yes, the king.” Gilles sneered at the troupe as they rode away. Clever of James not to travel with his entire army lest he draw more attention to himself, but risky, as well.
“Why don’t we just kill him now then?”
“Because, imbecile, James still has many supporters. If we kill him first and then kill two of the men who have outwardly claimed his title, suspicion will fall to the prince and his succession will be difficult, if not impossible. My lord has a grander plan, one that will bring more support to his side, not less.”
“A Dutch king,” Hendrick grinned.
“Yes, if we do this right.” Gilles smiled back at him and patted his cheek. The man could not match wits with a cricket, but he could fire a pistol with almost perfect accuracy—and he didn’t mind killing women or children when the need arose.
“James’s Highland companion has obviously told him that his daughter lives, and is leading him to where she is hiding. All we have to do is follow them.”
“And then what?” Maarten asked as Gilles straightened and strode to his horse. “How do we kill her with not only MacGregors guarding her, but the king’s men, as well?”
“Let’s find her first, Maarten.” Gilles grinned at him as he placed his hat on his head and brought the rim down low over his brow. “We can discuss ways to kill her after that.”
Was it possible that he was finally going to see her? Meet her? Perhaps even kiss her blessed cheeks? James tried to remember how many times he had prayed for mercy from God in the last several days. God, the only One who could understand how a king could grieve so over the loss of his child. But no, Colin MacGregor had understood also. How could a mere boy show so much compassion when men twice his age and a hundred times more cultured than he would think a king odd for his sorrow?
“I have something to tell ye,” the young MacGregor had told him four days after his father had gone home. “But ye must swear first on yer kingdom and on yer faith that after I tell ye, my kin will always find mercy with ye. Ye must swear never to bring them harm, nor any shame.”
