Ravished by a Highlander

by Paula Quinn

  James had grown fond of Colin since he’d arrived at Whitehall. He was quiet and agreeable while the king answered his many questions about everything from his battles in France and Spain to his views on the Covenanters. Their conversations had helped James through the worst days of his grief. The king had even found himself smiling while he watched Colin practice in the list with Connor Grant and some of his finest men. He was not only quick with his mind, but with his arm as well. The boy would make a fine soldier, if only James could convince him to remain in his garrison.

  “You have my solemn oath,” the king had promised him easily, already trusting the stranger more than any man in his Great Hall.

  What MacGregor told him next proved that he trusted his king, as well.

  “Yer daughter is alive.”

  They were words James would never forget hearing, though he could not remember what he said in response. How? Where was she? Who was she with? Was it possible that she had been given back to him as Isaac had been returned to Abraham?

  Colin told him everything while James laughed with joy and then wept, then laughed again. She had been rescued… rescued at the very last moment by Colin’s brother, Robert MacGregor. She had spoken of the king often and not with anger or resentment, but with admiration. Admiration! Oh, what had he done to deserve such mercy? The sisters had been kind to her but—and this made the king weep all the more—Colin told him there was an emptiness in her eyes, haunting and so very quiet that it had nearly broken all their hearts.

  “Where? Where has your brother taken her?” James had asked, and this was when the boy looked like he might change his mind and tell him nothing more.

  “We didna’ know who she was at first, but my brother knew that whoever wanted her dead could be here with ye. He wanted to keep her safe. We all did.”

  “Where, son?”

  “Robert took her home.”

  And that was where they were headed now. To a remote part of Skye hidden in the mists—a place called Camlochlin—a place the boy asked the king to forget the moment he left it. Colin had assured him that the only way to reach his home alive was if he accompanied the king and his men. Even if James found Camlochlin on his own, the MacGregors were not expecting them, and since the king did not carry his banner—lest his enemies find him on the road with only a scant number of his men in his company—the MacGregors might attack before they realized who he was. So James had taken Colin with him when he and his men left England in the cover of night. He told no one where he was going, not even his wife, lest someone question her. At Colin’s request, he did not tell Captain Grant, either. He thought about it now and turned to his young companion.

  “I must confess I am disappointed in my captain for not telling me about Davina.”

  “Captain Grant left everything he loves to serve ye,” Colin told him and cast the dark heavens an even blacker look. “He even broke my sister’s heart, fer which I will never fergive him.”

  The king smiled. Such a serious lad, he was.

  “My brother asked him no’ to tell ye until he was certain there were no traitors in yer midst. If word got oot that she lived and she was traveling with MacGregors, ’twould only be a matter of time before they found her.”

  “And yet you told me.”

  Colin nodded but said nothing more. It was clear to James that the boy had misgivings about what he’d done. Was he worried that his father would be angry with him for bringing the king to his misty home? Or was it something else? Someone else?

  “Your brother went to much trouble to see to my daughter’s safety,” James said vaguely, looking around at the landscape. “Since he didn’t know who she was at first, I must assume that he did not do so for me.” He slipped his gaze to Colin when the boy remained silent. “Does he care for her then?”

  “We all do,” Colin muttered through his teeth, averting his gaze from the king’s.

  “I see,” James said with a heart almost as heavy as when he believed Davina was dead. The promises Colin had asked him to make made more sense to James now. This Robert MacGregor cared for her. Perhaps, he’d even fallen in love with her, and every king before him knew firsthand how possessive Highlanders were.

  Dear God, he should have taken more men.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Despite the fact that Callum MacGregor’s smiles were often laden with worry when he set them on her, Davina was happy the laird was home. It gave Rob a reprieve from seeing to everything himself, giving her more time to help teach him how to have fun and less time for her to think about her father ever coming for her.

  Unfortunately, her husband was a terrible student.

  He knew how to swim, but flatly refused to follow her into the water. He didn’t even shiver when she scooped some of the freezing water into her hands and splashed him thoroughly. He didn’t crack a smile either. When one of Maggie’s beloved piglets escaped from its pen, Rob simply watched, arms crossed over his chest, while she, Finn, and little Hamish chased it around in circles until they collided with one another and sank to the ground laughing. He gave dancing a valiant effort during the celebration of the birth of little Alasdair MacDonnell, but after stepping on Davina’s foot and sending her reeling into Tristan, he decided it was safer for all involved if he watched from his seat. He did try to teach her how to play chess, but after she yawned a dozen times, he gave up.

  When Davina tried to watch what he did for sport, she ended up missing half of it with her eyes squeezed shut. She’d seen men practice swordplay before, but none of the men at St. Christopher’s had ever wielded a blade with such raw power that she could feel the sting of clashing metal from a hundred paces away. Rob was brutal on the field, merciless against his opponents, including Will. He parried with impressive speed and dexterity for a man his size, and swung his giant claymore with a single purpose—to devastate. It was only when his father brandished his blade against him that Rob grew winded. The rest she could not watch and sneaked off, without Finn’s notice, to pick some flowers.

  Thanks to the frequent spring rains, the hills were bursting with color. Above her, the sun vied with the clouds for supremacy, casting the tall grass in lush golden-green hues.

  She almost stepped on Tristan, lying on his back within the purple heather and wild daffodils. His eyes were closed, his hands canted behind his head, buried beneath his silken mane of tousled waves, boots crossed at the ankles. He looked like a handsome prince who’d stumbled into a faerie patch and fallen under a sleep spell so some mischievous queen could have her way with him. In fact, he appeared to be waiting for it. Davina quirked her brow at him and rested her blossom wielding fist on her hip. She’d barely seen him doing any work in the few days since he had returned home. Now that she thought of it, she’d hardly seen him at all. He wasn’t spending his days—or his nights—with Caitlin. That privilege had fallen to Edward, and Davina couldn’t be happier. The wicked scoundrel—as so many of the young women of Camlochlin were wont to call Tristan—had not chased one skirt, as far as Davina could tell.

  “Tristan, are you ill?”

  His smile flashed, but he did not move or open his eyes. “Would ye think better of me if I was?”

  What an odd thing to ask. “Of course not. Why would I?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “’Twould provide me with a suitable reason fer no’ doing something else.”

  “Well, now that you bring it up, I did hear your father mention the wood needed chopping.”

  “Rob’ll see to it.”

  “As he sees to everything else?” she asked, with a bit of a sting in her voice.

  Tristan yawned. “’Tis his duty as firstborn.”

  She thought of giving him a good slap with her flowers. It might not jar his sense of responsibility, but at least he would open his eyes and give her the courtesy of his attention. “I see,” she said softly, deciding on decorum rather than violence. “And your duty as second born is to bed…” Her gentle admonishment came to an abru
pt halt when he opened his eyes and finally looked up at her. There was a challenge in his gaze as he pushed himself up on his elbows that she wasn’t sure she wanted to engage. But as he waited for her to continue, something in his daring smirk changed. He knew what she was about to say. He’d heard it a million times before and knew exactly how to reply; only today… today the accusation pierced a bit deeper.

  “Forgive me,” she said contritely, looking down at her flowers. “It isn’t my place to speak to you so.”

  He stared at her in silence until she turned away, ready to head back down the hill.

  “Consider yerself fortunate that ye dinna’ know yer faither, lass.”

  She stopped and pivoted on her heels to find him sitting up and staring now at the fortress his father had built. “How can you say such a thing? Your father is…”

  “Stubborn and unfergiving and verra hard to please if ye’re no’ exactly like him.” Tristan tore his troubled gaze away from the castle and the thoughts that provoked him. He offered her a thin smile and shooed her away. “Off with ye now. I’ve a dream to finish.”

  He began to lie back down but Davina dropped to her knees in front of him, spilling her flowers at his feet. Dear God, she couldn’t deny how beautiful he was when he smiled. She suspected it was almost too easy for him to have any lass he desired, but the misery he cloaked so well wrenched at her heartstrings. He was correct. He was nothing like his father, nothing like Rob or even Colin. He was the rogue, the prodigal son who wasted away his days sleeping in the heather or bedding other lairds’ daughters.

  “You can change.”

  “Aye, and fit into the MacGregor mold of pride, arrogance, and vengeance. Nae, lass,” his smile was pure seduction. “I’d much rather make love.”

  “That’s not true! I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Aye, believe me, ’tis.” He laughed, and then grew serious again as his gaze swept over her features. “And it pleases me to know that ’tis true fer Rob, as well.”

  Davina glared at him and his smile deepened. “It is terrible of you to take pleasure in the fact that Rob has disappointed your father by taking me as his wife.”

  “Lass,” he said more gently, “my faither may have been angry, but he was no’ disappointed in Rob. He is no’ blind, and he doesna’ hate yer kin the way he hates…” He stopped, catching himself and veering off from what he was about to say. “Ye’ve been welcomed here by all, and ’tis easy to see why.”

  “Who does your father hate?” Davina asked, not letting him change direction. “Is it Caitlin? I know Maggie doesn’t like her, but—”

  He laughed again, this time tossing his head back as the clouds passed and sweeping his sun-drenched hair off his shoulders. “Caitlin is a bonnie lass to be sure, but she wants what I canna’ give her. Mayhap yer Captain Asher can. I hope he can.”

  “He is not my captain.”

  “Aye, so I’ve heard. Fergive me,” he repented sincerely.

  “Then who?” she pressed.

  He plucked a daffodil from the ground and studied it for a moment. “I prefer wild flowers to the delicate ones.”

  Davina watched him, not knowing what he meant. Finally, he met her gaze. “Her name is Isobel. Isobel Fergusson. I saw her again at the coronation. Her brother did this when I was a lad.” He pointed to the small curve in his nose where it had been broken many years before.

  Fergusson. Where had Davina heard the name before?

  “Davina!” Finn’s cheerful voice coming up the hill interrupted her. “Ye should have seen it! Rob nearly cut off the chief’s finger!”

  Lord, she was glad she missed it, she thought, turning to greet her cousin. Before she did, Tristan caught her eye and puckered his lips, motioning silently for her to keep their conversation secret.

  “I almost maimed my faither to impress ye, and ye were no’ even there.”

  She returned Rob’s smile as he hiked up the last few feet behind Finn to reach her. All the beauty around her paled compared to him, and when he finally reached her and folded his long legs to sit close to her, she let her hungry gaze drink in every inch of him. The single black curl that always escaped his queue was damp from the exertion he’d expended in the practice field. His face was a bit flush, giving even more vivid color to his eyes. His smile faded, but not altogether when he looked at his brother.

  “What are ye doin’ up here alone with my wife?”

  “Tryin’ to convince her to leave Camlochlin with me, but she’s fallen in love with Will and willna’ go.”

  “She knows who is the better man between ye then?”

  Davina was about to tell her husband not to be cruel, especially now that she was aware how inadequate Tristan felt, but Rob’s eyes sparked with humor and his brother answered swiftly and with equal measure.

  “Aye, she does, and after sharin’ yer bed.”

  Rob was about to reply but thought better of it and turned to Davina instead. “Now ye see why Colin hates him.”

  “Speaking of Colin,” Finn said, closing his eyes and getting comfortable on his back on the other side of Tristan. “Why did he wish to stay in England?”

  “I dinna’ know,” Tristan said, plucking petals off a daffodil and dropping them into Finn’s hair without his notice. “The lure of the king’s garrison, mayhap? The idea of his hated Covenanters lurking within the shadowy corridors of Whitehall? One never knows what chillin’ notions go on in that lad’s head.”

  Finn moved as it he was going to sit up and Tristan snapped his hand back. But the boy only shifted, settling into the heather more deeply. Tristan smiled at Rob and Davina and set another yellow petal on Finn’s flaxen crown.

  “What’s it like?” Finn asked in a groggy voice.

  “What’s what like?” Tristan asked, slipping a sprig of heather into Finn’s locks next.

  “England.”

  “’Tis gloomy and no’ verra clean. But Whitehall Palace is grand, indeed.”

  “Tell us about it,” Finn urged.

  Davina listened intently to Tristan’s description of her father’s home. Was it truly possible that a structure could be built so big as to hold a thousand rooms? When Rob slipped his fingers through hers, she offered him a brief smile, happy that he was with her, content to do nothing more than sit here in the blossoms. But Tristan’s words held her in awe and too soon she returned her smile to him. A statue-lined garden almost as big as Camlochlin? A private theatre? Tennis courts? What in the world was tennis?

  “The ladies there are just as splendid,” Tristan told them, his golden-brown eyes warming on her. “But ye, bonnie lady, would outshine every one.”

  When her smile deepened into a blush Rob tightened his hand around hers and vaulted to his feet, dragging her with him. “We’ll see ye lads later.”

  Davina barely had the chance to bid them farewell before Rob pulled her by the hand down the hill. She nearly lost her footing trying to keep his pace and finally dug her heels into the ground to stop him.

  “What is the matter with you?”

  “Nothin’,” he said, giving her another tug.

  She tugged him back and then slapped his hand when he did not stop. “Are you bothered by Tristan’s comfort with me? Because if you are, then you are being a silly fool.”

  He finally stopped and turned to look at his hand first, and then her. “Woman, ye know I dinna’ suffer such boyish flaws.”

  She did her best not to smile, remembering his constant brooding scowl from their days of traveling with Edward. “Of course. Forgive me,” she indulged. “But you will tell me why we left in such haste. I was enjoying hearing about… Oh, I see.” She looked away, realizing finally the cause of his displeasure. “I was curious, that is all.”

  His jaw danced around the right words to say. “Davina, I doubt any garden could be more bonnie than what lies before ye here. And hell, if ’tis a tennis court ye want, I will build ye one.”

  Now she did smile looking up at him. “Have you
ever seen one?”

  “Nae, but I—”

  She moved closer to him and held her finger to his mouth, halting the remainder of his words. “I don’t desire such things. You are my heaven on earth, Robert MacGregor.”

  His sexy mouth hooked into a smile that ravished her senseless. When he cupped her face in his hands and drew her in to gently lick his way into her mouth, she responded with a dreamy sigh. God have mercy, but the man knew what to do with his mouth, and his tongue. The taste of his hunger seared her nerves and weakened her kneecaps. She wanted him and for an instant she forgot where she was. Tristan’s voice, calling out to them that the rain was about to come, jarred her memory.

  “Come, hurry,” she whispered against Rob’s mouth as he slowly withdrew. When he moved to kiss her yet again, unconcerned with the blackening clouds, she giggled and sprang from his arms. “Catch me”—she smiled at him, taking a step backward down the hill—“and I am yours until the rain ends.”

  She squeaked with surprise when her ever-pragmatic husband took off after her. Whirling on her toes, she ran, picking up speed and laughing as she went. She was about to swing open the castle doors when they opened on their own. She stopped herself just before she collided into Callum MacGregor’s chest. Rob was close behind. She knew it because his father’s eyes settled on her first and then on the tall man behind her.

  No one spoke a word for an eternal moment, then the chief stepped aside, sweeping his bandaged hand over the threshold.

  “’Tis goin’ to rain,” Rob explained, stepping past his father after Davina did.

  “Aye, I can see that,” his father replied, but Davina and Rob barely heard him as they took their chase up the stairs, leaving laughter in their wake and an unbidden smile on the mighty chief’s face.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Rob caught her before Davina reached their chamber door. His arms closed around her, and spinning her to face him, he gave her a short, victorious laugh that set her blood to burning.