by Paula Quinn
“Ye lied to me.” Colin reined his frothing mount to a halt after stopping the king’s troupe just beyond the braes of Bla Bheinn. It hadn’t taken him long to catch up with them, for the king and his men had not pushed their mounts to their limits over the steep hills and muddy terrain as Colin had. He was angry and he wanted answers. If he had to ride all the way back to England to get them, he would. He was aware of the king’s soldiers moving to surround him, quick to protect their liege lord. Colin gave them only half his attention. If they wanted a fight, he would give them one, but first he would have his say. “Ye gave me yer word.”
James raised his hand, signaling his men to back down. “And I have kept it. Your family remains unharmed.”
“Unharmed?” Colin seethed, glaring at the man he had begun to like, even respect. “Ye might as well have cut oot my brother’s heart!”
A sound, like a soft moan, drew his attention to Davina, saddled on a spotted gelding a few feet away. When he met her bloodshot gaze, he looked away. He should have known she loved Rob. He should have recognized it in the tender way she looked at his brother while they traveled back to Skye. The way she rested against his chest, a trace of pure contentment curling her mouth. Hell, what had he done?
“I have no control over your brother’s heart, Colin.”
“Aye, ye do,” Colin argued. “Ye are the law, are ye no’? Ye didna’ have to take her away. What should it matter if a Royal loves a commoner?”
The king offered him a rueful smile. “You are young, and have much to learn.”
“Aboot love?” Colin asked and then nodded, “Aye. Mayhap, I do. I brought ye here because I was foolish and believed that ye loved yer daughter. But what kind of faither could ignore his bairn’s tears? Can ye no’ see that she loves him? Nae, ye canna’ see it because ye dinna’ know her, and as long as yer laws come before her, ye never will.”
“I’ve given you too much leave to speak to me as you will, Colin MacGregor. I…”
Colin wasn’t listening. Someone moved slowly on his mount to Colin’s right, and when he saw who it was, his eyes blazed like fiery jewels beneath the afternoon sun. “Och, hell, what is he doin’ here?”
“Captain Asher belongs in England with—”
“He belongs on a noose! Ye rip yer daughter from the arms of the man who would have given his life to protect her and coddle the man who told Gilles where to find her at the Abbey?”
“What are you saying?” The king’s face went taut with anger, and he turned toward Asher. “Is this true?”
“Aye, ’tis,” Colin said before the captain could. “He admitted it to her. Everyone in Camlochlin knows it.”
“I’ll have you flayed alive.”
“Father, no!” Davina kicked her horse forward, coming to Asher’s defense.
“Silence!” the king commanded without looking at her, and it seemed even the birds in the air obeyed.
In that moment of startling stillness, another sound could be heard in the distance, and everyone, save for Colin and Davina’s captain, turned to the group of riders approaching from Camlochlin’s deep vale.
Because Colin and Asher were the only two looking at Davina, they alone saw the blinding flash of sunlight coming from beyond a rocky crest to her right. Colin scowled, not knowing right away what had caused his momentary blindness, or why Asher took off like a cannonball headed straight for Rob’s wife.
A shot rang out, echoing through the braes, just as the captain leaped from his saddle and crashed into Davina, knocking them both to the ground.
Everywhere around Colin, men were shouting and taking cover. Davina was screaming, trying to free herself of the dead weight on top of her. They were under attack, and she was the target.
Scraping his sword from its scabbard, Colin moved to go to her but Rob flew past him on his stallion, bounded from his saddle, and hauled Asher’s body off her.
“Get her behind the braes!” Colin heard his brother shout to Will as a small horde of more men appeared from where they had lain in wait for the king’s troupe to pass. Some of them brandished pistols and made a quick end to four of the king’s soldiers before the battle even began.
Colin hated pistols. Even more, he hated men who used them to try to kill bonnie lasses who would likely plead for their souls before God after they slew her.
Thanks to that first flash of light, he knew where the bastard who fired at Davina had been hiding. He’d watched as the coward left his cover to fight alongside his comrades, and with a smile as cold and merciless as a Highland winter night, Colin slipped from his saddle and ran straight for him. He did not stop or slow his pace but twirled his deadly blade in his hand, making it dance at his command. Spotting him, his enemy hurried to empty more powder and another ball into his weapon, but he fumbled, growing more frantic as Colin sprinted closer.
“I feel ’tis only fair to tell ye,” Colin warned, about to fall upon him. “I’m no’ opposed to killin’ unarmed men.”
The man looked up from his impotent pistol and then closed his eyes an instant before Colin separated him from his head.
After that, Colin turned his bloodstained face toward the next shooter and smiled.
* * *
Rob watched Will disappear on his horse with Davina beyond the shadow of Bla Bheinn. When he was certain they were safe, he ripped his sword free of its long scabbard and turned to enter the combat coming to life around him. He looked down in time to see Asher’s eyes open. The captain had received a fatal wound and was about to die, but the terror widening his gaze was not for himself.
With shots ringing out around them, Rob dragged the captain over a small incline and hunkered down beside him. Whatever sins Edward Asher had committed in the past, he loved Davina now and had given his life to save her. Rob owed him much. “She’s safe, Captain,” he told him. “Ye saved her life yet again.”
Edward genuinely smiled at him for the first time and a trickle of blood seeped from between his lips. “Gilles,” he rasped.
“Aye, I know,” Rob said, growing serious. “I promise ’twill be my blade that kills him, but ye must describe him to me.”
Drawing his last breath, Edward told him. “Dark hair… cold eyes.”
Rob rose to his feet when there was nothing else he could do for Davina’s friend. He was ready to find Gilles and kill as many of these Dutch bastards as he could on the way.
“Formation!” He heard a man’s frenzied command behind him. “Get the king back to the castle!”
Rob turned to see seven English soldiers surrounding the king, ready to flee. “Nae!” he shouted, his voice overriding the others. “’Tis too open. Ye’ll all be shot doun before ye reach safety.” He moved forward, and though he was on foot and the soldier on horseback, the soldier moved back. “Go there”—his steady gaze met the king’s—“beyond that hill. ’Tis deeper than this one and they canna’ fire aroond it.” The king nodded. “Wait there until we stop their pistols.”
“Then you best hurry,” King James told him, angling his head around Rob’s shoulder. “Your brother is attempting to stop them all without any aid.”
Rob turned, and together with the king, watched his youngest brother hack his way through three more shooters and emerge unscathed. Hell, he was reckless and—Rob noted with pride—terrifying.
“Go!” He wheeled on the king’s men. “Remember to wait.”
From a carefully guarded position behind one of the many rocky hillsides that dotted the open terrain, King James watched Robert MacGregor with something akin to stunned disbelief marking his features. The Highlander had gone from a tactical commander to a savage warrior with the first arc of his blade. He’d gained his horse and rode straight into the fray, slashing torsos and severing limbs with speed, power, and precision, ensuring that one swipe served its purpose—to get him to the next man quicker. James wanted Rob in his army, and his brother with him. But he wanted something else even more, something for her.
He looked t
oward Bla Bheinn, knowing where his daughter was safely hidden, and knowing whom to thank for it. He knew also that Gilles—may God have no mercy on the blackheart’s soul—was behind this attack. James wanted him alive for the Wheel, but where in blazes was he?
* * *
Rob knew the fight had tipped in their favor. Even without the English at their sides, the MacGregors would not lose this day to their enemies. Most of Gilles’s men lay strewn on the ground, a good number of them, by his blade. The only shooting being done was from the English and the king was on his way back to the castle. The battle was almost at an end and Rob still had not found Gilles. None of the men he had killed fit Asher’s description. Their eyes were terror stricken, not cold. Where the hell was the bastard? Could he be dead already? Rob hoped not. He whirled his horse around to find his next opponent and came face to face with one.
“Wait!” the man shouted out as Rob lifted his blade. “There is something I must tell you before you slay me!”
“Ye dinna’ have much time,” Rob promised, circling him, his blade outstretched and ready.
“I am the Admiral’s captain, Maarten Hendrickson. You must go to the castle now. Go to the king and his daughter.”
Rob glanced into the vale leading to Camlochlin and to the king’s small troupe in the distance. He knew Davina wasn’t with them. Will would not have moved her until the battle was over.
“Gilles is among them,” Captain Hendrickson told him, stilling Rob’s heart. “He took a coat from the body of an English and joined the king’s party at the rear when they…”
A shot rang out close to Rob’s ear. So close, in fact, that he went momentarily deaf. A few feet away from him, Gilles’s captain slipped from his horse, blood and smoke issuing from a hole in his chest. Rob turned as the Dutchman fell to the ground, and looked up the hillside at his brother waving a cloud of smoke out of his face. Colin smiled at him through the fog, lifted the smoking barrel of a pistol to his lips, and blew. Rob was gone before his brother shoved his new weapon into his belt.
Chapter Thirty-six
Your daughter is a hard bitch to kill, James.”
The king sat alone on his horse. Around him, the seven men who had accompanied him into the deep vale lay dead. They were close to the castle when his first soldier fell. After that, everything happened so quickly. The king’s men barely had time to react before they were cut down by one of their own, his blade flashing red beneath the sun, swift and unexpected. But this assassin did not belong to James’s regiment and as the king met his unholy snarl, he almost admired the man’s craftiness and determination.
“You have ruined all my carefully laid-out plans. You, and that bastard MacGregor.”
James looked around for aid, but the remainder of his men were too far away, fighting and winning, with the aid of the MacGregors. He reached for his sword, but the man inching his steed closer only laughed.
“Gilles,” James spat as the tip of the Admiral’s blade poked his chest. “I’ll see you crushed beneath the Wheel.”
“Will you?” the Admiral laughed again, bounding from his horse and directing the king to do the same. “I think it will be you whose life will end this day.” He shoved James off the path and ducked behind a hilly slope dotted with sheep. “I intend to cut out your heart to make way for the true king. It is not how my lord planned it, but I have no choice now, you see. I could shoot you and make it quick, but even at the risk of my own peril, I want to look in your eyes while you die. As for your daughter, if I don’t kill her, someone else will be sent after you are gone. She will never be safe as long as she is on this earth.”
“No one will get past her guardian.” James smiled just as victoriously, remembering the skill and power of Robert MacGregor.
“We shall see about that. Well, you won’t, but I might.” Gilles flashed a grin and slid his blade almost lovingly across James’s throat, drawing no blood. He was playing with him, enjoying the king’s last moments. “Now that I’ve seen her”—he leaned in so that his breath fell on James’s face—“I’m a bit more inclined to make her scream beneath me before I kill her.”
James closed his eyes, sickened at the thought. “You will never touch her.” He prayed it would be so. He pleaded with God to protect his daughter from this devil. When he opened his eyes again, Gilles had taken a step back. A movement along the hillside captured the king’s eye. Someone was coming, moving silently against the wind. The king’s breath stalled when he saw that it was Robert MacGregor.
Standing beneath the towering madman in the solar would have rattled any man’s nerves, but seeing him creeping forward, his bloody claymore gripped in his hand and the promise of death in his eyes, was terrifying. The king wondered if this man who clearly loved his daughter was coming after Gilles, or him?
Gilles caught the direction of James’s gaze over his shoulder and began to turn around.
With less time than it took for the Admiral to change the direction of his rapier, the Highlander lunged forward and brought his blade down in a chopping blow over Gilles’s wrist.
Blood splattered across James’s chest and the king looked down in horror and satisfaction at Gilles’s sword lying on the ground with his hand still attached to it.
“That’s fer bringin’ yer men to my land,” MacGregor growled while Gilles gaped at his bloody stump. “And this”—he moved like a rush of wind, and wasting no time on idle words or threats, rammed his sword deep into the Admiral’s belly—“is fer tryin’ to kill my wife.”
King James stared mutely at MacGregor’s hard profile fixed on the life fading from Gilles’s eyes. His… wife? Davina’s father barely had time to take in what he had just heard, or thought he’d heard, when the efficient killer yanked his weapon free and moved toward him next.
“Are ye injured?”
James shook his head. “No, I…. What did you say to him just then?” He probably should not have asked that particular question just yet, for the Highlander suddenly looked at him with the same unyielding hatred he’d just shown to the dead man behind him. Hatred, and something else.
“Ye heard right. Davina is my wife and I canna’ let ye take her from me.”
In that instant, James was certain MacGregor was going to kill him. But Rob did not lift his blade, and the anger in his gaze faded into a contemptible plea. “Have ye never loved a woman more than yer own life? A woman ye would have sacrificed everything fer?”
James blinked at him and felt a wave of sorrow wash over him he hadn’t felt since the night of his first wife’s death. Even the assumed death of his daughter hadn’t surpassed the anguish of losing his dear Anne. “Yes, I must confess I have loved a woman that much. I sacrificed a future crown when I married her and followed her faith.”
It was not the answer MacGregor had expected, and for a moment, he simply stared at James in surprise. Then, “Then ye should know how serious I am. My wife is no’ returnin’ back to England with ye.”
“Son,” the king began, “let us speak of this later. I have—Behind you!” he shouted, eyes wide, and snatched MacGregor’s shoulders to push him out of the way.
For an instant, Peter Gilles stood motionless, one useless arm pressed to his bloody belly, the other poised above his shoulder, ready to bring down his sword. The arrow jutting out of his neck stopped him. As he sank to the ground, his lifeblood spilling into the grass, James set his gaze toward the braes of Bla Bheinn. His daughter stood against a backdrop of impenetrable rock, her long pale tresses snapping behind her as she dropped a bow to her feet and started running.
“Rob!” her sweet, unfamiliar voice carried across the moors, turning her father’s gaze to the man beside him. Quietly, he watched her fly into the Highlander’s arms, where after a tearful kiss, she examined him for injuries. “And you, father?” She turned to James. “Were you harmed?”
The king shook his head no. At least, not visibly. But what right did he have to expect that this warrior should not come before him? Jam
es had given his daughter too little. He’d stayed away too long and he’d lost her. She’d told him she did not love Robert MacGregor, but it was clear that she did. Could he take even more from her?
He almost cringed at the swarm of Highlanders riding over the hills, their bloody swords raised high over their heads. Dear God, they were a ferocious-looking lot. Among them, the remainder of his men appeared worn and lifeless.
“What happened?” the MacGregor chief demanded as he leaped from his saddle upon reaching them. “Is that Gilles?”
Robert told him all that had taken place, and after the chief was assured that none of them were injured, he brought them home.
Chapter Thirty-seven
The king sat in Camlochlin Castle’s Great Hall sipping a lethal concoction of what the MacGregors had affectionately called “the best poison in the Highlands.” He had to admit, the brew was exceptional, if not a bit scorching on the way down. After burying the dead, they drank to a good fight and to the king’s fallen—thirteen soldiers that a young man called Finn promised to honor in a song later.
James’s daughter was not among those at the table. She was off somewhere instead in the company of the chief’s wife and his sister. According to Finn, Maggie MacGregor loved Davina as her own daughter, and if the king tried to fetch her before the celebration ended, Katie MacGregor would give him a tongue-lashing he would not soon forget, king or not.
As James listened to the men’s laughter around him, he thought of days long past, when he fought in Spain and France, beside men who had become his brothers.
That same camaraderie and respect existed here. These men knew that whatever came, they would fight together to protect their home. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to. Such loyalty was difficult to find in England, and James couldn’t blame Davina for not wanting to leave. After seeing the MacGregors fight, he knew that Colin had been truthful when he said there was no safer place on earth for Davina than at Camlochlin. How could he take her away from this and bring her to a place where every smile was false and any hand could be working against him? How wise was it for him, being on the throne for so short a time, to expose his most precious secret to the world? But he wanted to know her, to hear of her life and learn what made her laugh or cry. He wanted to finally take her home, but there was more for his daughter here than just security and trust.