by Paula Quinn
“I willna’ be persuaded, Mairi.” His tone softened a bit. “Ye are my daughter and ye will obey me in this. I love ye, and I will do whatever I need to do in order to keep ye safe.”
Her eyes opened wide with pleading. “But—”
“Graham,” he said, cutting her off and turning to Connor’s father. “Ye and Claire will stay, as well. If Rob is correct and Miss Montgomery’s enemies are here, we dinna’ want to arouse their suspicions by all of us rushing home.”
Graham agreed and left the chamber with the rest of her kin, leaving Mairi alone with a dozen curses spilling from her lips.
She was still fuming when she entered the Banqueting House and was greeted by Henry de Vere, the Protestant son of the Earl of Oxford. Damnation, she wasn’t in the frame of mind to be polite to him now.
Nae, she couldn’t let the idea of being trapped in the palace with Connor for God knows how long distract her from her original plan. She wished she had Tristan’s knack for looking on the brighter side when all was going to hell. She was staying, and it would give her more time to discover if the scar running down Oxford’s face had been put there by her own dagger last spring when the militia raided a secret meeting of Covenanters.
“I was looking for you.” He smiled and brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss. “Forgive me for being so anxious at the thought of seeing you again. I—”
“I am flattered, m’lord.” Despite the urge to wipe her hand on her kirtle, she managed a smile. If he was a Covenanter, she would have to kill him, but it could wait. “What lady wouldna’ be pleased to find herself admired by so fine a gentleman?”
“You honor me.” The flush across his jaw convinced Mairi that not too many women did.
Good lord, but why did English men insist on wearing those hideous periwigs on their heads? It gave them the same look as the sheep that grazed on the hills of Camlochlin.
“Come, I want you to meet my sister Elizabeth. She just arrived from visiting our relatives in Somerset and is anxious to meet you. I told her all about you. I do hope you don’t mind.”
Not all about her, Mairi hoped, and almost smiled genuinely for the first time that day.
Davina Montgomery is the Crown’s greatest secret. But when a powerful warrior steals her heart, their passion may destroy the English throne.
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Ravished by a Highlander
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SOUTHERN SCOTTISH BORDER
SPRING 1685
Chapter One
High atop Saint Christopher’s Abbey, Davina Montgomery stood alone in the bell tower, cloaked in the silence of a world she did not know. Darkness had fallen hours ago, and below her the sisters slept peacefully in their beds, thanks to the men who had been sent here to guard them. But there was little peace for Davina. The vast indigo sky filling her vision was littered with stars that seemed close enough to touch should she reach out her hand. What would she wish for? Her haunted gaze slipped southward toward England, and then with a longing just as powerful, toward the moonlit mountain peaks of the north. Which life would she choose if the choice were hers to make? A world where she’d been forgotten, or one where no one knew her? She smiled sadly against the wind that whipped her woolen novice robes around her. What good was it to ponder when her future had already been decreed? She knew what was to come. There were no variations. That is, if she lived beyond the next year. She looked away from the place she could never go and the person she could never be.
She heard the soft fall of footsteps behind her but did not turn. She knew who it was.
“Poor Edward. I imagine your heart must have failed you when you did not find me in my bed.”
When he remained quiet, she felt sorry for teasing him about the seriousness of his duty. Captain Edward Asher had been sent here to protect her four years ago, after Captain Geoffries had taken ill and was relieved of his command. Edward had become more than her guardian. He was her dearest friend, someone she could confide in here within the thick walls that sheltered her from the schemes of her enemies. Edward knew her fears and accepted her faults.
“I knew where to find you,” he finally said, his voice just above a whisper.
He always did know. Not that there were many places to look. Davina was not allowed to venture outside the Abbey gates, so she came to the bell tower often to let her thoughts roam free.
“My lady—”
She turned at his soft call, putting away her dreams and desires behind a tender smile. Those she kept to herself and did not share, even with him.
“Please, I…” he began, meeting her gaze and then stumbling through the rest as if the face he looked upon every day still struck him as hard as it had the first time he’d seen her. He was in love with her, and though he’d never spoken his heart openly, he did not conceal how he felt. Everything was there in his eyes, his deeds, his devotion—and a deep regret that Davina suspected had more to do with her than he would ever have the boldness to admit. Her path had been charted for another course, and she could never be his. “Lady Montgomery, come away from here, I beg you. It is not good to be alone.”
He worried for her so, and she wished he wouldn’t. “I’m not alone, Edward,” she reassured him. If her life remained as it was now, she would find a way to be happy. She always did. “I have been given much.”
“It’s true,” he agreed, moving closer to her and then stopping himself, knowing what she knew. “You have been taught to fear the Lord and love your king. The sisters love you, as do my men. It will always be so. We are your family. But it is not enough.” He knew she would never admit it, so he said it for her.
It had to be enough. It was safer this way, cloistered away from those who would harm her if ever they discovered her after the appointed time.
That time had come.
Davina knew that Edward would do anything to save her. He told her often, each time he warned her of her peril. Diligently, he taught her to trust no one, not even those who claimed to love her. His lessons often left her feeling a bit hopeless, though she never told him that, either.
“Would that I could slay your enemies,” he swore to her now, “and your fears along with them.”
He meant to comfort her, but good heavens, she didn’t want to discuss the future on such a breathtaking night. “Thanks to you and God,” she said, leaving the wall to go to him and tossing him a playful smile, “I can slay them myself.”
“I agree,” he surrendered, his good mood restored by the time she reached him. “You’ve learned your lessons in defense well.”
She rested her hand on his arm and gave it a soft pat. “How could I disappoint you when you risked the Abbess’s consternation to teach me?”
He laughed with her, both of them comfortable in their familiarity. But too soon he grew serious again.
“James is to be crowned in less than a se’nnight.”
“I know.” Davina nodded and turned toward England again. She refused to let her fears control her. “Mayhap,” she said with a bit of defiance sparking her doleful gaze, “we should attend the coronation, Edward. Who would think to look for me at Westminster?”
“My lady…” He reached for her. “We cannot. You know—”
“I jest, dear friend.” She angled her head to speak to him over her shoulder, carefully cloaking the struggle that weighed heaviest upon her heart, a struggle that had nothing to do with fear. “Really, Edward, must we speak of this?”
“Yes, I think we should,” he answered earnestly, then went on swiftly, before she could argue, “I’ve asked the Abbess if we can move you to Courlochcraig Abbey in Ayr. I’ve already sent word to—”
“Absolutely not,” she stopped him. “I will not leave my home. Besides, we have no reason to believe that my enemies know of me at all.”
“Just for a year or two. Until we’re certain—”
“No,” she told him again, this time turning to face him fully. “Edward, would y
ou have us leave the sisters here alone to face our enemies should they come seeking me? What defense would they have without the strong arms of you and your men? They will not leave St. Christopher’s, nor will I.”
He sighed and shook his head at her. “I cannot argue when you prove yourself more courageous than I. I pray I do not live to regret it. Very well, then.” The lines of his handsome face relaxed. “I shall do as you ask. For now, though,” he added, offering her his arm, “allow me to escort you to your chamber. The hour is late, and the Reverend Mother will show you no mercy when the cock crows.”
Davina rested one hand in the crook of his arm and waved away his concern with the other. “I don’t mind waking with the sun.”
“Why would you,” he replied, his voice as light now as hers as he led her out of the belfry, “when you can just fall back to sleep in the Study Hall.”
“It was only the one time that I actually slept,” she defended, slapping his arm softly. “And don’t you have more important things to do with your day than follow me around?”
“Three times,” he corrected, ignoring the frown he knew was false. “Once, you even snored.”
Her eyes, as they descended the stairs, were as wide as her mouth. “I have never snored in my life!”
“Save for that one time, then?”
She looked about to deny his charge again, but bit her curling lip instead. “And once during Sister Bernadette’s piano recital. I had penance for a week. Do you remember?”
“How could I forget?” he laughed. “My men did no chores the entire time, preferring to listen at your door while you spoke aloud to God about everything but your transgression.”
“God already knew why I fell asleep,” she explained, smiling at his grin. “I did not wish to speak poorly of Sister Bernadette’s talent, or lack of it, even in my own defense.”
His laughter faded, leaving only a smile that looked to be painful as their walk ended and they stood at her door. When he reached out to take her hand, Davina did her best not to let the surprise in her eyes dissuade him from touching her. “Forgive my boldness, but there is something I must tell you. Something I should have told you long ago.”
“Of course, Edward,” she said softly, keeping her hand in his. “You know you may always speak freely to me.”
“First, I would have you know that you have come to mean—”
“Captain!”
Davina leaned over the stairwell to see Harry Barns, Edward’s second in command, plunge through the Abbey doors. “Captain!” Harry shouted up at them, his face pale and his breath heavy from running. “They are coming!”
For one paralyzing moment, Davina doubted the good of her ears. She’d been warned of this day for four years but had always prayed it would not come. “Edward,” she asked hollowly, on the verge of sheer panic, “how did they find us so soon after King Charles’s death?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth as if he, too, refused to believe what he was hearing. But there was no time for doubt. Spinning on his heel, he gripped her arm and hauled her into her room. “Stay here! Lock your door!”
“What good will that do us?” She sprang for her quiver and bow and headed back to the door, and to Edward blocking it. “Please, dear friend. I do not want to cower alone in my room. I will fire from the bell tower until it is no longer safe to do so.”
“Captain!” Barns raced up the stairs, taking three at a time. “We need to prepare. Now!”
“Edward”—Davina’s voice pulled him back to her—“you trained me for this. We need every arm available. You will not stop me from fighting for my home.”
“Orders, Captain, please!”
Davina looked back once as she raced toward the narrow steps leading back to the tower.
“Harry!” She heard Edward shout behind her. “Prepare the vats and boil the tar. I want every man alert and ready at my command. And Harry…”
“Captain?”
“Wake the sisters and tell them to pray.”
In the early morning hours that passed after the massacre at St. Christopher’s, Edward’s men had managed to kill half of the enemy’s army. But the Abbey’s losses were greater. Far greater.
Alone in the bell tower, Davina stared down at the bodies strewn across the large courtyard. The stench of burning tar and seared flesh stung her nostrils and burned her eyes as she set them beyond the gates to the meadow where men on horseback still hacked away at each other as if their hatred could never be satisfied. But there was no hatred. They fought because of her, though none of them knew her. But she knew them. Her dreams had been plagued with her faceless assassins since the day Edward had first told her of them.
Tears brought on by the pungent air slipped down her cheeks, falling far below to where her friends… her family lay dead or dying. Dragging her palm across her eyes, she searched the bodies for Edward. He’d returned to her an hour after the fighting had begun and ordered her into the chapel with the sisters. When she’d refused, he’d tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and brought her there himself. But she did not remain hidden. She couldn’t, so she’d returned to the tower and her bow and sent more than a dozen of her enemies to meet their Maker. But there were too many—or mayhap God didn’t want the rest, for they slew the men she ate with, laughed with, before her eyes.
She had feared this day for so long that it had become a part of her. She thought she had prepared. At least, for her own death. But not for the Abbess’s. Not for Edward’s. How could anyone prepare to lose those they loved?
Despair ravaged her, and for a moment she considered stepping over the wall. If she was dead they would stop. But she had prayed for courage too many times to let God or Edward down now. Reaching into the quiver on her back, she plucked out an arrow, cocked her bow, and closed one eye to aim.
Below her and out of her line of vision, a soldier garbed in military regalia not belonging to England crept along the chapel wall with a torch clutched in one fist and a sword in the other.
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Kate Brady
Dear Reader,
I first met the hero in LAST TO DIE (on sale now) several years ago. His name was Mitch Sheridan, and I got to know him long before his brother, Neil, came around and launched the Sheridan series. Mitch was the hero of my first foray into contemporary stories, and toward the end of that manuscript, I learned he had a brother and a sister. I knew nothing about either one, but became fascinated by all three Sheridans. I went on to write Neil’s story and later to sell it.
That’s when I came full circle back to Mitch. His original story didn’t involve the maniacal murder plot expected in romantic thrillers, but Mitch himself was a character I’d always loved. Gorgeous, famous, sexy, and driven by a deep-seated need to save the world in order to redeem his own failures, Mitch required a heroine who would take the blinders from his eyes and make him face the truth instead of running from it. Someone undaunted by his fortune and fame.
Dani Cole seemed right for the job. A cop with a hard life, Dani emerged in the story as tough as the pit bull she’d once rescued. She was stubborn, independent, resilient. And she made it clear to Mitch when they were just teenagers that she could manage life’s challenges without him. In fact, she preferred it that way.
Eighteen years later, when their story opens, sexual sparks fly, but Dani still refuses to let herself lean on Mitch. Now, here’s where I—as a modern female author—encounter a dichotomy that’s always hard to handle. I’m an educated and progressive woman perfectly capable of taking care of myself. But I’m also a sucker for a man who knows what he wants. And when what he wants is a specific woman—whom he’s wanted for eighteen years—I have to admit I find that pretty darn sexy. I’m not talking about anything brutish, mind you. But watching Mitch charm his way back into Dani’s life, and then seeing him fear she was in danger, reminded me of why I fell in love wi
th him and his brother in the first place. It may not be very liberated of me, but there it is.
Of course, before they come around to bliss, they’ll have to track down a diabolical murderer and unravel a hair-raising plot that’s motivated by far more than money or vengeance.
People continually ask how I come up with such warped psyches. I can only say that somewhere between grading papers and conducting church choirs and doing laundry and running kids around and cooking meals and cleaning up after pets—twisted little thoughts sometimes niggle. It’s great fun to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) and flesh them out!
I hope you enjoy going along with Mitch and Dani to conquer that evil killer and find true love.
Happy Reading!
From the desk of Paula Quinn
Dear Reader,
When I was given the opportunity to write “The Children of the Mist” series, I was overjoyed. I couldn’t wait to begin and to be reunited with my two favorite characters, Kate and Callum MacGregor, from LAIRD OF THE MIST. How exciting to meet their sons and their daughter, to fill over twenty years of time in my head discovering who my new heroes and heroines were, and who they were to become. You already met the devoted, uncompromisingly stubborn firstborn, Rob MacGregor, in the first book in the series, RAVISHED BY A HIGHLANDER. His brother Tristan, the hero (and I breathe a little sigh as I type that particular word for this particular man) in my brand new book SEDUCED BY A HIGHLANDER, is nothing at all like him. In fact, Tristan is nothing like anyone in his family. Or so everyone, including him, believes. Up until my revisions for this book, even I didn’t know who Tristan truly was.
He had us all fooled.
Like every other woman who meets him, I quickly fell in love with his natural charm and vibrant smiles. But it was a facade, and it took me some time before I realized it. Me, his author. Even after I did, breaking through the barrier he’d built between himself and the rest of the world made him the most challenging and ultimately gratifying hero I’ve ever written.