Ravished by a Highlander (18 page)

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.

R
ob 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…

When he came to a sandy inlet he dropped his boots and looked out over the loch. She was heir to the throne! She could never
be his and the danger she posed to the people of Camlochlin had increased tenfold. Still, now more than ever he knew he had
to protect her. He had already decided to continue on with her when he told Will and the others last eve who he believed her
to be. Camlochlin was their home and they had a right to know what decisions he was making that could affect their future.
As he suspected, the lads agreed to bring her home despite the danger. Aye, they had all gone mad.

How the hell had Gilles’s men found her? How did her enemies know she even existed when it seemed no one else did? Of course,
Asher knew who she was, and the Abbess at Courlochcraig knew, as well. Rob understood now why both of them had refused to
tell him anything. But what about Davina? When was she going to trust him enough to share the truth with him? Mayhap William
of Orange knew of her through his wife, Davina’s sister. Were Monmouth and Argyll planning a rebellion with the Prince of
Orange? Which one of them had ordered Davina’s death?

None of those questions mattered when weighed against the fact that she was the king’s daughter. Even if her enemies never
found her, her father would surely come for her. What would Rob do then? Would he lead his clan into war over a lass? And
what if she wanted to go? What if she knew her duty, and like him, was determined to see it done?

He should send her away now, before he lost his heart, and everything else, to her completely. He should, but he wasn’t going
to. Not after he’d kissed her and felt her heart beating frantically against her round breasts. Especially not after she’d
kissed him back—her plump, warm lips curious at first, and then as hungry as his own. She was innocent, but her mouth was
so sweetly wanton that he was tempted to give up everything in his life just to taste her again.

He tugged his shirt over his shoulders, tossed it to the ground, and stepped into the water. The frigid sting numbing his
calves was just what he needed to quell the raging fire Davina incited in him. Squatting, he used a length of his plaid to
scrub himself clean. He cupped his hands to gather the water and splashed it onto his face then loosened his hair and ran
his wet fingers through it. He would bring her to Skye, keep her safe, and be content with just that for now. Aye, he could
do it. As long as no one ever tried to hurt her, he could be content. He would worry about the king—and his own father—later.

He straightened, feeling better, and shook the water from his hair.

“I was looking for you.”

He snapped his head up and knew he was a fool for thinking anything could douse what Davina stirred in him. Just looking at
her made his muscles tighten with a need to have her, hold her, protect her. She stood alone, her fingers entwined in front
of her, resting on the soft green wool of her skirts. She’d tied her hair up at her temples, exposing her slightly oversized
ears, the sweet contours of her face. She was as slight as a veil, utterly defenseless against the storm that lurked in the
distance. How could anyone want to hurt her?