Ravished by a Highlander (37 page)

“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 toward 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.

Y
our 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? James 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.

T
he 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.

There was
him
. James looked across the heavy table at Robert MacGregor staring into his cup like he’d just lost both legs in the battle.
He had no doubts that the man loved Davina, or that he would kill or die for her. He knew it was more than his other two daughters’
husbands would do for their wives, and no less than he would have done for Anne Hyde. His Anne, his beloved. What would she
have to say about all this? They’d given up Davina to protect her, to ensure a Catholic monarchy in the future. But did it
have to be Davina? She had not been raised to be a queen. It was clear to see in her eyes that she lacked the ruthless desire
to rule, unlike his second-eldest daughter. His wife Mary was young and eager in his bed. If she gave him an heir…