What could he say to her? What should he say? Rob had no idea. The one thing he never spent much time training with was lasses. He’d never had time for them. At least, not for anything more meaningful than a few hours of pleasure. After that, he threw himself back into what was most important. His duties to his clan. Duties he had tossed to the wayside since holding Davina Montgomery in his arms. Each day while he battled his feelings toward her, he also battled his logic for bringing her home, for not questioning her more about why an earl and a duke wanted her dead. ’Twas enough to drive his rational heart mad. But the more he rode with her, the more he came to know her, the less he cared. They had covered a good distance of leagues with her perched sideways on his lap, and not once had she complained. She had lost almost everyone she loved, yet she found joy in things as simple as a sunset or—he smiled rather hopefully at the stand of short hawthorn trees up ahead—a canopy of tiny pink blossoms.

Aye, he thought, bringing them to the trees. What chance did his sensible heart have against the sweet thrills she found in the mundane?

Clearing his throat, he dropped his gaze to the top of her head. He was glad she wasn’t facing him. Looking at her had a way of muddling his thoughts. Then again, so did wee flowers in her hair. He plucked one from her silvery blond tresses—a harmless act that left him aching to touch more of her.

“Davina, I want to…”

“Yes?”

Damnation. She turned. “I…” he began, but when she smiled up at the blossoms falling around their heads, he forgot everything else in the world and let his eyes bask in the sheer rapture of her. And here was another difference still—she was beguiling to the point of distraction, and utterly and delightfully unaware of it. “Davina, I have been a fool and though I canna’ promise it, I will do my best to avoid bein’ one in the future.”

Her gaze fell to his and her smile remained, emboldening him to continue. Her forgiveness, like her joy, came easily. “I may no’ participate in the things ye like to do with the others, but I’ll never stop ye from doin’ them. I know ye need to.”

Aye, he knew she needed more in her life than protection. She needed joy and freedom to be who she was—whoever that might be.

“Thank you.” Her voice was whisper-soft while she looked at him, a mixture of surprise and hope stirring something within her that made his heart clench. “My life has changed so much since… since you came into it.” She did not pull away when he lifted his fingers to the curve of her jaw but tilted her head to his touch. “I feel like I have just been born. I’ve always wanted to see what was beyond the Abbey walls, but I was afraid. I am not afraid when I’m with you.”

Rob swallowed once, twice. He didn’t think she could have made him any happier in that moment. But he was wrong.

“Your friends have become my friends, my family.”

“Aye, that pleases me,” he said, wiping a tear from beneath her lashes, and fearing the drum of his own heart that told him he would battle any army for her; a duke’s, an earl’s, or even a king’s.

Nae, he couldn’t. He was already sworn to another duty. He wanted her to understand. “While my brothers and sister were chasin’ sheep in the meadows, I was bein’ molded into a man who would someday wear my faither’s tartan. When ye come to know Callum MacGregor and what he has done fer his clan—what he is doin’ fer them now—ye’ll understand how hard I must work at makin’ certain his tartan will fit.”

She studied him quietly, carefully, searching deep within his eyes. “It sounds like you had a childhood very much like mine,” she finally said. “Your path was set for you and you had no choice in changing it.”

“I’ve never wanted to change it.”

She smiled at him rather sadly, seeming to understand the battle being fought inside him—the choice he had been “molded” to make. “Truly, Rob, the last thing I want to do is bring danger to you or your clan.”

He said nothing, feeling worse than before.

“You’ve never wanted to chase sheep in the meadows then?” Her eyes shimmered with playfulness, tempting him to forget the battle.

“Nae,” he smiled.

Her mirth faded watching him. She blinked, looking unnerved by something that just crossed her thoughts. “Did you chase many women?”

“Nae,” he replied, dipping his gaze to her lips.

“Not even one of those MacPherson girls that Will told about?”

He would have preferred her not knowing about that day, but the dreadful anticipation widening her eyes as she waited for his reply had the strangest, most satisfying effect on him. He’d been beating himself up every day telling himself that he wasn’t jealous of her captain, and here she was a tad bit jealous of the MacPherson sisters. His smile deepened, his blue eyes teasing. “She chased me.”

When she drew in a shocked breath, parting her lips beneath his curious touch, Rob bent his head to hers. He knew he shouldn’t kiss her, but he was tired of fighting what he felt for her. God help him. God help them all.

Davina sat motionless, save for the heart thumping wildly in her chest. She had time to realize what he was going to do, but she didn’t move away. She didn’t want to. After days of riding perched in his lap, acutely aware of the powerful length of his fingers before her, his breath behind her, his arms around her, she wanted something more. Sinful or not, she could not stop her dreams at night, dreams that Rob had invaded, taking the place of everything else. She awoke most mornings breathless from his ghostly, sensual touch and a bit ashamed of the pleasure she took in touching him back. She knew she should stop him now as his fingers slipped behind her nape, drawing her closer, angling her head higher to receive him, but she wanted this too much. Having never been kissed before, she was frightened by the forceful need in his first kiss, but this time his lips grazed hers, a tender, beguiling caress so intimate she was glad she sat nestled in his lap else she would have melted into a pool of liquid at his feet. The smooth stroke of his tongue coaxing her lips apart sent fire through her veins. So much better than her dreams. He took her mouth with exquisite thoroughness, molding her lips to his, tasting her with a hunger he did all he could to control. When he curled his arm around her, drawing her closer and deepening their kiss, she had the feeling of falling deep into a chasm where only he existed, ready and waiting to catch her.

Then he let her go.

His release was so sudden that it left Davina reaching for him with one hand and holding her heart with the other. As if letting her go pained him as much as it did her, he clutched her fingers grasping at his plaid and held them to his mouth.

“Fergive me,” his voice broke on a ragged, remorseful breath. “I fear I canna’ resist ye, even knowin’ ye belong to God.”

She watched his lips while he spoke, enraptured by their sensuous contours, remembering how they felt pressed so tenderly against hers, how he tasted of berries and checked desire. Always so in control. She had begun to fear that he didn’t like her, but it was God he was worried about. She wanted to tell him the whole truth of it, but not now. She might tell him later and pray he would not turn her away. Now though, she wanted him to kiss her again.

She pulled him down slowly, knowing by his own words that he couldn’t resist her. He was the first man in her life who couldn’t. Even her father had stayed away.

Shyly at first, she tested the supple surrender of his mouth, dragging her lips over his, inhaling the hot sweetness of his breath. He groaned as if she’d caused him pain, and then closed his arms around her, pressing her to all his hard angles. She opened her mouth to his, clutching his plaid in both hands as he crushed her in his arms. She felt his tongue against her teeth, soft, thrilling, probing while the scent of him, the size of him enveloped her like smoke. She wanted to take refuge in it, to hide away in the shelter of his embrace, to feel wanted as she did right now for the rest of her life. But her life was not her own and too many warnings were going off in her head, though now they had nothing to do with her enemies.

“No.” She fisted her hands at his chest and pushed off him. “We mustn’t.”

This time, he did not ask her forgiveness but stared at her, his breath short and heavy and his eyes burning into her like gleaming steel.

She looked away, closing her arms around herself in a futile attempt to drive out the cold longing she let invade her. “It will be dark soon. We should be getting back to the others.”

“Aye.” His voice was low and rough as he flicked his reins and turned his mount around.

They rode back in silence. Davina tried to concentrate on the sounds of life teeming around her, rather than on the truth that her life had not changed at all. Edward was correct, she was still James VII’s daughter. There was no place for love in her future. If her enemies didn’t find her, a marriage would be arranged for her, either to God, or one that best served the kingdom. She would never have a true family and while her heart longed for one, she had prepared herself for the lonely years ahead. She wished Rob had left her at Courlochcraig, when her heart was still guarded, her expectations, realistic. Now, after days of being held in the indomitable power of his embrace, after knowing the passion of his kiss, the thought of him leaving her left her trembling with a fear far greater than for her safety… or for his.

Peter Gilles tugged at the tips of his gloved fingers before pulling his hands free. The bitch was a wildcat, he thought, striding across the courtyard of Courlochcraig Abbey. He lifted his fingers to his face and winced at the stinging marks the Abbess had left there while he was strangling her. She’d fought hard and clung to her silence, even at the threat of death. Not that he would have left her or any of her novices alive after they’d seen him. They all had to die, but the rest he left to his men. Killing the Abbess was satisfying enough.

He would have liked to have taken a little more time with her. He enjoyed breaking courageous, spitfire women, but he’d grown impatient—one of his many faults to which he freely admitted. In the end though, her death served his purpose—as death usually did. Upon seeing her holy mother gasp her last breath, a rather striking young novice screamed what he wanted to know. A traveling novice called Davina had arrived at Courlochcraig, but she hadn’t arrived alone.

Reaching the front gate, Gilles mounted his horse and scowled at the quiet Abbey. He hated Highlanders, and according to the fair Sister Elaine, their guest was escorted by four of them—and an English captain who had arrived later and needed healers. The captain couldn’t be Asher, as Gilles had seen him dead. If he wasn’t dead, he soon would be. The Highlanders could prove to be a more taxing nuisance, though. What Gilles knew of them from his years at Dutch court was that they fought with purpose and passion, mainly for their religious beliefs. Zealots. The Admiral spat onto the ground. There was nothing worse.

He tapped his boot against his mount’s flank. How long did it take to kill a few women? They were losing precious time. If all went as planned, the exiled Earl of Argyll should have landed his ships in the west of Scotland by now to secure support. Monmouth would be arriving in England soon after that to pronounce himself king. Gilles didn’t think the duke would make a satisfactory leader, but really, what concern was it of his? He only had to make certain there was no one else left to claim the throne after he killed Monmouth and Argyll and made the way for the true king.

Elaine had said the Highlanders were from the clan MacGregor, but she knew nothing more about them or where they were heading when they left. Their tracks were probably gone by now, but at least he knew which direction to take, that is, if they could get the hell out of Ayr.

“Maarten!” he shouted toward the Abbey. Clicking his tongue, his glare grew blacker at the silence around him. He was about to ride through the Abbey doors and finish the nuns himself when his captain exited, followed by the rest of his men.

“What was the holdup?” he asked when Maarten reached him.

The captain looked up, but only for a moment, then pulled his sickened gaze away and dropped his bloodstained dagger to the ground. “Nothing. It is done.”

“Good. Now let us be off. With any luck, Edgar and his party are on the lady’s trail and have left us markers. We—”

“Not unless the lady has drowned in the river we crossed getting here,” Hendrick informed him, reaching for his reins. “One of the sisters took great pleasure in telling me that the Highlanders killed our men and dumped them in the river. The leader, she said, slew six on his own.”

Gilles’s face contorted with rage and beneath him, his mount pranced backward at the viselike grip of its rider’s thighs. “So, James’s daughter has a champion. I’ll make certain to kill her while he watches.”

Maarten watched his Admiral wheel his horse around and thunder away from the front gate. “De Duivel,” he whispered to himself, horrified by what he and the others had just done… again. “Perhaps God has finally sent a warrior to deliver us all to hell, where we belong.”