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? 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.