Part 2 (1/2)
”Right, then.” His cousin threw him a knowing grin which Rob answered with an even darker scowl. ”I'll scout ahead. Come, lads,” he called out, taking Colin and Finn with him.
When they were alone, Rob's gaze returned to the back of Davina's head. What had he just dragged them into? He had to question her more about what had happened, but later, after she rested. He felt like h.e.l.l for not offering her water sooner, but he wasn't a b.l.o.o.d.y nursemaid. He was a warrior, trained to be compa.s.sionate, but always hard. Though he'd grown to manhood in the company of many women, he didn't know anything about soothing them when they wept.
Bending close to her ear, Rob offered her the one thing he knew how to give. His protection.
Chapter Four.
I'll keep ye safe, la.s.s. The Highlander's whispered promise echoed through Davina's thoughts while she watched his companion, Will, yank the tip of an arrow out of his shoulder.
Soft golden light from the setting sun filtered through the spa.r.s.e canopy above their small campsite and fell on the man Davina a.s.sumed was the troupe's leader, the man who pulled her from the flames, the one who swore to protect her. His companions had called him Rob. He was taller than the others, or perhaps it was his air of control, even as the wooden shaft tore through his flesh, that made him appear bigger, stronger, and capable of anything.
But could he... would he truly protect her? She wanted to believe that he meant it, because every single person she knew in her life was dead, and if Rob was her enemy disguising his purpose, then there was nothing more to hope for.
But she was no fool. Edward and more than a hundred of his men had not been able to protect her, though they had tried. Certainly four Highlanders, two of them barely even men yet, would fall even quicker. Or would they? Saints, but they were savage looking, with their bare knees and huge swords dangling from their hips. What were they doing at St. Christopher's? Were they truly bringing her someplace safe, or to her enemies? Either way, she could not stay with them. If they were innocent, she would likely get them killed. She could ask them boldly if her enemy had sent them but they would not tell her the truth.
Grief clouded her thoughts, but not enough to make her trust the one who might or might not have rescued her. How had her enemies found her even before the coronation? Someone had informed them. But who?
The sisters had never kept the truth from her. Davina knew why she had been taken from her mother's arms as a babe, abandoned by her father, and sent off to St. Christopher's. She understood the value of her existence, for twice now it had cost her everything she loved. When Edward had arrived at the Abbey from King Charles's court, he had told her of the men who sought her demise. And dear G.o.d, there were many. Though his warnings birthed a fear in Davina that was almost palpable, she understood his reasons for telling her. Ignorance of one's foe was as dangerous as facing them on a battlefield. And so, she lived in uncertainty and unease, always aware of the danger around her.
In the fading light, she watched Rob walk toward the pebbly brook and bend to the water's edge where she'd washed the soot out of her own hair earlier. He scooped some water up in his hands to wash his face. His wound needed cleaning, but Davina was thankful that he didn't remove his clothing to bathe. She had lived among many men in her life, but not a single one of them emanated such raw strength as this one, nor were any of them as broad of shoulder as he. She was certain it was the primitive belted plaid swinging about his bare knees when he stood to his feet that helped accentuate the comparison-the dusty skins wrapped around his calves-one, with the hilt of a dagger sticking out of it-that bore testimony to his vigor. This man spent his days doing more than sitting idle with his comrades, drinking and waiting for battle to come to him. Following him with her gaze as he turned from the stream and moved around the campsite, she found his gait easy and confident with the kind of pride carried by generations before him. When he angled his head to look at her and found her staring at him, she swung her gaze to a nearby tree.
”Ye know, la.s.s,” he said, and she was aware of him moving toward her. ”If my sister could be as quiet as ye are fer but a quarter of the time, she'd likely have found a husband by now.”
Squatting now before a pile of embers to her right, Will let out a low snicker. He was temptation incarnate, that one, Davina thought when he glanced at her and winked. As darkly intriguing as a wolf, with pale gray eyes and a set of fangs to match.
”Leave Mairi oot of this,” said the boy who had defied Rob so boldly when he was told to go to England. He looked to be about nine and ten, lean bodied and quite at ease on his mount on the way here. Dark, silky waves eclipsed eyes that were a dozen different shades of green and golden brown, smoldering eyes that burned with a sense of purpose almost as intense as Rob's. ”Ye both know why she hasna' wed.”
”Aye, Colin,” Will laughed, sprinkling twigs over the building flames. ”The men are afraid o' her.”
”I believe Colin is referring to my brother Connor.”
”I am referrin' to him, as well, Finn. Though I dinna' blame Connor fer fleein' to England.” Will's eyes gleamed above the flames, playful and teasing on the young man whose visage alone had made Davina almost forget-for just an instant-the horrors of the day.
When she'd first set eyes on the one called Finn she thought it might be possible that G.o.d had sent one of His fairest, undoubtedly Scottish, angels to save her. His hair was pin-straight and almost as pale as hers beneath his bonnet of rich emerald, the same color as his eyes. He sang when he spoke and his eyes twinkled and danced like stars across Ireland's moors. Just looking at him made her feel better. Unlike Colin, who possessed the same dark, dangerous appeal as Rob, Finn was so beautiful Davina felt pity for any young lady who fell in love with him.
”Connor's not afraid of anything,” Finn corrected, resting his back against a tree and tossing a handful of berries into his mouth. ”Why d'ye think King Charles made him a captain?”
Davina wasn't surprised by this bit of news. The dead king was known to have taken many Scots, even Highlanders, into his army. She wondered if Edward knew Finn's brother. Had known, she corrected, fighting another wave of emotion that threatened to spill from her eyes.
She turned away from the men and found Rob squatting before her. Dear Lord, but he made every other male, including the ones around her, look ordinary. In the dimming light she couldn't see the gold flecks that gave fire to his vivid blue eyes, but she knew they were there. His nose was straight and cla.s.sically cut, his jaw wide and shadowed just enough to lend to his rugged appearance. Beneath lips crafted, she was certain, for the sole purpose of leading women astray, the hint of a dimple defined the unyielding strength of his chin.
”Are ye hungry?”
”I should help,” she said, pus.h.i.+ng herself off the ground.
”Ye should sit,” Rob corrected, reaching for her robes and gently pulling her back down. ”We need to speak,” he said, growing more serious, ”and as much as it may displease ye, ye'll be doin' most of the talkin'.”
Involuntarily, Davina felt her lips press together. It wasn't safe for her to do the talking, for she tended to run on with a topic well beyond its natural end. It was because she hadn't had anyone new to talk with, or hear about the world with in four years, that she was less cautious when she was speaking. She didn't want to converse with this stranger, but she was going to have to find a way to avoid it without piquing his curiosity. If her enemies did not send him, he might just as easily give her up to them if he discovered her secrets.
”Whatever you like, sir,” she said, relaxing her mouth. ”But before we do, I beg you let me tend to the wound in your arm.”
He sized her up with a slow, silent a.s.sessment that made her teeth itch. The force of his gaze, the sheer power of will he possessed to refuse her if he decided she was simply putting him off, sent a fissure of panic through her. In that moment, she admired Colin immensely for standing up to his disapproving scrutiny.
”Sir, I wouldn't want you to fall ill with a fever because of me,” she added earnestly to encourage his compliance.
”Verra well,” he finally conceded, misgivings clearly etched in his features. ”But dinna' call me Sir.” He sat back, giving her leave to touch him. ”I'm no' a knight of the realm, and I've never been considered a gentleman.”
Davina didn't know what to make of that declaration, or why the husky timbre of his voice when he said it sent an odd quiver down her spine. ”I'll need water,” she told him, barely looking at him, her hands folded in her lap. She wasn't about to fall victim to a temptation that was, and always would be, denied her.
”Will.” He turned briefly to the others. ”She needs water.”
”You need to s.h.i.+ft a bit,” Davina instructed, trying to think of what he might ask her, and what she might or might not answer.
”Aye, that would help.” He smiled as he turned, scattering Davina's thoughts like dry leaves in the wind. How could his virility be as tangible as a touch and yet his smile be so guileless and awkward-so much more honest and open than his friend's, who appeared before them on his haunches?
”Ye're gus.h.i.+n' like a peach-faced whelp,” Will said, wearing a smirk that boded ill for Rob. ”Are ye certain the fever hasna' already come upon ye?”
Davina caught the pouch Will tossed her just before the pad of Rob's boot struck him in the chest. A smaller man would have sailed an inch or two off the ground, but Will only landed hard on his rump and laughed.
”Go easy on him, la.s.s,” Will said, springing back to his feet. ”He's soft,” he added over his shoulder when he was a good enough distance away to safely rest for the night.
Soft? Davina doubted it as she surveyed Rob's back. Even draped in yards of wool he appeared as solid as the mountains in the distance. ”After I've cleaned the wound, I'll need your dagger to cut a few strips of fabric so that I can-”
”Ye'll no' be gettin' my dagger, la.s.s. Though I understand why ye shot me-”
”That arrow was mine?” Her eyes opened wide on him and any hope she had in him helping her faded.
”She shot ye?” cried Finn, voicing the disbelief that marked the faces of his companions.
”Aye,” Rob answered, drawing out a heavy sigh as if it was the last thing he wanted to admit. ”And I dinna' feel at ease with her holdin' a knife to my back.”
”That's ridiculous,” Davina argued. ”I would never stab a man....” Something he'd said suddenly struck her. He'd mentioned earlier how she'd almost killed him, but she'd been too grief-stricken to catch it. ”How do you know the arrow came from my quiver?” When he didn't answer right away, another realization hit her like a cannon to her chest, making it difficult to breathe. ”How do you know Edward is dead, or who he was? You were not acquainted with him, were you?”
”Nae, I didna' know him,” he said quietly, avoiding her searching gaze.
”And you knew I was inside the Abbey.” Everything was beginning to make more sense now. Dear G.o.d, he was one of them! It didn't matter that he was a Highlander. Her enemies were powerful men with allies in almost every country and fat enough purses to hire mercenaries if their soldiers failed. Trust no one. Her fingers balled into fists and her eyes glistened with tears. Here she was concerned about the man who likely took Edward's life. She didn't think about the other three watching her. She didn't care if they killed her.
”b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” She leaned over him and s.n.a.t.c.hed the dagger from his boot.
His reflexes were too quick and he caught her wrist with bone-crus.h.i.+ng strength. Before his companions even had time to gain their feet to rush to his aid, he flipped her completely over his shoulder, delivering her flat on the ground so hard it knocked the air from her lungs. Before she could roll away and run, he pinned her with his weight and halted the others with a stroke of his hand.
”Are ye bewitched? Possessed by a demon?” he demanded, his eyes on her as merciless as his fingers still squeezing into her wrist. ”Is that why they want ye dead?”