Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter Three

“’Tis late,” Gregor said. “We’ll not bother those within the abbey until morning. Let’s set up camp here.”

Gregor guessed it had to be nearing midnight. The rains had finally stopped, but the ground was still soggy. Nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.

“Aye, my laird,” Samuel said.

Though Gregor had wanted to leave Samuel at home for his own safety, as an afterthought, he’d decided it would be best to bring him along. The news was heavy, and Samuel, being English, and still considered a confidant of the King of England, could gain his orders from Robert the Bruce and most likely be on his way to England to find out who had been behind the capture of Wallace.

Not a decision that Gregor’s sister would be too happy with, but that was a risk Catriona took by marrying an English spy.

Samuel issued the order to the men while Gregor dismounted and walked the perimeter of the abbey walls to be sure there were no others lurking.

’Twas unusual for an abbey to be attacked by outlaws seeking absolution for their sins, though there was the occasional desperate fool in need of money and food. As of late, the past seven years in fact, the abbeys had come under attack from the English.

Gregor had firsthand experience with the bastards. They’d broken through Castle Buchanan’s defenses and taken him captive, threatened to rape his sister, and killed many of their people. Never again would he let them have an advantage over him. If he could help it, he’d make certain they never again had the upper hand on
anyone
.

The abbey was dark save for a few torches lit over the gate, a welcome to anyone who needed safe harbor. He admired their trust in absolutely everyone, even with all that was going on in the world. Melrose Abbey was so close to Glasgow, Stirling and Edinburgh. Sassenach hot spots. In fact, he was surprised they’d not come across a band of English bastards near the abbey to begin with. Perhaps they were all laying low given the recent change of events.

Just two weeks ago, William Wallace was snatched away by a Scottish defector and handed over to the English. And Gregor suspected the defector was someone Wallace had known, else how would he have been able to steal one of Scotland’s fiercest warriors from his bed?

No one could be trusted.

Gregor’s boots squished in the soggy ground around the stone walls of the abbey, his sword out and scraping in the trampled grass as he walked. He stilled at the sound of movement, a piercing cry of some creature caught, and then the shadow of it slinking away with its prize.

The laws of nature were not so much unlike the battles between the English and the Scots. There could only be one victor, and in the case of the fox and the soft creature he overpowered, the only way for the latter to win would have been by sheer mass alone. How would it be for him, his country?

Standing at the back of the abbey, nothing but darkness occupied the landscape beyond. He stood there admiring the silence, the peace of it. When dawn brushed the land, the gleaming green of the fields, and rainbow colors of wild flowers, the backs of white sheep and the sandy-brown of the cows would all be lit upon.

Gregor returned to the camp. A fire had been lit, and a few of the men warmed hunks of meat on sticks. Thick wool plaids were laid out to soak up the wetness on the ground. At least the temperature was not unpleasant. A balmy night.

“All’s well around the abbey,” Gregor told Samuel.

“Our scouts reported no one else making camp within the vicinity,” Samuel replied. “I’ve placed Fingal and Connor on first patrol.”

Gregor nodded and reached for the skin of ale in his satchel. He took a long drink, pressed his hand to his sporran where the missive he needed to give Robert the Bruce was safely tucked away.

The news he had to impart would be devastating. He needed more than ale to dull his senses. He pulled out a small flask filled with the heady whisky distilled by Big Abe, a member of his clan. Dark and thick, it burned a man’s tongue on its way to his belly. Gregor never went anywhere without it, because the potent stuff was not only good for calming the brain, but for numbing and sterilizing a wound, too.

“Pass me some of that,” Samuel said.

Gregor grinned and handed him the flask.

Samuel took a swig and passed it back. “You seem troubled.”

Gregor grunted. He couldn’t yet share the news with Samuel. Not until he’d had a chance to share it with the Bruce. A task he’d been sent to do, and one he wished he hadn’t. In fact, when he’d received the Bruce’s message to meet at the abbey, Gregor had already been planning to find his sovereign.

Gregor tightened the laces on his boots. The last thing he needed if woken in the night was to trip over the lines. “’Haps it’s because I have missed confession.”

“And you’ve much to confess?”

Gregor shrugged, taking another sip. “Does not every man?”

“Catriona prays for me morning and night,” Samuel chuckled. “Says she wants to ensure I am accepted into Heaven. She fears for my soul.”

“Well she should, ye are a Sassenach. Born to the devil’s own country,” Gregor goaded.

“Bah! No child can be born evil.”

“A matter of opinion. I believe Longshanks has no good bone in his body. He is malicious all the way to his marrow. A man cannot be taught to be as mean as he is.”

“I disagree.”

“’Tis not unusual,” Gregor drawled.

The two of them had become good friends, and Gregor always looked to Samuel for a different perspective. They always seemed to come to terms eventually, even if those terms were to agree to disagree. It was good to see another side of things. Made Gregor a better laird and chief to his clan.

Samuel leaned back, hands behind his head. “Your news must be grave, for you normally share things with me.” Samuel cleared his throat. “And you’d never hide from the Bruce. Even if it was midnight.”

Gregor ignored him, leaning back on his satchel and closing his eyes. “I’m not hiding. The man needs his rest.”

Samuel grunted. “He’s not a child.” He cleared his throat again. “I can guess what it is, brother, and I’d not want to be the one to relay it.”

“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” Gregor snapped, then thought better of it. He’d brought Samuel with him for a reason. “Though I appreciate your support, and if ye continue to please my sister, as ye seem to, I’ll be forever in your debt.” Gregor sighed. There was so much more to it than that, given Samuel had saved his life once. “Alas, ye best be prepared for the task ahead of ye, brother. For I’ve a feeling on the morrow ye’ll be headed back to England.”

“You’re no more in my debt, than I am in yours for allowing us to marry. I’ll do whatever I can to help your cause, that and Catriona’s. Scotland is my home now. I am loyal to you and to your country. My children will be raised as Scots.”

“Wish there were more Sassenachs with your intelligence. Too many of them have skulls filled with nothing but shite and rotting flesh.”

Samuel sniggered. “And ballocks filled with Longshanks leavings.”

Gregor snorted and rubbed at his eyes as though his flask had been upended into their sockets. “That’s a foul image. Mighty foul.”

Samuel laughed all the more, obviously proud of himself for having shocked Gregor, who never seemed to be shocked by anything.

“On that note, we’d best get some rest. Tomorrow I’ve a heavy task at hand, and the both of us I’m certain will be handed new orders.” Gregor flopped his arm over his eyes, but couldn’t get the disturbing images of the wooden chest or the letter’s contents out of his mind.

He had to think on more pleasant things, else he’d not get any sleep and knowing there was likely to be none on the morrow, that only seemed to make his mind race all the more.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Elusive slumber.

Gregor rolled onto his side, gazing into the light of the slowly dying flames. All around him his men softly snored while two marched on patrol.

His breathing grew even and the bouncing orange fire took him into a trancelike state, just near sleep. He could here
her
voice, singing sweetly to him. Whispering how much she loved him. The subtle touch of her fingers sliding over his skin, threading in his hair.

Gregor had loved her, too, though he never told her.

Back then, he’d been young, reckless, the world just having opened up to him. He was a new laird. Plenty of women pulling back their sheets for him to slip between. A mug always in his hand, a sword in the other. His leather breeches and no shirt days, when all he wanted to do was impress and bed one lass after another.

What she offered him, a taste of paradise, a different life… ’Twas one he wasn’t ready for.

Too cocky and bold.

Too afraid and immature.

He’d pushed her away. Said things he shouldn’t have.

When he’d gone to apologize, she had vanished.

And he’d not seen her since. ’Twas as if she evaporated into thin air. A fairy come to play and love and then had faded into the realm of fantasy, where such spritely things existed.

Kay
…

Sweet, lass.

There was many a night that Gregor wished he could take back those last few minutes together. Where instead of telling her she was wasting her time, that he didn’t love her, he’d ask her to stay with him forever, and become his wife. Or that maybe instead of walking away from her and locking himself in his library with a barrel of Big Abe’s whisky, he’d chase after her. Stop her from fading into the mist.

Alas, Gregor had not. He was a bastard of the first order. Forevermore, he’d regret his choices, and the loss of something so great, for Kay had left a hole the size of Scotland, nay, all the world, in his chest.

So on nights like these, he remembered the sweet moments. The first time he’d seen her, face smudged, clothes dirty, hair in disarray, but blue eyes filled with sparks of determination. She’d been climbing out of a fisherman’s boat, tripping over the hem of her skirt.

Gregor had seen her brought in and fed. Not one normally taken to saving strays, though he liked to think himself chivalrous, he’d felt a connection to her. Wanted to help her. She was looking for her cousin, Finn, at the castle. A man they never did find, but they had found something else.

A bond, as though the fates wanted the two of them together.

Gregor had been working with Robert the Bruce at the castle, stayed there for several months in fact, and so did she.

Lingering, loving… Then she’d returned with him to Castle Buchanan.

“My laird,” Connor woke him. “Someone approaches.”

Gregor sat up, the nighttime sky having lightened to a purplish gray as dawn loomed.

“Who?”

“A middling party. Looks to be several guards and two nuns.”

“Then why did ye wake me?” Gregor growled. “We’re at an abbey. Did it not occur to ye they are simply returning home?”

Connor shook his head. “Nay, my laird. They could be. ’Tis only that the guards ride with their swords out as if expecting trouble.”

Gregor wiped the sleep from his eyes and stood. Robert the Bruce had said they could expect trouble. What if the two women were not simply being escorted back to the abbey, but were in fact in trouble? Being held for ransom?

Arriving in the dead of night at Melrose Abbey and Gregor’s unwillingness to step inside until dawn seemed to be a sign from above.

“Then, we’d best greet them to see if there is trouble coming—or if they themselves
are
the trouble.” Gregor met the eyes of his men who had quickly woken, donning their weapons. “Pack up, we ride now.”

Nothing like the threat of battle to wake a man in the morning. Exhilaration charged through Gregor’s extremities, as though a wild horse had seized his blood.

Chapter Four

“Melrose Abbey is in sight,” one of the guards told Kirstin as he returned from scouting.

She nodded, trying to see through the gray haze of morning, and finding that the mist slowly lifting from the ground made it harder to see more than ten or twenty feet in front of her—hence the guards continued rounds ahead and back.

They rode their horses at a steady clip along a road through a wood.

“Tell me again why we had to leave in the middle of the night?” She stared hard at the guard, willing him to answer truthfully.

But all he said, once more, was, “We had overstayed our welcome.”

That meant trouble. But what kind she couldn’t be certain. She’d not heard any skirmish, nor had anyone banging down her door. The guards had ridden through the night with weapons drawn, which meant they expected whatever trouble it was, to follow.

“Our good coin should have paid for our stay through the night, and very much been welcome,” Donna grumbled, lack of sleep taking away from her normal chipper self.

Kirstin was also tired, but used to the lack of sleep. Years of waking throughout the night for prayers and from night terrors had caused her to become accustomed to exhaustion, not that it was a good thing.

Patting Donna’s hand, Kirstin said, “As soon as we are within Melrose’s walls, I will explain to the Abbess and the Abbot that ye need your rest. Ye’re my companion, and dinna need to sit in on the meeting.”

“Are ye certain?”

“Aye.”

An eerie prickle crept over the back of Kirstin’s neck just before the riderless horse of one of her guard’s broke through the mist.

“Where is Owen?” the guard to her left, John, barked.

Mouth dry, heart scaling her throat, Kirstin grabbed hold of the dagger at her waist and advised Donna to do the same.

“What? Why?” Donna squeaked.

Kirstin looked her dead in the eye and said, “If ye dinna, then ye’ll have no way to defend yourself. Owen was a capable rider. Something has happened to him, and…” Her voice trailed off as the hair on her forearms rose.

They were being watched.

She scanned the trees, waiting for whoever was stalking them to make themselves known. Wings flapped as a cluster of birds vacated a tree to the right. On the left, the sound of a branch cracking, and beyond that a vacant, soundless void.

Kirstin held her breath as the four guards she had left did their best to surround her and Donna.

Why hadn’t she fought harder to stay at the abbey on Skye where she was safe?

“Show yourself,” John shouted. “We can hear ye.”

Men materialized from seemingly every direction, melting from the trees, the mist, the air. Owen, too, appeared, a warrior’s arm wrapped around his neck, a knife at his throat.

“Good morning,” said their leader, his voice calm and familiar.

Eyes widening, a ghost sat his horse before her. Though he’d only ever been dead in her heart, in life he had in fact been very alive.

Gregor.

She ducked her head, hoping the fabric of her hood covered her features and that he’d not yet had a chance to recognize her. Her grip on the dagger tightened, knuckles turning white. The thing she’d feared the most about leaving Skye, was seeing him again. Reliving the broken heart he’d given her, the repercussions of their relationship he didn’t even know about and that she’d sworn never to reveal.

The secret she’d never been able to share with him because the moment she’d planned to tell him, he’d pushed her away, said hurtful things. How alone she’d felt on her journey back to Skye. No cousin. No love. Oh, how she’d dreamed of introducing him to her aunt, to show her that she’d found happiness at last. That she’d been meant for more than what life had given her so far. She’d reached for the stars, grasped hold of one golden, sparkling nugget and it had been hers. Briefly. Before it was extinguished.

’Twas not meant to be.

And now fate was twisting the knife, carving her heart out one piece at a time, thrusting in her face how naïve and stupid she’d been.

“We seek no trouble,” John said levelly. “We but need to get to the abbey. Let our man go and let us pass.”

Gregor inched his horse forward, and Kirstin wished to sink inside her mount. Felt crushed by the emotions pummeling her chest. If he came closer, she would turn and gallop away. She couldn’t face him. Not after how much he had hurt her. More than he would ever know.

“What is your business with the abbey?” Gregor demanded.

After nearly ten years passing, his voice was much the same, though perhaps finely aged, and a trace stonier. The sound of it sent a prickle along her limbs as though her body had been waiting all this time to hear him speak again. No matter how much her mind wanted to forget him, the rest of her refused. ’Twas as if she’d suddenly been sucked through some portal of time and landed right back where she was. With him. Barely unchanged.

But what did she know? The man had tricked her, used her, discarded her.

She’d fallen in love with someone who didn’t exist, how could she possibly think to know who he was now, or recognize in him any little part of the past? He was a stranger. Always had been.

“That is none of your affair,” John replied.

“As a matter of fact, it is my affair.” Gregor drew even closer, his horse’s muzzle only inches from John’s own horse. “I’ve business there that does not include any outsiders.”

Kirstin stiffened. What was he doing at the abbey? Robbing them?

He’d been a bit impulsive when she knew him, but nothing nefarious, only the things most young men with power and coin did. Drinking, flirting, gambling.

Och, there she went again pretending like she knew who he was. Perhaps he’d been a thieving murderer all along. He’d certainly stolen and then shredded her heart and soul.

“We are Warriors of God and these are two daughters of the Lord. The abbey is more our business than a shameless warrior who thinks he holds the power.”

John’s words were enough to send any man with an ounce of pride into blows, but Gregor simply chuckled. The sound was menacing, and this time when a shiver raced over her it wasn’t from the memories his voice elicited, but fear at what he would do to them now.

“I’ll ask ye once more, what brings ye to the abbey?” Gregor’s tone had chilled about thirty degrees, ice edged on every word. “Be careful in your answer, as ye can see your man here has a knife at his throat.”

Kirstin discreetly glanced at Owen. He didn’t look afraid at all, though a vein popped from his neck. His face had not lost any of its color, though ’twould be hard to tell with the new rusty-colored beard he’d grown over his cheeks and chin.

“None of your affair,” John replied, deliberate and slow.

Gregor let out an audible sigh of irritation.

Donna whimpered, her horse skittering closer to Kirstin’s so that the poor trembling lass was pressed up against her. Kirstin grabbed hold of her hand. Would Gregor kill Owen in front of them? Why didn’t John try to save him?

“Keep your sense, sister,” Kirstin urged in a low murmur. “Do not draw attention to yourself.”

Or to me
.

“I told ye I’d not ask again,” Gregor said. “The fact that ye willna tell me leads me to believe ye’ve no business at the abbey.”

The unmistakable sound of metal sliding from a scabbard had Kirstin’s head jolting up and her gaze locking on Gregor. He still wasn’t looking at her, but the deadly expression on his face spoke of his intent. He was going to kill all of them. He motioned to the warrior holding Owen who dragged him forward.

John held his sword out, a growl on his lips. The rest of the Warriors of God looked ready to take on the Highlanders before them.

A battle, death, was imminent if she didn’t put a stop to it.

“Gregor, stop,” she said calmly. More calm than she felt. She lifted her head, letting her hood fall back from her face.

There was an indrawn breath all around as the guards on both sides regarded both her and Gregor in shock.

“Kay?” Gregor sounded as though he were being strangled.

His eyes were as wide as the wooden bowls she ate porridge out of at the abbey, and his skin had paled five shades.

Kirstin inclined her head. “Please let us pass.” She gulped in some air, trying to shore up her nerves, to steady her fiercely trembling hands. “I understand that perhaps ye are guarding the abbey, and I can appreciate that. Our houses of God need all the protection they can get these days. As a daughter of the Lord, avowed to live a life in service to God and the church, I assure ye, we mean no harm.”

“A woman of God…” His voice trailed off. Not a question. Not really a statement. More like he was trying to wrap his mind around what she’d just relayed.

Perhaps, she, too, had misrepresented herself. She’d never told Gregor she was a nun. She’d never even told him her real name, instead calling herself Kay. At the time, she’d told herself it was for her own good, to keep her safe, in case the men who had captured her sister all those years ago and murdered her parents, were still looking for her.

Too quick to judge.

A sin.

Kirstin raised her eyes briefly to the heavens, begging forgiveness. She was in a perpetual state of penance, and she was certain she’d never be free of any of her sins.

“Please, Gregor. I’m certain my guards would not object if ye wanted to escort us to the abbey.” Even if she would object most emphatically.

Her heart hurt so much just looking at him. Talking was torture. If she had to be in his company a moment longer she was certain to break down in tears.

John made a guttural noise, about to argue, she guessed, but Kirstin stayed him with her hand on his arm.

“Gregor?”

The man was still speechless, his gaze on her, but she couldn’t tell if he was truly seeing. A man beside him cleared his throat, and Gregor came to.

“Aye, Kay—”

“Sister Kirstin will do,” she cut in. No sense in keeping that part a secret anymore.

Kay did not exist, and she wasn’t going to dredge her up now.

“Kirstin.”

Her name rolled off his tongue, and she could see in the way his eyes squinted before returning to normal that she’d hurt him, too. Even if it was only his pride.

“
Sister
Kirsten,” she said once more, emphasizing her place in the world. “Then let us go. We are tired from traveling through the night, and my companion needs to rest.”

Gregor nodded, and ordered his men to flank them, though his eyes never left her. She felt her cheeks begin to flame, her heart pounding so hard she was certain her ribs would crack.

Owen was returned to his empty horse, daggers shooting from his eyes. John and the other men shifted uncomfortably on their horses, but Kirstin didn’t care. Gregor wouldn’t hurt her, at least she knew that much. For as much as he’d broken her heart, he’d only ever protected her in the past. She trusted him.

Maybe that was enough.

Nay! What was she thinking?

Never again.

When she’d returned to Skye nine years before, and gone through the pains of washing herself clean of him, of their sin. And when she’d mourned the loss of her heart, her soul, a life, she’d once more given herself fully to God. Vowed to love Him and him alone.

There could be no place in her heart, or in her world, for Gregor.

Donna still whimpered beside her, and Kirstin startled, having forgotten all about the lass for a moment. She squeezed her hand and whispered, “Come now, all is well. Soon ye can seek solace in the chapel and a bed.”

“I could sleep for a week,” Donna said, her lower lip trembling.

Why had Mother Superior sent Donna with Kirstin? The lass was naïve and fragile as glass.

“I’m certain one night will do the trick,” Kirstin said. “And then ye can explore Melrose’s gardens. I’ve heard they are beautiful. Ye dabble in our gardens, do ye not?”

“Aye, I think I should like that.” A smile touched her lips.

They talked a little more on gardening, anything to keep Donna distracted, though Kirstin couldn’t keep her eyes off Gregor’s back.