Ravished by a Highlander Read Free

morning hours that passed after the massacre at St. Christopher’s, Edward’s men had managed to kill half of the
     enemy’s army. But the Abbey’s losses were greater. Far greater.
    Alone in the bell tower, Davina stared down at the bodies strewn across the large courtyard. The stench of burning tar and
     seared flesh stung her nostrils and burned her eyes as she set them beyond the gates to the meadow where men on horseback
     still hacked away at each other as if their hatred could never be satisfied. But there was no hatred. They fought because
     of her, though none of them knew her. But she knew them. Her dreams had been plagued with her faceless assassins since the
     day Edward had first told her of them.
    Tears brought on by the pungent air slipped down her cheeks, falling far below to where her friends… her family lay dead or
     dying. Dragging her palm across her eyes, she searched the bodies for Edward. He’d returned to her an hour after the fighting
     had begun and ordered her into the chapel with the sisters. When she’d refused, he’d tossed her over his shoulder like a sack
     of grain and brought her there himself. But she did not remain hidden. She couldn’t, so she’d returned to the tower and her
     bow and sent more than a dozen of her enemies to meet their Maker. But there were too many—or mayhap God didn’t want the rest,
     for they slew the men she ate with, laughed with, before her eyes.
    She had feared this day for so long that it had become a part of her. She thought she had prepared. At least, for her own
     death. But not for the Abbess’s. Not for Edward’s. How could anyone prepare to lose those they loved?
    Despair ravaged her and for a moment she considered stepping over the wall. If she was dead they would stop. But she had prayed
     for courage too many times to let God or Edward down now. Reaching into the quiver on her back, she plucked out an arrow,
     cocked her bow, and closed one eye to aim.
    Below her and out of her line of vision, a soldier garbed in military regalia not belonging to England crept along the chapel
     wall with a torch clutched in one fist and a sword in the other.

Chapter Two

    A cool breeze, moist with the fallen rain, lifted a raven curl from Robert MacGregor’s forehead. Looking up, he glared at the
     pewter clouds as if daring the heavens to open again. ’Twas bad enough he and his kin had to leave Camlochlin during a storm
     that promised to tear auld Tamas MacKinnon’s roof off his bothy. Trekking across Scotland in the mud did not make the journey
     any easier.
    Rob was still unsure if he agreed with his father’s reasoning for leaving the clan to attend James of York’s coronation. What
     did laws made by stately nobles, dressed in powdered wigs and ruffled collars, have to do with MacGregors? Only a handful
     of them knew of the MacGregors of Skye, and none of them would dare venture into the mountains to enforce their laws, even
     if they did. What fealty did his clan owe to an English king?
    “
Rebellion is not always necessary,
” his father’s words invaded his troubled thoughts. “
Protectin’ the clan must always come first.
”
    As firstborn and heir apparent to Callum MacGregor’s title as Clan Chief of the MacGregors of Skye, Rob had been taught to
     understand his father’s ways of thinking. He knew that civilly showing their support to the new king was the intelligent thing
     to do. For as much as he cared nothing about politics so far south, there were many in Parliament who believed the Highland
     ways of life, with a Chief having sole authority over his clan, were outdated and should be abolished. If kissing the king’s
     arse would keep his clan safe and intact, then Rob would do it.
    He didn’t care if his father was chief or if he was. He’d taken on every responsibility as a leader, and more. He tilled the
     land, herded and sheared the sheep, repaired falling rooftops and, more times than not, denied his physical