Ravished by a Highlander Read Free Page A

pleasure for hard
     work. He made decisions for his kin’s welfare alongside his father and honed his swordplay diligently and by his own choice,
     knowing that any weakness of body or will could destroy what belonged to him. And it had been in his blood for generations
     never to allow that to happen.
    But it still angered him that he should have to leave his clan to kiss the arses of men who would likely shyt in their breeches
     on any kind of battlefield.
    “Tell me again why ye insisted on takin’ this route, Will?” Rob asked his cousin, and yanked on his reins to steer his mount
     away from a muddy trench in his path. They had left their main troupe on a road just before the English border. The detour
     was Will’s idea, and Rob was beginning to question why he’d listened to him, or why he’d agreed to let anyone else come with
     them.
    “St. Christopher’s Abbey,” Will called out over his shoulder. “I told ye, Sister Margaret Mary lives there.”
    “Who the hell is Sister Margaret Mary?” Angus MacGregor growled, rubbing the small of his back. “And why does a daughter o’
     the Lord interest a black heart like yers?”
    “She was m’ nursemaid fer six years after m’ mother died.”
    “I think I’ve heard Tristan speak of her,” Colin, Rob’s youngest brother, joined in thoughtfully, managing to steer his mount
     around a mossy incline without incident. Rob was torn between being thankful that his brother Tristan hadn’t come with them—mostly
     for the sisters of St. Christopher’s sake—and being angry with himself for letting Colin come along. Clearly, Will had no
     notion of where the hell the Abbey was. He was leading them deeper into the hills. A band of outlaws could attack them from
     almost any direction unseen. Not that Rob fretted overmuch about a fight, or Colin’s ability to come out of one unharmed.
     He just preferred that if there was a skirmish of some sort, his youngest brother not be there.
    “Do the sisters in England pray as much as the ones in Scotland do?”
    “We’re no’ in England yet,” Rob murmured impatiently, glancing at Finlay Grant from over his shoulder. The lad looked stricken
     for a moment, as if he had just proven himself lacking in the eyes of his leader. Hell, what would he do with Finn if they
     were attacked? The lad could fight well enough, but he’d always shown more interest in playing the pipes and reciting tales
     of past heroes than in swordplay. Every laird had a bard, and Finn was determined to become Rob’s. As irritating as it sometimes
     was to have the lad always underfoot, watching what he did and what he said in the event that some heroic deed he performed
     needed retelling, Rob was fond of Graham and Claire Grant’s youngest son. He was a respectful lad with a curious nature, and
     since he wasn’t the source of Rob’s frustration, he should not bear the brunt of it. “And nae,” Rob told him in a milder tone,
     “Scottish nuns pray more.”
    “I dinna care if her knees have worn straight through her robes,” Angus grumbled, reaching for a pouch of brew hidden in his
     plaid. “If she brought Will
and
Tristan into this world, I have nae desire to be meetin’ her.”
    “Hush, Angus.” Rob held up his hand to silence the older warrior. “D’ye hear that?”
    His companions remained quiet for a moment, listening. “Sounds like the clash o’ swords,” Angus said, his hand falling immediately
     to his hilt. “And that odor—That’s flesh burnin’.”
    “The Abbey!” Will’s face went pale as he whirled his mount left and dug his heels into the beast’s flanks. He disappeared
     over the crest of a small rise before Rob could stop him.
    Swearing an oath that his cousin and closest friend was someday going to get himself and everyone around him killed by rushing
     headlong into the unknown, Rob raced forward to follow, warning the younger lads to stay behind.
    Rob and Angus stopped just beyond the crest, where