Page 39

3: DEAD TO HIM

“LADY DAVINA.”

A male voice intruded, jerking Davina from her introspection.

Turning from the wall, her gaze alighted on the tall man, clad in leather braies and a padded gambeson, swaggering toward her.

And Lennox Mackay did swagger.

Everything about the man who’d replaced her beloved Blair as Captain of the Kilchurn Guard oozed arrogance.

At mealtimes in the hall, he sprawled indolently in his seat.

His voice, a low drawl, got on her nerves, as did his lazy smile, and she did her best to ignore him.

Even so, she’d noted Mackay was a loner.

Apart from her father, he didn’t appear to spend time with anyone else in the keep.

Unlike Blair, she had never seen him laughing with his men.

Indeed, like her, he was alone on the wall this evening.

As he drew near, she saw his brows were knitted together.

At least he was sparing her his usual smug grin.

“Captain Mackay,” she greeted him crisply.

He halted a few feet back, his gaze sweeping her face.

“Is something amiss, my lady?”

She stiffened.

“No … why do ye ask?”

“It grows late, and we have an early start in the morning. I expected ye abed, not standing upon the walls.”

Davina frowned.

“ We have an early start?” she queried.

He nodded, his mouth pursing.

“Aye … I’m to lead yer escort.”

Davina glanced away, even if tension curled up within her.

She wanted a man she trusted, like the castle steward, Athol MacNab, to head her escort.

Not this conceited peacock.

“I have readied my belongings for tomorrow,” she said after a brief pause, deliberately not looking his way.

“And fear not … I shall be well-rested at dawn.” She paused then, irritated that she was having to explain herself to him.

“But since I will never see this castle, or this loch, again, I wished to say my farewells.”

He didn’t reply, and the silence between them drew out.

It wasn’t a comfortable pause though, and Davina clenched her jaw.

Couldn’t he just walk off and let her be?

And yet he didn’t. He merely waited there, as if he expected her to be the first to leave.

Eventually, she turned to face him once more.

Lennox Mackay had folded his arms over his chest and was watching her with a hooded gaze.

Something in the way he looked at her made Davina’s hackles rise.

Ever since the altercation with her father, she’d felt exhausted, wrung out.

And once she’d finished packing, a strange numbness had descended over her.

But this man’s presence had pierced it.

“Did ye want anything, Captain?” she asked, her voice clipped.

“No.” There was a cool edge to his tone now.

“Well, then … I shall bid ye good eve.”

He inclined his head.

“Good eve, Lady Davina. Sleep well.”

Nonetheless, he didn’t move away as she’d hoped.

The infuriating man just stood there.

He was beneath her in rank, yet he was making it clear he was to be obeyed.

Anger sparked in her belly, warming the chill that had settled there as she’d packed.

Why were men compelled to dominate women?

It was as if they were scared a strong female might unman them in some way.

God forbid, she might have a will of her own.

Davina ground her teeth together.

She was heartily tired of being bossed around.

Since Blair’s death, her father had tried to bend her to his will.

Her poor mother had been easy to sway, for she’d had a gentle temperament and been eager to please.

But Davina wasn’t like Aileen.

Instead, she’d inherited her father’s stubbornness.

And so, she faced Lennox Mackay and folded her arms over her chest, mirroring his gesture.

“And ye too, Captain. Fear not, I shall retire shortly. However, for the moment, I wish for some solitude. If ye don’t mind.”

A muscle feathered in Mackay’s jaw, and his reaction pleased her.

He could bristle all he wanted.

He served her , not the other way around.

And if he was to lead her escort, Mackay needed to know his place.

She wouldn’t spend the journey being ordered around by him.

Her pulse quickened then.

Soon, she’d be on Iona, within the refuge of the convent.

There, no man would dictate to her ever again.

The realization made her feel a little light-headed.

It struck her then that this was the first real exchange she and Mackay had ever had.

During his months at Kilchurn, they’d barely said more than a handful of words to each other.

There had been no need.

The moment stretched out, and Davina tensed, readying herself to do battle.

But, to her surprise, he admitted defeat.

Favoring her with a curt nod, Mackay turned on his heel and stalked off.

Davina watched him go, her mouth lifting a fraction at the corners.

He wasn’t swaggering now .

Lennox descended the steps to the bailey, his pulse thumping in his ears.

Why had he let the chit get to him?

The imperious tilt of Davina’s chin as she’d stared up at him, the clipped edge to her voice as she’d replied, had goaded him, piercing the heaviness that had shrouded him as he stood atop the wall.

He’d merely reminded her that it was late and that she should retire, yet her entire body had vibrated with annoyance at his intrusion.

She’d then dismissed him as if he were a servant.

He was a chieftain’s son, not some lackey.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Lennox cut across the bailey, where flickering torches hanging on chains illuminated the gloom.

Davina might have appeared a waif, yet he’d already seen she had a tongue sharp enough to rival his mother’s.

Her haughtiness, her cool dismissal, was galling.

Reaching the steps that led inside, Lennox’s mouth thinned.

He wasn’t looking forward to traveling with Campbell’s daughter.

Ignore the woman, he counseled himself .

Just a few days, and she’ll be someone else’s responsibility .

Her father didn’t come out to see her off.

Of course, Davina had been expecting as much, yet the laird’s absence as she waited in the bailey for Captain Mackay and his men to ready their horses made an ache rise under her breastbone.

Her father had meant his words then.

She was now dead to him.

It wasn’t a cold morning—the air was mild with the sweet smell of summer—but Davina shivered, nonetheless.

“Are ye cold, lass?” Athol MacNab’s gravelly voice caught her attention then.

The steward, a weathered man with a kindly face, had emerged from the tower house.

His gaze was tinged with concern as it settled upon her.

Davina shook her head.

She wore a fine woolen cloak about her shoulders; once the sun rose, she’d likely have to remove it.

“No, I’m well, thank ye, Athol.”

The steward approached her.

And then, to her surprise, he reached out and took her hands, squeezing them gently.

His grip was warm and strong, reassuring, although the gesture caught Davina unawares, and her throat thickened, tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

God’s bones, she didn’t want to weep.

Not after how hard she’d fought to leave this place.

But Athol, whom she’d known all her life, was looking at her with kindly concern, sadness tinging his eyes.

“I shall miss ye, Davina,” he murmured, his voice roughening.

“And so will yer Da.”

Davina gave a soft snort.

“I think not,” she whispered.

“He will be happy to be rid of me.”

Their gazes met and held a moment before the steward shook his head.

“Colin does a fine job of pretending otherwise these days, but he still adores ye, lass.”

Davina swallowed as her throat tightened further.

Athol was kind, yet she doubted his words.

These days, all her father wanted was for her to obey him.

When she’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t have lands or a title Campbell could benefit from, he’d taken him from her.

The reminder made resolve square her shoulders and tighten her stomach.

No, the steward meant well, but he was wrong; his loyalty to her father blinded him.

The man she’d once adored was lost to her.

The rasp of a cleared throat behind her made Davina glance over her shoulder.

Captain Mackay stood there, holding her palfrey by the reins.

“Are ye ready, Lady Davina?”

She nodded before turning back to the steward.

Squeezing his hands gently, she extricated her own from his grip.

“All the best, Athol,” she murmured.

“I shall keep ye in my prayers, always.”

And once she arrived at Iona, she’d have plenty of time to dedicate herself to prayer, to make up for the years when she’d focused on other matters.

MacNab bowed his head and stepped back from her.

His eyes glittered with emotion.

Davina swallowed once more.

Heaven help her, she needed to get away.

Goodbyes were awful.

She’d feel better once she was far from Kilchurn.

“Don’t worry, Athol … we’ll make sure the lass gets to Iona safely,” Hamish Campbell’s gruff voice intruded then.

Davina glanced over at where the older warrior stood next to his horse watching them.

Hamish shared a look with her father’s steward before meeting Davina’s eye.

His mouth then curved into a rare smile.

And despite the stone in her belly, Davina managed a wan smile in return.

She’d known Hamish all her life.

The warrior could be dour, yet he was warm-hearted and loyal; she was glad he was accompanying her on this journey.

Turning, she moved over to her palfrey.

Thistle was a dainty grey mare her father had bought for her nearly a decade earlier.

She was gentle and now nuzzled Davina’s arm.

Davina’s chest constricted.

She was surprised the horse remembered her at all, for it was a long while since she’d gone riding.

She rarely ventured out to the stables these days either.

But Thistle gave a soft whicker in greeting.

Davina’s vision blurred.

“Here, Lady Davina,” Captain Mackay said tersely.

“I shall help ye up.”

He cupped his hands then, allowing her to put her booted foot in them.

An instant later, she vaulted lightly up onto the saddle.

Blinking, in an effort to push back the tears, Davina concentrated on adjusting her skirts and slipping her feet into the stirrups.

“Do ye have the dowry?” MacNab asked the captain then.

“Aye,” Mackay grunted.

He seemed ill-tempered this morning.

Clearly, he wasn’t pleased about being charged with escorting her to Iona.

The clip-clop of shod hooves made Davina glance up, and she saw that a stable hand had led a stocky garron out of the stables.

Two large leather bags had been strapped onto the pony’s broad back: coins that would buy her entry into Iona.

Davina’s pulse sped up; she imagined her father’s thunderous face as he parted with those pennies.

He’d always planned to give her husband a dowry, but this gift to the church would gall him.

Her union with Ewan Stewart would have compensated him greatly in other ways and would have eased the sting of having to part with so much coin.

But handing his daughter over to the church gave him nothing he valued.

“Guard it carefully,” the steward warned, meeting Mackay’s eye.

“There’s a king’s ransom in there.” Athol paused then, his brow furrowing.

“With all the trouble between the crown and the Douglases, the roads aren’t as safe as before … last week, we had word of brigands on the highways.”

The captain nodded, even as his mouth compressed.

“Fear not, I shall protect both the dowry and Lady Davina.” Mackay moved over to where his courser waited and swung up onto the saddle.

Then, gathering the reins, he glanced around him at where the five other warriors who’d accompany them to Iona waited.

They were viewing him with scowls and furrowed brows.

“We ride out,” he barked.