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4: DON’T LOOK BACK

DAVINA DIDN’T GLANCE over her shoulder as they rode away from Kilchurn.

Even so, she felt the oppressive weight of the fortress at her back.

It was almost as if she could sense someone’s gaze upon her.

Had her father gone up to the walls to watch her depart after all?

The urge to turn in the saddle, to see if he was there, was almost overwhelming—yet Davina fought it.

Nonetheless, it took all her will.

Shoulders hunching, hands gripping for grim death onto the reins, she kept her attention focused forward.

Before them, a salmon-colored sunrise flared across the eastern sky.

Yet they weren’t traveling in that direction.

Davina had been to Oban before and knew it wasn’t an arduous trip.

Initially, they would be taking the road west for a short while, before turning south and hugging the shore of Loch Awe as they rode southwest. The loch was a long one, and it made their journey circuitous, for they had to follow its course before striking north once they reached the coast. There would be two nights on the road to Oban, and then one more at the port itself before they set sail for Iona.

Keeping focused on the journey helped ease the crushing ache in her chest. Her father was oppressive, yet he was all she had.

And despite everything, she loved him.

She had fine memories too, of the years before her mother sickened and died.

He’d been softer then and had smiled more readily.

She remembered how he’d bounced her on his knee when she’d been a lass, how he’d taught her to ride her first pony.

He’d given her a puppy too—a Highland collie who’d been her faithful companion through the years of her childhood.

Aye, he’d indulged her over the years, until he discovered her affair with his captain.

However, it hurt to cling to those memories, to remember the man he’d once been.

Her protector. Her champion.

The past couple of years had changed Colin Campbell, just as they had her.

Once they cleared the causeway, the party of seven urged their horses forward into a brisk trot.

Davina rode behind Captain Mackay and two of his men, while the rest of the party—one of them leading the coin-laden garron—brought up the rear.

The thunder of their horses’ hooves echoed in the still morning across the glassy surface of the loch and off the sides of the mountains that cradled it.

It was an achingly beautiful morning, the kind that painters attempted to immortalize, but its glory merely caused unhappiness to twist harder still within Davina.

Goose, she chided herself.

This is what ye wanted, wasn’t it?

And it was. Blair’s death had torn something asunder within her, something only starting afresh could heal.

Her father had also learned that his act of violence, of murder, had consequences.

He hadn’t been sorry for what he’d done, but Davina wondered if he was so sure of himself now.

A heavy sigh gusted out of her then, even as she straightened her back and focused on Captain Mackay’s broad shoulders up ahead.

Indeed, it was best if she didn’t take in her surroundings, or glance over her shoulder one last time at Kilchurn Castle.

Don’t look back, lass.

It was time to face the future and leave the past behind her.

Shifting in the saddle, Lennox turned his gaze upon the party following him.

They’d ridden at a steady pace all morning.

He’d have preferred to ride faster, but with the garron and a lady companion, he kept to a brisk trot or sedate canter.

His gaze rested upon Lady Davina then, and he briefly met her gaze for the first time since leaving Kilchurn.

“We’ll stop for a short spell now,” he announced.

His tone was brusque, yet he couldn’t help it.

He’d awoken in a sour mood at dawn, and the journey so far hadn’t sweetened his temper.

She favored him with a cool nod in response.

Davina sat easily upon her grey palfrey.

In the months he’d lived at Kilchurn, he hadn’t seen her go out riding once.

Instead, the stable hands had exercised Thistle.

Yet viewing her now, the woman looked as if she’d been born in the saddle.

The fresh air and sunlight had already done her good too, for her usually wan cheeks had developed a slight bloom to them, and her brow glowed with sweat.

She’d braided her hair down her back for the journey, although black strands had come free and now curled prettily around her face.

Prettily?

Lennox fought a frown.

The woman was haughty and difficult.

Surely, he didn’t find her comely?

The party drew up their horses, loosening the beasts’ girths and watering them at the loch’s edge.

Lennox’s men, after a few polite words to Lady Davina, moved away from their captain.

Turning their backs on him, they sat down upon the shore to eat the noon meal the cooks had given them.

They then started to talk amongst themselves, deliberately keeping their voices low, as if they didn’t want their captain overhearing their conversation.

Farther up the shore, Lennox’s mouth twisted.

Their efforts were wasted.

He didn’t care what they gossiped about.

He started on his own meal then.

It was simple fare—fresh bread, butter, and boiled eggs, washed down with ale—but it was delicious.

Despite the cold-shoulder from his men, he ate heartily, although he noted that Davina nibbled at her meal like a mouse.

It didn’t surprise him.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen the woman eat with hunger or enjoyment.

It was as if she ate merely to keep alive.

His jaw tightened. It annoyed him that she kept drawing his gaze, yet there was something about Campbell’s daughter that made him want to look her way.

Seated upon a log at the water’s edge, Davina appeared to have withdrawn into her own world.

Her gaze remained on the mirrored surface of the loch while she ate.

It was as if she had forgotten she had company.

Sadness suffused her delicate features.

And despite himself—something within Lennox stilled at the sight.

He wondered if her sorrow was for her dead lover, or the father she was now estranged from.

The lass had been through much over the past year.

Of course, she’d behaved recklessly, and had given her heart—and her body too, if the rumors were true—to a man her father would never have let her marry.

Her situation reminded Lennox of his elder brother’s hasty, and inappropriate, marriage.

When it came to women, Iver had once been too open-hearted and trusting.

When he was younger, his brother had wooed lasses with earnest dedication, only to have his heart broken—twice.

Iver had sworn off marriage and love, and for a while, Lennox had believed he’d never take a wife.

But then, in February that year, when they’d visited Stirling for a king’s council, Iver had lost his heart to a chambermaid named Bonnie—and he was now married to her.

Lennox had been perplexed at his brother’s choice at the time and still didn’t understand it.

Aye, Bonnie was comely and sweet-natured, yet she was lowborn and illegitimate.

He wondered then how things were going at Dun Ugadale for the couple.

His mother wouldn’t have made Bonnie’s arrival easy.

Was Iver still as besotted as he’d been months earlier?

Lennox couldn’t help but feel a little scorn for his brother for losing his wits over a lass so.

He’d made a fool of himself too, but he didn’t seem to care.

Lennox would never put himself in such a position.

A few yards distant, Davina blinked, coming out of her reverie.

And, as if she felt the weight of his gaze, she looked Lennox’s way.

He jolted, heat flushing over him at the realization she’d caught him staring.

Embarrassed, he was tempted to look away, yet he fought the urge.

If he did that, she’d get the upper hand—like she had the eve before.

And so, their gazes fused, their stare drawing out.

The moments slid by, and neither of them broke it.

Lennox’s senses sharpened, and an odd awareness tingled through his body.

She was a bold one, indeed.

No wonder she locked horns with her father so violently.

Davina’s chin lifted a fraction then, her eyes narrowing.

Continuing to hold her eye, Lennox rose to the challenge.

Two could play this game.

Moments passed, and then he couldn’t help but offer her a slow, goading smile.

Davina yanked her gaze away.

Curse him, he’d bested her.

She’d been finishing her meal, lost in her thoughts, when she’d sensed someone was watching her.

And then her gaze had met Lennox Mackay’s.

He’d been caught staring, yet the cur didn’t even have the manners to look away, chagrined.

No, instead, he’d continued to watch her with his usual brash self-confidence.

And as their stare drew out, Davina noted the color of his eyes for the first time: dark-blue, the hue of the sky just after dusk.

Even though he’d lived at Kilchurn a few months, she hadn’t noticed this detail before.

Tall and long-limbed, Mackay had dark-blond hair that was cut short and had a mussed look, as if he’d just run his hands through it.

He had a strong jaw, a straight nose, and high cheekbones.

Aye, the man was roguishly attractive, and he likely knew it.

And then, when Davina frowned at him, the knave had smiled.

His sullen demeanor earlier that morning hadn’t lasted long; his arrogance was back.

Something about that smirk needled her.

She couldn’t hold his gaze after that—and now he’d won.

“Come on, lads.” Mackay’s voice echoed along the shoreline, all business now.

“Time to move on. Let’s ready the horses.”

The warriors obeyed, although when Davina glanced in their direction, she saw that they did so grudgingly.

Hamish wore a deep scowl, while Fergus muttered something under his breath, causing the warrior next to him, Archie, to give a derisive snort.

Davina inclined her head then.

Aye, it was as she’d suspected.

Lennox Mackay hadn’t been fully accepted by his men.

He’d sat apart from the others while they’d rested and had barely shared more than a handful of words with any of his warriors all morning.

There wasn’t any camaraderie between them—instead, she picked up on a simmering resentment.

They minded Mackay, yet they didn’t like him.

Of course, they’d looked up to Blair, and she wondered now if any of them resented her father over his death.

None of them would dare openly criticize their laird—but they didn’t have to accept the man Campbell had hired to replace Blair.