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10: A WORTHY CAUSE

A STRANGE MOOD settled upon Davina when she retired to her bedchamber later that evening.

Heaviness dragged at her limbs, and a slight headache tugged at her temples.

Suddenly, she felt indescribably weary.

Alone in her room, she went to the small window and opened the shutters.

It was oppressively hot indoors, and humid, as if a summer storm was on its way.

They were up on the second floor of the inn here, but unfortunately, her window didn't face west, across the firth, where it could allow in the sea breeze. Instead, she looked out onto the wall of the building opposite. All the same, she welcomed a little cool air.

Moving across to the door, she bolted it from the inside. She did this for her own security, and because, as they’d done the previous nights, the warriors had brought her dowry upstairs. The two heavy bags now sat in front of the cold hearth. The room was secure, for there was a sturdy lock on the door, and Mackay was sleeping in the room next door as an added precaution.

Davina set about readying herself for bed.

It had been strange over the last few days, not to have her maid helping her undress and brush out her hair for her. All her life, Davina had been waited on. But she deliberately hadn't brought a maid with her on this journey.

She wouldn’t have any servants at Iona Abbey.

There, she would have to do everything for herself.

And so, as she fumbled with the laces of her kirtle and wriggled out of it and the léine she wore underneath, Davina reminded herself it was for the best.

She’d left her old life behind her now, or she soon would, at least.

Pulling on her night-rail, she perched on the edge of the bed and slowly brushed her hair.

The rhythmic, gentle action relaxed her, and her eyelids grew heavier by the moment.

It had been another long, and unexpected, day.

She didn’t linger over the task.

Setting her hog bristle brush aside, Davina moved across to the window.

It was still suffocatingly hot inside the bedchamber.

She was sweating and so didn’t draw and bolt the shutters.

Instead, she left them open a few inches and latched them loosely so that a draft could enter the room.

Then, she crossed to the bed, pulled back the covers, and climbed in.

The ropes creaked as she shifted position and leaned across, pulling the cover down on the lantern beside her bed.

Lying back, her gaze drifting to where silvery moonlight filtered in through the gap in the shutters, Davina tried not to think about what had ignited between her and Mackay earlier.

Unfortunately, now that she was alone, and had nothing else to occupy her mind, it was impossible not to recall the heat of that kiss.

Mackay had looked suitably chastised earlier, and no doubt regretted the incident as much as she did.

But neither of them could undo what had been done.

A deep sigh gusted out of Davina, her eyes fluttering shut.

It struck her then, the realization tightening her belly, that she hadn't thought about Blair once all day. After that forbidden kiss, she should have been torn apart with guilt. Blair Cameron had been the love of her life, and she’d sullied his memory.

But even though Mackay aggravated her intensely, he had turned her head.

A full turn of the seasons had passed since the day her father cut her lover down. And for much of that time, grief had sat like a heavy stone under her breastbone. Once it had started to lift, the need to escape her old life had risen like a tide within her.

Davina’s fingers clutched at the blankets. Blair deserved to be remembered. All the same, she could feel her lover slipping from her fingers—and there was nothing she could do about it.

Both her father and Mackay didn’t think Davina suited to a nun’s life—and curse them, they were right. She’d known carnal intimacy, after all. Blair’s death had dulled any desire, and the choice to take the veil had initially been an easy one.

But was she perhaps wavering in her resolve?

Something was wrong.

Davina jolted out of sleep to find a heavy hand pressing down upon her mouth.

Panic grasped her around the throat when she realized that a man was crouched upon the bed, his knees pinning her to the mattress.

She couldn’t make out his face, for he loomed above her, his back to the moonlight flooding in through the window. The open window. The intruder had somehow scaled the wall outside and managed to release the catch on the shutters before climbing into her bedchamber.

Ice washed over Davina. Mother Mary save her, she was about to be raped.

She started to struggle. She writhed and flailed against her attacker, trying to get her knees up to form a barrier between them. However, her limbs were trapped underneath the covers, deliberately so. She was pinned there, helpless.

And as she continued to twist, panic beating in her chest, the man leaned in, his hot breath feathering across her ear. “I’d calm myself, if I were ye, my lady,” a male voice rasped.

Davina went still, oily fear twisting in her stomach.

She knew that voice. Brogan Douglas.

“I’m not here to ravish ye, Davina,” he whispered.

Her breathing heaved. With her mouth covered, she couldn’t seem to get enough air through her nose. A strange buzzing started inside her head, dizziness sweeping over her. God's blood, she was close to fainting.

“So, this is what shall happen.” There was a rough edge to his whisper now.

All his earlier charm was gone.

“I’m going to gag ye and bind ye to this bed. And ye are going to let me. If ye don’t, I will slit yer throat.” Davina’s breathing hitched as something cold and hard rested against her exposed throat.

A dirk-blade.

The buzzing in her head grew louder.

Time slowed, and she jolted as regret barreled into her.

And strangely, it wasn’t to do with Blair, but her father.

I never said goodbye to Da properly.

I never told him that I loved him.

How she wished her father were here right now.

He’d barrel into this chamber and cut this foul bastard down.

But Colin Campbell, who for all his bluster had always protected her, was far away.

He couldn’t save her.

No one could.

Davina was a fighter.

And her first instinct was to rail against her attacker.

She didn’t want to be beaten.

But she also knew with chilling clarity that he’d bested her and that he wasn’t issuing empty threats.

He’d indeed slit her throat if she didn't do as he bid.

And so, she didn’t fight him, didn’t struggle as he bound a length of linen around her mouth and tied her wrists to the bed’s iron frame.

Only then, did he shift his weight from her.

The moonlight, which now flooded in unimpeded through the open window, caught the harsh lines of Douglas’s face. Earlier, that same face had been creased in a grateful smile. But no longer.

He flashed her a harsh grin before turning and picking up the two heavy bags of coin from before the hearth.

Davina’s heart started to kick against her ribs.

So, that was what the bastard was after.

Of course, he knew she was bound for Iona Abbey; and although she hadn’t mentioned the riches they carried with them, he’d obviously marked the sacks of gold.

Marked them and bided his time.

God’s teeth, they’d helped a criminal.

Gripping a sack under each arm, Douglas approached the bed once more. Bending over her, he whispered again in her ear. “Apologies, Davina, but it was too much of a temptation to resist. This coin will help my clan in their fight against the king.” He paused then, and although Davina couldn’t see his face, she sensed he was still grinning at her. “Know that yer dowry has gone to a worthy cause.”

Davina’s body went rigid, rage vibrating through her. She made a muffled sound, but Douglas gave a warning growl. “I will happily cut yer throat if ye make a squeak while I'm leaving,” he warned.

She stilled, her body going as rigid as a drawn bowstring.

Douglas swiveled from her and padded softly to the door. He then carefully lifted the heavy bar and turned the lock before drawing the door open.

Davina cursed the fact that the hinges were well-oiled. Captain Mackay’s room was right next to hers. He would be alerted by such a noise, but Fortuna was with Brogan Douglas tonight, for without a backward glance, he slipped silently from the chamber, pulling the door shut behind him.

Davina lay there, heart pounding, for a short while before she decided she’d take a risk. Douglas would be well out of earshot now; she had to alert Mackay and the others to what had happened.

But when she tried to cry out, the sound was muffled. She then bucked against her restraints, kicking her legs free of the blankets. The bed was a sturdy one. It was also well away from the wall, and it didn’t matter how much she flailed around, she couldn’t seem to budge the bed or make much noise at all.

Tears of helpless frustration stung her eyelids as she continued to thrash and make strangled noises. But the silence around her continued, and no one heard her.

Hamish thundered up the stairs toward Lennox. “One of the horses is missing, Captain,” he greeted him tersely.

Halting, Lennox cursed. The innkeeper here had agreed to keep their horses stabled till they returned from Iona. He’d assured them that the inn was secure. How the devil had someone managed to steal one of their horses? “Which one?”

“Yers.”

Lennox swore once more before glancing over his shoulder. He expected Davina to appear at any moment, but he hadn’t heard any movement in her room when he’d exited his just moments before. “Are the men ready?” he asked.

Hamish nodded. His expression was veiled. During this journey, Lennox had felt a slight thawing between him and the older warrior. Hamish held a lot of sway amongst the guard, and Lennox had often thought that if Hamish warmed toward him, the others would follow. Nonetheless, there was a wariness to his expression once more.

Irritation spiked through Lennox. When were these men going to accept him?

“Well, we can’t worry about the missing horse now,” he muttered. “We’ve got a boat to catch.” He turned on his heel and started back up the stairs. “I’ll see what’s keeping Lady Davina.”

He retraced his steps back to the second floor of the inn and to Davina’s room, where he knocked on the door. “My lady,” he called out. “Are ye ready?”

Silence followed.

He knocked again. “Lady Davina?”

Still nothing. Frowning, Lennox leaned closer to the door. His ears strained to catch the sounds from within, yet he didn’t hear anything. Surely, the woman wasn't still asleep? So far on the journey, Davina had been the first of all of them to emerge from her chamber in the morning. She knew they were taking an early boat to Iona. Wasn’t she in a hurry to be on her way?

Unease tickled the back of Lennox’s neck. Something was amiss.

He tried the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. His brow creased. He’d warned her to bolt the door every night. Why hadn’t she?

He threw the door open. The early dawn light filtered in through the window as Lennox surveyed the bedchamber.

Alarm jolted through him when he spied Colin Campbell’s daughter lying on her bed, gagged and bound. Her night-rail was bunched up, indecently high on her thighs, and her eyes were wide and wild.

Three long strides brought him across the room to Davina’s side, and moments later, he’d stripped the gag off and deftly released her wrists.

Davina’s face was red, her cheeks streaked with tears. But her eyes were glassy with fury. “It was Douglas,” she choked out. “He’s taken my dowry.”

Lennox’s heart thudded, and he glanced over his shoulder at the space before the hearth, where the sacks of coins should have sat. However, he swiftly turned back to Davina. A dowry could be replaced, but some things were far more precious.

“Lass,” he ground out. “Did he hurt ye?”

A crimson haze dropped over his vision then, rage igniting like a torch in his gut. The thought of Brogan Douglas raping her made him want to hunt the man down and give him a slow, painful death.

The intensity of Lennox’s reaction shocked him, as did his protectiveness over Davina. Fury tied up his guts in knots—but relief barreled into him when she shook her head.