"A thrilling Scottish novel featuring the powerful and sexy MacGregor brothers."
Reviewed by Kay Quintin
Posted April 19, 2010
Romance Historical
In 1685, near the England/Scottish border sits Saint
Christopher's Abbey. Davina Montgomery is sequestered
there, hidden from society for protection from her enemies.
Trained to eventually take her vows, Davina discovers that
is the furthest thing from reality as she is sought out to
be murdered during a bloody massacre at the Abbey. Robert
Macgregor of Camlochlin of Skye and members of his clan
fight for their lives as they rescue Davina and she is
taken under their protection. Rob's original plan to
deliver Davina to Courlochcraig Abbey is soon altered. The
tough, huge Highlander is smitten and has other ideas as he
is emotionally drawn to Davina. Avoiding the secret she holds and the future she is
destined for, Davina finds she is totally obsessed with the
gorgeous Highlander following a smoldering kiss from Rob.
Leaving bloodshed and death behind, the party travels to
the secluded hills of Camlochlin where Rob insists is the
safest place to protect her. Davina is torn between her
duty and her consuming love for Rob. The perils of survival
only bring them closer with their wanton kisses. Determined
to keep the beauty for himself, Rob knows he is creating
his own death sentence. Rob viciously fights to save her
life realizing his own is over without her. I found the entire MacGregor brothers powerful, as well as
extremely amusing and warm. Of course, they are all
extremely handsome, drawing female attention. Rob is the
man every woman wants; fierce in his protection and soft in
his love. He loves Davina more than his own life. Davina is
a strong lady with a very soft and happy side to her, even
though much has been denied her. I am anxiously awaiting
further stories about Paula Quinn's hunky
Highlanders. This novel is full of excitement and thrills.
SUMMARY
FORBIDDEN LOVE
Davina Montgomery is no ordinary
English lady. For her own protection, she's been locked away
from society, her true identity the Crown's most closely
guarded secret. Until a shocking betrayal--and a bold
rescue--land her in the arms of a fierce Highlander, a
powerful warrior whose searing gaze and tantalizing touch
awaken her body and soul.
UNDENIABLE DESIRE
As
the firstborn son of a powerful Scottish laird, Robert
MacGregor has no loyalty to the English throne, but he's not
the kind of man to leave a woman in distress, even if she
is English. He vows to deliver Davina to safety,
unharmed and untouched. Yet one stolen kiss leaves them both
smoldering with desire...and desperate for more. With
Davina's secret threatening to destroy his clan, Rob must
choose between everything he holds dear and the one woman he
can't live without.
RAVISHED BY A HIGHLANDER
ExcerptChapter OneHigh atop Saint Christopher’s Abbey, Davina Montgomery stood
alone in the bell tower, cloaked in the silence of a world
she did not know. Darkness had fallen hours ago and below
her the sisters slept peacefully in their beds, thanks to
the men who had been sent here to guard them. But there was
little peace for Davina. The vast, indigo sky filling her
vision was littered with stars that seemed close enough to
touch should she reach out her hand. What would she wish
for? Her haunted gaze slipped southward toward England, and
then with a longing just as powerful, toward the moonlit
mountain peaks of the north. Which life would she choose if
the choice were hers to make? A world where she’d been
forgotten, or one where no one knew her? She smiled sadly
against the wind that whipped her woolen novice robes around
her. What good was it to ponder when her future had already
been decreed? She knew what was to come. There were no
variations. That is, if she lived beyond the next year. She
looked away from the place she could never go and the person
she could never be. She heard the soft fall of footsteps behind her but did not
turn. She knew who it was. “Poor Edward. I imagine your heart must have failed you when
you did not find me in my bed.” When he remained quiet she felt sorry for teasing him about
the seriousness of his duty. Captain Edward Asher had been
sent here to protect her fours years ago after Captain
Geoffries had taken ill and was relieved of his command.
Edward had become more than her guardian. He was her dearest
friend, someone she could confide in here within the thick
walls that sheltered her from the schemes of her enemies.
Edward knew her fears and accepted her faults. “I knew where to find you,” he finally said, his voice just
above a whisper. He always did know. Not that there were many places to look.
Davina was not allowed to venture outside the Abbey gates so
she came to the bell tower often to let her thoughts roam free. “My lady—” She turned at his soft call, putting away her dreams and
desires behind a tender smile. Those she kept to herself and
did not share, even with him. “Please, I…” he began, meeting her gaze and then stumbling
through the rest as if the face he looked upon everyday
still struck him as hard as it had the first time he’d seen
her. He was in love with her and though he’d never spoken
his heart openly, he did not conceal how he felt. Everything
was there in his eyes; his deeds, his devotion, and a deep
regret that Davina suspected had more to do with her than he
would ever have the boldness to admit. Her path had been
charted for another coarse and she could never be his. “Lady
Montgomery, come away from here, I beg you. It is not good
to be alone.” He worried for her so and she wished he wouldn’t. “I’m not
alone, Edward,” she reassured. If her life remained as it
was now, she would find a way to be happy. She always did.
“I have been given much.” “It’s true,” he agreed, moving closer to her and then
stopping himself, knowing what she knew. “You have been
taught to fear the Lord and love your king. The sisters love
you, as do my men. It will always be so. We are your family.
But it is not enough.” He knew she would never admit it, so
he said it for her. It had to be enough. It was safer this way, cloistered away
from those who would harm her if ever they discovered her
after the appointed time. That time had come. Davina knew that Edward would do anything to save her. He
told her often, each time he warned her of her peril.
Diligently, he taught her to trust no one, not even those
who claimed to love her. His lessons often left her feeling
a bit hopeless, though she never told him that either. “Would that I could slay your enemies,” he swore to her now,
“and your fears along with them.” He meant to comfort her, but good heavens, she didn’t want
to discuss the future on such a breathtaking night. “Thanks
to you and God,” she said, leaving the wall to go to him and
tossing him a playful smile. “I can slay them myself.” “I agree,” he surrendered, his good mood restored by the
time she reached him, “you’ve learned your lessons in
defense well.” She rested her hand on his arm and gave it a soft pat. “How
could I disappoint you when you risked the Abbess’s
consternation to teach me?” He laughed with her, both of them comfortable in the
familiarity of it. But too soon, he grew serious again. “James is to be crowned in less than a se’nnight.” “I know,” Davina nodded and turned toward England again. She
refused to let her fears control her. “Mayhap,” she said
with a bit of defiance sparking her doleful gaze, “we should
attend the coronation, Edward. Who would think to look for
me at Westminster?” “My lady…” He reached for her. “We cannot. You know--” “I jest, dear friend.” She angled her head to speak to him
over her shoulder, carefully cloaking the struggle that
weighed heaviest upon her heart. A struggle that had nothing
to do with fear. “Really, Edward, must we speak of this?” “Yes, I think we should,” he answered earnestly, then
swiftly, before she could argue, “I’ve asked the Abbess if
we can move you to Courlochcraig Abbey in Ayr. I’ve already
sent word to—” “Absolutely not,” she stopped him. “I will not leave my
home. Besides, we have no reason to believe that my enemies
know of me at all.” “Just for a year or two. Until we’re certain—” “No,” she told him again, this time turning to face him
fully. “Edward, would you have us leave the sisters here
alone to face our enemies should they come seeking me? What
defense would they have without the strong arms of you and
your men? They will not leave St. Christopher’s, nor will I.” He sighed and shook his head at her. “I cannot argue when
you prove yourself more courageous than I. I pray I do not
live to regret it. Very well, then,” The lines of his
handsome face relaxed. “I shall do as you ask. For now
though,” he added, offering her his arm, “allow me to escort
you to your chamber. The hour is late and the Reverend
Mother will show you no mercy when the cock crows.” Davina rested one hand in the crook of his arm and waved
away his concern with the other. “I don’t mind waking with
the sun.” “Why would you,” he replied, his voice as light now as hers
as he led her out of the belfry, “when you can just fall
back to sleep in the Study Hall.” “It was only the one time that I actually slept,” she
defended, slapping his arm softly. “And don’t you have more
important things to do with your day than follow me around?” “Three times,” he corrected, ignoring the frown he knew was
false. “Once, you even snored.” Her eyes, as they descended the stairs, were as wide as her
mouth. “I have never snored in my life!” “Save for that one time, then?” She looked about to deny his charge again, but bit her
curling lip instead. “And once during Sister Bernadette’s
piano recital. I had penance for a week. Do you remember?” “How could I forget?” he laughed. “My men did no chores the
entire time, preferring to listen at your door while you
spoke aloud to God about everything but your transgression.” “God already knew why I fell asleep,” she explained, smiling
at his grin. “I did not wish to speak poorly of Sister
Bernadette’s talent, or lack of it, even in my own defense.” His laughter faded leaving only a smile that looked to be
painful as their walk ended and they stood at her door. When
he reached out to take her hand, Davina did her best not to
let the surprise in her eyes dissuade him from touching her.
“Forgive my boldness, but there is something I must tell
you. Something I should have told you long ago.” “Of course, Edward,” she said softly, keeping her hand in
his. “You know you may always speak freely to me.” “First, I would have you know that you have come to mean—” “Captain!” Davina leaned over the stairwell to see Harry Barns,
Edward’s second in command, plunge through the Abbey doors.
“Captain!” Harry shouted up at them, his face pale and his
breath heavy from running. “They are coming!” For one paralyzing moment, Davina doubted the good of her
ears. She’d been warned of this day for four years, but had
always prayed it would not come. “Edward,” she asked
hollowly, on the verge of sheer panic, “how did they find us
so soon after King Charles's death?” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth
as if he too refused to believe what he was hearing. But
there was no time for doubt. Spinning on his heel, he
gripped her arm and hauled her into her room. “Stay here!
Lock your door!” “What good will that do us?” she sprang for her quiver and
bow and headed back to the door, and to Edward blocking it.
“Please, dear friend. I do not want to cower alone in my
room. I will fire from the bell tower until it is no longer
safe to do so.” “Captain,” Barnes raced up the stairs, taking three at a
time. “We need to prepare. Now!” “Edward,” Davina’s voice pulled him back to her, “you
trained me for this. We need every arm available. You will
not stop me from fighting for my home.” “Orders, Captain, please!” Davina looked back once as she raced toward the narrows
steps leading back to the tower. “Harry!” She heard Edward shout behind her. “Prepare the
vats and boil the tar. I want every man alert and ready at
my command. And Harry…” “Captain?” “Wake the sisters and tell them to pray.” # In the early 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 were plagued with her faceless
assassins since the day Edward had first told her of them. Tears from 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 refused, he tossed her over his shoulder like a
sack of grain and brought here 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, than 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 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 rise of a small crest 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 Will had
also halted his horse and stared with both shock and horror
at the scene before him. When Colin and Finn reached them,
Rob swore violently at his brother for disobeying him, but
his gaze was already being pulled back to the small convent
nestled within the fold of low hills. The Abbey was under attack. By the looks of it, the siege
had been going on for more than a few hours. Hundreds of
dead bodies littered the ground. Only a handful of what
looked to have been two separate armies remained while
ribbons of black smoke plumed the air, the residue of
burning tar. The left wing of the structure was completely
engulfed in flames. “Dear God, who would do this?” Will did not bother answering Finn’s haunted plea, but
snatched free his bow and yanked an arrow from his quiver. “Will, nae!” Rob stopped him. “’Tis no’ our fight. I’ll no’
bring whoever did this doun on our clan! No’ for those who
have already per—” The remainder of his words was cut short by a searing jolt
of pain in his left shoulder and the whistle of two of
Will’s arrows slicing the air in the next instant. Stunned,
Rob looked down at the thin shaft of wood jutting out of his
flesh. He’d been hit! Son of a… Fighting a wave of nausea,
he closed his fingers around the arrow and broke off the
feathered end sticking out from his plaid. Setting his
murderous gaze on the skirmish, he clutched the broken arrow
in one fist and dragged his claymore from its sheath with
the other. “Now, it’s our fight. Colin,” he growled before he charged
his mount forward, “Ye and Finn take cover or I’ll set ye
both on yer arses fer a fortnight.” Finn nodded dutifully, but Colin grew angry. “Rob, I can
fight. I want to fight.” “No’ today,” Rob’s warned, his jaw rigid with fury about to
be unleashed. This time Colin obeyed. Rob had fought in raids before. He’d even killed a few
Fergussons, but this was the kind of fighting that flowed
through his veins. What he had been trained to do by his
father. Protect himself and those in his care at any cost.
He didn’t care who shot him. They were all going to pay for
it. Reaching the dwindling melee, he brought his sword down
with savage satisfaction, killing swiftly, while Will and
Angus fought a few feet away. He was about to strike again
when his would-be target screamed out at him. “Hold, Scot! Hold for the mercy of God!” For the space of a
breath, the man withered in his saddle staring into Rob’s
eyes, and then at the bloody sword above his head. He spoke
quickly, gathering what strength of will he had left. “I am
Captain Edward Asher of the King’s Royal army. We were
attacked just before dawn. I am not your enemy.” Rob quickly looked the man over. His dark hair was wet with
blood and sweat that dripped over his brow, creating streaks
down his dirty face. His garment was also bloodied, but
belonging to the king’s regiment. His fury at being shot still unabated, Rob began to turn his
mount to cut down someone else. “Wait.” The captain reached for Rob’s arm to stop him. “You
are a Highlander. Why are you here? Has someone sent you?” “Ye ask many questions rather than be grateful that here is
where I am.” “You have my thanks for your aid.” Rob nodded. “Behind ye.” Captain Asher spun on his horse and barely managed to avoid
a blow to his head that would have killed him. Taking a moment to assure that no other enemy soldiers were
in fighting distance, Rob watched with a look of bland
interest while the captain felled his attacker to the ground. “I owe you my life,” Asher said, panting. “Right. Are we done here? There are more comin’.” Asher’s shoulders sagged heavily as if he’d had enough and
knew his fate. He didn’t bother to look behind him, but
wiped his moist brow. “Your name, please.” Hell, the man was half out of his mind. Loss of blood, Rob
decided, and taking pity on him, gave him what he asked. “Robert MacGregor, if I die today you must save the Lady
Montgomery.” Before Rob could consent or decline, the
captain rushed on. “Please, I beg of you, save her. She
still lives, I know it.” His eyes dipped to the broken arrow
in Rob’s hand. Following his gaze, Rob suspected who shot him. His jaw
clenched, as did his fingers. “You live. You save her.” “MacGregor!” Captain Asher shouted as Rob rode away. “They
burned the chapel. All the sisters—dead. They were all she
had. She only did what you or I would have done. Save her
before the flames claim her. It is what they want.” Rob set his gaze toward the burning Abbey. Hell. He should
find Will and toss him into the flames to find the lady
since ‘twas his idea to come here. A lady. Bloody hell, he
couldn’t leave a lass to the flames, even if she’d tried to
kill him. With his sword held high, he cut down another
rider coming at him and did not look back to see what had
become of Asher. He scanned the smoky courtyard for any sign
of a female then muttered a string of oaths when he didn’t
find her. With a look of such dark resentment and
determination on his face he frightened two more soldiers
out of his path, he rode his snorting beast straight to the
fiery entrance. There was only one way to get inside and no
time to hesitate. Yanking hard on his reins, he dug his
heels into his horse’s flanks and heaved the stallion upward
onto its hind legs. The charred doors splintered and cracked
beneath the weight of his mount’s front hooves. Thick smoke
stung his lungs and made it almost impossible to see. He
called out, “Lady!” His stallion neighed and bucked at the
roaring flames all around them, but Rob’s hand was strong
and the beast was forced to continue. He called out again,
and was about to give up and count her among the dead when
he saw her. To his astonishment, the lass was trying
desperately to put out the flames with a meager blanket. “’Tis too late, lass. Give me yer hand!” At the sound of his voice, she whirled around, bringing the
blanket to her face to keep the smoke from choking her.
“Edward?” She coughed trying to see through the suffocating
haze. “Edward, I—” The blanket slipped from her fingers and
her legs gave out beneath her. Rob charged forward, leaning down in his saddle. Before her
body hit the ground, he plucked her from the ashes.
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