Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (6 page)

“Whose there?” she called.

Gregor moved out of the shadows. Tall, broad, deadly. Handsome.

Was he, too, coming to the refectory?

She couldn’t talk to him. Kirstin whirled around. “Let us hurry.”

Donna didn’t comment, though she did frown.

“Kay,” he called. “Sister Kirstin, please wait.”

Please? Wait?

Kirstin sped up. From the sounds of his boot heels clicking, he was also increasing his pace. The man was not going to let her go.

With a sigh of resignation, she said, “Go ahead of me, Donna. I will meet ye there shortly.”

“But—”

“Go. Please.”

Donna’s frown deepened, but she did as Kirstin asked.

Watching her companion leave, she found it hard to turn around. Her hands trembled. Knees threatened to turn as weak as mud. She didn’t want to face Gregor. Not now. Not alone. Not when there was every possibility she’d break down in sobs and tell him everything.

Sharing with him would solve nothing.

And yet, then she wouldn’t have to bear the pain alone.

Chapter Seven

“Why did ye leave me, Kay?”

“Dinna call me that. My name is Kirstin. That lass does not exist.” She avoided his gaze, but what he could see from the lights of the torches shining on her face was regret, and pain etched around the corners of her eyes.

Even all these years later, she’d not lost any of her beauty. Not a strand of hair was visible beneath her nun’s hood. His fingers itched to wrench it free, to see the cascade of her raven hair, soft as silk and scented sweet.

He drew in a deep breath, stepped a little closer. “She may have changed her name, but that lass was real to me. I’d wager she’s still somewhere inside ye.”

A bitter laugh escaped Kirstin and her gaze flicked to his. “I assure ye, she’s long since buried along with any memories that could have been sweet.”

Her words speared him, tearing into his chest with such agony he wondered if her statements were tipped with poison.

“Tell me why ye left,” he asked again. “Please.”

For the briefest of seconds her lower lip trembled. “I did not simply leave, Gregor. I was told to go.”

“By who?” He’d kill the man who tossed her out.

Kirstin’s lips twisted in outrage, something he’d not witnessed from her before. “Ye canna be serious.”

“I am.”

She shook her head, her features distorted in exasperation. “Ye are the most dense man I’ve ever met. Either ye are simply too stupid to function—which I doubt considering ye’ve managed to stay alive so long—or ye are purposefully attempting to anger me.”

Gregor held up his hands and took a step back. “Please, my lov—“ Old habits were hard to kill off. Gregor cleared his throat. “Please, Sister Kirstin, I meant no harm. I simply wanted an answer to a question I’ve been trying to figure out the answer to for nearly a decade.”

“So ye are serious.” She shook her head, her disappointment palpable. “If ye were not able to figure it out in nearly a decade than clearly me telling ye straight to your face is not going to do either of us any good. Good night, sir.”

She started to turn, and instinctively he reached out, grasped her arm. Thinner than he remembered, and not as warm. What had happened to her to steal all the light from within? “Wait,” he requested.

She shuddered, glowered up at him and tugged free. “Dinna touch me.”

He let her go, feeling her revulsion all the way to the very core of him. Did she truly despise him so much? She crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

“I’m sorry.” Guilt speared his chest.

The tip of her pink tongue was visible between her teeth as she bit it, then disappeared as she spoke. “As far as I’m concerned whatever life, whatever
lies
, we shared, they are nothing to me but a lapse of my memory, my sanity. I dinna wish to speak of it, and I wish that ye would simply consider me a stranger.”

Gregor let out a low growl and ran his hands through his hair with frustration, wanting to throttle her. “Kirstin, what happened between us? Why do ye hate me so?”

“Why do ye not remember?”

“I remember everything. I remember every night. Thousands of nights have passed with me wishing ye were by my side and praying ye were not dead.”

“Ye’re a fool and ye’ve wasted your time.” Her words were so cold, and contradicted the sadness in her eyes.

“I dinna consider ye a waste of time, nor myself a fool for having loved ye.”
For loving ye still
.

“Then ye are even more of a fool.”

Maybe he was a fool. Mayhap he was a complete and utter jackhole, but that didn’t really matter to him. What mattered to him was…

“I’m sorry, Kay.” He reached for her, his hands suspended in mid-air and her backing up. “For whatever I’ve done to make ye despise me so much, I beg your forgiveness.” He needed it. Couldn’t move forward without it.

She shook her head. “Not even a thousand nights lying awake is enough.”

“What is enough? What can I do?”

Her eyes cast to the ground, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “Ye can let me be.”

He shook his head, his own eyes burning. “I canna. I willna.”

“Ye have to.” She glanced up at him, pleading in her gaze that tore at his heart.

“Nay.”

“Gregor…”

“I’ve been waiting for ye to say my name again. To hear it on your lips.” Gregor reached out and this time he didn’t stop, he slipped his arms around her shoulders, and she didn’t resist.

His
Kay sank against him, sweet smells of sugar and soap. Her cheek rested against his shirt, growing wet from her silent tears. Slim fingers curled into his shirt, her elbows tucked against his chest. Gregor wrapped her up tight, cocooning her in his embrace. He could have stood there like that forever, holding her. His own breaths were shuddering, and he was so close to breaking down, from losing his masculinity in a puddle of tears of relief, of sadness.

Gregor had not considered before how much of a broken heart he had from losing her.

“Gregor, I must go,” she whispered, pushing away from him. “If I do not I will miss my only chance for supper.”

The place where she’d laid her head was suddenly cold, all of him feeling the loss of her touch. “I will make the kitchen give ye something. Please, there is much we need to say.”

She shook her head. “That is not how it works for me. I cannot ask them to give me special treatment or the other nuns will resent me.”

Saints, but he couldn’t cause her more hurt. “I dinna want to be the cause of ye missing your dinner.”

Gradually, she started to back away. “Then let me go.”

Her request was not simply to let her go to dinner though. He could read between the lines and knew what she really wanted was to be let go forever. How could he go through losing her again?

He couldn’t.

Gregor braced himself, wanting the exact opposite—never to have her out of his sight again. To tug her back in for a hug, but he had to be satisfied with what he’d gotten, which was progress. Wasn’t it?

“I will wait for ye outside of the refectory.”

“Nay, ye canna. ’Tis not appropriate. If anyone had seen us just now… I would be punished.”

“Then when can I see ye again?”

She shook her head. “Never. We must say goodbye. Again.”

“I dinna want to.”

A sad, forlorn smile crossed her lips. Lips he’d dreamed of kissing for so long. “We dinna always get what we want. Some of us even less than others.”

And then she was fleeing, the fabric of her skirts and hood flapping in the gentle breeze and he was left alone.

Gregor leaned back against the wall, his head tilted up, and let out a deep, painful sigh. She was so close, yet so far away. He could still smell her sweet scent on his shirt.

Footsteps, booted and heavy, sounded down the corridor. “My laird.”

’Twas Samuel.

Gregor rolled his head in his brother-by-marriage’s direction. Perhaps it was a good thing to be interrupted, lest he chase Kay into the refectory and cause a scene. “What is it?”

“The Bruce requests your presence.”

Gregor nodded. Earlier in the day when they’d arrived, Robert the Bruce had shown him to the temporary room he was using as a war office, though they called it a library as they were within abbey walls and didn’t want to offend those inhabiting the place or make them fearful.

He’d not been able to share the missive as the Bruce had been called away by the abbot. When Gregor insisted he remain to hear the news, the Bruce had assured him he’d get his chance.

“’Tis about time,” Gregor grumbled.

“Aye, I agree. I think he knows what ye have to share and he does not want to hear it.”

“I wish it weren’t true.”

Samuel grunted. “What are ye doing over here anyway?”

“Meditating,” Gregor said sarcastically.

“Outside the nun’s eating hall?”

This time it was Gregor who grunted.

“I dinna know what the past holds between ye and the nun, brother, but ’tis dangerous and an offense to the church to seduce its daughters.”

“I know it.”

“Be careful.”

Gregor shouldered Samuel none too softly. “I dinna need a nursemaid.”

“That remains to be seen. If ye were to get into trouble, hurt, or saints preserve us, arrested, Catriona would kill me. And it would not be quick and painless. So believe me when I say, I’m simply protecting myself.”

Gregor laughed. “I assure ye, ye’re head, and your ballocks, will remain firmly intact.”

The two guards outside of the war office nodded at their approach and indicated that they were allowed to enter.

The Bruce stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring outside and looking very disturbed.

There were no informal or formal greetings, simply their leader turning, nodding and say, “Tell me your news, Buchanan.”

“Of course, my lord.” Gregor paused.

“What is it?”

“The council?”

“They dinna arrive until tomorrow or the next day. I would hear it now.”

Gregor opened his sporran and pulled out the missive. He opened it slowly, the words he’d read a dozen times before etched into his memory.

He cleared his throat and began to read. “Here ye, here ye, lo to the man who reads this news. William Wallace, traitor to the crown, has been executed on this day, the twenty-third of August, the year of our lord 1305. As befitting his crimes, Wallace was dragged naked through the city of London. He was then drawn, hanged, but released while still alive. He was disemboweled, beheaded and then quartered. Find ye, the piece, a warning to thee and thou countrymen, to remain loyal to your good and rightful King Edward I of England.” Gregor took a deep breath. “I have…” Lord, how did he tell his king he had Wallace’s arm? “Samuel, can ye…?”

“Aye, my laird.” Samuel retreated from the room to gather the carefully guarded chest in which their general’s limb rested.

“I also have a part of him,” Robert the Bruce said. “They dispatched his quarters to Scotland. I have his left leg, which they sent to Berwick. It arrived yesterday morning.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The king slowly turned, his face full of regret and sadness. “We’ve lost both our guardians now. Both of the men who rallied our country into rebellion, who stood behind me. I will fight for them. Every battle from now on will be in their honor, and I will not stop until this country sees its independence.”

Gregor knelt, and so did Samuel. “Ye have my allegiance, my loyalty and the use of my body and my men for as long as ye need it.”

“This country needs ye,” Robert said. “More now than ever. The people will grieve deeply for Wallace, as do I. There will be many who question if we can go further.”

“We can and we will. And…” Gregor hated this part of his duties, the bearer of such news. “There is more, my lord.”

“Tell me.”

“’Twas a Scotsman, in league with the English, who took him. Someone Wallace trusted.”

“Do ye know who it is? I want his head.”

“The man is ensconced in London right now, but I have spies set out. We are working to find out his identity. The moment he steps foot back in Scotland, we will bring ye his head. And I believe, Samuel here, can get answers.”

“Good.” The Bruce nodded. “It smells of Comyn.”

“Aye.”

“I canna wait to crush that man.”

“And we will. While ye have the council gathered, we should plan our next attack.”

The Bruce nodded. “I agree. For now, keep this news to yourselves. And Samuel, gather what ye need to depart, sooner than later.”

“Aye, my lord,” Samuel agreed.

Gregor handed the Bruce the missive. “May I beg a question, my lord?”

The Bruce nodded, tucking the missive into a locked chest.

“What are the Warriors of God doing here?”

The Bruce laughed. “I wondered when ye were going to ask. Wallace’s other arm was sent to Perth. They have delivered it to me.”