occupied moments before, clutching the linens to her chin.
Try as he might, not a single word emerged from his dry throat. It was difficult to see the girl’s face for the masses of curly red hair, but she was clearly terrified. He’d believed heaven was a place without fear of any sort.
She stopped screaming, inhaled deeply, then screamed again, never taking her wide eyes off him.
He tried desperately to think of a way to stop the noise. If The Almighty believed he’d frightened a virgin, he might lose his place in heaven. Without a second thought, he lunged onto the bed, cupped her face in his hands and clamped his mouth over hers.
He wasn’t sure if it was the inexplicable notion she was a virgin, or the startled squeal that emanated from her throat, but suddenly he wanted to deepen the kiss. To his surprise, after a brief struggle, her lips opened to his coaxing tongue and her body relaxed. Her moist lips and the warmth of her mouth teased his arousal.
If this was heaven, he liked it. But his euphoria came to an abrupt end when the door crashed open and armed men rushed in. “Seize him,” one of them cried.
AINSLIE TAVERN
Ainslie Tavern, Edinburgh, Scotland, April 19th 1567
Lexi Hepburn trembled, uncertain as to who terrified her more, the intruder or her uncle James who’d burst into the chamber, sword drawn.
“Seize him,” her uncle thundered, his freckled face turning orange. “What the fyke is going on here?”
It galled Lexi when he seemed to direct his anger at her rather than at the interloper now on his knees with a dagger at his throat, his long hair held fast in the meaty fist of the Earl of Huntly. Did her guardian believe she’d invited the youth into her chamber?
It was true his unexpected kiss had roused strange feelings, but her determination to answer the call to the religious life remained intact. Did her fearsome uncle know so little about her he doubted the sincerity of that vocation? She had to atone for the deaths of her parents. Surely James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell understood. She wanted to deploy these objections, but indignation and fear stoppered them in her throat. She drew her knees closer to her chest, balled her fists into the linens and chewed her knuckles.
Her uncle turned his glowering gaze to the criminal. “Ye’d best tell me who ye are and what ye’re doing in my niece’s bedchamber,” he said in a low menacing voice, “‘afore I let Huntly slice off yer head.”
For some reason beyond her reasoning, an urge to beg the miscreant’s forgiveness surged up her constricted throat. If she hadn’t screamed he wouldn’t now be in peril of his life. “He didna hurt me, uncle,” she murmured.
The youth turned his head as far as his captor’s grip would allow, but only confusion darkened his eyes. Heartsick, she blinked away tears. Why was she forever driven to seek absolution where there was never a chance of it?
“I’m Callum Ogilvie,” the wretch rasped. “Late of Oban.”
His deep, lilting accent echoed in her bones, making her toes curl.
“Ye’re a long way from home, laddie,” Huntly growled, pressing his knee into his spine.
“Aye,” Ogilvie replied sadly.
The despair in his voice touched her heart. It struck her that his resignation had naught to do with the prospect of his imminent execution.
She was startled when a man she recognised as the Earl of Moray stepped out of the shadows near the doorway. “Ye canna kill him here, James,” he said to her uncle. “We dinna need unwanted attention.”
Lexi swiped the linens across her watery eyes. What were these powerful men doing in this tavern, together, evidently concerned with secrecy? Her uncle had undertaken to deliver her to the nunnery after his acquittal on murder charges, but mentioned nothing about meeting fellow earls.
A portly cleric she didn’t recognise entered the conversation. “I canna condone bloodshed,” he declared. “We must conclude our business with haste
Try as he might, not a single word emerged from his dry throat. It was difficult to see the girl’s face for the masses of curly red hair, but she was clearly terrified. He’d believed heaven was a place without fear of any sort.
She stopped screaming, inhaled deeply, then screamed again, never taking her wide eyes off him.
He tried desperately to think of a way to stop the noise. If The Almighty believed he’d frightened a virgin, he might lose his place in heaven. Without a second thought, he lunged onto the bed, cupped her face in his hands and clamped his mouth over hers.
He wasn’t sure if it was the inexplicable notion she was a virgin, or the startled squeal that emanated from her throat, but suddenly he wanted to deepen the kiss. To his surprise, after a brief struggle, her lips opened to his coaxing tongue and her body relaxed. Her moist lips and the warmth of her mouth teased his arousal.
If this was heaven, he liked it. But his euphoria came to an abrupt end when the door crashed open and armed men rushed in. “Seize him,” one of them cried.
AINSLIE TAVERN
Ainslie Tavern, Edinburgh, Scotland, April 19th 1567
Lexi Hepburn trembled, uncertain as to who terrified her more, the intruder or her uncle James who’d burst into the chamber, sword drawn.
“Seize him,” her uncle thundered, his freckled face turning orange. “What the fyke is going on here?”
It galled Lexi when he seemed to direct his anger at her rather than at the interloper now on his knees with a dagger at his throat, his long hair held fast in the meaty fist of the Earl of Huntly. Did her guardian believe she’d invited the youth into her chamber?
It was true his unexpected kiss had roused strange feelings, but her determination to answer the call to the religious life remained intact. Did her fearsome uncle know so little about her he doubted the sincerity of that vocation? She had to atone for the deaths of her parents. Surely James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell understood. She wanted to deploy these objections, but indignation and fear stoppered them in her throat. She drew her knees closer to her chest, balled her fists into the linens and chewed her knuckles.
Her uncle turned his glowering gaze to the criminal. “Ye’d best tell me who ye are and what ye’re doing in my niece’s bedchamber,” he said in a low menacing voice, “‘afore I let Huntly slice off yer head.”
For some reason beyond her reasoning, an urge to beg the miscreant’s forgiveness surged up her constricted throat. If she hadn’t screamed he wouldn’t now be in peril of his life. “He didna hurt me, uncle,” she murmured.
The youth turned his head as far as his captor’s grip would allow, but only confusion darkened his eyes. Heartsick, she blinked away tears. Why was she forever driven to seek absolution where there was never a chance of it?
“I’m Callum Ogilvie,” the wretch rasped. “Late of Oban.”
His deep, lilting accent echoed in her bones, making her toes curl.
“Ye’re a long way from home, laddie,” Huntly growled, pressing his knee into his spine.
“Aye,” Ogilvie replied sadly.
The despair in his voice touched her heart. It struck her that his resignation had naught to do with the prospect of his imminent execution.
She was startled when a man she recognised as the Earl of Moray stepped out of the shadows near the doorway. “Ye canna kill him here, James,” he said to her uncle. “We dinna need unwanted attention.”
Lexi swiped the linens across her watery eyes. What were these powerful men doing in this tavern, together, evidently concerned with secrecy? Her uncle had undertaken to deliver her to the nunnery after his acquittal on murder charges, but mentioned nothing about meeting fellow earls.
A portly cleric she didn’t recognise entered the conversation. “I canna condone bloodshed,” he declared. “We must conclude our business with haste
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