The Atonement: Knights of the Imperial Elite, #2

Prologue

Seven years ago - The Highlands of Scotland

Fourteen-year-old Ryrie McCabe of the clan McLeod shucked her new harp out across the open field, uncaring where it landed. She took off running without a care or a destination. Her gown rode up her legs, and her breath heaved in her chest. Her lungs burned with every pump of blood.

God’s teeth! she fumed.

She hated Colin the Loyal.

So what if he was her brother Darrius’ friend and seven years older than her? What did she care that he had kissed her in the shadows of the great hall by mistake, then turned his back on her when he realized his error? What did she care that he was sinfully handsome and smelled like a real man and not a whore’s leftover?

She cared.

Ryrie collapsed on the ground with a great sob, her inky black hair fanning out on the grassy earth in a tangled mass. Her violet eyes seethed with unadulterated anger, flushing her cheeks pink. She thought back over the last few days that began her torment.

Two days ago, Darrius of Blackstone, Ryrie’s half-brother, had returned home after a three-year absence, training in England to be a royal guard. Not many respected the English king or his decisions, but they respected Darrius since he was half Scots. Darrius and Ryrie’s mother, Meryion had been the eldest daughter of Edward of Blackstone Castle in Scotland and he had allowed his daughter to marry a wealthy lord of England.

After Meryion had given birth to her twin sons and fearing her husband would kill one of her babies, she had fled with Darrius for her sister’s home in the Highlands. But the history ran deeper.

When Darrius had learned of his blood father, Lord Robert of Dorling, he set out for England’s waiting arms, uncertain of the outcome toward meeting his father. Lord Robert had proven to be an abrasive cur, or so Ryrie had heard. Darrius’ twin brother was still alive—a man as close to a terrifying nightmare as one could get. He was her mother’s deepest regret.

Ryrie was not supposed to know anything, but she had heard many things when people thought her only a child. At least Darrius’ arrival had lifted their mother’s spirit. She had been so melancholy these last few years without her son, worried about his health and vocation to the point of despondency. Knowledge that Meryion’s other son became just like Lord Robert had sent their grieving mother into another bout of depression. Ryrie was not sure her mother would soon recover, though she prayed so.

When Darrius arrived, he brought three other knights along with him, Colin the Loyal, Dugan the Bloodsword, and Rowan the McLeod, their cousin. Dugan was all Scots and fast with his sword, tall and muscular. He looked like a walking wall and never smiled much. Rowan, her annoying cousin, spent all his time pleasuring women. Not that she was supposed to know that either. She was sure if Rowan could profess his wit and charm as a vocation, he would be in prime heaven, but to her, he was a man-whore. Rowan didn’t even try. Women flocked to him like sweet honey over warm bread. It was disgusting.

Colin the Loyal was different or so Ryrie believed. As tall as Darrius with beautiful blue eyes and blond wavy hair to his shoulders like a riveting sun god. Her mouth watered the first time her eyes swept over his lithe body with his endless cords of muscles. She fisted her hands and pounded the ground.

He had been polite, respectful, and rode a horse extremely well, which in Ryrie’s opinion made him exceptional. After only two days since his arrival, Colin had treated her like a lady, and not as a child. He had made her laugh until her spirit shook with more than hopeful intentions. Ryrie had found herself captivated by the intensity of his blue eyes, perfect lips, and the deep sound of his voice, so sure she could not even remember half of what he may have shared with her. If she wasn’t with him, she spent her time daydreaming about his handsomeness and how soon she could escape her mother’s side for another glimpse of him.

She slapped the earth with her fists. Again.

One hour ago, Ryrie had been upstairs in her room, and her mother would not allow her to go downstairs to the great hall—to exactly where all the activity flourished. The whole keep was buzzing with preparations for the evening meal and entertainment in honor of her brother’s return, but Ryrie was shackled to the upstairs for what her mother called rest time.

Lady Meryion stood in the doorway, her dark blue gown the same hue as her eyes with her lips firmly set. Her dark, black hair was streaked with gray as she peered at her daughter. Though the years had been kind, her skin reflected a few worry lines on her forehead, evidence of her concern for those she loved.

Staying upstairs is for the best, Ryrie dear, her mother had said. As I always say, a woman’s lost virtue can never be regained, and a lady must remain invisible to retain the first.

Ryrie had inwardly rolled her eyes and looked away from the intense glare of her mother. I understand. But, she had not. Her mother did not want her downstairs mixing with all the knights. She was not an idiot or a child. Darrius was down there. What could someone do to her with him standing a few feet from her?

God’s blood!

Once she was sure her mother had left, Ryrie crept downstairs and perched herself in a reclusive position on the stairwell, hidden in the shadows. For long minutes, she watched all the activity and a deep sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes searched for Colin, but he was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, two hands grabbed Ryrie from behind, and she gasped. In the darkness, she was spun around and pulled up against a hard chest. It took less than a second to realize who dared touch her: Colin.

Her fantasy came to life.

Her hope soared.

Before Ryrie could protest, hot lips covered hers, moving roughly. She whimpered deep in her throat. Her senses reeled as his large hands kneaded her dizzy. Colin kissed a path down her throat and back to the shell of her ear—and still, she craved his next touch. Despite her young age, she responded fast as curiosity drove her. Such raw, unexpected warmth fed Ryrie’s youthful body, making her pliant within his embrace and her innocence yielded with complacency. Wrong as it was, she wanted more. She hungered for Colin’s mouth. He stroked a new fire within her. The welcome banner rolled out in a thunderous sweep of pleasure.

Ellie, love, he rasped against her ear. Let us find a corner and partake of each other.

Colin’s voice penetrated Ryrie’s mind.

Ellie?

He believed her to be one of the lemans of the keep. Anger surged through Ryrie and she began to struggle within his arms. Let me go! I am Ryrie, not—not Ellie! she protested, bringing up her hands and pounded on his chest.

Immediately, Colin released his quarry and stepped back to look at her. He paled and shock abounded inside his expression.

How dare you! She pushed against his chest, but her force did not move his body one inch.

Ryrie? I thought you were...someone else. Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect, Colin replied, taking a step toward her, but she thrust a hand to stay him.

Ryrie shook her head, her dark hair swaying. You thought I was some common whore.

Colin blanched, his eyes widening, and his expression turned apologetic. Please Ryrie, forgive me. It was an honest mistake. I would never—that is to say—I would never contemplate such action upon a child. Especially Darrius’ sister, he croaked.

Her chin jutted higher as loathing flashed hard within the depths of her eyes A child?

His lips flattened in a mulish line. His eyes glittered. Yes, a child. You are only fourteen...hardly a woman.

Ryrie blew out an angry puff of air. Thank you for clarifying my female position in the world. It is nice to know where I heap on a pile of horse dung. She was seething. "I will have you know that two of my friends recently wed at fourteen and I am sure their husbands would not agree with you."

He drew a hand through his blond hair. That may be true, but I am not in the habit of fondling children in the stairwells, nor am I looking to marry one, he returned smartly.

Though tears gathered in Ryrie’s eyes, she placed her hands on her hips and stared him down. "I am not a child. Furthermore, Ellie is only sixteen—used by many men and has been since she was thirteen. Used! A leman! You, Colin, have a twisted sense of young girls in your mind, but I guess a whore is a whore after all. Isn’t that right?"

His jaw flexed, yet he made no reply.

Ryrie gave a small laugh. Shall I mention this to my brother? I wonder how interested Darrius would be to know what you did to his sister.

He blanched. God’s teeth, Ryrie! I didn’t mean to—God! His frustration escalated if judging by the flush rising in his cheeks. I meant no disrespect. Can’t you accept my words and pardon me?

By all means, she gushed. "Forget anything happened. Consider yourself pardoned, she sneered. Go! Go run to your little whore," Ryrie raged, taking two steps back up the stairs, stumbling in her attempt to flee.

Ryrie— Colin began, reaching a hand out to help her.

Crimson rose higher on her pale cheeks and she righted herself, continuing up the stairs. No! Not one more word from your vile mouth! I will go back to my dolls and rest time, and forget this ever happened!

Ryrie ran back up the stairs to her bedchamber, slamming the door. She kept running until she flung herself face down on her bed. Sobs racked her body until she thought her heart would burst in shame and pain.

How dare Colin? He wanted a used whore like Ellie, but not me? Didn’t the stupid man know how I admired him?

Colin changed everything, making an arse out of her and him both. Not only had he embarrassed her, but he likened her to a child, pushing her feelings aside without a care.

The urge to flee climbed inside Ryrie and she scrambled off the bed, grabbing her new harp Darrius had given to her. She made her way through the keep, winding her way down to the secret bolthole, unseen. Within minutes, she was free of her family home, which brought her back to lying on the ground in an angry heap, irritable, and pathetically crying over her lost joy.

Colin ruined everything.

The cur!

Ryrie knew it was her own fault. She placed him so far and above other men with his kind words, beautiful eyes, and a handsome face. He had turned her numb the moment she saw him. She was such a fool. Now, she knew what kind of man he really claimed