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warrior looked the nun right in the eyes and said, “Sister, I am Sir John of Dunkeld. Our weapons come with us. We have vowed to protect those who protect our souls. Our vows were given and blessed in the name of the Lord in the Lord’s house. To be without them is to not be able to honor our vows.”
    The older nun frowned, pursing her wrinkled lips. “I need to check with the abbess.”
    “We know the abbot is here. Check with him,” the warrior said.
    Gregor raised a brow in Samuel’s direction finding his appalled expression mirrored in his brother’s.
    “Wait here.” The nun shut the tiny wooden door.
    Gregor crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard at the man. “Now there’s the possibility of none of us gaining entrance. What game are ye playing?”
    “No games.” The man looked ready to tear into Gregor. “We have our orders just as ye have yours.”
    “Who gives your orders?” Gregor asked.
    “The Pope.”
    Gregor grunted. “And here in Scotland? Who receives the Pope’s orders?”
    “The Bishop of Dunkeld.”
    “Quite a ways you have come, then, given Dunkeld is at least four days ride.”
    “Longer, my laird,” the warrior said, his face so empty Gregor couldn’t help but wonder if all the warriors were simply vessels for the bishops and cardinals to wield. “We first went to Skye when summoned.”
    The Isle of Skye. Was that where Kirstin was from? He’d not checked there. Though perhaps that should have been the first place given she’d come from across the loch to Eilean Donan. Was it possible his mind had purposefully forgotten that place? Didn’t want him to check there, afraid of what he’d truly find? That his love for her could have been a lie?
    “By who?” Gregor demanded.
    The man simply grinned, the first Gregor had seen. It sent a foreboding chill up his spine. Before the day was out, Gregor was pretty certain that he and this man would come to blows.
    The little door reopened and the nun appeared. She looked haggard, and her gaze wearily touched on Gregor.
    She addressed the warrior, John. “The Abbot says ye are approved to bring in your daggers only.” Her gaze roved back to Gregor. “All of ye. Leave your swords, maces, bows, and any other tools of your trade outside.”
    The holy warrior grumbled, but acquiesced, tugging a pile of sharpened steel from nearly every inch of his body.
    “My men will stay with yours, Buchanan.” John wasn’t asking.
    And Gregor didn’t care. He shrugged. “So be it.”
    Gregor’s gaze finally met Kirstin’s—how could he avoid her?—and his chest tightened. His heart still beat for her and her alone. She skillfully masked her emotions, perhaps what a nun— a nun !—was trained to do. But even still, he could see the way her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, the way she tried to hide her quickened breaths by slouching her shoulders. Was she nervous about the warriors, the weapons, the abbey, or because they had unfinished business?
    Gregor had to get her alone, had to talk to her, at least to find out why in the world she had vanished. Had he been the reason she took vows? Had he pushed her so hard she never wanted to find love again? Wanted to be forever unavailable to him or any man?
    “K—Sister Kirstin,” he corrected. “May I escort ye—”
    John stepped in front of Gregor, blocking his view, his face close enough that Gregor could smell the spiced jerky he’d eaten to break his fast.
    “She goes no where with ye.”
    The warrior was too possessive of Kirstin. Did John care for her? Did she care for him? Was this all a ruse?
    Fury, molten hot boiled in Gregor’s belly. Restraining his fisted hands at his side instead of pummeling the man in the face, he stepped even closer. “Who the hell are ye to say where she goes and with whom? There can be no claim to the lass, as she’s taken vows from the church. Ye’re nothing but a bishop’s errand boy.”
    That was enough to give Gregor exactly what he