The Viper (14 page)

She turned her head, resting one cheek against his shoulder, not wanting him to see the effect he had on her. She breathed in his warm, masculine scent, thinking it strange again that a brigand could smell so good. He must bathe more than any man she'd ever met. Apparently, he had a strange liking for cold rivers.

Unwittingly, she relaxed. He carried her in silence for a moment, navigating easily through the darkened forest. She peeked up at him from under her lashes. He hadn't shaved in a few days and his jaw was shadowed with dark stubble. It made him look even more dangerous. Except for his lashes. She'd never noticed how long they were. It was strange to find a hint of softness on the otherwise hard facade. She could see that tic again, and there were tiny lines around his mouth. Maybe it was more difficult to carry her than she'd realized?

She frowned, noticing something else. There were a few fresh cuts and bruises on his face, but nothing as deep as the cut across his cheek. Unconsciously, she reached up to trace it with her finger. She thought she felt him tense, but it was gone before she could be sure. "That must have hurt."

He shrugged as if it didn't matter.

"How did it happen?"

She didn't think he was going to answer her, but he finally said, "I turned my back on someone with a dagger."

There was something more to the story, but it was clear he wasn't going to tell her. "Did you get it while you were imprisoned?"

There was no mistaking the tensing of his muscles this time. He tried to erase his reaction with a sardonic lift of his brow, but he was holding her too close: she'd felt it. "I wasn't aware you knew so much of my history, Countess."

She tried not to flush under the accusation in his gaze. "It's hardly a secret."

"Is that right? And what do you know about it?"

His words were cool, but she sensed the emotions simmering under the surface. Suddenly she knew exactly how Mary had felt when she'd confronted her about spreading rumors: guilty and defensive. "That you betrayed your brother-in-law, John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, in battle, and that he caught you and had you imprisoned."

"That's what they say?" He laughed, but the sound was harsh and without humor.

"Do you deny it?" She realized how badly she wanted him to.

Without her realizing it, they'd reached the tent. He set her down carefully. "If you want to know something, ask me. But you shouldn't believe everything you hear, Countess."

The subtle taunt in his voice pricked. Did nothing matter to him? "You mean things like did you kill your wife?"

He stilled. Something raw flashed in his eyes, and she immediately wished her question back.

"Nay," he said evenly. "That's true."

She sucked in a sharp breath. He'd shocked her, as was obviously his intent, but she sensed there was something he wasn't saying.

Before she could question him further, he gave her a slight mocking bow. "Good night, Countess. Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow."

And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Six

Lachlan had never been so glad to see battlements in his life.

The distinctive shield-shaped curtain wall of Kildrummy Castle rose out of the mountainous landscape like the warrior's paradise of Valhalla.

With its ashlar stone walls and six massive towers, Kildrummy had been built by the Earls of Mar not only as a defensive stronghold, but also as a magnificent testament to the wealth of the earldom.

It wasn't because the castle was considered one of the finest in Scotland that Lachlan was happy to see it. Nay, he was glad to see it because the last two days of riding had been torture.

Of his own damned making. What the hell had he been thinking?

God's blood, even through the thick leather of his
cotun
he could feel her softness burning against him. Every shape and curve of her back seemed imprinted on his. And that bottom. He groaned. Two days of having that soft, round bottom nestled against his groin was more than any man could be expected to bear.

He couldn't even breathe without being aware of her--the air around her seemed infused with the faint scent of roses.

She shifted against him, giving a contented little sigh in her sleep as she snuggled her back deeper into his chest, her silky-soft, downy head tucked under his chin.

She forgot to be wary of him when she slept. He liked it. Too damned much. His arms drew tighter around her. To keep her steady in the saddle, of course.

He should have let her ride with one of the other men. But when they'd stood by the horses the morning after her accident, deciding whom she should ride with, he'd found himself ordering her to ride with him.

It wasn't because she'd wanted to ride with MacKay, damn it. And it sure as hell wasn't because he couldn't stand the thought of another man touching her. He just didn't want to be dodging the girlish flirtations of Mary Bruce all day. Besides, her ankle was tender and one of the other men might forget she was injured.

But if he'd known how hard it would be to have his arm wrapped around her waist for hours, while her incredible breasts--the size and shape of which had been burned on his memory--bounced against it, he might have reconsidered.

He glanced down. His chest swelled with an unfamiliar emotion, and he quickly looked back to the road in front of him. God damn it, did she have to look so sweet? With her cheek resting against his chest, wispy little tendrils of white-blond hair curling at her temples, her long, dark lashes curling against her creamy skin, and her bold features soft in repose, the proud countess looked almost vulnerable.

This swell--whatever it was--in his chest bothered him. It made him feel--damn it--protective.

A feeling that thankfully went away as soon as she woke up and turned those flashing eyes on him.

But he didn't like this at all. His control was faltering. He couldn't think straight around her, which was dangerous for all of them. He needed to do something. Clearly, fighting this maddening desire for her wasn't working.

It had been too long. He needed to find a way to take the edge off.

Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she stirred. He knew she was awake when he felt her back stiffen and pull away from him. He clenched his jaw. Not that it bothered him.

Suddenly, she sat up even straighter. "We made it?"

She glanced up at him, and he could see that the relief in her eyes matched the excitement in her voice.

"Aye," he answered, trying not to notice how close her mouth was to his.

Her eyes filled with something else. Gratitude, he realized, when she said, "Thank you."

He felt that uncomfortable swelling again in his chest and turned sharply away. "Don't thank me yet."

"What do you mean?"

"The English will not give up so easily. Even now they could be marching toward us."

He almost regretted his forthrightness when he felt a shiver shudder through her. But hiding the truth from her wouldn't help keep her safe. She needed to know exactly what they were up against: the most powerful, wily, and vengeful king in Christendom, who was out for blood.

Bella MacDuff had made a powerful enemy when she'd placed a crown on Bruce's head. He hoped to hell it was worth it.

Though the light was fading with the dusk, he could still make out the play of fear and worry on her stubborn features. "But we shall have at least some reprieve. They will not find us right away. You said they did not follow us?"

He shook his head. "Not from what we could tell." Hopefully, the English wouldn't realize the ladies had separated from the rest of the army. What was left of it, anyway.

"It's Rob--the king--they want. They'll follow him west."

This time he didn't tell her what he thought. It wasn't just the king Edward would pursue with a vengeance. If they discovered the ladies missing, they would come after them as well. Moreover, Kildrummy Castle, with its strategic location at the juncture of the roads leading north into Buchan and Atholl, was a valuable prize even without the queen and Bella.

She took his silence as agreement and relaxed against him slightly as they navigated the path leading up to Kildrummy. The castle sat on a rise, surrounded by a wide ditch in the front and a steep riverbank in the back--natural defenses made nearly impenetrable by the strength of the castle itself. High, thick stone walls were topped with numerous towers to defend against any encroachers who attempted to cross the ditch. The massive donjon known as the Snow Tower was seven stories high, with walls in places eighteen feet thick.

Lachlan knew something was wrong even before they crossed the narrow bridge to the two gatehouse towers that guarded the main entry to the castle. Though it was dusk, it was still light enough for villagers to be milling about. But the place was deserted.

He could almost feel the tension in the air. If Gordon hadn't ridden ahead to warn Nigel Bruce of their arrival, he suspected they would have found the portcullis down, the gates barred, and the arrow slits in the towers filled with archers.

He tried to keep his wariness from the countess, not wanting to wipe the relieved smile from her face as they passed under the gate.

But his instincts were validated the moment they rode into the courtyard. His eyes found Gordon's in the subdued crowd that had gathered to welcome them. The other man shook his head.

Damn
.

Lachlan quickly dismounted and helped Bella down, taking care for her ankle, though it seemed to have healed.

After Nigel Bruce greeted his sister-in-law, his sisters, his niece and nephew, and Bella, the young knight turned to him and extended his hand. "MacRuairi."

Lachlan returned the firm grasp of forearm to forearm. Much like Gordon and MacSorley, Nigel Bruce was a hard man not to like. Bruce's favorite brother had wit, charm, and the kind of even-keeled temperament that people gravitated toward. He'd impressed Lachlan on the battlefield as well, fighting with a ferocity not typically seen in his noble counterparts.

"I'm glad to see you," the young knight said, "but I fear it will not be for long."

Though he spoke in a low voice, Bella had heard him. The momentary relief Lachlan had glimpsed when they'd entered the castle gates was gone. "What is it?" she asked.

Nigel gave her a somber smile. "Come," he said, taking her hand. "You must be hungry and exhausted. You can eat and sit in comfort by the fire in the Great Hall while I tell you what is happening."

But Lachlan already knew what young Bruce was going to say: The English were coming.

Bella listened to Robert's younger brother with a growing pit in the bottom of her stomach. The safe sanctuary she'd hoped to find at Kildrummy had proved a cruel mirage. A nightmare from which she could not wake. How much more of this could she take? The constant danger. Living on the run. When would it ever end?

"The Prince of Wales landed in Aberdeen the day before yesterday," Nigel said. "Even hauling their siege engines, it won't take them longer than a few days to cover less than forty miles. When the scouts return we will know for sure, but I expect they will camp near Alford tonight and be outside our gates before the sun has set tomorrow night."

Only Bella, Christina Bruce, and the queen had remained on the dais after the meal to hear the men discuss their plans, and the three women exchanged distraught glances.

"We'll leave for the coast in the morning for the journey to Norway," Lachlan said.

Bella bit back a cry. Norway! It was so far away.

Nigel shook his head. "You can't go by ship. At least not from here. They're expecting my brother to escape by sea, and Edward has his fleet patrolling the east coast from the Knuckle of Buchan to Berwick." He cut off MacRuairi's protest. "I know what you Islanders can do in a galley, but you will have women and children to man your ship, not seasoned warriors. I can't spare many men. We'll need all the soldiers we can get to hold the castle for my brother. It's safer to travel by land, at least until you've reached the Firth. Once you've past Buchan you can secure a galley."

Bella couldn't stand silent any longer. "But why must we leave at all? Why can't we just stay here with you?"

Lachlan pinned her with his gaze. She saw the hint of compassion in his eyes and knew he saw too much. He'd guessed her reason for not wanting to flee to Norway. The separation the past few months from Joan had been hard enough. But leaving Scotland ...

"It will only be for a little while," he said quietly.

Tears sprang to her eyes. This time they both knew he lied. "But this castle is one of the strongest in Scotland. Built to withstand even Edward's Warwolf," she said, referring to the King of England's infamous trebuchet. "Surely it is safer to stay behind these walls than to be hunted across the countryside?"

Nigel might not know the source, but he'd sensed her distress. "Have you ever been through a siege, my lady?" She shook her head, and he continued. "You would not wish to. I need to hold the castle for my brother's return. It could take months."