The Viper (19 page)

Mary Bruce cried on her shoulder as the cart bumped along the road to Auldern, and Bella tried to soothe her.

The girl who reminded her so much of her daughter looked up at her with terrified, tear-filled eyes. "What will become of us, my lady?"

"I don't know, my love. I suspect some time in the tower. It won't be so bad. Some of the rooms I hear are quite nice."

Neither of them could have imagined just how wrong she would be.

Eight

Where's Nigel Bruce? And de la Haye
,
And valiant Seton--where are they?
Where Somerville, the kind and free?
And Fraser, flower of chivalry?
Have they not been on gibbet bound
,
Their quarters flung to hawk and hound
,
And hold we here a cold debate
,
To yield more victims to their fate?

Sir Walter Scott, Lord of the Isles, Canto II, XXVI

Dunstaffnage Castle, Lorn, October 10, 1308

This was it--the information Lachlan had been waiting for. The king wasn't going to put him off again. For over two years Lachlan had been forced to bide his time. No more. He was going after Bella and no one was going to stop him. Not Bruce, not MacLeod--hell, not the entire blasted English army.

The sounds of revelry that followed him into the solar were proof enough the time had come. It wasn't just the wedding of Arthur Campbell and Anna MacDougall that they celebrated, but also the capitulation of Ross--the last of Scotland's great magnates to hold out against King Robert. The bastard who'd turned Bella and the other women over to Edward had made his peace.

From the jaws of almost certain defeat, Bruce had risen again like a phoenix from the ashes, first defeating the English, and then the powerful Scottish nobles who'd stood against him. Bella had been right: Bruce's near miraculous comeback was the way legends were made. Her faith in the king had not been misplaced.

It was they who'd failed her. Bruce. Himself. Everyone.

But no longer. With MacDougall and Ross tamed, there were no more excuses. No more enemies to defeat before he could go after her again.

Lachlan paced the small room with all the calm of a caged lion while he waited, trying to tamp down the excitement coursing through him. God knew there'd been too many disappointments in the past. Bad intelligence. Rumors of release. Negotiations that went nowhere. And even a failed rescue attempt.

He'd been so damned close. But one guard had managed to raise the alarm before Lachlan had gotten halfway up the tower where Edward's barbarous prison cage hung. He and the other members of the Highland Guard who'd accompanied him had barely escaped with their lives.

Seeing her in that abomination was something that would haunt him the rest of his life. She'd seemed so thin and pale. Her big, round eyes dominated her face, as she stared into the distance with a look of desolation that cut to the bone. He'd never felt so damned helpless in his life. Seeing her and not being able to reach her had driven him half-mad.

He'd taken some comfort that she'd been released from the cage not long afterward, but the failure ate at him.

But not this time. He wouldn't fail again.

A few minutes passed before he heard the door open. The king entered, followed by Tor MacLeod, the captain of the Highland Guard--or Chief, as his war name proclaimed him. Neither man appeared pleased to have been pulled away from the wedding festivities.

The king sat down in the thronelike chair recently occupied by John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, and gave him a hard look. "I assume since this couldn't wait the few hours until morning it must be about the countess?"

Lachlan stared across the table at the man who'd spoken so calmly. But like him, Lachlan knew that Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, was anything but calm. These past two years since the women had been taken in Tain had been almost as hard on Bruce as they'd been on Lachlan. Almost. But not quite.

Bruce wasn't the one responsible for their capture.

"She's to be moved--Mary as well."

The king sat forward; clearly Lachlan had surprised him. "And how did you learn of this?"

Lachlan shrugged. "I have my sources."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Bribing spies? Damn it, Viper, why was I not told of this? Is that where all the money I pay you is going?"

Lachlan's mouth fell in a hard line. He didn't explain himself--even to a king.

MacLeod stepped in to defuse the tension. "Where are they to be moved?"

Lachlan shook his head. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. This is the opportunity we've been waiting for. With Bella leaving the castle, there won't be a better time for a rescue."

The king and MacLeod exchanged a glance, but neither man disagreed.

"I'm not surprised that they've decided to do something about Bella," Bruce said after a moment. "With Buchan dead and no longer calling for her head, De Monthermer was able to persuade the new English king to release her from the cage, but since then no one knows what to do with her. No one wants her around. She's a black mark on the first Edward and on England, and too powerful a symbol of the rebellion to simply let go free. They want her to disappear. My guess would be a convent or a castle in a remote part of England. But that doesn't explain why they're moving Mary."

No one had an answer.

"When is this supposed to happen?" MacLeod asked. The captain of the Highland Guard and at one time one of Lachlan's fiercest enemies would want to know every detail.

"My source says in a few days. They are making preparations now. For obvious reasons, they are keeping it very quiet."

"How can we be sure your source is telling the truth?" the king asked. "What if it's a trap?"

Lachlan's mouth thinned. "That's a risk I'm willing to take. I'm leaving tonight."

He looked at both men, daring either one of them to argue with him.

The silence dragged on. Lachlan sensed he wasn't going to like what was coming next. He was right.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Bruce asked. "Perhaps it would be best if you let MacLeod--"

Lachlan leaned forward. "There is no way in hell I'm not going."

The king pretended not to notice the threat, but MacLeod frowned. "Have care, Viper," he said. "You aren't exactly rational about this."

That was putting it mildly. Hell,
obsessed
was putting it mildly. From the moment he'd seen her loaded into that cart, knowing he was responsible, Lachlan had vowed to see Bella freed.

When he'd learned of the fate that had befallen her, he'd been half-crazed with the need to get her out. But delays, war, and a failed attempt had stood in his way. Now, thanks to this new information, he had another chance. There was no way in hell he wasn't going. This was
his
mission.

"The king has good reason for caution," MacLeod added.

"Indeed I do," Bruce said. "Thanks to John of Lorn, your identity as one of the members of my 'secret' army has just been revealed. You are one of the most wanted men in Scotland right now. If you are captured, the English will torture you until you reveal the names of the others. With three hundred marks on your head, everyone will be hunting you. You need to stay hidden for a while. Perhaps visit that isle you will soon be calling home."

Lachlan's glare was mutinous. The king wouldn't distract him with talk of his reward. Lachlan's three years of agreed-upon service was all but fulfilled. The land and coin he'd been promised would be his when Bruce held his first council. His debts would finally be paid, and he'd have the solitude and peace he craved. It was almost done. But he had one final mission to complete before he could leave.

"I've been tortured before," he said flatly. "Nothing they do to me will force me to reveal the names of my fellow guardsmen. Just like nothing will stop me from doing this." He held the king's gaze. "I
have
to do this."

The king studied him silently for a moment before turning to MacLeod. The fierce Island Chief shrugged. "I didn't think he'd see reason."

"Neither did I," the king said with a sigh of resignation. He turned back to Lachlan and gave him a black scowl. "You'd better be careful."

The king didn't need to tell him that. He had no desire to ever be locked up in another pit prison. Dark holes held no fond memories for him. He repressed the reflexive shudder. To free her he would risk it. He would risk just about anything. "Who can I take?"

The king and MacLeod conferred privately for a moment before MacLeod answered. "Raider, Dragon, Hunter, and Striker."

Lachlan muttered an oath. He'd be glad for Lamont's tracking skills and MacLean's gift with strategy, but he'd be spending half his time trying to prevent Boyd and Seton from killing one another. "What about Saint and Templar?" he asked, referring to MacKay and Gordon.

"They're coming with me, Hawk, and Arrow," MacLeod said. "If they're both being moved, we're going to try to free Mary as well."

Lachlan nodded grimly. Like Bella, young Mary Bruce had been hung from a cage--hers was located at Roxburgh Castle.

The first Edward also had originally wanted to hang Bruce's daughter Marjory from a cage at the Tower of London, but she'd been given a reprieve. Like her Aunt Christina, Marjory had been sent to a nunnery instead.

The queen, probably due to her powerful father, Edward's close cohort the Earl of Ulster, had been placed under house arrest in Burstwick. The young Earl of Mar had been sent to the English court to be raised. The Earl of Atholl, however, had not been so fortunate. He'd been sent to the gallows.

MacKay and Gordon had been mistaken for ordinary men-at-arms. They'd been imprisoned at Urquhart for a few months, but Lachlan and other members of the Highland Guard had managed to free them.

"And the other women?"

Bruce's face was somber. "We've heard from my old friend Lamberton, the Bishop of St. Andrews--freed from prison but still confined in England--that my wife, daughter, and sister Christina are being treated well. They are still too far south and too well guarded to attempt anything. But when the moment is right, I will lead the damned rescue party myself."

Lachlan nodded. Though he wished all the women could be freed, it was Bella and young Mary whose harsh treatment had made them the first to rescue.

With his team in place, Lachlan didn't waste any time. Before the cock had crowed, he and the other guardsmen were riding hard for Berwick.

Bella stood gazing out the small window in her tower room, watching the people bustling around the courtyard below as they went about their duties and activities for the day. After more than two years, the faces were familiar to her. There was Harry the young stable lad, fetching water for the horses, and Annie, the young girl from the village who seemed to look for any excuse to linger near Will, the green-and-gold-liveried man-at-arms who excelled with a bow.

Those weren't really their names, of course. But with nothing but needlework to pass the time, she'd made up names and stories for the villagers and occupants of the castle. At times it could be quite entertaining, almost like watching a play. But most importantly, it was a way to relieve the monotony that had proved her most dogged enemy--inside the cage or out.

She stood here most of the day. The window was small, but there were no bars to obstruct the view. Sometimes, for a fraction of an instant, she could forget the small room behind her. Forget the smothering sense of confinement that lingered since her release from the cage three months ago--ninety-seven days, to be exact.

But she was careful not to look up. She never looked up.

She knew the location of her chamber wasn't an accident. They'd placed her in a tower room opposite the cage. It was just another way to torment and manipulate her, to not let her forget what they could do to her.

As if she could ever forget. She didn't need a view to remind her of the hell of her imprisonment. She carried the memories with her every day.

How she'd gotten through it she didn't know. Her daughter. Her pride. An obstinate refusal to let them win. Somehow she'd managed. She'd learned to ignore that people were always watching her. That she never had a moment of privacy. The pitying glances. The bars. She'd combated the sense of confinement by walking in place and stretching her limbs every morning. Alleviated her boredom by making up stories about the people in the yard.

The one thing she could not control was the cold. She shivered reflexively. This small, damp, soulless room seemed like a sultry haven by comparison.

She'd walked out of that cage thinner, weaker, and sadder, but with her back straight and her chin up.

She'd gotten through it once, but she didn't think she could do it again. It wasn't until she'd been released that the horror caught up to her. But each day she was getting stronger and feeling more like her old self.

Suddenly, the door slammed open. She stiffened, knowing exactly who it was. Other than the boredom, the one constant throughout her long ordeal was Sir Simon. Her personal tormentor.