The Viper (24 page)

"MacLean. Lamont," Lachlan said, introducing the final two men. "Lady Isabella MacDuff."

More Highlanders, she realized. Bruce seemed to have surrounded himself with them. Not surprising, she supposed. Highlanders were a big, fierce lot, and these two were no exception.

MacLean, the man who'd pulled her from the carriage, had the tough, grizzled look of a man who lived on the battlefield. Of similar height to Lachlan, but with a leaner build, his dark-blond hair fell in disheveled waves to a jaw that hadn't seen a razor in some time. But behind the scruffy beard, his eyes were sharp blue and his features surprisingly refined and chiseled.

The other man, Lamont, was also unusually tall and broad-shouldered (she'd begun to see a pattern amongst Robert's men), with short, dark hair, light eyes, and a relatively clean-shaven jaw.

MacLean had exchanged his laborer's clothing for the padded war coat and dark leather chausses worn by the other men. They all wore heavy, dark cloaks to cover the various weapons strapped to them. There was no coat of arms or other insignia to identify them, which was understandable as they were in enemy territory.

Bella greeted the men and thanked them for their help.

Lachlan went to one of the horses, retrieving something from one of the leather bags tied to the saddle.

"Here," he said, handing her a pile of wool. "Put these on. They aren't fancy, but they're clean." She took one look at the clothes and gaped at him in disbelief. "You want me to wear breeches?"

He shrugged as if it were nothing. "You will attract less notice as a lad--especially if we come across any soldiers. Make sure you tuck your hair well up in the cap."

She wanted to argue, but what he said sounded reasonable. Being dressed like a lad was a better disguise than a black veil.

"There's an old forester's cottage over there," he said, pointing through the trees behind her. "You can change and have something to eat. Try to get some rest while you can. We'll leave as soon as it is dark. With so many English around, we don't want to take any chances."

Bella looked at him in shock. She thought he'd understood. "I'm not going back to Scotland. Not yet."

The men looked at her in surprise. Except for Lachlan. He knew exactly what she wanted to do. His piercing gaze held perfectly steady. Unflinching. Unmovable. Prepared to do battle. She didn't have to look into those ruthless eyes or glance at the wall of steely muscles to know that he wasn't a man accustomed to losing.

"No," he said in a voice that brokered no argument.

The terse, autocratic refusal--without explanation and without even considering what she had to say--stung. She was tired of letting men decide her fate. God knew, they'd done a horrendous job of it. She'd been waiting too long for this. She wasn't leaving until she saw her daughter. Not with her so close. Let him try to stop her.

The pride that had been both her bane and her savior flared to life. She tilted her chin, every inch the regal countess to his brutish brigand. He wasn't her husband; he had no authority over her. "I am not one of your men to order about."

Her attempt to put him in his place only served to harden his resolve. It was almost as if she could see the wall of steel going down around him. A wall that nothing she could say or do would penetrate.

"Wrong,
my lady
." She didn't miss the lilt of mockery in his gravelly voice. "The king put me in charge. It's my duty to get you to safety, and this time I damned well intend to see it finished. If you want to risk your life to see your daughter, do it on someone else's watch."

See it finished
. Her heart stalled. It wasn't just the mission he was talking about. It was her. He wanted to be finished with her. It seemed he'd been trying to do that from the start.

She ignored the foolish pinch in her chest. She was just as eager to be rid of him.

Before she could argue further--the matter apparently decided--he turned and walked away.

Conscious of the eyes upon her, Bella bit back an angry retort. Clutching the scandalous garments in her arms, she stomped off in the direction of the cottage.

But if Lachlan MacRuairi thought this was over, he was dead wrong.

He knew she wouldn't give up that easily. Less than an hour later, Lachlan was seated on a rock at the edge of the burn, having just finished a meal of dried beef and oatcakes washed down with ale, when he heard her come up behind him. He turned, prepared to do battle, but not prepared for the shock of seeing her dressed as a lad.

Ah hell
. He was wrong about her not attracting attention. The soft leather breeches, although loose, still revealed far more of her than the heavy skirts of a lady's gown. He could see the soft curve of her hips, her long, slim legs, and the hint of her shapely calves. Nor could the loose shirt and padded leather doublet completely hide the generous swell of very feminine breasts. She'd left the cap behind in the cottage, and her blond hair hung damp and loose around her shoulders. Despite the mild day, she had also donned a plaid around her shoulders. She looked dainty, fresh, and undeniably feminine.

She stood facing him with her hands on her hips, a soft flush on her cheeks. When their eyes met, she lifted her chin. "Thank you." It wasn't what he expected her to say. She must have noticed his surprise and explained, "For the bath."

He shrugged. He remembered how good his first dunking had felt after escaping from the hell of that pit prison. He'd scrubbed the stench and muck from his skin until it had been raw. Ever since, he couldn't stand to be dirty. Hawk, one of the other members of the Highland Guard (who was also his cousin), loved to taunt him about it. MacRuairi didn't give a shite. He'd rather smell "pretty as a lass" than like a pig.

"The small tub was all we could find." A corner of his mouth lifted. "I don't think the former occupant bathed much."

"It was divine. They let me have a bath whenever I wanted, but Simon wouldn't let them heat it."

"Simon?"

Her face shuttered. "My jailor," she explained hastily. Looking around, she asked, "Where are the rest of the men?"

"Lamont and MacLean have gone to watch the convent. Boyd and Seton will be back soon. They're scouting the area. This part of the forest is fairly quiet, but there's always a chance there could be hunters or poachers around." He gave her a hard look. "Did you eat something?"

"A little," she said. "You had enough food in there for an army."

He frowned. "You're too thin. You need to get your strength back."

She stiffened. "I know I am much changed, but gorging myself won't put me back to the way I used to be."

Damn
, she'd taken his concern as a criticism. He stood up, forgetting how small she was until he towered over her. "Don't you think I know that? I've been there, Bella. I know some of what you are feeling." He scanned her face. "You're still breathtakingly beautiful, but I know the changes aren't always easy to see."

She looked startled. "You think I'm beautiful?"

Was she daft? He cupped her chin, tilting her face to his. "I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Her eyes widened, and it took everything he had not to lean down and kiss her. She was standing so close, the soft fragrance of her freshly washed skin and hair rose up to grab him. Entrance him. Make him forget why he was here: to get the job done. Being with her after thinking about her for so long was even harder than he'd thought it would be.

He dropped his hand. "Get some rest," he said gruffly. "We've a long journey ahead."

"I'm not going," she said quietly. "I meant what I said. I'm not leaving without seeing my daughter."

God's blood, did she always have to be so stubborn? He didn't want to argue with her. His mouth fell in a hard line. "And I meant what I said. My job is to get you to safety, and that's exactly what I intend to do." Seeing her mulish expression, he dragged his fingers through his hair. "Christ, Bella, try to see reason. Be patient. Your daughter is safe as long as the English believe you are in that convent. They don't know you escaped, but every minute you stay on English soil you put that at risk."

It put all of them at risk. He was antsy enough as it was. The price on his head made him a fat target--and he had too many enemies. Despite his nonchalance to Bruce, Lachlan couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.

"I've been patient for three years. My daughter is not twenty miles from here.
Twenty miles
," she repeated. The soft plea in her voice tugged at him mercilessly. "It's the closest I've been to her since I left her at Balvenie. I can't leave without at least trying to contact her. With Buchan dead, she's all alone, Lachlan." Her voice caught. "I just need to make sure she's all right."

He didn't want to hear her fear, her desperation, damn it. He didn't want to look down, didn't want to look into her big, imploring blue eyes. He didn't want to remind himself that the specter of a husband no longer stood between them.

His jaw locked. He couldn't let himself be swayed. Going off without intelligence, without a plan, was a sure way to end up in another English prison. It was better to wait. Get Bella to safety, and then when the time was right, make plans to find her daughter. "I'm sorry. I can't. It's not part of my mission."

It was the wrong thing to say.

She lashed out in anger. "Is that all this is to you, Lachlan? Another mission? Another bag of silver to collect?" Scorn dripped from her voice. "I thought you might have changed. That after two years of fighting for Robert you might realize that there were things worth fighting for. But you're exactly the same. It's still all about the money."

Damned right it was all about the money! Free Bella. Get the job done. Collect his reward. Pay off his debts. Retire in peace. Follow nobody's orders but his own. That was all he wanted.

He stared down into her upturned face, seeing the beautiful features so achingly close, and felt a pull of desire too strong to resist. Nay, it wasn't all he wanted. He wanted
her
. Every bit as badly as he had before.

His fists clenched. His control pulled taut as a bowstring.

This was all her fault. She was confusing him. He didn't care, damn it. Not about Bruce. Not about the Highland Guard. And sure as hell not about her. No loyalties to get in the way. No loyalties to betray him.

He was a selfish bastard. A mercenary. Not much better than the pirate she'd first accused him of being.

He knew three emotions in his life when it came to women: disappointment, hatred, and lust. Not much to offer one of the most noble women in Scotland who'd become a hero.

Damn her for doing this to him.

"Three years," he corrected. It was three years ago he'd joined the other members of the Highland Guard on the Isle of Skye for training. "And of course it's about the money." A sneer turned his mouth. His eyes drifted down, sliding over her formfitting clothes in a hot caress. "So unless you can think of a way to pay me, this discussion is over."

She gasped, her eyes widening in shock. She drew her hand back to give him the slap he surely deserved. Before it fell across his face, he caught her wrist and twisted it down around her back, pinning her against him. Bodies locked, he stared down into her furious face--the face that had haunted him for two bloody years--and felt the battle seep out of him as he gave in to the demon of desire roaring inside him.

He'd been a fool to think he could control this.

His mouth fell on hers. Hot and hungry. Starved from two years of deprivation. Two years of wanting a woman who would never be his.

Eleven

Lachlan groaned at the contact. She tasted so good. Warm and sweet, with a faint hint of the wine he'd left for her.

She gasped, whether in shock or protest he didn't know. For one agonizing heartbeat she went stiff in his arms, and he thought she would push him away. But then he felt her soften, felt the shudder of desire tremble through her, and she melted into his embrace.

A rush of heat poured through him as his body flooded with desires long kept in check. He hardened. Throbbed. Blood pounded through every vein in his body.

He dug his fingers through the soft dampness of her hair, cupping the back of her head in his palm to bring her mouth even closer, bending her into him as he drank in every inch of her. Her soft scent floated around him in a haze of intoxicating fragrance. He couldn't seem to get enough. He wanted with a desperation he'd never known before.

When she opened her mouth, he nearly lost his mind. Blood roared in his head. Sliding in his tongue, he kissed her deeper. Claiming every inch of that sweet mouth and growling with pleasure when the first tentative strokes of her tongue met his. The innocence of her response nearly undid him.

This felt too good. He'd dreamed of this for too long.

He couldn't seem to calm the wicked sensations raging inside him. He wanted her too badly; his body had been too long denied.

His mouth moved over her jaw, down her neck, tasting every inch of velvety-soft skin. Christ, she was sweet. Ambrosia to a man who'd been starving for too long.