The Viper (30 page)

He hoped to hell it was enough.

He glanced toward Despenser's group and noticed a furrow appear between Lady Joan's brows as she studied Bella.

Bella mumbled something in a low voice.

"What's that?" Comyn said. "Speak up, boy."

Seton backhanded Bella's shoulder--a little harder than Lachlan thought necessary. "You heard the lord," he said, then turned to Comyn apologetically. "He's shy, my lord."

Lachlan knew this couldn't go on much longer. That disguise wasn't going to hold up under scrutiny.

Joan put a hand on Comyn's arm. "Please, uncle, let the lad get back to work. He looks to be in enough trouble already." She gave a small laugh. "Lord Despenser is eager to begin our journey." She looked at the crushed rose. "I'm sure nothing was meant by it."

Comyn patted her hand indulgently, but he didn't turn from Seton and Bella, who stood unmoving in the crowd. A crowd that was only too grateful to have the attention turned on someone other than themselves. Lachlan had to do something to turn it on someone else--someone who was preferably not him.

He wished he had that pig. He looked around for something--anything--that could provide a distraction.

He didn't have a pig, but he had chickens. A few feet away were half a dozen hens in a temporary coop and tied beside it, one big, fat cockerel.

It was the cockerel that he focused on. He inched toward the rope.

Comyn opened his mouth to say something, his gaze still fixed on Bella and Seton, and Lachlan knew he'd run out of time. He pretended to trip forward, slicing through the rope with a dirk hidden in his hand as he crashed into the table to which it had been tied.

A table laden with baskets of eggs.

"Me eggs!" the farmer cried out.

Hell, "me eggs" were dripping down his damned face. Lachlan went to wipe it, but then stopped himself. Instead, he buried his face in some of the hay that had been cradling the eggs in the baskets. As disguises went, this one was bloody uncomfortable.

The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him; this day had taken on farcically disastrous proportions.

The crowd, startled by the sudden disturbance, started to chuckle. With him sprawled out in the dirt, covered in egg and hay, he didn't need to wonder why.

He pretended to wobble as he tried to get to his feet. "Sorry about that." He slurred his words slightly, hoping to give the impression that he was still drunk from a night of merrymaking.

But the farmer was no longer looking at him. Lachlan heard a few furious squawks, and a few seconds later: "Me cock!" the even more agitated farmer cried, pushing through the crowd after his fleeing bird. "Where's me cock?"

"It's the small, wiggly thing above your bollocks," a woman in the crowd yelled.

It was perfect. The crowd started laughing harder, exchanging a string of ribald jests at the poor farmer's expense.

But Lachlan wasn't taking any chances. He struggled to his feet again, this time going down hard on the wood frame of the temporary pen. The hens scattered. The people standing nearby rushed to try to capture them, and the crowd broke apart in disarray. The villagers who had carefully lined the street now flooded it.

Lachlan pretended to be dazed as he finally got to his feet. A woman nearby took his arm to steady him. He glanced in the direction he'd last seen Bella and Seton, but they were gone, having slipped away in the chaos.

Fortunately, Comyn didn't seem to have noticed. He and the rest of Despenser's party had moved out of the way to avoid the onslaught of clacking poultry. Lachlan didn't wait to see what would happen when order was finally restored.

Mumbling thanks to the woman who'd helped him stand, he thrust a few coins in her hand. "For the eggs," he said.

Then he did what he did best: He slipped away.

Or so he thought.

Fourteen

They rode north, pushing hard to evade pursuit in the event anyone decided to come after them. But each time one of the men returned from scouting, they found no sign that they were being followed. It appeared they'd gotten away.

They were lucky, and Bella knew it. She'd never imagined, never intended anyone but her daughter to see the rose. It was only a decoration for a gown--nothing that should have drawn so much attention.

Her shoulders slumped. It was useless. There was no excuse she could conjure up that would make what she'd done anything less than foolhardy, risking not only her life but Lachlan's and Alex's as well.

They were furious with her. As they had every right to be.

And what had she accomplished? All she'd done was force herself to stand witness to her daughter's very public repudiation of her.

"
Nothing that means anything anymore
." It seemed as if the words had been aimed right at her, every one an arrow to the heart.

There had to be some explanation. She didn't want to--couldn't--accept that she'd lost her daughter. That one act in crowning Bruce had already cost her so much. It couldn't cost her Joan.

Bella had wanted to do something important. To take a stand for something she'd believed in. To do her duty for her clan and country. Was it so wrong? Had her lofty ideals not been tested enough? Must they cost her everything?

Maybe Joan hadn't meant it. Maybe it was all a show to prove her loyalty to her uncle, and the man Bella had learned was Sir Hugh Despenser, presumably her new guardian.

But it hadn't seemed like a show. It had seemed quite real.

Not until she saw her daughter face-to-face would she know the truth. But how was she going to manage that?

He gaze fell on Lachlan. Actually, as he was riding ahead of her, it fell on his back.
He
could help her. Not that she'd think of asking him. He was so angry he would barely even look at her. Each time she'd tried to speak to him, he'd given her a harsh monosyllabic response and coldly turned away. The closeness she'd felt when riding with him was long forgotten. She contemplated sliding off her horse so he would order her to ride with him again.

Sir Alex wasn't much better--especially after she'd witnessed the heated exchange between him and Lachlan on their first stop to water the horses. From the looks of it, Lachlan had given him a tongue lashing the young warrior would not soon forget. Sir Alex had stood there silently, face red with anger, taking every blow without one word of defense. Only Robbie Boyd spoke to her in full sentences, but even he seemed disappointed in her.

It made for a long, uncomfortable, and lonely journey. They must have traveled twenty miles since leaving Roxburgh. The once promising day had turned to darkness a few hours ago.

When Lachlan finally called for them to halt, Bella could barely sit upright in the saddle. The events of the morning, the hard riding, the lack of sleep, and hunger had caught up to her.

They'd stopped in a grassy clearing at the base of a small brae. Though it was dark, she could make out a burn in the moonlight, running down the hill toward the River Tweed, which was just behind them. She was most surprised, however to smell the heavy scent of peat smoke in the soft breeze.

When Lachlan helped her down from her horse, despite the harsh set of his mouth, she ventured another question. "Where are we?"

"Peebles."

Her eyes widened. They had traveled some distance. Peebles was a royal burgh a little over twenty miles south of Edinburgh. They were nearly out of the Marches, but this part of Scotland was still under English control. Peebles Castle was sure to be garrisoned by King Edward's soldiers. Until now, they'd carefully avoided towns and villages of all sizes.

"Is it safe?" she asked hesitantly.

His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits of brilliant golden-green. God, how he could skewer with that gaze! "Far less dangerous than your trip to the market this morning."

Bella held her breath. She could feel the heat from the rage that he seemed a hair's breadth from venting. She almost wished he would. Just so it could be over with. "I'm--"

Sorry
, she'd been about to say.

But he cut her off. "We need to change the horses, and you need to rest."

Before she could argue, he walked away. For someone who refused to lead his own clan, the man was a natural leader. He'd certainly perfected the ability to speak in edicts and commands.

While the men tended the horses, she sat down to eat. Even that took effort. The dried beef was hard and took a long time to chew. She did so carefully, having no desire to cause more trouble by choking.

She was nibbling on an oatcake when she saw Lachlan and Boyd disappear into the darkness. A few minutes later, Sir Alex strode toward her, a skin in his hand.

"Here," he said, holding it out to her. "It's probably stronger than you are used to, but it will help you relax. It's been a long day."

An understatement indeed. She took the skin and drew it to her mouth, wincing as the fiery amber liquid slid down her throat to sit and burn in her belly. But it left a pleasant warmth. After the first sip, the next couple went down considerably easier.

"You'd better give me that back," Sir Alex said, a hint of wryness in his voice. "I'll be accused of getting you drunk."

Bella bit her lip, looking up at him from her perch on a rock. "I owe you an apology." Heat rose in her cheeks. "I took advantage of your kindness, and I'm sorry for it."

He held her gaze steadily, then gave an indifferent shrug. "This war has separated too many mothers from their children. If my mother could see my brothers again, I know there is nothing that would stop her." Sir Alex had lost not only the famous Sir Christopher but another brother as well to Edward's barbarism. Both had been hanged, drawn, and quartered at Carlisle not long after Methven. He turned the subject back to her. "Seeing your daughter after so long must have been difficult."

"Aye," she said hoarsely, recalling the crushed rose. "More difficult than I expected. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking straight." She paused. "I'm sorry for any tension I might have caused."

He gave a bark of laughter. "Hell, there's always tension with MacRuairi. He and I have never been friends. Nor Boyd, for that matter," he added as an afterthought.

Bella frowned. "Yet you've fought together all these years, and work well together from what I can see."

It was true, she realized. There were subtle differences from two years ago when Sir Alex and Boyd had been with them on their journey to Kildrummy. If not exactly friendly, there wasn't the animosity she used to sense between the men. The warriors seemed more relaxed and comfortable together than before. She hadn't missed the looks, gestures, the silent forms of communication that they exchanged without thought, as if reading each other's minds. They worked as a team.

She suspected they liked each other more than they even realized.

Sir Alex shrugged. "It was necessary, but it won't be for much longer."

Her brows drew together. "What do you mean?"

He turned on her in surprise. "MacRuairi is leaving."

Her heart fell like a stone in her gut. "Leaving?" she echoed.
But I thought ...

"I thought you knew. His agreed-upon service is almost over. Rescuing you is his last mission for the king."

She felt a sharp pang in her chest. "I see."

But she didn't.

Her chest burned.
Leaving
. He was leaving.

God, why did it surprise her? He'd never pretended to be fighting for any other reason than money. But she'd hoped ... she'd hoped time might have changed his mind.

She'd hoped
he'd
changed.

Why? He was wrong for her in every way, wasn't he? They had nothing in common. They were from two different worlds. She believed it was worth fighting for things you believe in, and he didn't think there was anything worth fighting for but himself. He'd told her so. She'd known it. But part of her had refused to believe it. Part of her had thought he wasn't as indifferent as he seemed--to the war or to her.

Lachlan strode back into the clearing. He glanced in their direction, and even from a distance she could see his jaw clench. He walked toward them, and she felt the strong urge to run.

"There's a shieling on the other side of the hill. It isn't much, but I can clear it of debris, and it should be comfortable enough for you to sleep in."

She blanched; the small amount of food she'd eaten suddenly seemed in danger of reappearing. A cold sweat beaded on her brow. The idea of sleeping in the small, dark stone shepherd's hut ...

The blasted cage! God in heaven, would she ever be free of it?

"No!" she blurted. Then, getting a grip on her panic, she added more calmly, "It's a pleasant evening; I think I should prefer to sleep under the stars."

He held her gaze, his expression hard and impenetrable. But something made her think he'd sensed her reaction and knew exactly what she'd been feeling. And significantly, that he understood it.

Her eyes filled with tears. The unexpected empathy caught her off guard. Anger she could fight against, but the glimpse of gentleness and sensitivity stripped her defenses, leaving her feeling vulnerable in a way she'd never felt before. In a way she feared she could not protect against.