The Viper (44 page)

He'd begun to think he might have missed her, when he finally saw her. Luck was with him. Not only was she one of the last to leave, but she also walked alone. If he could find a way to get her attention--

His head snapped around at a faint rustling sound behind him. His blood ran cold. He stilled, senses honed on the dark, surrounding countryside. It was probably an animal, nothing to worry about.

But then he heard it again. More distinctly this time. Closer. Muffled footsteps and the soft slink of metal.
Mail
. A soft whinny.
Horses
.

He muttered an oath. Something had gone wrong all right.

It was a trap. They'd been waiting for him. Which meant ...

Bella! They must know she was free.

How didn't matter. Lachlan drew his swords out from under his cloak and crouched into position like a lion waiting to spring. He would get back to her even if he had to get through the entire English army to do it.

Bella washed, ate a few bites of cheese and oatcake, fiddled with the fire, tried to lie down on the old straw bed she'd covered with a plaid, and, having exhausted her options, began to pace around the old wooden building. As it wasn't much bigger than the ambry at Balvenie Castle, it didn't take more than a few strides to cross from one end to the other. Every few minutes, she would take a short detour to the small shuttered window and peer through the opening to see if anyone approached.

But it was so dark outside, all she could make out were the dark and slightly sinister-looking shadows of the trees.

She threw up her hands in frustration. This was torture.
Waiting
was torture.

Ever since they'd reached Berwick she'd been unable to contain her excitement. After so many years, she would finally be able to see her daughter face-to-face, to hold her in her arms, to hear the sound of her voice.

Lachlan would make it happen. Not once did she doubt him. She knew she could count on him.

The past few days had been fraught with danger, uncomfortably cold, and filled with mind-numbing exhaustion. But through it all, she'd been happier than she could remember in years. Although there had been no more opportunities to make love, she'd slept a few hours in Lachlan's arms in the saddle--he appeared to be able to go for days without sleep--and they'd talked whenever the pace allowed.

Despite the circumstances, their time alone had been wonderful. When her daughter was returned to her, her happiness would be complete.

She stopped before the window again and carefully lifted the wooden latch to open the shutter wide enough to peek outside. Shivering as the cold night air rushed into the room, she peered out into the darkness.

Nothing.

How long had it been? An hour, maybe longer?

She was about to close the shutter, when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. A branch swayed back and forth. It could have been the wind, but for a second she thought she saw the large shadow of a man.

Her heart jumped. Thank God, he was back!

She slammed the shutter closed, grabbed the oil lamp, and raced to the door. Tearing it open, she said, "Lachlan, I ..."

Her voice died when a man stepped out of the shadows.

"Hello, Isabella."

Her heart plummeted to the ground. There, standing before her, was her husband's brother, William Comyn.

Instinctively, like a cornered hare, she looked around for a means of escape. But all thoughts of fleeing vanished, when roughly two dozen men emerged from the trees to encircle the lodge. One of them was the man whom she now recognized as Sir Hugh Despenser.

The happiness of the past few days, the excitement she'd been brimming with moments before, and all hope for the future died in the space of a cruel heartbeat, leaving nothing but despair and fear.

God in heaven, she'd die before she let them imprison her again!

It wasn't the entire English army, but it seemed like a good part of it. From Lachlan's perch hidden in the shadows of the church bell tower, he could see that the soldiers had surrounded him. Literally. There was a line of at least a hundred men all the way around the convent just beyond the ditch. He might be able to fight his way through, but without a horse, they would be on him like wolves.

A loud banging at the gate sent fissures of alarm running through the convent. He could hear the anxious shouts as the nuns retreated to the safety of the church. A few nuns with obvious authority--including undoubtedly the prioress--came to the gate. A moment later, soldiers flooded into the cloister.

He heard a commanding male voice. "Not harm you ... looking for a rebel ... search the premises ..."

The nuns' outraged protests were to no avail.

Lachlan knew he didn't have much time. It wouldn't take them long to find him here. He jumped from the bell tower to the roof of the church below, then scrambled along the adjoining roof to a place he'd noticed before. A small, dark refuse area behind the kitchen.

If this didn't work, he'd have to take his chances fighting his way out. But without a horse, he would be at a disadvantage. The hundred yards of open land loomed large.

He was in luck. Two men emerged into the small space below him and not three. Three men would have given them a chance to sound the alarm--he had only two hands.

He used them well.

Dropping from the roof, he took one man in a chokehold and stabbed the other in the side of the neck with the special dirk Saint had fashioned to pierce through mail. The steel blade was unusually sharp and thin--more like a narrow pick than a blade.

It enabled them to kill silently, which in circumstances like this was imperative.

A fraction of a second later, he slid the same dirk into the mailed back of the man he'd been holding around the neck.

After tossing the smaller of the two soldiers behind the fence of refuse, Lachlan set about removing the other man's armor, which bore arms he did not recognize--five lozenges in an azure fess.

He could hear other soldiers milling about in the kitchen and knew he didn't have much time before they came out to investigate.

The cloak, tabard, mail shirt, shield, and helm were the most important, so he focused on those. It took a few minutes of struggle to get the mail shirt over the dead man's head. Once removed, he had to get it over his own.

These bloody Englishmen were a short, small lot, but he managed to get the damned thing on. The helm, tabard, and cloak were much easier. Finally, his disguise was complete. After tossing the second man atop the first, he yelled into the darkness, "There, by the gate!"

As he'd hoped, the men went rushing out of the kitchen, and Lachlan followed behind them.

"Where is he?" he heard people yell. "I don't see him."

"Did you see him, Penington?"

He must be Penington. Lachlan shook his head and moved off, following a stream of men that were passing through the gate.

His luck held for a few more minutes. But Penington's squire must have seen him emerge and brought him his horse. "Sir William!"

Lachlan turned. The lad's face paled. "You're not Sir William."

Before the lad could react, Lachlan grabbed the reins and pushed the boy out of his way. He was on the horse and riding as the cry went out behind him.

It didn't matter. He was nearly in the forest. It might take him some time to lose them, but he did not doubt that he would.

But the English would be scouring every inch of this forest. How long would it take them to find Bella? He had to get to her first.

Ice chilled every inch of her skin, penetrated her bones, and filled her veins, but Bella refused to cower or show them her fear. She met her brother-in-law's gaze unflinchingly. "What do you want, William?"

"You always were a proud lass. I told my brother it was a mistake to marry you." He shrugged indifferently. "But he saw I was right in the end."

"How did you find me?"

William shrugged. "It wasn't difficult. My men were watching the forest around the convent and alerted us when you arrived. We were expecting a larger party--it was nice of you to make it easy on us." He gave her an appraising glance. "Still wearing lad's clothing, are you? I must admit I never imagined it was you until one of my men said that MacRuairi had been traveling with a woman. When he described your mouth and eyes, I knew." He shook his head, tisking. "That was really quite foolish of you, attempting to see your daughter like that. We might not have ever known of your deception."

The ramifications tumbled through her mind. If they knew it was she, then the letter ... it had all been a ploy--a trap. Her heart sank in despair.
Joan
. Where was her daughter?

"You've been a very naughty lady," Sir Hugh added. "But in the end it will all work out for the best."

"What are you talking about?"

He looked surprised that she hadn't realized it yet. "Why, MacRuairi. Surely, you've guessed why we've gone to all this trouble? We want the outlaw."

Actually, she hadn't. But her heart jumped to a hard thump. "I'm afraid you are to be disappointed. He's not here. Last I heard he was out west."

Her bravado was for nothing. Despenser's face hardened. "Do not take me for a fool,
Lady
Isabella--and I use that term very loosely. Right now your lover is cornered in the convent, with my men surrounding him."

Her heart jerked again, but she forced herself not to react, not to panic. Lachlan could take care of himself. He would find a way out. He always did.

Despenser must have guessed what she was thinking.

"And if he manages to slip through the net I have cast for him, you are all the bait I need to lure him into a second."

She blanched. "You must be mad to think I would ever let you use me to capture him."

"Even for freedom?" Despenser held out the bone. "For you and your daughter?"

Bella stilled. "You expect me to believe that?"

He shrugged. "You are not important to us, the brigand is. Sir William has graciously agreed to allow you to retire to his estates in Leicester with your daughter--at least until her marriage can be arranged. No one will know who you really are. Isabella MacDuff will be thought to be safely retired in a convent."

Bella looked back and forth between the two men. Even if she could trust them--which was doubtful--she would never betray Lachlan like that.

She shook her head. Dread settled in her belly like a stone. But she realized she would face imprisonment rather than betray him. "You might as well take me back to Berwick right now; I won't do it."

Despenser smiled. "Such bold words. But I feared you might be difficult."

Sir William appeared distressed. "For once in your life be reasonable, Isabella. The scourge isn't worth it."

"Aye, he is," she said fiercely.

"Is he worth your daughter's life?" Despenser interjected softly.

The breath left her. She froze in abject horror. She turned on William. "You would do this? You would harm your brother's daughter to capture one man?"

"He isn't just one man," Despenser snapped. "He can lead us to many others. Men the king will be extremely grateful to know the identities of."

She should have known it would be Despenser's political ambitions at work. She pretended not to know what he was talking about and continued to stare accusingly at William.

"Of course I don't want to see the lass harmed," he assured her. "But you leave us no other choice."

"Where is she?" she demanded. "Where is my daughter?"

"She's safe. For now," Despenser said ominously.

But she could see from William's face there was more. "She's in the guard room at Berwick Castle."

No
. Bella felt the ground begin to move. Her stomach knifed.

"I believe there's a cage free for her, if you refuse," Sir Hugh added.

Oh God, no!
Horror rushed to smother her. Then everything went black.

* * *

It was a few hours before Lachlan could make his way back to her. He led his pursuers south for miles. After ditching both his horse and his borrowed, too-small armor near the sea--hoping they'd think he'd escaped by ship--he'd circled back on foot.

It seemed to take forever. His heart was pounding in his throat the entire time. If anything happened to her ...

He tried not to think about it, tried to concentrate on his surroundings, but fear had wormed its way into his consciousness and no amount of force and determination would root it out.

Although there were still a few search parties concentrated in the area around the convent, the forest approaching the hunting lodge was ominously silent. His senses honed even sharper. Occasionally, he would hear a shout or the sound of dogs barking in the distance behind him, but it seemed the English had yet to extend their search this far out in his direction.

It was almost too quiet. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. The dark feeling of foreboding weighed heavier with each step.

Though his heart urged him to race back to Bella as quickly as he could, he forced himself to proceed cautiously and be on the watch for any signs of danger. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes. He wouldn't let his emotions distract him--not this time.

Please, let her be safe
. Lachlan repeated the prayer over and over in his mind. Though after so many years of disuse, he didn't expect anyone to be listening.

He kept to the shadows, darting through the trees and shrubs, pausing occasionally to listen and scout for any signs of a trap.

Nothing. Winter had deadened even the sounds of nature.

When at last the clearing and the old forester's cottage came into view, he could barely breathe. It seemed as if he'd been holding his breath for hours.

He scanned the moonlit landscape. Water on the right; horses tied to a tree exactly where he'd left them; wooden cottage a little farther away in the distance, slightly obscured by the trees, and dark but for the faint flicker of the oil lamp streaming through the cracks in the shutters.

He moved slower now, every nerve ending set on edge. Though his senses told him nothing was wrong, his instincts urged otherwise.