The Viper (6 page)

Bella sat up and shook off the exhaustion that the short nap had done little to alleviate. It was hard to relax when she knew her husband was out there somewhere looking for her. The knot of fear in her stomach that she'd had since leaving Balvenie was her constant companion.

He would be mad with rage. The fact that it had to do with Robert Bruce would make it worse. Her threats to geld him when he slept if he ever hit her again wouldn't forestall him this time.

Glancing around, she saw William Gordon huddled against the wall by the mouth of the cave. She followed the direction of his gaze and stiffened, seeing what had drawn his attention. Lachlan MacRuairi and Magnus MacKay were a short distance away, standing in a small clearing in the trees, and from the looks of it arguing. At least MacKay was arguing. MacRuairi wore a lazy smile on his face, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Her anger toward the brigand had not dulled any over the long, strenuous ride of the night before, and dawn brought no new light. God, she couldn't wait to be rid of him. Not much longer. The men said it would take two days of hard riding to reach Scone, which would get them there the night before the coronation.

Bella stood up and walked over to Gordon. Taking a seat on a small stone opposite him, she said, "Your friend doesn't seem to like him very much."

The young warrior broke out into a friendly smile. He was boyishly handsome, with floppy, light-brown hair, twinkling blue eyes, and straight white teeth. Under normal circumstances she would have thought him imposing, but compared to MacRuairi and MacKay he seemed far less physically intimidating.

Bella's first impression had been of an affable, good-natured sort. The kind of man who liked everyone. An impression that was borne out by his next words.

"MacRuairi? Ah, he's not as bad as he seems."

Bella resisted the unladylike urge to snort, suspecting he was much worse.

"I'm afraid he didn't get a chance to make a good first impression, but his hands were tied."

Bella waved him off. "You don't need to apologize for him. I just wonder that Robert would involve himself with a man of his ilk. Allying himself with a freebooting pirate and opportunist like Lachlan MacRuairi won't endear him to any of the other nobles. I wonder how much it cost him to buy his loyalty--or rather, his temporary loyalty."

All of a sudden, she stopped. Her skin flushed, tingling with heat, and her blood seemed to race a little faster through her veins.

Instinctively, she knew he was behind her.

"Not enough," MacRuairi said flatly. He turned to Gordon. "Ready the horses. We're leaving as soon as MacKay gets back."

The young warrior bounded off to do his bidding.

She stood up, scanning his face and seeing nothing but sincerity. "So you don't deny it?"

He met her gaze. He'd removed his helm, and in the cold light of dawn she had to admit he was an impressive sight--if your tastes ran to dark and dangerous brigands oozing virility, which, humiliatingly, hers appeared to. With his dark, wavy hair, striking green eyes, and chiseled, perfectly aligned features, he was sinfully handsome.

Even noticing it felt sinful. Because as much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, it wasn't an abstract observation of the sort she'd made over the years when a handsome man had been allowed near her. The spike in her pulse, hitch in her breath, and prickle on her skin told her that.

Good God in heaven, what was wrong with her?

Perhaps her husband had been right. One night out of his prison, and her body was reacting like an awestruck young girl who'd seen her first handsome knight. Except Lachlan MacRuairi wasn't a knight, and she was a grown woman who should know better.

It was disconcerting that she--or her body at least--could be so shallow. No matter how objectively pleasing to the eye, there was nothing remotely attractive about Lachlan MacRuairi.

"Why should I?" He shrugged matter-of-factly. "Money is as good a reason to fight as any. Better than most, actually."

The man had no shame. "Do you care nothing about what is going on around you?"

His mouth curved in a wry smirk. "Oh, I care about a lot of things."

She nudged her chin up disdainfully. "Things that aren't gold and silver?"

"I'm partial to land as well." His smile infuriated her, although why, she didn't know. She wouldn't expect a man loyal only to his purse to understand.

"Is there nothing you would fight for? Sacrifice for? What about integrity and beliefs? What about duty and responsibility? What about the good of your clan and Scotland?"

He laughed in a way that made her feel as if she'd just walked out of a convent. "God, you're priceless, Countess! Such passion and conviction. But let's see how well those lofty ideals of yours hold up in a month or two."

Bella fisted her hands at her side so she wouldn't give in to the childish urge to slap that condescending smirk off his face. His cynical, self-serving attitude was everything that was wrong with Scotland. "Don't you believe in Robert? Don't you think he can win?"

He shrugged indifferently. "Bruce has a chance if everything goes right. But it's a gamble against a very powerful enemy." He gave her a hard look. "Edward won't be so forgiving of those who defy him." His eyes slid over her coldly, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on her as heat spread over her skin. "Even pretty countesses."

She flushed. "I know what I risk."

If she didn't fight for what she believed in, how could she expect anyone else to? If everyone were like him, they would never have a chance to rid Scotland of Edward's grasping iron fist. Sometimes there were things bigger than yourself. This was one of them. She believed in Robert Bruce. Believed that Scotland should be freed from English domination, and that he was the man to do it.

What she was doing was right.

"Do you?" He gave her a long look. "We'll see."

He turned at the sound of an approaching rider. It was MacKay, and from the frown on his face, she could tell something was wrong.

"We've got a problem," he said.

Though not as menacing-looking as Lachlan, the gruff warrior was equally imposing. But he wasn't threatening--not in the way MacRuairi was. And he was one of the rare men who looked at her without the taint of lust in his eyes.

Lachlan swore. "Buchan?"

The big man nodded grimly. "Aye."

"On our tail?" Gordon asked, coming up and leading the horses.

"Aye, and ahead of us. He has the road blocked about a half-mile from here."

Bella tried to calm the sudden burst of panic fluttering in her chest. "But how did he find us?"

She'd directed her question to MacKay, but it was Lachlan who answered. "He knew the road we'd take to Scone. Our path wouldn't have been too hard to follow. I hoped the rain would help." He looked back to the other two men. "He must have discovered her missing right away."

A trickle of ice shivered down her spine. "So he knows where we are?"

"He's guessing we're in the area," MacKay said.

"Then we will stay off the road and go in a different direction?"

Neither of the men said anything, and her heart took another jolt of fear. "What's the problem?"

The brigand spoke first. "It isn't that easy. There's a river to the south and bogland to the north. With all the rain, it's too dangerous to try to get the horses through."

"So you chose to rest in a place where we have no escape?"

She'd directed her question to Lachlan, who, from what she could tell, was in charge. His expression didn't change, but she knew her criticism had angered him. His golden-green eyes glowed even hotter.

"I stopped because the horses needed to rest and you were about ready to fall off your horse. This cave is hidden and is the only place I knew we'd be safe in the area. It's also dry, which I assumed you'd appreciate."

Her cheeks fired, knowing he was right. "So we're trapped?"

"For now."

How could he sound so calm, when she could feel hysteria beckoning? "That's it? Don't you have a plan?"

He smiled, actually
smiled
! If she weren't so angry, she might have noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the edges. "Aye, to stay put."

"For how long?" The coronation was only two days away.

"Until he gives up, or--" He stopped.

"Or what?" she demanded, not sure she wanted to know.

"Or gets too close."

Three

It was dusk as Lachlan approached the cave. After a long day of scouting, following Buchan's men to make sure they left, he knew he should be exhausted, but his body teemed with restlessness.

Though it would have been foolish to attempt to outrun Buchan's men with the countess in tow and without extra horses, after nearly two days of waiting, he felt like one of King Edward's menagerie lions in a very small cage. Not for the first time, he wished that he'd been the one to ride ahead to warn Bruce of the delay, rather than Gordon.

There'd been no question of sending MacKay. They needed a skilled rider to sneak past Buchan's defenses. Lachlan qualified, but Bruce had put him in charge.

This was his mission, curse it.

Or what was left of it, anyway. The coronation was set for tomorrow, and they were still nearly a two-days' ride away.

He'd underestimated Buchan's resources and his determination. He must have half his men scouring the countryside for his wife. The hunt had gotten perilously close for a while, but Lachlan had chosen their hiding place well, and it appeared that the last of Buchan's men had finally moved off.

They'd wait a few hours before leaving, just to make sure.

It was almost over--thank God! He couldn't wait to have this job behind him.

The past two days had been hell, and Bella MacDuff was his own personal demon. He wished he could say it was because she was a pain in the arse: making unrealistic demands, criticizing, or otherwise complaining about their situation.

But he couldn't.

Actually, he was forced to admit that she'd adapted quite well to their less-than-luxurious accommodations. Most noblewomen he knew would have sat on a rock and expected to be waited on when not bemoaning their wretched fate. But the proud little countess had taken it upon herself to sweep out the cave, dust off the spiderwebs, and wash their meager eating supplies, offering to help--MacKay, that is, not him--whenever she could.

She might look soft and vulnerable on the outside, but she had spirit. Bold, strong, and proud, he suspected there was very little that would defeat Bella MacDuff. Hell, with what she was about to do, she was going to need that strength.

It wasn't a shrewish or demanding personality that set him on edge. What set him on edge was his own damned reaction to her. One glimpse of those substantial curves, one word from that sensual mouth, or one sniff of that sweet feminine scent and he was hit with a bolt of lust that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

The cave was too bloody small. He'd made the mistake of bumping into her once and nearly jumped out of his damned skin.

She might despise him, but his cock didn't care. The weakness infuriated him. It was as if eight years of control had caught up with him all at once.

He steeled himself for entering the cave and was about to give the whistle that indicated his approach, when a tinkle of laughter stopped him in his tracks.

The soft, husky sound floated through the darkness, shimmering over his skin like a hot caress, setting his nerve endings on edge. Every muscle in his body went rigid. His hands fisted at his side as he fought to cool the surge of heat that had become almost reflexive when he got within fifty feet of her.

"This is delicious," he heard her say.

Even her voice was seductive. Smooth and soft as warm cream.

MacKay mumbled some reply, and Lachlan felt his anger spike, imagining the fierce warrior preening under her praise.

He took a few more steps toward the cave, enabling him to get a glimpse inside. The soft cascade of blond waves falling down her back caught the light in a golden glow. He could imagine it pouring over his skin like a warm satin veil. He wanted to dig his fingers through it. Rub his face in it. Inhale the deep, fragrant scent.

Hell
. The cold burn was beckoning. Again.

"Who could have imagined that raw fish could be so delicious?" She used her dainty fingers to pick up another chunk from the plate MacKay had fashioned from a piece of wood plank. Considerate bastard. "What is this sauce that you've put on it?"

MacKay's mouth curved, and Lachlan felt his fists clench even tighter. "It's just some herbs and a bit of wine."

"And you found all this nearby? You are a man of most useful skills, Magnus MacKay."

Lachlan felt a hard spike of irritation. MacKay picked a few herbs and she lavished praise on him as if he'd turned water into wine. Whereas Lachlan had spent hours--days--in the rain ensuring that no one approached to kill them, and all he got was a few angry glares when she was forced to acknowledge his existence.

He didn't like this dark feeling simmering inside him. A feeling that made him want to slam his fist into MacKay's formidable jaw for no reason.