The Viper (12 page)

The intensity of her emotions proved just how much she'd come to rely on him. No one was more surprised than she. Lachlan had gotten them this far with more skill and determination than she'd thought possible.

For a man who shirked his duty as chieftain to his clan, he was a surprisingly competent leader. Not just competent, she admitted, strong. The other men might not like him very much--except for William--but they followed his orders without question. He might be cynical and opportunistic, but he was also clear-headed, confident, and efficient. He'd led them through seemingly impassable terrain and had managed thus far to evade the countless parties who pursued them.

He'd kept them safe.

But as much as she'd come to rely on him, she knew that he'd come to rely on her as well--which she suspected was a rarity. They were alike in that regard, she supposed.

As decisive and efficient as he was at managing the men, he had little experience directing women and children. Sensing his frustration, she'd taken pity on him the first day, and in the intervening days they'd formed a silent partnership born of necessity--he took charge of their safety and she took charge of their spirits.

She didn't care if that was the only reason he talked to her. But telling herself that didn't make her believe it. She was drawn to him, whether she wanted to be or not.

She blanched as the men drew closer. Dirty and disheveled, covered with dust and dark red stains that could only be blood, they were peppered with cuts and bruises of varying degrees of severity. Thankfully, however, none of the injuries looked serious.

"What the hell happened?" Robert--or Robbie, as the men called him--Boyd asked, before anyone else could.

"An ambush," MacRuairi said grimly. He waited for the frightened cries and gasps from the ladies to fade before he explained. "They were lying in wait in the pass a few miles ahead."

Were
, she noted.

"How many?" MacKay said.

Lachlan shrugged, but Douglas answered proudly. "A score. Maybe a few more."

Bella's heart rose to her throat. Good God! They should have been killed.

"They're taken care of?" Boyd asked.

"Aye," Douglas said. "I killed five myself." The young knight pointed to Atholl. "The earl here took down almost as many."

Bella could guess who killed the rest.

"Who were they?" Magnus asked.

"Comyn's men." Lachlan glanced at Bella, almost as if to make sure the news that her husband's men were looking for her did not distress her. "Someone will eventually come looking for them. We'll have to take a different road."

Bella bit back her groan, knowing that couldn't be good. The "roads" through the mountains were scarce, and anything off the main one was sure to be rough.

Rough turned out to be an understatement. By the time MacRuairi gave the signal to stop for the night, they were all ready to collapse.

Bella drew her horse to a halt and waited to be helped down. Like Bella, Margaret had been riding alone and was waiting as well. Unlike Bella, however, she didn't have to wait long.

Bella glanced over just in time to see Lachlan reach up and slide his hands around her cousin's waist to help her down. It turned out the brigand could be quite solicitous--to everyone but her, that is.

When he looked at her cousin, there was almost a hint of reverence in the brigand's gaze. It was nothing like the hot, lusty way he looked at her. As if he were seeing her naked all over again.

Her chest pinched. She quickly looked away. But the hurt wasn't so easily dismissed.

Just once she wished a man could look at her like that.

It wasn't Margaret's fault. Her cousin was as sweet and innocent as a postulate. MacRuairi's reverence was deserved.

Bella was neither of those things.

Magnus helped her down after he attended to Lady Mary, whose exhaustion had convinced her to ride with him. But it hadn't deterred the girl's interest in their leader. She seemed even less pleased by his solicitousness toward her cousin than Bella.

"Your cousin is very sweet."

Bella almost smiled. She doubted Mary realized she was frowning. "Yes, she is," Bella agreed.

Mary looked as if she were trying to work out something in her mind. "Do you think what they say about him is true?"

The spark of excitement in her eyes made Bella nervous. She knew some women found dangerous men irresistibly attractive, their naughtiness the very heart of their appeal.

Who would be so silly and foolish? she thought glumly.

She thought about how best to answer her, not wanting to pique the girl's curiosity. Though she suspected from her own example that it would prove impossible. Men like MacRuairi made women curious. They made a woman want to dig down deep and find the kernel of good amongst all the bad, even knowing very well it was probably all rotten.

It was intrigue and curiosity at work, nothing more--at least that's what she told herself.

"I suspect some of it is true and some exaggerated," she hedged.

Mary's gaze flickered to him and back. "Do you think he killed his wife?"

Bella quickly covered her shock and gave the girl a stern look. "You shouldn't repeat such things. Of course it's not true." She conveniently ignored that she'd wondered the same thing. "Do you think your brother would put a man who'd killed his wife in charge of his family?"

Mary had the good grace to blush, but the girl was not easily cowed. "I didn't make it up. I'm only repeating what I heard."

Bella raised a brow. "How do you think he would feel if he heard you repeat such a thing?"

Actually she doubted he would care, but Mary didn't know that, and importing the lesson was what mattered.

Mary's eyes widened. "You won't tell him?"

Bella pretended to think about it. Her mouth quirked, trying not to laugh at the girl's horrified expression. "I won't if you promise to go to sleep right after the evening meal tonight. No more listening through the tent to the men's conversation."

Rather than be embarrassed, Mary only giggled. "I find them very ... instructive."

Bella tried not to laugh. No doubt
very
instructive. "Promise?"

Mary nodded. "I'm so tired tonight, I doubt I could stay up if I wanted to."

Bella knew exactly how she felt. She couldn't wait to collapse on her makeshift pallet of animal skins and thick woolen blankets. Tonight, she might even get some sleep.

Lachlan sat alone in the dark, listening to the sounds of the forest. It was the dead of night; two, perhaps three hours after midnight. It was his favorite time of day. Everyone else was sleeping.

Usually the sounds calmed him, but nothing could ease the restlessness teeming within him tonight. He'd volunteered for the watch, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep. Not with the battle lust still coursing through him.

His mind went to one of the three tents behind him. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only kind of lust coursing through him.

He got up angrily from the log he was sitting on and started to patrol the perimeter. He needed to move.

But distracting himself with duties, with a cold loch--hell, even with other women--wasn't working, damn it.

Take her cousin, for example. Margaret MacDuff was sweet, innocent, and uncomplicated. The type of woman who would never make demands and never give him any trouble.

Taking her to bed was the farthest thing from his mind when he looked at her. Her fair features were serene and angelic, not tilted with temptation. His blood didn't heat, his muscles didn't tense, his temper didn't flare, and his senses didn't flood with the scent of whatever damned floral soap she washed with that morning. Who in Hades knew he could discern lavender from roses?

Margaret could talk to MacKay and Gordon all day long and he wouldn't give a shite. She did nothing to him. He could think rationally, breathe evenly, and stand right up next to her without hardening like a squire with his first maid.

With a woman like Margaret, he would never get angry, and sure as hell never get jealous.

Compared to her proud, spirited cousin, who never seemed to miss the opportunity to challenge him, Margaret was sweet, agreeable, and deferential.

And bland.

And passionless.

And timid as a kitten.

He'd be scared to touch her, let alone do all the wicked things he wanted to do to the countess.

Margaret would never have the courage to follow her convictions (even if they were naive), to do what she believed to be her duty under threat of treason. She would never have the strength to rally a terrified group of women and children under conditions that would make even hardened soldiers despair.

Lachlan muttered an oath as he pushed through the trees.

As much as he wanted to blame his restlessness on unspent lust, he knew it was more than that. And
that
was what truly bothered him.

Christ, he couldn't wait to get back to the Isles. He was an islander; he could be on land for only so long before he started to go crazed. And crazed was the only explanation for why he was even thinking about her. Thinking about any woman outside of the bedchamber was a mistake.

With that in mind, he pushed aside thoughts of anything but the task before him. He circled the camp, checking to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary, before returning to his post in the trees a few dozen yards from where they'd set up camp for the night.

He picked a stem of thyme to chew on, and was settling back against a tree when he heard a sound.

He snapped into battle mode, tossing the stem away. His senses sharpened, every muscle tensed with readiness. His gaze shot toward the loch, in the direction he'd heard the rustle. He peered into the darkness, but not even his unusually keen vision at night could penetrate the thick forest.

He moved forward slowly. Silently. Keeping to the trees, sneaking up on the enemy with the stealth of a predator and with extreme caution. The loch was banked by a steep hillside, rousing memories of the earlier ambush.

As he drew closer, he heard the sound of whispers and frowned. The voices were soft, but talking at all during an attack was foolish. The sounds were also coming from loch level and not the hillside, where an ambush would be more likely.

He caught a glimpse of white in the black shadows ahead of him. Eyes honed, he made out two figures.

Ah, hell
. Not an attack at all. It was two of the women. His mouth flattened. One of whom was the countess.

The flare of anger replaced the flare of battle. God's blood, didn't they know it was dangerous out here at night?

"I couldn't wait," he heard the smaller figure murmur. It was Bruce's young sister Mary, unless he was mistaken. "I had to go."

The countess had her hands on her hips as if she didn't believe her. "You should have woken me. It's dangerous to wander away from the camp at night alone."

Her tone made him think of his mother. Something he rarely did.

They started to move back from the edge of the loch when they stopped, alerted by a sound coming from the steep hillside above them.

Lachlan's stomach dropped. He shouted a warning, but it was too late.

Their presence had startled an animal--probably a deer--and when it jumped away, it caused a small rock slide. Unfortunately, one of the rocks was the size of a pig's bladder and it pitched over the cliffside right toward Mary Bruce.

The girl didn't realize the danger.

But the countess did. Without hesitating, she lurched toward the girl and pushed Mary out of the way just as the stone crashed to the ground behind her.

Lachlan moved as fast as he ever had, but he couldn't catch her in time. She flew forward, stumbling, and hit the ground with a blood-chilling thump.

He was at her side a split-second later. Gently, he lifted her shoulders from the ground to turn her around. "Christ, Bella, are you all right?"

He didn't recognize his voice. It sounded ... thick. Gruff.
Concerned
.

She blinked up at him, temporarily dazed. "I-I think so."

Relief rushed through him in a hot wave.

Mary knelt on the other side of her, her eyes as big and round as two pieces of silver. "I didn't see it coming. I didn't mean for anything to happen."

Lachlan's jaw hardened. He was about to give the lass a severe tongue lashing, but Bella stopped him with a soft press on his arm.

How the hell did she do that?

"I'm fine," the countess said to the girl, trying to calm her. She sat up and started to brush the dirt off her clothes, but then winced. She turned her palms over just enough for him to see the dirt and rocks embedded in the tender skin. Keeping her hands hidden from the girl, she smiled. "Just a few scrapes, that's all."

To prove it, she stood up. With his help. He couldn't seem to let her go. He kept his hands on her upper arms as she steadied herself. Thus, he felt her stiffen and shift her weight back to her left side.

"I'm fine," she repeated, silently begging him not to say anything.

He frowned. God knows, he didn't know anything about children, but Mary Bruce seemed old enough to be told that her nighttime escapade had resulted in what he suspected was a twisted ankle, but which could have been a whole hell of a lot worse.

The countess walked over to the loch with what he assumed was considerable pain, smiling the whole time. "I'm going to clean up a little. Could you see that Mary gets back to the tent?"

The girl looked torn, looking back and forth between them. It was clear she wanted to stay, but it was equally clear she wanted to go with him. His eyes narrowed, wondering what the chit was up to.

"I'll wait," the girl decided.

Bella shook her head. "You need to get your rest. I won't be long."

"The countess is right," Lachlan said. "We have a long day tomorrow. I'll see that the countess makes it back all right."

Bella's eyes widened. "That's not--"

"I insist," he said, cutting her off in a voice that dared her to challenge him. She wasn't getting rid of him that easily. Not until he took a look at that ankle.