The Viper (34 page)

After nearly three years, the English knight and fierce Scottish patriot had learned to work together, but tension had been building between them since they'd headed west out of Peebles, rather than continue north, in an effort to lose their pursuers.

Their journey through Lanarkshire and Ayrshire brought them deep into the heart of Wallace country. It was the place where the first seeds of rebellion had been born, where Boyd had fought alongside Wallace, and also, unfortunately, the place where Boyd had lost his father to English butchery. Boyd hated the English, and although Seton's family held lands in Scotland, they hailed from the North of England.

Boyd shrugged. "What's usually the matter with him? I offended his precious knightly sensibilities."

Seton had never fully embraced the revolutionary pirate style of warfare that Bruce had adopted: abandoning the knightly code to defeat the much larger and better-equipped English army. Tactics that had been used by the Highlanders and West Highland descendants of Somerled for generations. This new style of warfare was the very reason the Highland Guard was formed, and what made it unique: a small team of the best warriors in each discipline of warfare--irrespective of clan affiliation--who could get in and out quickly, utilizing surprise attacks calculated to impose maximum damage and fear.

Lachlan shot him a dark glare. "Meaning you provoked him."

Boyd's jaw locked. "He's lucky I didn't kill him for what he said last night."

The two warriors had nearly come to blows when they'd stopped for a quick rest to water the horses by Douglas Castle. Bella had innocently asked what had happened to the burned-out castle, the seat of Sir James Douglas, one of Bruce's closest household knights.

Seton had replied that it was the place where Bruce's men had forgotten their honor--a slight aimed directly at Boyd, who'd fought alongside Sir James Douglas the year before when they'd retaken the castle by capturing the English garrison stationed there, tossing them in the cellar before lighting it on fire. An incident that had spread fear through the hearts of the English soldiers stationed in garrisons all across the Southwest and Marches, irreverently known as "Douglas's Larder."

Honor had no place in war, but Seton held firm to some of the code of the past.

"Well, I need you both to help me sail the ship to get us out of here, so you'll have to wait to kill him until we get back. But if I were you, I'd make sure he doesn't have a dirk on him, or you might be the one trying to talk your way out of hell."

Boyd laughed. "Your mood has improved. Must be the dip in the loch?" He sniffed in the air. "Myrtle today, is it?"

Lachlan scowled and tossed the drying cloth that was around his neck at him, telling Boyd exactly what he could do with it. He used what soap was available, damn it.

Boyd laughed and continued sharpening his blade before the fire pit in the center of the old longhouse that now served as the stables and shelter for the farm animals when it got too cold. The family that was sheltering them for the night--the parents of a man who'd died fighting alongside Boyd and Wallace--resided in the newer stone cottage that stood at the base of Loudoun Hill just across the yard.

Though they weren't completely out of danger, and wouldn't be until they were north of the Tay, this part of southwest Scotland was much friendlier to Bruce than the Marches. Moreover, from the top of Loudoun Hill, the site of Bruce's near-miraculous defeat of the English last year on his return to Scotland, they would be able to see anyone approaching for miles.

It was safe enough to rest for a few hours, but they would leave for the coast well before dawn.

Bella hadn't been happy about it, but he'd insisted she sleep in the cottage. She needed a bed, damn it, even if only for a few hours. He could have forced her to ride with him again, but he didn't trust himself to hold her against him for hours. He might not want to let her go.

He wasn't avoiding her. Nay, he was just going to make damn sure they weren't surprised again. He'd been caught with his pants down--literally. He wasn't fool enough to say he regretted it--it had felt too incredible for that--but it had been a mistake. For more reasons than one.

If he'd hoped having her once would free him from this irrational infatuation, he'd miscalculated badly. It hadn't dulled his desire for her one whit. If anything, the too brief, too hurried, too frantic incident had only whetted his appetite for more. But he knew it was too dangerous. The danger wasn't from his enemies but from himself. If he touched her again it would only reinforce the irrational feeling that she was his.

Whatever this strange connection was between them, it didn't mean anything. He sure as hell wasn't fool enough to think it could be permanent.

Lachlan hung his damp clothes over a wooden post and sat opposite Boyd on a stool that he assumed was used for milking. He placed his weapons beside him and removed a steel padlock from his bag. MacKay had made it for him, and he'd yet to figure out the way to unlock it.

Boyd looked at him slyly over the flames of the fire. "You never did say what happened back in Peebles."

Lachlan quirked a brow lazily, poking the blunted iron nail in the hole. "I didn't think I needed to explain. I was taken by surprise."

"Hmm," Boyd said, studying him with a considered expression on his face. "I can't remember the last time you were taken by surprise."

Boyd was fishing, damn him. The arse had bloody well guessed what had happened, but Lachlan gave no indication he knew what Boyd was talking about. "It's been known to happen once or twice," Lachlan said dryly. "I can't be everywhere at once."

Suddenly, Boyd sat back in shock, staring at him as if he'd just glimpsed the Holy Grail. "My God, you like her!" He shook his head with disbelief. "I never thought I'd see the day, but you really like her."

Lachlan shot him a warning glare. "Of course I like her. How could I not? After what she's been through? She's a damned hero, didn't you know?"

That was part of the problem. She was a hero and he was a notorious, bastard mercenary who had more men hunting him than he could count. Her safety depended on anonymity; with him she would always be in danger.

"So does this mean you've reconsidered?"

Lachlan's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Boyd shrugged. "With you and Lady Isabella ... I thought you might be thinking of sticking around a little longer."

Lachlan stilled. For a moment he wondered ...

Nay, it was impossible. Anger rose inside him. Damn Boyd for trying to confuse him! He didn't need this shite.

"Just because I want to fuck her doesn't mean I'm going to forget what I've worked for for three years. When the king holds his council, I'll have my reward. Why the hell would I stay?"

Ten years ago he'd had everything ripped away from him. Now he had his chance to get some of it back. He'd have a home, a place to call his own, and be truly independent for the first time in his life. Answering to no one. Being responsible for no one. With no ties and debts left to pay. That was the only freedom for which he'd fought.

"You're a real arse, Viper. The lady deserves better." On that they could agree. "But you know what I think? I think she's gotten to you. Though hell if I know what she could possibly see in you."

She didn't see anything in him. There was nothing to see. "God's blood, Raider, when did you start sounding like my cousin?"

If any more of the Highland Guard fell "in love"--whatever the hell that meant--Lachlan wouldn't need to leave; he'd swipe a dirk across his own throat just to not have to listen any longer to the blathering virtues of having a wife. Someone to take care of.

Someone to take care of him.

Someone who cared about whether he lived or died.

He felt a strange tightening in his chest, then pushed it harshly away. Who in the hell would want that?

Suddenly, he turned at the sound of the door opening. Bella marched through, a determined glint in her eye.

"I hope I'm not disturbing anything?"

He and Boyd exchanged guilty glances, both of them wondering how long she'd been there. From her too-blank expression, he suspected longer than he wanted.

"Nay, nothing, my lady," Boyd said. "Is there something you needed?"

She lifted her chin. If it quivered a little, Lachlan told himself it was the flickering firelight. But it didn't stop the suffocating press of conscience against his chest or the ridiculous urge to pull her in his arms and tell her he didn't mean what he'd just said.

He
did
mean it, damn it. Maybe he wished he hadn't said it so crudely, but it was the truth. He wanted her, but a woman wasn't going to distract him. Not this time.

"I have some salve." She came over to Lachlan. "To tend your wounds."

He glanced up at her, surprised and discomfited by her thoughtfulness. He wasn't used to having anyone worry about him. It would be easy to ...

Damn it, she was making him soft. He didn't need anyone. He waved her off. "I'm fine."

She looked down at him, her mouth pulled in a tight line of frustration, exasperation, and maybe even a little hurt. "Nails to the cross, Lachlan! Would it kill you to let someone take care of you for once?"

He arched a brow. Nails to the cross? She'd been around him long enough to pick up something better than that. Before he could reply that it might, she set down the armful of items she'd brought with her and turned to him with her hands on her hips. Shapely hips that were revealed all too well in those torturous breeches.

"I'm doing this even if I have to get Robbie to hold you down." She eyed the hulking warrior. "He certainly looks strong enough to do the job."

"Plenty strong, my lady," Boyd chimed in with a wink.

Bastard
. Lachlan didn't need to look at him to know he was enjoying this. There were few men who would dare make that claim, but as Boyd was one of them, Lachlan decided not to put it to the test.

He put down the lock he had in his hand and smiled mockingly. "As you please, my lady."

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded remarkably like "why I bother."

Tilting his head toward the light, she inspected the gash on his temple. Her touch was soft and gentle. It felt good. A little too good. He jerked away.

She gave him an impatient scowl and pulled him right back. "You bathed," she said.

Lachlan heard a snicker coming from the opposite side of the fire. He shot Boyd a sidelong glare, but his dark head was down, pretending to be focused on his task. "I don't like being dirty."

He blamed the defensiveness in his tone on Boyd.

"I remember," she said softly, so Boyd couldn't hear. "It's nice. It was one of the first things I noticed about you. You smelled too clean for a brigand."

She'd bathed, too. He was trying not to notice how good she smelled, but she was standing too bloody close to him. His body heated with awareness. If Boyd weren't sitting there, he knew he'd be tempted to pull her onto his lap and take another stab at what they'd barely begun two nights ago.

"It's good," she added, running her fingers through his hair by his temple. "You managed to wash away most of the dirt and blood from the wound."

She reached down to pick up a swathe of linen and a clay pot.

He smothered a groan. Those damned lad's clothes were going to kill him. When she'd bent over in front of him, the gap in the linen beneath the tie at the neck opened, giving him an eyeful of one generously curved, softly rounded breast.

He was a man; he couldn't help himself. His eyes fastened on the place in the linen where her nipples jutted against the thin fabric.
Jesus
. His mouth watered, seeing the outline of delectable, hard, puckering flesh.

Kiss her all over
. A promise he'd made to himself that he'd broken when Comyn's men had discovered them. But he was remembering it now. He wanted to strip her naked. Fill his hands with all that creamy flesh, bring it to his mouth, and suck each delicate pink nipple until it was berry red and throbbing tautly against his tongue.

He shifted, feeling a not-so-slow thickening in his braies. She was bent over him, her body achingly close, torturing him with her gentle touch. Her fingers smoothed the ointment over his wound, drawing small, caressing circles that only increased his ache.

Finally, when he didn't think he could bear her closeness, her touch, the warm fresh scent of her another minute, she wrapped a clean cloth around his head and stepped back.

He nearly sighed with relief.

Her flushed cheeks told him he was not the only one affected. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Nay--"

"He has a cut on his arm and some nasty-looking bruises on his stomach," Boyd volunteered.

Lachlan shot him a death glare. He was going to kill Boyd for this. The bloody bastard knew exactly what kind of pain Lachlan was in right now.

Bella pursed her mouth. He couldn't tell whether it was in anger or reluctance. "Let me see."

He lifted his shirt to reveal the numerous blue, black, and red mottled bruises that had turned to one big, angry mass covering his entire right side.

She gasped, and then gave him a fierce scowl. "Why didn't you say something? It looks as if you've broken some ribs. I could have wrapped them for you."

He shrugged, trying not to wince. They were broken, all right. "There wasn't time."

She reached out, gently skimming her fingers over the tender flesh. He flinched when her hand dipped low on his stomach.

Her voice softened. "I'm sorry, did that hurt?"

Aye, but not in the way she meant. His cock was pressing against the ties of his braies, doing its damnedest to inch closer and closer to her hand. "A little," he said gruffly.

She gave him a puzzled look. "I didn't think I touched you that hard."
Hard
. He groaned.
Don't say hard
. The throbbing increased. "I'll try to be more careful." She paused, hesitating. "If you take off your shirt, I can see to the cut on your arm and bind your ribs."