The Viper

by Monica McCarty

  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.

  There was nothing improper about their behavior. She just seemed to genuinely like the big Highlander, which was in stark contrast to the loathing she felt for him.

  Being loathed was nothing new, so why was it bothering him now?

  MacKay shrugged, obviously embarrassed but just as obviously pleased. “It isn’t difficult, if you know what you’re looking for.”

  She laughed again. “But that’s it, isn’t it? I’d ask you to show me, but I fear I’m hopeless when it comes to discerning plants. Joan is the one—”

  She stopped suddenly, and Lachlan braced himself. He felt that annoying pinch in his chest again. If he thought he was capable of it, he would think it was guilt. But he didn’t waste his time beating himself up over things that couldn’t be changed.

  He could hear the emotion thick in her voice when she finished, “My daughter is the one who is good with plants.”

  The rough Highlander’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “You’re worried for the lass.”

  The countess nodded. Though her face was turned away from him, Lachlan knew her eyes were filled with tears. It was that way every time the girl’s name came up.

  “Buchan won’t harm her?” MacKay asked, the edge of steel in his voice.

  She shook her head. “Nay. At least I don’t think so. But I didn’t tell her what I had planned. I never told her I intended to take her with me. And I fear he’ll fill her head with all kinds of horrible lies. I just wish …”

  Her voice fell off. But then her jaw clenched, and her mouth tightened.

  Lachlan wasn’t the only one who’d guessed her thoughts.

  “I don’t like him any better than you do,” MacKay said, “but there was nothing else that MacRuairi could have done—or that anyone could have done—to get your daughter out in time. Not with the explosion set and your husband so close. I’ve seen him get out of some impossible situations, but even he’d be hard pressed to sneak a woman and a child out of a fortress like Balvenie with your husband and his men looking on.”

  God damn it! Lachlan didn’t need MacKay to defend him. He strode angrily into the cave, ignoring MacKay’s chastising frown for not giving the signal, and stopped a few feet away from where they were sitting.

  He resisted the urge to inhale. How the hell did she still smell so good after two days in a cave? He cursed MacKay again, this time for giving her that blasted soap.

  She gave him a quick glance, her eyes still watery with emotion. The annoying pinch in his chest nipped harder.

  “I’m sorry,” he said angrily, not knowing what in the hell he was doing. “I’m sorry we were forced to leave your daughter behind.”

  He swore he could hear MacKay’s mouth drop open.

  The countess looked just as surprised. She lifted her gaze to his again, but this time did not turn sharply away.

  She studied his face. Even though he knew his expression betrayed nothing, it still made him uncomfortable. Damned uncomfortable.

  “But not for lying?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nay. I had to get you out of there. You would have protested, and we didn’t have time for a delay.”

  “What if I didn’t want to go without my daughter? Did you ever consider that?”

  He gave her a hard, steady look. “Maybe you should be thanking me for not forcing you to have to make that decision.”

  She gasped, her eyes widening a little as his words struck with pointed precision. She’d been so angry at him for lying that she hadn’t thought about what would have happened had he told her the truth: She would have been forced to choose between her daughter and keeping her promise to Bruce. All those lofty ideals of hers would have been held to the test of a mother’s love.

  The stricken look on her face told hi
m that she’d reached the same conclusion.

  “Try to get some sleep,” he said gruffly, looking away. “The last of your husband’s men left this afternoon. We’ll leave in a few hours and ride straight through. I’m not sure how long Bruce will wait.”

  She seemed relieved by the change of subject. “You’re sure William made it to Scone?”

  “Aye, but I didn’t think Buchan would delay us for so long. Bruce may decide waiting to become king is too risky.”

  She nodded, then excused herself for a few moments of privacy. He tried not to watch her as she left.

  MacKay stood up from his seat and started to gather his things. He’d take the watch while Lachlan slept—or tried to sleep with her so close.

  Lachlan could feel his eyes on him. Finally, the other man spoke. “Leave her alone, MacRuairi. The lass has been through enough. Buchan has made her life hell.”

  Lachlan stepped forward, seeing a blast of red. “What do you mean? Does he beat her?”

  MacKay gave him a long look, appraising the vehemence of his reaction. “I don’t know. But the lass was tormented. He kept her under guard at all times.”

  He supposed that explained the guard at her door and the two at the foot of the stairs. “Why?”

  “Because he’s a controlling bastard who wanted to keep a tight rein on his wife.”

  Lachlan frowned. He better than anyone knew the destructive force of jealousy. Whether warranted or not. He wondered whether it was.

  He eyed MacKay suspiciously. “Why did she tell you all this?”

  “She didn’t. I pieced it together from some things she’s said. As for why, I don’t look at her like you do.” He paused, the look intensifying. “Why does it matter to you?”

  “It doesn’t.” But it put a new slant on why she would betray her husband.

  Clearly, MacKay didn’t believe him. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. She’s a nice lady—a nice married lady—who will be in enough trouble with what she’s about to do without you panting after her.”

  Lachlan didn’t need a lecture from MacKay—or anyone else for that matter. Sure, he lusted after her. A man would have to be a eunuch not to. But Lachlan had already lost his head for one woman he’d lusted after. Once was enough.

  And from what he could tell, MacKay should worry about himself. “If I wanted her, what makes you think a marriage contract would stand in my way?”

  MacKay shot him a look of disgust as he was about to walk out of the cave. “MacLeod is right. You have the morals of a snake.”

  A viper, MacLeod had called him. Hell, maybe the leader of the Highland Guard was right. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? Get the job done, no questions asked.

  Lachlan smiled, unable to resist. “Maybe, but at least I’m not lusting after my best friend’s betrothed.”

  He knew his arrow had struck when MacKay flinched. Lachlan watched for any sign of movement, not taking his eyes from MacKay’s hands. The second he reached for a weapon, Lachlan would be ready.

  Though he could sense the dark rage that had come over the other man, MacKay was too good a warrior to let Lachlan’s goading get to him. “Stay out of my way, MacRuairi. Spread your damned venom someplace else.”

  He left the cave without another word.

  * * *

  Bella loved to ride. It was the one freedom her husband allowed her—albeit under the careful watch of a dozen guardsmen whose presence was not to protect her but to prevent her from sneaking off to some illicit liaison with a bevy of waiting lovers.

  But after forty hours straight in the saddle—half of that in rain—she didn’t think she’d ever want to see a horse again.

  She’d thought she was a good rider. But forced off the roads into difficult and uneven terrain, and pushed at an unrelenting pace, she’d reconsidered. Compared to the two warriors who accompanied her, she felt like a bairn on lead-strings.

  Their occasional stops, she knew, were for her benefit as much as that of the horses. MacKay had begun to show signs of weariness, but MacRuairi looked as though he could ride another forty hours.

  How did a pirate learn to ride so well? The Gall-Gaedhil descendants of Somerled were expert seafarers, practically born in their galleys.

  She glanced to the side, where MacRuairi rode slightly behind her, and instantly regretted it. Though he’d averted his gaze the moment she turned, it wasn’t before she’d caught a glimpse of the look in his eyes. It was hot, intense, and fierce. Lust in its most raw and primitive form.

  It startled her, and she had to smother the sharp gasp that rose in her chest. Though she pretended not to notice, her insides felt singed by the blast of heat, her stomach fluttered nervously, and she felt a tickle of heated awareness in a place that she shouldn’t.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d caught the edge of one of those looks. He wanted her, but he didn’t want her to see it. He was like every other man that looked at her with one thing on his mind. He just controlled it better.

  Bella had been the subject of one man’s frenzied lust already; she didn’t need another. From the first, her lack of response had angered her husband. It was almost as if he thought he could force a response from her with his increasingly base demands. No matter what he asked of her, or what he did to her, she refused to be cowed, refused to give him the satisfaction of shame.

  Only later did Bella realize he’d actually thought he could force her to feel pleasure. When she didn’t, he blamed her, accusing her of being unnatural and cold.

  Ironically, one smoldering look from Lachlan MacRuairi had elicited more response from her than any of the things her husband had done to her.

  As disconcerting as her reaction was to him, she was pleased to see that he seemed just as eager to ignore it as she was. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t wait for this journey to be over.

  They rode for a few more hours, the men taking turns riding ahead and behind. They rode until she didn’t think she could go on.

  She shifted in the saddle. He must have been watching her again because he said, “We’ll stop up ahead to water the horses. We should be on the outskirts of Scone in a few hours.”

  The relief that she felt on hearing that not only would they be stopping, but that her ordeal would soon be over, pushed aside everything else. Forgetting whom she was speaking to, she heaved a heavy sigh and smiled. “Thank God!”

  He looked momentarily stunned, confused even.

  It was the first time she’d ever smiled at him. Actually, it was the first time she’d ever looked at him with anything other than suspicion or anger.

  She realized it at the same time he did.

  Their eyes held for an instant too long before she looked away, feeling oddly self-conscious and extremely aware that they were alone.

  His voice when he spoke seemed unusually cautious—as if he were taking care not to upset this tentative truce. “I think we will all be glad when this is over.” His eyes found hers once more, and she felt that strange buzz go through her. His eyes were … intense. Piercing, nay, riveting, they were so crystal clear, so vibrant in color that they didn’t seem real. “You’ve held up well, my lady. I regret having to push you so hard, but if there is to be any chance of reaching Scone in time, it’s necessary.”

  Bella was just as taken aback by his second apology as she had been by the first. Lachlan MacRuairi seemed to be the last man who would apologize for anything, and she didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  She didn’t quite know what to make of him.

  She was forced to admit that he was right about one thing. He’d saved her from having to make a horrible decision in choosing whether to leave her daughter. He’d still lied to her, and she knew better than to trust him, but maybe he wasn’t quite the heartless brigand she’d first imagined him.

  Heartless brigands didn’t cover you with a plaid at night when you were sleeping in a dry cave while they spent hours in the cold rain. When she’d woken yesterday mor
ning, warm and cozy, she’d recognized the dark blue and gray plaid right away as the one he wore around his shoulders. But it didn’t explain how—or why—it had ended up on her.

  It was also hard not to admire the cool efficiency with which he did his job. Except for short breaks, he’d taken the lion’s share of the watch, sleeping little and spending hours on end in the cold and rain. When one of the horses had gotten loose and wandered into a bog, it had been Lachlan who’d gone in after it, spending over an hour in the bone-chilling, foul-smelling muck.

  She wondered what had made him so cynical. Could he really care so little about everything? He was a mystery, and she couldn’t help but feel mildly curious. She frowned. Nay, very curious.

  “Do you think they’ll wait?” she asked, returning to what she should be thinking about.

  He lifted a brow. “Do you want them to?”

  The question took her aback. After all she’d gone through to get here, of course she should want to see it through. But after days of being hunted by her husband’s men, she wondered if she was prepared for what was to come.

  Realizing that her thoughts were sliding dangerously toward MacRuairi’s earlier warnings, she drew herself up and met his gaze. “Of course I do.”

  It wasn’t just her duty, it was the right thing to do. Robert Bruce was not only the best chance Scotland had of being free from English tyranny, he was the one man who just might be able to unite Scotland behind him. She would do her part to help that happen. It was her chance to do something important.

  She was worth more than a pair of spread legs to sate a man’s lust.

  He dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and then helped her down.

  She did everything she could not to notice the feel of his hands on her waist. She wished Magnus were here instead. He didn’t make her feel so … jittery.

  Magnus looked at her like a friend.