She smothered a shiver of fear and turned back to consoling her cousin, pushing aside thoughts of Lachlan MacRuairi. She’d heard little of the brigand since the coronation—not that she’d been listening for word of him. With the way the war had been going, the opportunistic pirate had probably changed sides already.
She clenched her jaw. The only thing she should be thinking about was getting to safety so that she could find a way to get her daughter back. Four months seemed an eternity. But at least Joan hadn’t been forced to marry. Bella’s “treason” had taken care of that threat.
She stroked her cousin’s hair, as the terrified girl wept on her shoulder.
“What will become of us?” Margaret sobbed. “How will we make it to Kildrummy with only a handful of men to protect us?”
Bella didn’t say anything. What could she say, when she didn’t know? The king sending the women away with only a small band of knights to protect them sounded terrifying to her as well.
Her cousin lifted her head, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “I’ve never even heard of the man who will be leading us. Lachlan Mac … Mac—”
Bella stiffened. “MacRuairi?”
Her cousin nodded furiously. “That’s it—do you know him?”
Her mouth fell in a grim line. “He was one of the men who brought me from Balvenie.”
In the months of frustration and forced separation from her daughter—her husband had dared her to try to come and fetch her—Bella had told her cousin most of what had happened. The heartbreak hadn’t lessened; it had only grown worse as each day of their separation passed. She dared not ask herself when she would see her daughter again; the answer was too painful to contemplate.
But at least Joan knew Bella had not intentionally left her behind. A few weeks after the coronation, Robert told her that a message had been taken to her daughter. He wouldn’t tell her the details but assured her Joan had been told everything. Bella had been touched by the king’s thoughtfulness.
Margaret gasped. “The one who lied to you about Joan?”
She nodded, and her cousin looked appropriately horrorstruck.
Bella couldn’t believe it either. Not only was the king sending them away, he was entrusting his family to a man who made no qualms about being loyal only to his purse. MacRuairi’s untrustworthiness wasn’t her only objection. After their last meeting, she didn’t want to have to rely on him again for her safety—or for anything, for that matter. And perhaps most significantly, she didn’t like her own reaction to him.
Lachlan MacRuairi made her uneasy.
“Don’t worry, cousin, I’ll speak to Robert and get to the bottom of this. There must be some mistake.”
Leaving Margaret with the task of gathering their meager belongings, Bella went in search of the king.
He wasn’t at the King’s Hall—how the army had taken to referring to the royal hut. After Queen Elizabeth confirmed Margaret’s story, she directed Bella to the banks of the loch where what was left of the king’s army camped.
Bella hurried to the loch. But the sight that met her only increased her anxiousness. What was left of the army was in disarray. Perhaps only two hundred men remained, many of them wounded and bleeding, some with limbs barely attached, lying on the ground where they’d collapsed or been dumped after yesterday’s retreat.
The stench was horrible. She covered her mouth to try not to retch. She should be used to it. But the scent of blood, sweat, and other bodily fluids simmering together in a sickly mess was something she didn’t think she’d ever get used to.
Men were rushing everywhere. Tearing down tents. Packing their belongings. They didn’t notice her. Or if they did, they were too busy to care. The army was disbanding, fleeing for their lives. Sweet Mary, how could this have happened?
Finally, she caught sight of Edward Bruce. She didn’t much like Robert’s younger brother. Quick-tempered, volatile, and arrogant, Sir Edward was nearly his brother’s equal on the battlefield, but he lacked Robert’s gallantry and natural chivalry.
“The king,” she asked. “Where is he? I must speak with him.”
Edward’s eyes slid over her. Though the hard, ebony-like gaze betrayed nothing, she sensed the crude thoughts. “He’s busy. What do you need? Perhaps I can give it to you?”
Her eyes narrowed, hearing the suggestion in his words if not his tone. She knew what was being said. The vicious lies started by her husband as a basis for setting her aside had spread even through their own camp. That Edward Bruce would even hint at Buchan’s lies infuriated her. He should know better.
“I need the king,” she said in a tone that suggested a substitute—especially a younger brother—would not do. She knew how sensitive Edward was to comparisons to his royal brother. “It’s important.”
He gave her a scathing look; her jab had struck. “He’s over there.” He pointed to a circle of men standing apart from the rest near the shieling that was housing the king’s precious few war horses. “But I’d wait until he’s done.”
The king looked to be in an important meeting. She recognized some of Robert’s most trusted knights: Sir Neil Campbell, Sir James Douglas, the Earl of Atholl, and a few others, including William Gordon and Magnus MacKay.
Though the sight of the last two men always pleased her, and she’d enjoyed speaking to them when their paths had crossed over the past few months, something about their place in the king’s army confused her. For ordinary men-at-arms, they seemed to keep unusually important company.
She often saw them with a few other men, including one who seemed unusually close in the king’s confidence: a West Highland chieftain from the Isle of Skye named Tor MacLeod.
Something about these men stood out. Not just their impressive size and strength—Highlanders were a tall, muscular lot—but the command and air of authority that surrounded them.
They ate with the other regular men-at-arms, barracked with them, and fought beside them, but then they would disappear for days, even weeks, on end without explanation. It was odd.
She followed Edward’s advice. Fortunately, she didn’t have long to wait. The meeting broke up a few minutes later, and the men started to disperse. All except for one.
She felt a strange shock reverberate through her. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. Lachlan MacRuairi hadn’t changed in the months since she’d seen him last. If anything, he only looked more disreputable. His hair was longer, his jaw more stubbled, his black leather cotun dustier and stained with blood, and he appeared to have added a few weapons to the armory already strapped to his back.
His face, too, looked leaner and harder.
But if anything, it only added to his dangerous appeal.
Her mouth pursed with annoyance. Obviously, some things hadn’t changed. The brigand was still a handsome devil who exuded some kind of base masculine virility. And if the erratic race of her heart meant anything, she still noticed it.
She needed to put a stop to this. Set-aside wife or not, her inexplicable attraction to Lachlan MacRuairi was wrong. She’d had enough trouble in her life; she didn’t need any more from a notorious pirate bastard who looked at her as if all she was good for was what she could do to pleasure him. And she knew exactly how to do that. She’d been instructed well.
She crossed the clearing, weaving through the chaos, and approached the shieling from the side. Unsure whether to interrupt, she hoped to catch Robert’s attention, but the two men were too busy arguing to notice her hovering nearby. She didn’t mean to listen, but they weren’t exactly keeping their voices low.
“Find someone else,” Lachlan bit out. “Put Douglas or Atholl in charge. I’ll serve you better in the west with Hawk.”
Bella frowned, wondering who this Hawk was, until she realized what he was saying. Then, were the situation not so dire, she would have smiled. MacRuairi was doing the objecting for her. He didn’t want to lead them.
“I decide how you should serve me, not you. Are you refusing my orders?”
She could hear the grudging tightness in his voice when he replied. “Nay, I’m not refusing. I’m asking you to reconsider. This isn’t what I signed up for.”
What, duty and responsibility? She shouldn’t be surprised. A man who ignored his own clan was hardly a leader.
But as menacing as MacRuairi could be, Robert Bruce was one of the greatest knights in Christendom and not a man to back down from anyone—even a mean, overly muscular cutthroat. “This is exactly what you signed up for. Why do you think I want you in charge?”
The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Bella could practically feel the tension crackling between them.
Finally, Lachlan nodded. “I’ll ready the horses.”
Bella watched in frustration as he ducked into the shieling. It would have been nice if he could have convinced Robert, but it was going to be up to her to make him see reason.
The king started walking toward her and was so distracted that he might have walked right by her had she not stopped him.
“Sire, a word if you please.”
He glanced up and saw her. The hint of a smile attempted to break through the mask of strain. Her heart clenched with sadness, seeing the change that had come over him.
Robert Bruce looked like a man who’d suffered defeat. Who’d nearly been killed—twice. Who’d seen countless friends die at his side. He looked like a man who was being hunted and knew there was no safe place left to hide.
Bella felt the tears gather in the back of her throat. As long as she lived, she’d never thought to see such dejection on Robert Bruce’s face.
She’d been a girl no older than Joan the first time she’d met the handsome, young squire who’d come to train with her father. Even at ten-and-seven, he’d seemed larger than life. Gallant and charming, he’d tweaked her nose and told her she’d be trouble some day. Spirit to spare, he’d said.
Little did he know she’d need every ounce of it when she’d married.
Robert was the only man who’d ever made her think her opinions mattered. He was like the older brother she’d always wanted. Patient. Interested in what she had to say. Kind. And most of all, a fierce protector.
In those months he’d spent with them before her father’s death, he’d saved her from countless beatings at her father’s hand. Bella’s father was a cruel man with a volatile temper, prone to striking her whenever she displeased him—which was frequently. But Robert had an uncanny ability to distract him. To turn his attention from the awkward girl who’d dropped the bread, or dribbled her soup, or laughed too loud.
When some of his kinsmen had murdered her father, she’d been heartbroken. Not in mourning the death of a man who’d seemed a tyrannical stranger to her, but because she knew it meant Robert would have to leave.
She’d seen little of him once she was married, until a few years ago when they were both in London. Her face darkened at the humiliating memories. It was the one time her husband had struck her. He’d caught her and Robert in the garden talking and saw their friendship as something else. She loved Robert like a brother, and now as a loyal subject loved her king, nothing more. But her husband had tried to make it into something illicit.
“Is it true, Robert? Are you sending us away?”
The sadness in his eyes broke her heart. “Not sending you away, Bella, giving you a chance.” When he saw her questioning look, he explained. “They’ll follow me.”
Of course. He hoped to draw their enemies away, giving the women a chance to escape. Even now, he was still trying to find a way to protect them.
“Nigel is holding Kildrummy,” he said, referring to his youngest brother. “You should be safe there for a while. But if the English get too close, I’ve instructed Vi—” He stopped himself. “MacRuairi to take you to my sister, the queen, in Norway.”
He noticed her expression, but put up his hand to cut her off.
“I know you don’t like him, but he spent many months in Norway in his youth.” It didn’t surprise her. Of the Gall-Gaedhil half-Norse, half-Gael descendants of Somerled, which included the MacDougalls, the MacDonalds, and the MacRuairis, the MacRuairi branch was the most closely aligned with the Norse. “He knows it, and if need be, he can get you there. You know how these West Highlanders are in their galleys.”
Pirates were excellent seafarers, but that didn’t mean she wanted to entrust her life to one. “It’s not that I don’t like him,” she explained. “I don’t trust him.”
Robert studied her face, his expression darkening. “Is there something you haven’t told me, Bella? Did he do something to offend—”
She shook her head furiously, cutting him off. “Nay, it’s nothing like that.” A few heated looks didn’t signify. No matter how they affected her.
“Then is it his skills you object to?”
She shook her head again, recalling the half-dozen men littered on the forest floor. She could hardly complain of that. “It’s his loyalty that I question. How can you be certain of his allegiance? The man is little better than a brigand.”
His mouth curved, the first sign of amusement she’d seen on his face in a long time. “Aye, he is that. But you have nothing to fear, Bella. If MacRuairi says he’ll do something, he does it. It’s getting him to agree that can be tricky.”
The distinction did little to reassure her. “Please, Robert.” She put her hand on his arm, her cheeks pinkening. “I couldn’t help but overhear …” She bit her lip. “He doesn’t want to go with us either. He’s forsaken his own clansmen; what makes you think he can lead us? Isn’t there someone else who could take us?”
Robert shook his head. “I’ve made my decision, Bella. I’m not asking you to trust him, I’m asking you to trust me.”
She did trust him. Even with everything that had happened, she believed in him. Her conviction in that had not wavered. Scotland had lost its champion, and its hope for freedom.
“Of course I do.” She bowed her head in acquiescence, tears shimmering in her eyes as everything that had been lost, and everything that might have been, came crashing down on her.
“Go then, lass, get your things. There isn’t much time. The Lord of Lorn will be hunting us.”
A hot lump seemed stuck in her throat, knowing this was goodbye. “Where will you go?” What will you do?
The haunted look returned to his eyes. “We’ll make for the coast. I have friends in the west. We’ll rebuild. Gather more troops and try again.”
Neither of them believed it. Robert Bruce’s cause was lost. He’d be lucky to make it out of Scotland with his life.
The tears began to fall. “Goodbye, Robert.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her hard. “Goodbye, brat.” Despite the circumstances, she smiled through her tears at the memories of what he’d called her when they were young. “Take care of my wife.” He hesitated. “This has been difficult for her. Elizabeth isn’t used to hardship. She doesn’t have your fighting spirit.” He drew back and gave her one last look. “I’m sorry, Bella. I never meant …”
His voice dropped off.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I’ve done nothing that I wouldn’t do again today. You are The Lion.”
The symbol of Scotland’s kingship. And despite all that had happened and the uncertain fate that awaited them all, she meant it.
She watched Robert walk away, and with a sigh turned back to the woods. She could only pray the king knew what he was doing.
She glanced up and startled, finding herself staring right into the eyes of the brigand himself. Her heart jolted. She couldn’t look away, caught—trapped—by the force of the connection. She’d forgotten how intense his eyes were. They bored into her, hot and penetrating.
She flushed, awareness rippling across
her skin like wildfire. To her disappointment, she realized her reaction to him hadn’t changed. If anything it had grown stronger.
But it wasn’t just her reaction that caused her pulse to flutter and race. One look in his eyes and she knew he’d heard her.
He was furious. And something else. Something raw and primal flashed in his eyes. Something that made her want to turn and run.
But she’d learned long ago to never show weakness. Controlling her emotions was how she’d survived her marriage. Stoic submission and indifference, not tears and fear. A man could control her body but not her will.
She lifted her chin and forced herself to walk toward him, giving no hint of the furious pounding of her heart. Their eyes held in a silent duel.
“Countess,” he said with a nod of the head, an unmistakable note of mockery in his voice.
She pretended that it didn’t grate. Instead, she lifted a single brow. “I’m surprised you are still around.”
He smiled, but she sensed that her comment had bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Just waiting for a better offer.”
She knew he was trying to get to her, but it didn’t prevent her mouth from tightening. Her attempt to combat his anger with disdain wasn’t working. Lachlan MacRuairi was nothing like Buchan. There wasn’t a weak bone in his body. It would take more than a few words and a cold look to defy him. But she wouldn’t let him intimidate her. Her eyes skidded over him. “How much is a hired sword worth these days?”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. But he held her gaze. “More than you could pay.”
There was an edge to his voice that she didn’t understand. But it made her feel as if she’d done something wrong. As if she’d pricked beneath the seemingly impenetrable surface of mockery and struck emotion. As if, like her, he was good at masking his emotions. She just hadn’t thought he had any.
But as he turned on his heel and strode away, she had to wonder why a man who didn’t care about anything was so angry.
The Viper Page 7
