The Viper Read online

  He’d been careful to hide his desire after that night by the loch, but it was still there, simmering just under the surface. And he felt it now. Felt it rise up and grab him in its steely grip, trying to drag him under.

  His hand reached out. Slowly. Carefully. As if she were the most delicate piece of porcelain, his finger grazed the side of her cheek.

  His heart jammed in his chest. Jesus! He groaned. So damned soft. As smooth and velvety as a bairn. His big, battle-scarred hand looked ridiculous against something so fine.

  He tipped her chin, feeling himself falling, lured by the promise in her eyes. His mouth lowered …

  He caught himself at the last moment.

  He dropped his hand. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t like this feeling at all. It almost felt like—Jesus—tenderness. But only a fool would let himself believe there could ever be more between them. He was a bastard. A man stripped of his lands and reputation. A brigand. He wasn’t ashamed, but he was also a realist.

  She was curious, that was all. Intrigued by what she perceived as an inconsistency in his character. She thought she saw something in him worth saving. But it was all black.

  He didn’t want to confuse either of them.

  “Nay,” he lied smoothly. “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  He saw a flicker of hurt in her gaze but forced himself to ignore it.

  Taking a step back, he gave her a curt nod. “Good night, my lady. Have more care as you are walking. You will need all your strength over the next few days.”

  He walked away, pretending not to notice that she watched him the entire time.

  He’s lying. Bella didn’t know how she knew, but she did. Lachlan had taken the message to her daughter.

  Why didn’t he want her to know? Was it the same reason he hadn’t kissed her? Was it the same reason he tried to scare her off by telling her he’d killed his wife? She knew there was more to the story than he’d let on.

  She would have pushed him away, of course. She was almost certain. Sanity would have prevailed before his mouth touched hers. She would have seen past the nearly overwhelming desire of how wrong it was to give in to the strange current drawing them together.

  Her husband had set her aside, but his accusations had been pounded into her for too many years to forget. Lachlan could never be her husband; all he could be was something illicit. Letting him touch her would make her exactly what Buchan had always accused her of being.

  She was glad he’d rejected her. Glad he’d realized the mistake before she had. Glad he’d cured her of any illusions.

  If she’d seen some glimmer of kindness inside him, she was mistaken.

  If her heart had gone out to him when he told her about his mother, he didn’t want or need her sympathy.

  He’d imparted the tale as if he’d been talking about someone else. Dry. Unemotional. Factual. It was as if he were giving a report to one of his commanders.

  The events of his childhood no longer mattered to him. Nothing mattered to him. It was best that she remembered it. Even if at times he made her want to forget.

  She inhaled deeply, forcing an uneven breath through her tight chest. The hurt would go away.

  But it didn’t. All through the painfully short night it burned, and then in the cruel, dark hours before dawn she was forced to confront him again. When his gaze slid over her in the small crowd of travelers that had gathered in the courtyard, she felt a fresh wave of it.

  His indifference stung like a slap, bringing her harshly back to reality. He was the man charged with leading them—all of them—to safety. That should be her first and only concern.

  Funny that she accepted his leadership so easily when not a week ago, she’d rebelled so strongly against it. But brigand or not, Robert had been right. If anyone could get them to safety, he could.

  She trusted him with her life, if she could trust him with nothing else.

  “Keep your hoods over your heads,” Lachlan said. “We want to blend into the night as much as we can.”

  The rough and scratchy, dark brown wool cloaks would be hard to see in the darkness. The group would be visible only for a moment as they left the postern gate before descending into the cistern chamber, but it was better not to take any chances.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, his eyes scanning the women and children before him.

  After a moment of hesitation they nodded.

  The next sound she heard was of the gate being opened—slowly and as quietly as possible. Her heart fluttered wildly. She gazed at the pale, anxious faces around her and knew she was not the only one to feel fear.

  The group was much the same as the one that had arrived the night before: the queen, Robert’s daughter Marjory, Mary Bruce, Christina Bruce and her young son the earl, Margaret and the other lady attendants, Atholl, Magnus, William, two other men-at-arms she did not know, and, of course, Lachlan.

  Of their previous companions, Sir James Douglas had been dispatched earlier with a message for the king—if he could be found—and Robbie Boyd and Alex Seton had remained with Nigel to defend the castle.

  When the gate was open, Lachlan did a quick check outside and then began to usher them through. Magnus went first, leading the group outside in a long snake. The young earl started to talk, but his mother Christina quickly shushed him.

  “Your turn, Countess.”

  Bella looked around, realizing she was the last one. She nodded and treaded down the steps of the postern gate. She couldn’t hear Lachlan behind her—he walked as soundlessly as a ghost—but she knew he was there.

  To take advantage of its natural defenses, the curtain wall had been built to the edge of the steep, rocky riverbank that the locals called the back den. A steep sunken stairwell had been carved into the rock to connect the castle to the old cistern chamber and the well-house on the other side of the crevice. They had to walk only a few feet outside the castle before they came to the entrance, covered with a piece of now-rotting wood and obscured by years of disuse.

  Magnus had lifted the wood and cleared the growth enough to enable them to squeeze through the opening. William led them down the narrow stairwell built into the side of the cliff.

  It was a little bit like descending into a black hole. Thankfully, she could see the soft glow of the torches in the tunnel ahead.

  She took her first step inside, and the cool smell of musk and damp earth hit her. She hesitated and instinctively turned behind her.

  The last glint of moonlight caught Lachlan’s face in its ghostly glow.

  She’d expected a nod of encouragement, an impatient gesture, something. What she didn’t expect was to see his face tight with pain, his teeth clenched so hard his mouth had turned white, and his eyes flash with what she could only think was panic.

  But the look was gone in an instant, and then his face was shadowed in the darkness. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Just go slow. I’ll light a torch in a minute.”

  But it was difficult to see, even with the torches, and it took them a long time to wind their way down before they entered the vaulted cistern chamber.

  William swore.

  “What is it?” Lachlan asked.

  “There’s a gate to the tunnel to the well-house. It’s locked.”

  “Let me see.” Lachlan crossed the room, removing something from his sporran. Bella drew closer, trying to see what it was. It looked like a nail. He seemed to slip it inside the opening and move it around, and a moment later he pulled the lock open.

  “I must not have pulled it hard enough,” William said dryly.

  “How’d he do that?” Mary whispered at her side.

  Bella frowned. “I don’t know.”

  Once opened, they passed through the gate into a tunnel. When they came to another staircase, they had to wait a few minutes while a few of the men climbed into the well-house to make sure no one was about.

  As soundlessly as seventeen people could manage, they emerged from the