The Viper Read online

  Lachlan nodded. Though he wished all the women could be freed, it was Bella and young Mary whose harsh treatment had made them the first to rescue.

  With his team in place, Lachlan didn’t waste any time. Before the cock had crowed, he and the other guardsmen were riding hard for Berwick.

  Bella stood gazing out the small window in her tower room, watching the people bustling around the courtyard below as they went about their duties and activities for the day. After more than two years, the faces were familiar to her. There was Harry the young stable lad, fetching water for the horses, and Annie, the young girl from the village who seemed to look for any excuse to linger near Will, the green-and-gold-liveried man-at-arms who excelled with a bow.

  Those weren’t really their names, of course. But with nothing but needlework to pass the time, she’d made up names and stories for the villagers and occupants of the castle. At times it could be quite entertaining, almost like watching a play. But most importantly, it was a way to relieve the monotony that had proved her most dogged enemy—inside the cage or out.

  She stood here most of the day. The window was small, but there were no bars to obstruct the view. Sometimes, for a fraction of an instant, she could forget the small room behind her. Forget the smothering sense of confinement that lingered since her release from the cage three months ago—ninety-seven days, to be exact.

  But she was careful not to look up. She never looked up.

  She knew the location of her chamber wasn’t an accident. They’d placed her in a tower room opposite the cage. It was just another way to torment and manipulate her, to not let her forget what they could do to her.

  As if she could ever forget. She didn’t need a view to remind her of the hell of her imprisonment. She carried the memories with her every day.

  How she’d gotten through it she didn’t know. Her daughter. Her pride. An obstinate refusal to let them win. Somehow she’d managed. She’d learned to ignore that people were always watching her. That she never had a moment of privacy. The pitying glances. The bars. She’d combated the sense of confinement by walking in place and stretching her limbs every morning. Alleviated her boredom by making up stories about the people in the yard.

  The one thing she could not control was the cold. She shivered reflexively. This small, damp, soulless room seemed like a sultry haven by comparison.

  She’d walked out of that cage thinner, weaker, and sadder, but with her back straight and her chin up.

  She’d gotten through it once, but she didn’t think she could do it again. It wasn’t until she’d been released that the horror caught up to her. But each day she was getting stronger and feeling more like her old self.

  Suddenly, the door slammed open. She stiffened, knowing exactly who it was. Other than the boredom, the one constant throughout her long ordeal was Sir Simon. Her personal tormentor.

  She turned, knowing that if she ignored him it would be worse.

  His eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to find something wrong with what she was doing. “You spend a lot of time looking out that window.”

  Panic rose up her throat. The window was the one thing keeping her from going mad. If he guessed how important it was to her …

  Bella felt her mouth go dry. She moistened her lips with a quick flick of her tongue, but immediately regretted the action when she saw how Simon’s eyes flared. After two years, she knew better than to draw attention to any part of her body—especially her mouth—but her nervousness betrayed her. “I was merely hungry and wondered at the time. Did you bring my meal?”

  “I’m not your blasted servant,” he said angrily, as she knew he would. Distracting him with anger was the best way to steer him from the scent of her weakness.

  She lifted a haughty brow, knowing she was playing with fire. “Then what did you want?”

  His fists clenched, as did his jaw. “You’re leaving.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She was so stunned, for a moment she forgot to control her reaction. She tried to tamp down the reflexive burst of hope. She couldn’t have heard him right. “Leaving?” she echoed.

  “Aye.” He was watching her, toying with her, knowing exactly the effect his words would have.

  She sat down on a stool and picked up her mending as if he hadn’t spoken, forcing her trembling fingers to work the needle through the linen tunic. She spoke with as little care as she could manage. “Where am I to go?”

  Was the war over? Had her freedom been negotiated? Could she finally be going home?

  “A convent.”

  The twinge of disappointment was minor. If she wasn’t going home, a convent was certainly preferable to an armed fortress like Berwick. A convent would give her hope of escape.

  But Simon had known the direction her thoughts would take and had only sought to torment her. He smiled before adding, “There’s a Carmelite convent of nuns on the outskirts of Berwick. You are to be sent there, where you will immediately take your vows.”

  Vows? Good God! Every instinct rose in immediate rebellion. She wanted to shout out her refusal, to cringe at the mere suggestion. Vows were a prison she could never escape. Once taken, there would be no going back. She’d be locked away forever. The solitude … the monotony … the confinement would never end. Oh God, she should have guessed there would be some cruel twist.

  But the years of controlling her emotions with Buchan had served her well during her imprisonment at Berwick. Her expression betrayed none of her horror.

  Still, he knew. “It should make you happy,” he taunted. His dark eyes ran over her shapeless woolen gown. The fine gown she’d been imprisoned in was long gone, replaced by plain, serviceable cast-offs from the castle servants. The roughly spun wool was thick and scratchy, but that didn’t matter. It was warm. “You’ve been acting like a nun for years,” he sneered with a crude glance between her legs. Her thighs tightened instinctively. “Now you can be one.”

  She heard the bitter reproach in his voice. How much easier it would have been had she just given in to his demands! Let him use her body as Buchan had done for years. She might have had more coal for the brazier, more blankets for her crude pallet, better food, a host of small luxuries to make her imprisonment if not comfortable, at least bearable.

  But she couldn’t do it. It wasn’t just because every little thing about his person revolted her. The brown stains on his teeth. The white flakes in his greasy dark hair. The layer of sweat that made his face shine like the skin of a fish. Nay, submitting to him would be something she could never excuse. With her husband, she’d had a duty. With Lachlan, she’d foolishly believed there was something special between them. But with Simon, she would be selling herself. And she’d be damned if she’d give proof to the rumors. First about Robert, and then after her capture, thanks to Ross no doubt, about Lachlan.

  She did not care that people called her a whore, but she would not make herself one.

  So she’d endured cold, hunger, and two years of endless tormenting. Twice he’d gone too far and nearly killed her. Once the rotting food he’d given her had sickened her. Another time he’d punished her defiance by taking away her blankets on a night of cold and rain; she’d nearly frozen to death.

  Like her former husband, Simon wanted to see her react. He looked for ways to break her. Many times over the past two years she’d wanted to give in. But one thing had kept her going: her daughter. She had to get through this for Joan.

  “I hear the rooms are small and windowless,” he said snidely. She repressed a shiver. Though she’d hid her fear well, still he’d guessed it. “But you’re used to that, aren’t you, Countess?” He emphasized the last, then slapped his forehead with exaggerated affect. “Oh, that’s right. With Buchan dead, King Edward, the second by that name, has decided that you are no longer a countess.”

  She held his gaze and smiled. “Aye, now I am merely the daughter and sister to the most ancient and powerful of all Scottish earldoms.”

  Simon’s face turned f