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  Bella held his gaze, the striking green eyes that seemed even sharper and more intense than she remembered. Everything about him was more striking than she remembered. His darkly handsome face, his height, his broad, heavily muscled chest and arms.

  God, why did it have to be him? Couldn’t Robert have sent someone else for her?

  Two years of imprisonment had taken more from her than she wanted to admit, and Lachlan made her feel weak even when she was strong.

  She forced herself to consider his question—not the hard, stubbled lines of his jaw or the sensual curve of his sinful mouth. He was right; she wasn’t surprised. If anyone was destined for a convent, it was Margaret. “I can’t stop thinking that someone will find out.”

  “Two of my men will stay behind to watch the convent for a few days to make sure nothing happens.” His grip tightened around her upper arms, forcing her to heed his words. “You’re free, Bella. You aren’t going back there.”

  The fierceness in his voice touched something inside her. She blinked up at him. It took a moment for his words to penetrate. Free. Dear God, she was free! For so long she’d dreamed of this moment; now that it was actually here it didn’t seem real. Or maybe she wouldn’t let it seem real. Maybe she was scared that something might happen to force her back. Lachlan’s words had been aimed right at that fear. How was it that he seemed to understand her feelings before she did?

  Because he’s been there. The jolt of realization reverberated through her. He’d been imprisoned, too. Their eyes held in shared understanding. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t seem to find the words. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  It seemed ironic to be thanking him for rescuing her when she’d blamed him for putting her there for so long. Bella was not yet ready to absolve him of guilt in that regard, but he’d saved her from a lifetime of imprisonment, and for that alone, he deserved her thanks.

  He gave her a terse nod, his uncomfortable expression making her think he saw the irony as well. “Come,” he said, leading her deeper into the forest. “The others are waiting for us.”

  By “others” Bella assumed at least a dozen men, perhaps a score. She should have known better. They reached a small clearing in the trees beside a burn, where his men waited for them with horses. Her rescue party consisted of only five warriors, although admittedly they were an imposing-looking lot. Lachlan, the man who’d posed as a laborer, another man she didn’t recognize, and two she did.

  A broad smile spread across her face and she felt the first prickle of tears. The last time she’d seen them was at Kildrummy Castle. She’d assumed they’d suffered the same fate as Nigel Bruce. Being forced to watch Nigel’s vicious execution was one of the lowest points of her captivity. The murder of that golden knight would haunt her forever.

  She rushed forward, grasping their hands in hers. “Robbie! Sir Alex! It is so good to see you.”

  Robbie Boyd and Sir Alex Seton returned her smiles and greeting. Sir Alex spoke first. “It is good to see you as well, my lady.”

  Two years had wrought changes in the young knight. The fresh-faced handsome and gallant youth had been hardened by war and tragedy. Their fears about his brother Christopher’s fate two years ago had been realized. Alex’s famous brother—one of Bruce’s closest companions—had been executed by the first King Edward not long after the battle of Methven. Christina Bruce, still imprisoned in a convent in England, had lost yet another husband.

  Robbie Boyd looked the same. He was still the strongest-looking man she’d ever seen. Big as a mountain, every inch stacked with heavy muscle, the dark-haired warrior looked as if he could take on the entire English army and win.

  “MacLean. Lamont,” Lachlan said, introducing the final two men. “Lady Isabella MacDuff.”

  More Highlanders, she realized. Bruce seemed to have surrounded himself with them. Not surprising, she supposed. Highlanders were a big, fierce lot, and these two were no exception.

  MacLean, the man who’d pulled her from the carriage, had the tough, grizzled look of a man who lived on the battlefield. Of similar height to Lachlan, but with a leaner build, his dark-blond hair fell in disheveled waves to a jaw that hadn’t seen a razor in some time. But behind the scruffy beard, his eyes were sharp blue and his features surprisingly refined and chiseled.

  The other man, Lamont, was also unusually tall and broad-shouldered (she’d begun to see a pattern amongst Robert’s men), with short, dark hair, light eyes, and a relatively clean-shaven jaw.

  MacLean had exchanged his laborer’s clothing for the padded war coat and dark leather chausses worn by the other men. They all wore heavy, dark cloaks to cover the various weapons strapped to them. There was no coat of arms or other insignia to identify them, which was understandable as they were in enemy territory.

  Bella greeted the men and thanked them for their help.

  Lachlan went to one of the horses, retrieving something from one of the leather bags tied to the saddle.

  “Here,” he said, handing her a pile of wool. “Put these on. They aren’t fancy, but they’re clean.” She took one look at the clothes and gaped at him in disbelief. “You want me to wear breeches?”

  He shrugged as if it were nothing. “You will attract less notice as a lad—especially if we come across any soldiers. Make sure you tuck your hair well up in the cap.”

  She wanted to argue, but what he said sounded reasonable. Being dressed like a lad was a better disguise than a black veil.

  “There’s an old forester’s cottage over there,” he said, pointing through the trees behind her. “You can change and have something to eat. Try to get some rest while you can. We’ll leave as soon as it is dark. With so many English around, we don’t want to take any chances.”

  Bella looked at him in shock. She thought he’d understood. “I’m not going back to Scotland. Not yet.”

  The men looked at her in surprise. Except for Lachlan. He knew exactly what she wanted to do. His piercing gaze held perfectly steady. Unflinching. Unmovable. Prepared to do battle. She didn’t have to look into those ruthless eyes or glance at the wall of steely muscles to know that he wasn’t a man accustomed to losing.

  “No,” he said in a voice that brokered no argument.

  The terse, autocratic refusal—without explanation and without even considering what she had to say—stung. She was tired of letting men decide her fate. God knew, they’d done a horrendous job of it. She’d been waiting too long for this. She wasn’t leaving until she saw her daughter. Not with her so close. Let him try to stop her.

  The pride that had been both her bane and her savior flared to life. She tilted her chin, every inch the regal countess to his brutish brigand. He wasn’t her husband; he had no authority over her. “I am not one of your men to order about.”

  Her attempt to put him in his place only served to harden his resolve. It was almost as if she could see the wall of steel going down around him. A wall that nothing she could say or do would penetrate.

  “Wrong, my lady.” She didn’t miss the lilt of mockery in his gravelly voice. “The king put me in charge. It’s my duty to get you to safety, and this time I damned well intend to see it finished. If you want to risk your life to see your daughter, do it on someone else’s watch.”

  See it finished. Her heart stalled. It wasn’t just the mission he was talking about. It was her. He wanted to be finished with her. It seemed he’d been trying to do that from the start.

  She ignored the foolish pinch in her chest. She was just as eager to be rid of him.

  Before she could argue further—the matter apparently decided—he turned and walked away.

  Conscious of the eyes upon her, Bella bit back an angry retort. Clutching the scandalous garments in her arms, she stomped off in the direction of the cottage.

  But if Lachlan MacRuairi thought this was over, he was dead wrong.

  He knew she wouldn’t give up that easily. Less than an hour later, Lachlan was seated on a rock at the edge