The Viper Read online

What was it about Bella MacDuff that made him lose his resolve? That made him want to do anything to make her happy?

  Damn it, this mission wasn’t going at all as he’d anticipated. Freeing her from prison was supposed to get her out of his system. For two years he’d been telling himself that when he got her out he’d stop thinking about her, stop driving himself half-crazed with the memories of kissing her. He’d told himself he’d only imagined the strange connection between them.

  It was his failure to protect her that explained his infatuation with her, he’d told himself.

  But he knew he was wrong. The connection was still there. And he wanted her just as badly—perhaps even more. Two years of built-up lust had taken its toll.

  It had become painfully clear that ignoring his desire for her—let alone trying to control it—wasn’t going to work.

  There was only one thing that was going to do that. He should seduce her and be done with it. But damn it, after what she’d been through, he couldn’t do it.

  It was a hell of a time for him to be plagued with a conscience.

  Grimacing, he forced his mind back to the task at hand. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking around with a giant target on his back.

  With all the guests who had descended on Roxburgh for the wedding, the village around the castle was a bustling hub of activity. Tents had been erected in every open space to house the extra servants and soldiers who had filled the village far beyond its normal capacity.

  Adding to the chaos, it was market day. Temporary stalls had been erected in front of carts where the farmers had brought their goods to sell or barter. Vendors of livestock, fish, fruit, vegetables, grain, every kind of spice you could imagine, cloth, jewels, leather goods, and even a sword-maker cried out their wares.

  It was just the kind of chaos and confusion Lachlan needed. His plan, if you could call it that, was to pose as a member of the bride’s family’s retinue. He’d had dealings with the Comyns before and figured his attempt to ferret out information on Bella’s daughter wouldn’t draw as much attention that way.

  Of course, it was those very dealings with the Comyns that made being here so dangerous. He hoped to hell he wasn’t unlucky enough to run into someone who would recognize him. He’d made a lot of enemies over the years—English and Scottish alike. At times like this, notoriety was damned inconvenient.

  Avoiding the men, he focused on the women, striking up general conversations about the excitement of the wedding and sliding in what he hoped were innocuous questions where he could.

  The comings and goings of the nobles at the castle were of great interest to the villagers—sightings of “Lord X” and “Lady Y” would be talked about for years—and he quickly learned the names of those who had already departed. Thankfully, none of the Comyns appeared to be among them. Hugh Despenser, one of the second King Edward’s current favorites, was rumored to be leaving this morning and the villagers were eager to catch a glimpse of the illustrious nobleman.

  Confident that Joan was still in the castle, he took his time to see what more he could find out. One of the women, a serving maid at the castle sent to purchase fresh vegetables for the midday feast, provided his first bit of useful information about Bella’s daughter, when she asked him whether he was serving one of the Comyn ladies staying in the constable’s tower. It gave him a place to start searching.

  But first he had to get in the castle.

  His skill at getting in and out of places without being seen had earned him the war name of Viper. But it wasn’t just a talent with locks and an ability to move stealthily through the shadows. It depended just as much on being able to read the situation and use it to his advantage. To see ways in and out that others didn’t. Chaos, crowds, and diversions had opened as many gates as his blade.

  He worked his way closer to the castle, waiting for the right opportunity. The level of scrutiny for those passing through the gate varied. In times of peace during daylight hours there was typically very little, and it was easy to pass to and from the village. But this was the Marches, a place that rarely saw peace, and he wasn’t going to take any chances. To avoid questions, he needed to slip past the porter.

  If Templar were here, it would be easy. Diversions were Gordon’s forte. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together.

  Lachlan was waiting for his opening when Despenser’s large retinue started to ride out. He was forced to stand aside with a large group of onlookers and let them pass.

  It took some time. Even if he hadn’t known who it was, the lord’s importance was evident by the size of his party. Lachlan counted at least a dozen heavily mounted knights in full armor and four times as many men-at-arms, most equipped with a horse and at least some mail.

  After this imposing show of force came the lord himself, dressed in robes of velvet as fine as a king’s and riding a magnificent stallion. Following Despenser were his household men and a handful of colorfully gowned and jeweled ladies, whom Lachlan assumed were family members.

  Marching behind the ladies were another score of men-at-arms. And finally, bringing up the rear, came the carts laden with trunks of clothing and household plate, and servants on foot. Lachlan wouldn’t have been surprised to see a menagerie of beasts in gilded cages.

  It was an impressive sight. All in all, about a hundred people made their way down the road that led from the castle to the village. Throngs of villagers lined the road, watching as the great lord passed, and the party slowed to give them a better view. When Despenser’s cavalcade reached the market, they slowed even further. A few of the ladies appeared to have been engaged by one of the more ardent salesmen.

  Lachlan shook his head. The English and their bloody entourages. It took them forever to go anywhere. He’d go mad having to travel at such a snail’s pace. The ability to move quickly was one of the reasons why he preferred to work alone.

  He frowned, realizing that it had been some time since he’d done so. And hell, as much as he hated to admit it, he’d gotten kind of used to working with the other members of the Highland Guard, either in small groups, as in the current mission, or all together, as in the recent battle against John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, at the Pass of Brander. Defeating Lorn, his former brother-in-law and the man who’d had him tortured for months in his pit prison hell—no matter that Juliana had lied to him, too—had been damned rewarding.

  Seeing Lorn dead would have been even more rewarding, but Lachlan had agreed to Ranger’s demand to let him live. Lachlan hadn’t liked it but had gone along with it nonetheless. Something he’d found himself doing more than once with the other members of the Highland Guard.

  He hadn’t expected it, but over the past few years, his fellow guardsmen had earned his grudging respect. If it weren’t for taking orders from MacLeod, he might almost be sorry to leave. But his agreed-upon service was complete. This was his last mission. As soon as he could collect his reward, he’d be gone.

  There was no reason for him to stick around. He wasn’t being paid to see this war to the end. Bruce had his crown for now—north of the Tay, at least. The inevitable battle with the English would come, but it wasn’t his fight. He stayed out of politics.

  But Bruce had made it interesting. He’d staged a comeback against nearly impossible odds. He still had a long way to go to victory, but he had a chance.

  With Despenser’s party stalled in the village, Lachlan was about to turn his attention back to the castle when a breeze caught the veil of one of the ladies, blowing it back in the wind like a streaming banner of crimson.

  A chill ran down his back.

  There was something about her profile, the assessing tilt of her head as she listened to the salesman who was holding a fistful of satin ribbons up to her hair, that was familiar to him. It reminded him of …

  His stomach sank.

  Bloody hell, it was Joan. He’d seen the girl only once—over two years ago. She’d been a child then. Now, she looked so much older than