The Viper Read online

  Boyd looked at him slyly over the flames of the fire. “You never did say what happened back in Peebles.”

  Lachlan quirked a brow lazily, poking the blunted iron nail in the hole. “I didn’t think I needed to explain. I was taken by surprise.”

  “Hmm,” Boyd said, studying him with a considered expression on his face. “I can’t remember the last time you were taken by surprise.”

  Boyd was fishing, damn him. The arse had bloody well guessed what had happened, but Lachlan gave no indication he knew what Boyd was talking about. “It’s been known to happen once or twice,” Lachlan said dryly. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”

  Suddenly, Boyd sat back in shock, staring at him as if he’d just glimpsed the Holy Grail. “My God, you like her!” He shook his head with disbelief. “I never thought I’d see the day, but you really like her.”

  Lachlan shot him a warning glare. “Of course I like her. How could I not? After what she’s been through? She’s a damned hero, didn’t you know?”

  That was part of the problem. She was a hero and he was a notorious, bastard mercenary who had more men hunting him than he could count. Her safety depended on anonymity; with him she would always be in danger.

  “So does this mean you’ve reconsidered?”

  Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Boyd shrugged. “With you and Lady Isabella … I thought you might be thinking of sticking around a little longer.”

  Lachlan stilled. For a moment he wondered …

  Nay, it was impossible. Anger rose inside him. Damn Boyd for trying to confuse him! He didn’t need this shite.

  “Just because I want to fuck her doesn’t mean I’m going to forget what I’ve worked for for three years. When the king holds his council, I’ll have my reward. Why the hell would I stay?”

  Ten years ago he’d had everything ripped away from him. Now he had his chance to get some of it back. He’d have a home, a place to call his own, and be truly independent for the first time in his life. Answering to no one. Being responsible for no one. With no ties and debts left to pay. That was the only freedom for which he’d fought.

  “You’re a real arse, Viper. The lady deserves better.” On that they could agree. “But you know what I think? I think she’s gotten to you. Though hell if I know what she could possibly see in you.”

  She didn’t see anything in him. There was nothing to see. “God’s blood, Raider, when did you start sounding like my cousin?”

  If any more of the Highland Guard fell “in love”—whatever the hell that meant—Lachlan wouldn’t need to leave; he’d swipe a dirk across his own throat just to not have to listen any longer to the blathering virtues of having a wife. Someone to take care of.

  Someone to take care of him.

  Someone who cared about whether he lived or died.

  He felt a strange tightening in his chest, then pushed it harshly away. Who in the hell would want that?

  Suddenly, he turned at the sound of the door opening. Bella marched through, a determined glint in her eye.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing anything?”

  He and Boyd exchanged guilty glances, both of them wondering how long she’d been there. From her too-blank expression, he suspected longer than he wanted.

  “Nay, nothing, my lady,” Boyd said. “Is there something you needed?”

  She lifted her chin. If it quivered a little, Lachlan told himself it was the flickering firelight. But it didn’t stop the suffocating press of conscience against his chest or the ridiculous urge to pull her in his arms and tell her he didn’t mean what he’d just said.

  He did mean it, damn it. Maybe he wished he hadn’t said it so crudely, but it was the truth. He wanted her, but a woman wasn’t going to distract him. Not this time.

  “I have some salve.” She came over to Lachlan. “To tend your wounds.”

  He glanced up at her, surprised and discomfited by her thoughtfulness. He wasn’t used to having anyone worry about him. It would be easy to …

  Damn it, she was making him soft. He didn’t need anyone. He waved her off. “I’m fine.”

  She looked down at him, her mouth pulled in a tight line of frustration, exasperation, and maybe even a little hurt. “Nails to the cross, Lachlan! Would it kill you to let someone take care of you for once?”

  He arched a brow. Nails to the cross? She’d been around him long enough to pick up something better than that. Before he could reply that it might, she set down the armful of items she’d brought with her and turned to him with her hands on her hips. Shapely hips that were revealed all too well in those torturous breeches.

  “I’m doing this even if I have to get Robbie to hold you down.” She eyed the hulking warrior. “He certainly looks strong enough to do the job.”

  “Plenty strong, my lady,” Boyd chimed in with a wink.

  Bastard. Lachlan didn’t need to look at him to know he was enjoying this. There were few men who would dare make that claim, but as Boyd was one of them, Lachlan decided not to put it to the test.

  He put down the lock he had in his hand and smiled mockingly. “As you please, my lady.”

  She mumbled something under her breath that sounded remarkably like “why I bother.”

  Tilting his head toward the light, she inspected the gash on his temple. Her touch was soft and gentle. It felt good. A little too good. He jerked away.

  She gave him an impatient scowl and pulled him right back. “You bathed,” she said.

  Lachlan heard a snicker coming from the opposite side of the fire. He shot Boyd a sidelong glare, but his dark head was down, pretending to be focused on his task. “I don’t like being dirty.”

  He blamed the defensiveness in his tone on Boyd.

  “I remember,” she said softly, so Boyd couldn’t hear. “It’s nice. It was one of the first things I noticed about you. You smelled too clean for a brigand.”

  She’d bathed, too. He was trying not to notice how good she smelled, but she was standing too bloody close to him. His body heated with awareness. If Boyd weren’t sitting there, he knew he’d be tempted to pull her onto his lap and take another stab at what they’d barely begun two nights ago.

  “It’s good,” she added, running her fingers through his hair by his temple. “You managed to wash away most of the dirt and blood from the wound.”

  She reached down to pick up a swathe of linen and a clay pot.

  He smothered a groan. Those damned lad’s clothes were going to kill him. When she’d bent over in front of him, the gap in the linen beneath the tie at the neck opened, giving him an eyeful of one generously curved, softly rounded breast.

  He was a man; he couldn’t help himself. His eyes fastened on the place in the linen where her nipples jutted against the thin fabric. Jesus. His mouth watered, seeing the outline of delectable, hard, puckering flesh.

  Kiss her all over. A promise he’d made to himself that he’d broken when Comyn’s men had discovered them. But he was remembering it now. He wanted to strip her naked. Fill his hands with all that creamy flesh, bring it to his mouth, and suck each delicate pink nipple until it was berry red and throbbing tautly against his tongue.

  He shifted, feeling a not-so-slow thickening in his braies. She was bent over him, her body achingly close, torturing him with her gentle touch. Her fingers smoothed the ointment over his wound, drawing small, caressing circles that only increased his ache.

  Finally, when he didn’t think he could bear her closeness, her touch, the warm fresh scent of her another minute, she wrapped a clean cloth around his head and stepped back.

  He nearly sighed with relief.

  Her flushed cheeks told him he was not the only one affected. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “Nay—”

  “He has a cut on his arm and some nasty-looking bruises on his stomach,” Boyd volunteered.

  Lachlan shot him a death glare. He was going to kill Boyd for this. The bloody bastard knew exactly wha