The Viper Read online

  Why couldn’t he shake the feeling that something was wrong?

  He knew why. He was too damned happy, and he didn’t trust it. Happiness made him wary. And tentative. He didn’t want anything to screw it up.

  By unspoken agreement, he and Bella had avoided talking about the future for the same reasons. She needed to ensure her daughter’s safety first, and he needed to ensure hers. There would be time when this was over. But the memories of what had happened the last time he’d mentioned a future still stung.

  She was right. He was more conventional than he’d realized. He wanted her as his wife. But she loved him. It would have to be enough for now.

  “It’s not getting you in that I’m worried about,” he replied. “It’s getting you out. What if one of the nuns notices something and decides to look a little closer? What if Comyn does something? I don’t trust him.”

  His words seemed to finally have the desired chilling effect. She sobered. “It’s worth the risk, Lachlan. I have to try to do this.” She put his hand on his cheek. How quickly he’d become used to the tender touch. To crave it.

  “My vows—Margaret’s vows—will protect me. And if not, I have you.”

  God, he wanted to be deserving of that faith. “I’m only a man, Bella—not a magician. There are some barriers even I cannot get past. You better than anyone know that.”

  She paled, the memories of her confinement too fresh.

  He swore. “Ah hell, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want you to be cautious. Remember, you did promise to follow orders.”

  Her mouth quirked. “All right. You win. I’ll stay close to the cottage.”

  He smiled and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Now, there’s an agreeable lass.”

  She made a face. “Go. Before I become very disagreeable.”

  He smiled and gave her another kiss, this one much more fierce, before reluctantly taking his leave.

  As the convent was only a couple of miles away, he traveled on foot. This way he would attract less notice in the event anyone was nearby. He picked up the pace as he went, moving quickly through the trees and brush.

  On some missions the members of the Guard would run like this for hours, across uneven terrain, up and down hills, in snow, rain, and sun. In one of their first training exercises, that sadist MacLeod had demanded that each one of them run fully armed from his castle of Dunvegan along the coast to the northern point of the Waternish Peninsula—a distance of about fifteen miles—in two hours. He’d let them rest all of five minutes before ordering them to run back.

  Raised on the sea, and used to the quick Viking style attack of his forebearers, running came about as naturally to Lachlan as riding did to MacKay. The blasted Highlander could run for days. Though Lachlan had hated every minute of the training, he had to admit the endurance and speed had proved useful more times than he’d like to remember.

  Now he could run for hours without thinking about it. But he’d still sure as hell rather be in a boat.

  He slowed as he neared the convent. St. Mary de Mount Carmel was situated in a small forested glen in a remote area on the outskirts of town. Though it was quiet, and nothing appeared out of the ordinary, he intended to be damned careful.

  He told himself it was just like any other mission. But it wasn’t. He had Bella to worry about.

  Emerging from the edge of the tree line, he scanned the area around the small walled enclosure. The moon was full, providing plenty of light. At least it did for Lachlan, who had unusually keen vision at night.

  The convent consisted of three main buildings around a central cloister. To protect the nuns from the outside world, a ten-foot-high wall and a ditch had been built around the main buildings. But without guards and with only a locked gate to prevent entry, it was more for privacy than a defensive barrier. Hell, even an Englishman could breech these paltry defenses.

  Lachlan figured his biggest problem was going to be staying hidden once he was inside. A man in a convent would stand out. The dark robe would help him blend into the darkness, but nothing could hide his size. And unlike other missions, he couldn’t use his blade to cover any mishaps or surprises.

  There were few things he refused to do, but killing women—nuns, no less—was one of them.

  He waited in the darkness, watching and listening. Finally, about a half-hour after he’d arrived, the bell rang.

  It was what he was waiting for. The call to evening prayers. All the women would be in one place.

  He waited about ten more minutes, making sure everyone would be inside the church, and then made his move. He picked the darkest area of the castle—in this case the east side, which was shaded by the trees and mountain behind—and came out into the open. He’d be visible for about a hundred yards after he left the safety of the trees.

  Dashing across, he made it without incident to the wall. Using gaps in the stones and jagged edges of the rock as finger- and toeholds, he climbed up a few feet until he could grip the top edge. From there he lifted himself up—not an easy feat, loaded down with armor and weapons. But pulling yourself up from a dead hang was another one of MacLeod’s favorite training exercises.

  Lying flat on the two-foot-wide platform, he stilled, getting his bearings. He was above what he suspected was the dormitory where the nuns slept. To his left in the center was the church, and opposite was the refectory.

  He scanned the area for any sign of movement. Seeing nothing, he dropped down inside. As he wasn’t familiar with the duration of church liturgies—hired swords didn’t tend to spend a lot of time at church—he didn’t know how much time he had. Moving quickly, he crossed the cloister, passing through what had to be a garden for the kitchens, before ducking behind an arched column of the walkway connecting the church to the refectory.

  From here, he took some time to find the best position from which to watch the nuns emerge from the building. He needed to find Margaret as quickly as he could and follow her, or find a way to draw her away to speak to her privately. If he had to, he would wait until they slept and then sneak in and wake her.

  It was imperative that he find her tonight. Margaret, with her knowledge of the layout and schedule of the convent, would be able to provide the best time and place to make the temporary switch before the meeting with Comyn and Joan.

  Unfortunately, hiding places were limited. But he settled on a gap between the steepled roof of the church and the flat roof of the walkway. From the high position, he would have a good view of the nuns coming out of the chapel door. It was good and dark, with little chance of anyone seeing him. It also provided him with multiple escape routes, by traversing the roofs and dropping down on either side.

  Once he was in position, it was just a matter of waiting. About twenty minutes later he heard the door open and the nuns began to emerge.

  Although there was a nice beam of light from a torch to illuminate their faces as they stepped from the church, the women had a tendency to bow their heads as they walked. Combined with the veils and wimples that covered most of their faces, identifying Margaret was going to be more difficult than he’d realized.

  He’d begun to think he might have missed her, when he finally saw her. Luck was with him. Not only was she one of the last to leave, but she also walked alone. If he could find a way to get her attention—

  His head snapped around at a faint rustling sound behind him. His blood ran cold. He stilled, senses honed on the dark, surrounding countryside. It was probably an animal, nothing to worry about.

  But then he heard it again. More distinctly this time. Closer. Muffled footsteps and the soft slink of metal. Mail. A soft whinny. Horses.

  He muttered an oath. Something had gone wrong all right.

  It was a trap. They’d been waiting for him. Which meant …

  Bella! They must know she was free.

  How didn’t matter. Lachlan drew his swords out from under his cloak and crouched into position like a lion waiting to spring. He would get back