The Viper Read online

  MacRuairi looked at her like he wanted to strip her clothes off and lick every inch of her.

  The thought should disgust her. Instead it made her pulse quicken and her skin flare with heat. Whatever this feeling was, it seemed to be growing more persistent and demanding, and she didn’t like it.

  “Will Magnus know where to find us?” She could hear the slight breathiness in her voice.

  A dark look crossed his face at the mention of the other man’s name. He released her so suddenly, she wobbled, her legs feeling like jelly after the long ride. “Aye. He’ll find us. Be ready to go when he does.”

  He dismissed her with a curt nod and began to tend to the horses.

  She frowned, watching him, wondering what she’d done to spark his anger. For a moment they’d actually been conversing normally.

  She removed a few items from the pack tied to her saddle and started to walk down to the edge of the loch.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To wash.” When he seemed about to argue, she cut him off. “I’m not going to crown Scotland’s next king looking like a beggar woman.”

  He narrowed that eerie slitted gaze on her. “Be careful. Stay where I can see you.”

  Bella was glad her back was already to him so he couldn’t see her blush. She intended to get good and clean and had no intention of letting him watch.

  She quickly tended to her more pressing need, and after a quick glance around, removed her clothing. Gritting her teeth, she jumped into the freezing loch.

  She was in and out in no more than two minutes, washing her hair as best she could with the thin sliver of soap MacKay had given her, and then using a cloth to scrub as much of her skin as she could reach.

  “Countess!”

  She winced; he sounded furious.

  “I’m here,” she said, frantically rubbing her hair with a fresh cloth and then drying herself as best she could with the now-sopping toweling. “Just give me a minute.”

  Her body wracking with shivers, she reached for her chemise. But before she could slip it over her head, someone grabbed her from behind.

  The fleeting thought that it might be MacRuairi was gone the instant she inhaled. For a brigand, MacRuairi seemed to have an unusual penchant for cleanliness. He always smelled … nice. Warm and leathery, with a subtle masculine spice. This man smelled like sweat and stale onions.

  Dear God, she’d been captured!

  Her blood ran cold, and terror jumped inside her, her senses sharpening with awareness.

  She was painfully aware of her nakedness, but her first impulse was escape. She tried to kick and scream, but the man had his hand over her mouth and his other arm locked around her waist as he dragged her deeper into the woods.

  “Don’t make it harder on yourself than it already is, my lady,” he warned in a harsh whisper. “The earl is eager to see you.” He laughed. “Though I wager he’ll be surprised to see so much of you.” Bella stilled, hearing something in his voice. She knew it wasn’t a mistake when his gauntleted hand slid up to squeeze her breast.

  An entirely different kind of fear ran through her.

  “Oops,” he whispered. She tried to wrench away from his disgusting touch, but it only made his hand squeeze harder. “I can see why your husband is so anxious to get you back. I’ve never seen tits like these. If you weren’t married to Buchan, I’d take my reward right now.”

  Suddenly, she jerked toward the sound behind her. Her heart dropped, hearing the unmistakable clang of steel on steel.

  Her captor had heard it as well. “After the rest of my men take care of the rebel, you can scream all you want.”

  Oh God, Lachlan! The pang in her chest was surprisingly strong.

  He wasn’t the man she would have chosen to escort her, but the thought that he was fighting for his life—or possibly already dead—right now proved … distressing. Suprisingly distressing.

  Bella went slack, as if the fight had gone out of her. Even if MacRuairi couldn’t help her, she had no intention of allowing this man to take her back to her husband. She would fight until she couldn’t.

  Her apparent submission worked. That, and the fact that the forest had suddenly gone quiet resulted in her captor loosening his hold.

  She had her opportunity and took it. She bit down as hard as she could on his meaty hand, stomped her heel on his instep, and thrust her elbow deep into his beefy belly.

  Caught unaware, he let go with a grunt, more from the shock than the force of the blows.

  She lunged toward the nearest gap in the trees, knowing she had only a few seconds before he recovered.

  “You little bit—”

  The rest of his curse was cut off by a sickening thud.

  She chanced a glance behind her and saw him teetering like a big oak tree about to fall, the hilt of a dagger protruding from his neck.

  Before he’d hit the ground, MacRuairi emerged soundlessly from the trees. He bent over the dying man, pulled out the dagger, and drew it across his throat with cool efficiency, putting a decisive end to the threat.

  His gaze found hers through the filter of leaves, branches, and bracken. “Are you all right?” His voice was surprisingly thick. It made her feel the strange urge to cry the way she had as a little girl when her mother asked her the same thing after something horrible had happened.

  Her throat tight with emotion, she could only nod.

  “It’s safe now; you can come out.”

  The rush of relief that hit her was so profound that Bella felt tears spring to her eyes. She stepped into the clearing.

  He took one look at her and went as rigid as stone. She’d forgotten she was naked until that moment. His eyes never left hers, but she sensed he saw everything.

  Still, she would have run to him. Done something incredibly foolish and launched herself into the warm solidness of his chest and arms, wanting nothing more than to feel safe. But the look in his eyes stopped her.

  If she thought she’d seen him angry before, it was clear she hadn’t. His mouth was white, his jaw was clenched in a tight line, and his eyes were as cold and hard as chips of green ice. She could see his hand squeezing around the hilt of the dirk he still held. Every muscle in his body seemed drawn up tight, rigid with rage. She couldn’t look away from the muscle flexing ominously below his jaw.

  There was something infinitely more dangerous about his cold control than the hot rage she’d met with before.

  What was wrong with him?

  She shrank back, but in two long strides he was at her side.

  Taking her by the elbow, he hauled her up against the hard muscular wall of his chest. Heaven help her, she felt every ridge, every plane, every hard shard of muscle. Her heart pounded, not just with fear.

  “If you’d wanted a man to help you bathe, you only had to ask.” She gasped, shocked by his accusation. “I told you not to leave my sight.” He was shaking her. “Why did you sneak away? What did you think you were doing?”

  A ball of tears rose in her throat and burned behind her eyes. She didn’t understand why he was so angry. He sounded just like her husband. Yelling at her. Accusing her. Bullying her. “I just wanted to get clean. I didn’t think—”

  “You didn’t think at all. God damn it, don’t you know what could have happened? You could have been killed!”

  He shouted the last, the sound lingering in the thick forest air. It seemed to shock him out of his rage.

  He dropped her as if scalded.

  They stood there staring at each other in silence for a long heartbeat. Her chest rose and fell with the unevenness of her breath. He didn’t appear to notice, but to her shame, her nipples tightened and her breasts filled with a strange heaviness. He flinched as if with pain, but recovered quickly.

  When he spoke, his voice was once again even and dispassionate. Indifferent. Not laced with … fear? Nay, it couldn’t have been fear. Fear would mean he cared. But Lachlan MacRuairi was incapable of caring about anyone.