MacKay stared back at him. “Aye, you got her. But if I were you I’d watch my back for a while.”
On that, at least, they could agree.
Gordon had taken off the plaid that he wore around his shoulders to blend into the night and twisted it into a thick rope between his hands, squeezing the water from the rain onto the dirt floor at his feet. “You were right about something else,” he said to Lachlan in a low voice. “This is no place for a child.” He shivered. “Damn, I wish we could light a fire.”
They couldn’t risk it. Though Lachlan hoped they’d put distance between them and Buchan, they couldn’t be sure how long it would take for him to discover his wife had fled.
Realizing he no longer felt two holes burning in his back, Lachlan stole a glance toward the back of the cave and saw that the countess had taken his advice to rest while she could. They wouldn’t be staying for long.
Gordon followed his eyes. “She’s got a lot of courage,” he said with obvious admiration. “I wonder why she’s doing it?” Lachlan had wondered the same thing. “A remarkable woman.”
Lachlan scoffed sharply. “I think her husband might disagree with you.”
“Buchan’s a belligerent arse. Almost as much of a spiteful tyrant as Edward. He’s old enough to be her father, and she’s …” His voice drifted off and Lachlan felt an irrational twinge of annoyance, knowing exactly where Gordon’s mind was headed. The same place it did every time Lachlan looked at her: to his cock. Which was why he avoided looking at her. “There’s something about her that’s hard to put into words.”
Sensual. Seductive. Cock-hardening.
Gordon shrugged, giving up. “Seems a waste on an old man. Buchan doesn’t deserve such a boon.”
Lachlan quirked his brow. “So youth and beauty are an excuse for betrayal?” Time to test his theory. “I hope you are as forgiving of your wife.” Though he was speaking to Gordon, he was watching MacKay and saw the big Highlander still. “It’s not too late to reconsider those vows, you know. You won’t be married for …”
“No date has been set,” Gordon filled in. “We were betrothed just before I left for training on Skye.”
MacKay hadn’t moved. Usually when the subject of Gordon’s impending nuptials arose, he immediately got up and walked away.
Maybe Lachlan had guessed wrong.
“Then you have plenty of time to get out of it,” Lachlan said. “Take my word for it, marriage is a black plague on the soul; a wife will only make you miserable.”
Gordon was impossible to rile. He only smiled. “One bad grape doesn’t sour the whole barrel of wine. Not all women are like your wife.”
“Thank God,” Lachlan said with a shudder. Gordon was right. Bad shite happened to everyone. He didn’t dwell on Juliana’s betrayal, but it had cost too much for him to forget. And it sure as hell didn’t mean he ever wanted to jump back in the cesspit again.
Gordon smiled, shaking his head. “Besides, I couldn’t get out of it even if I wanted to. The betrothal contract is as binding as a marriage contract. I’m honor bound to go through with it.”
Lachlan made a harsh sound that was supposed to be a laugh. “Honor has nothing to do with marriage.” He fixed his gaze on MacKay again. “What’s she like, your betrothed? Ugly as a sow or fair like the little countess over there?”
Gordon shrugged. “I don’t know.”
That surprised him. “You’ve never met her?”
Gordon shook his head. “It was arranged by our fathers.” Both of whom, Lachlan knew, opposed Bruce. “I fostered with her brother,” he added by way of explanation.
Perhaps Lachlan hadn’t been wrong after all. MacKay started to get up. But Lachlan stopped him. “The Sutherlands are friends of yours, aren’t they, Saint?” he said sarcastically. Gordon’s betrothed was Helen of Moray, the daughter of the Earl of Sutherland, and there were few feuds longer or more intense than that between the MacKays and the Sutherlands. “Have you ever seen the bride?”
MacKay’s hand tightened around the hilt of the eating knife he still held in his hand. Interesting.
“Aye,” he said with all the enthusiasm of pulling teeth.
Gordon didn’t hide his surprise. “You never said anything.”
MacKay shrugged indifferently, though Lachlan suspected he was anything but. “It didn’t seem important.”
Lachlan sensed the weak spot and went in for the kill. “So what do you think, Saint? Is Gordon here going to need a few tankards of whisky to stomach fucking his bride, or is he going to be eager to plunge his cock between her soft, velvety thighs?”
For a moment Lachlan wondered if he’d gone too far. MacKay looked as if he might kill him. But the look was gone so quickly, he could have imagined it.
He hadn’t, though.
“You’re a crude bastard, MacRuairi. I don’t know why the hell Bruce thought you could be a part of this team. You’re poison.”
Lachlan smiled. “That’s exactly why he wanted me.” Silent and deadly. The perfect weapon.
He would have said more, but Lachlan saw the troubled look on Gordon’s face and let the subject drop.
Bella woke with a start. She looked around, seeing the unfamiliar stone walls, and for a moment didn’t know where she was.
Then suddenly the memories returned, and all the despair and heartache of the night before crashed over her in a fresh, heavy wave.
Keep her safe. Please keep my daughter safe.
Buchan wouldn’t hurt her. Not physically at least. Joan was the one good thing that was between them. Her husband’s angry tirades, his jealousy, his irrational suspicions had never spilled over to their daughter.
Buchan cared for the quiet girl with the big, soulful eyes as much as he could care for anyone. Joan bore the mark of her father in her dark hair, blue eyes, and classically shaped features.
Thank God.
Her husband had accused her of many horrible things over the years, but bearing a bastard wasn’t one of them.
Bella had just turned sixteen when she’d had Joan—a child still herself. She could remember sitting up in the big wooden bed, holding her babe, and waiting for her husband to come see the tiny miracle bundled in her arms.
She might have forgiven him everything at that moment. Even the brutal way he’d taken her virginity on the first night of their marriage. At fifteen she’d been too young to bed. But he was like a dog in heat and couldn’t wait to rip off her clothes, to throw her down on the bed, to force her legs apart and plunge his hardened member inside her with no care for her innocence or youth.
To think before they married, she’d thought him so handsome with his dark hair and light eyes. Older, yes, but still in the prime of his manhood. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he’d been a knight for over twenty years. Knighted by King Alexander himself when he was only one-and-twenty. And he was strong, with a warrior’s thick, muscular body.
But she’d come to hate the physical strength that initially had attracted her. Hate the way he could dominate her so completely.
Still, she might have put aside the disappointment of her first year of marriage on the birth of their daughter if he’d shown one smidgen of kindness toward her. If he’d given one word of praise. If he’d looked at her with one hint of affection rather than possession and lust.
Instead he’d taken one look at her and said, “Perhaps I shall keep you with child. You’re as fat as an old cow. No one will want you like this.”
His words had killed any thoughts of happiness. From that moment on, Bella knew exactly what her marriage was: She was his whore and he was her jealous master.
She’d fought back the only way she could, by submitting to his demands with stoic indifference, as was her duty. The more he tried to humiliate her—tried to provoke a response from her—the colder she became, until she stopped feeling anything.
But the hardest part was the jealousy and suspicion. It wasn’t her fault men looked at her. She dressed modestly, even severel
y. Arranged her hair in unflattering styles. But still he accused her of flirting. Of enticing men with her eyes and her smile.
She stopped going with him to court. Retreated to the background when other men came to visit. Kept her eyes downcast and never smiled. But he saw her efforts as furtive, accusing her then of sneaking off to meet imagined lovers.
No matter what she did, he accused. She grew tired of defending herself, and eventually stopped trying.
She dressed the way she wanted, wore her hair the way she wanted, and talked to other men if she wanted to. She grew deaf to his accusations and learned to live in a prison of suspicion, dreaming of the day she would be free of him.
But she’d never dreamed it would come to this.
She took what solace she could from the situation in the knowledge that no matter how much her husband would hate her for what she’d done, he wouldn’t take it out on their daughter.
She hoped. But what would Joan think when she learned her mother had gone without a word? Buchan could be so cruel and calculating. So vengeful. She feared her husband would try to poison the girl’s mind against her. If only she’d told Joan her plans, she would know she hadn’t intended to leave her.
Bella sat up and shook off the exhaustion that the short nap had done little to alleviate. It was hard to relax when she knew her husband was out there somewhere looking for her. The knot of fear in her stomach that she’d had since leaving Balvenie was her constant companion.
He would be mad with rage. The fact that it had to do with Robert Bruce would make it worse. Her threats to geld him when he slept if he ever hit her again wouldn’t forestall him this time.
Glancing around, she saw William Gordon huddled against the wall by the mouth of the cave. She followed the direction of his gaze and stiffened, seeing what had drawn his attention. Lachlan MacRuairi and Magnus MacKay were a short distance away, standing in a small clearing in the trees, and from the looks of it arguing. At least MacKay was arguing. MacRuairi wore a lazy smile on his face, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Her anger toward the brigand had not dulled any over the long, strenuous ride of the night before, and dawn brought no new light. God, she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Not much longer. The men said it would take two days of hard riding to reach Scone, which would get them there the night before the coronation.
Bella stood up and walked over to Gordon. Taking a seat on a small stone opposite him, she said, “Your friend doesn’t seem to like him very much.”
The young warrior broke out into a friendly smile. He was boyishly handsome, with floppy, light-brown hair, twinkling blue eyes, and straight white teeth. Under normal circumstances she would have thought him imposing, but compared to MacRuairi and MacKay he seemed far less physically intimidating.
Bella’s first impression had been of an affable, good-natured sort. The kind of man who liked everyone. An impression that was borne out by his next words.
“MacRuairi? Ah, he’s not as bad as he seems.”
Bella resisted the unladylike urge to snort, suspecting he was much worse.
“I’m afraid he didn’t get a chance to make a good first impression, but his hands were tied.”
Bella waved him off. “You don’t need to apologize for him. I just wonder that Robert would involve himself with a man of his ilk. Allying himself with a freebooting pirate and opportunist like Lachlan MacRuairi won’t endear him to any of the other nobles. I wonder how much it cost him to buy his loyalty—or rather, his temporary loyalty.”
All of a sudden, she stopped. Her skin flushed, tingling with heat, and her blood seemed to race a little faster through her veins.
Instinctively, she knew he was behind her.
“Not enough,” MacRuairi said flatly. He turned to Gordon. “Ready the horses. We’re leaving as soon as MacKay gets back.”
The young warrior bounded off to do his bidding.
She stood up, scanning his face and seeing nothing but sincerity. “So you don’t deny it?”
He met her gaze. He’d removed his helm, and in the cold light of dawn she had to admit he was an impressive sight—if your tastes ran to dark and dangerous brigands oozing virility, which, humiliatingly, hers appeared to. With his dark, wavy hair, striking green eyes, and chiseled, perfectly aligned features, he was sinfully handsome.
Even noticing it felt sinful. Because as much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, it wasn’t an abstract observation of the sort she’d made over the years when a handsome man had been allowed near her. The spike in her pulse, hitch in her breath, and prickle on her skin told her that.
Good God in heaven, what was wrong with her?
Perhaps her husband had been right. One night out of his prison, and her body was reacting like an awestruck young girl who’d seen her first handsome knight. Except Lachlan MacRuairi wasn’t a knight, and she was a grown woman who should know better.
It was disconcerting that she—or her body at least—could be so shallow. No matter how objectively pleasing to the eye, there was nothing remotely attractive about Lachlan MacRuairi.
“Why should I?” He shrugged matter-of-factly. “Money is as good a reason to fight as any. Better than most, actually.”
The man had no shame. “Do you care nothing about what is going on around you?”
His mouth curved in a wry smirk. “Oh, I care about a lot of things.”
She nudged her chin up disdainfully. “Things that aren’t gold and silver?”
“I’m partial to land as well.” His smile infuriated her, although why, she didn’t know. She wouldn’t expect a man loyal only to his purse to understand.
“Is there nothing you would fight for? Sacrifice for? What about integrity and beliefs? What about duty and responsibility? What about the good of your clan and Scotland?”
He laughed in a way that made her feel as if she’d just walked out of a convent. “God, you’re priceless, Countess! Such passion and conviction. But let’s see how well those lofty ideals of yours hold up in a month or two.”
Bella fisted her hands at her side so she wouldn’t give in to the childish urge to slap that condescending smirk off his face. His cynical, self-serving attitude was everything that was wrong with Scotland. “Don’t you believe in Robert? Don’t you think he can win?”
He shrugged indifferently. “Bruce has a chance if everything goes right. But it’s a gamble against a very powerful enemy.” He gave her a hard look. “Edward won’t be so forgiving of those who defy him.” His eyes slid over her coldly, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on her as heat spread over her skin. “Even pretty countesses.”
She flushed. “I know what I risk.”
If she didn’t fight for what she believed in, how could she expect anyone else to? If everyone were like him, they would never have a chance to rid Scotland of Edward’s grasping iron fist. Sometimes there were things bigger than yourself. This was one of them. She believed in Robert Bruce. Believed that Scotland should be freed from English domination, and that he was the man to do it.
What she was doing was right.
“Do you?” He gave her a long look. “We’ll see.”
He turned at the sound of an approaching rider. It was MacKay, and from the frown on his face, she could tell something was wrong.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said.
Though not as menacing-looking as Lachlan, the gruff warrior was equally imposing. But he wasn’t threatening—not in the way MacRuairi was. And he was one of the rare men who looked at her without the taint of lust in his eyes.
Lachlan swore. “Buchan?”
The big man nodded grimly. “Aye.”
“On our tail?” Gordon asked, coming up and leading the horses.
“Aye, and ahead of us. He has the road blocked about a half-mile from here.”
Bella tried to calm the sudden burst of panic fluttering in her chest. “But how did he find us?”
She’d directed her question to MacKay, but it wa
s Lachlan who answered. “He knew the road we’d take to Scone. Our path wouldn’t have been too hard to follow. I hoped the rain would help.” He looked back to the other two men. “He must have discovered her missing right away.”
A trickle of ice shivered down her spine. “So he knows where we are?”
“He’s guessing we’re in the area,” MacKay said.
“Then we will stay off the road and go in a different direction?”
Neither of the men said anything, and her heart took another jolt of fear. “What’s the problem?”
The brigand spoke first. “It isn’t that easy. There’s a river to the south and bogland to the north. With all the rain, it’s too dangerous to try to get the horses through.”
“So you chose to rest in a place where we have no escape?”
She’d directed her question to Lachlan, who, from what she could tell, was in charge. His expression didn’t change, but she knew her criticism had angered him. His golden-green eyes glowed even hotter.
“I stopped because the horses needed to rest and you were about ready to fall off your horse. This cave is hidden and is the only place I knew we’d be safe in the area. It’s also dry, which I assumed you’d appreciate.”
Her cheeks fired, knowing he was right. “So we’re trapped?”
“For now.”
How could he sound so calm, when she could feel hysteria beckoning? “That’s it? Don’t you have a plan?”
He smiled, actually smiled! If she weren’t so angry, she might have noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the edges. “Aye, to stay put.”
“For how long?” The coronation was only two days away.
“Until he gives up, or—” He stopped.
“Or what?” she demanded, not sure she wanted to know.
“Or gets too close.”
Three
It was dusk as Lachlan approached the cave. After a long day of scouting, following Buchan’s men to make sure they left, he knew he should be exhausted, but his body teemed with restlessness.
Though it would have been foolish to attempt to outrun Buchan’s men with the countess in tow and without extra horses, after nearly two days of waiting, he felt like one of King Edward’s menagerie lions in a very small cage. Not for the first time, he wished that he’d been the one to ride ahead to warn Bruce of the delay, rather than Gordon.
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