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
her fourteen years that he hadn’t recognized her.
He’d almost missed her.
He didn’t stop to question why she was leaving with Despenser; all that mattered was that she was leaving. He closed the distance between them as fast as he could without making it obvious. If he wanted to try to pass her Bella’s note, his best chance was while the girl was talking to the merchant.
He looked around. If he could create a diversion …
His gaze fixed on the next stall, where a pig was tied to a farmer’s cart. Perfect. He’d untie the pig and pretend to give chase, steering it toward Joan.
He looked up. Damn, he’d better hurry. Despenser had apparently grown tired of waiting. He’d turned his horse around and come back to hurry the ladies.
Trying to determine his best course, Lachlan scanned the crowd around Joan just as he was about to untie the pig, when he noticed two people moving quickly through the crowd.
His blood froze in his veins. He swore, not wanting to believe it. But there was no mistake.
His fists clenched at his side. God’s blood, he would kill them both.
Forgetting all about the pig, he darted through the crowd, trying to cut them off before disaster struck.
He didn’t make it.
Thirteen
Bella couldn’t keep still. Anxiousness was eating away at her. Was Joan still in the castle? Was she all right? Would Lachlan be able to find her? What if he were caught?
As if the castle could answer her questions, she kept vigilant watch over the mighty stronghold after Lachlan left. If only they were a little closer. From her place on the hill, she could make out forms but not faces.
The side of the hill blocked the view to the village, so she had to wait for Lachlan to approach the gate. Even in the sea of leather war coats and brown wool cloaks, she was sure she would recognize him.
After over an hour passed and he still hadn’t appeared, however, she began to wonder whether she’d missed him.
Or maybe …
No, he wouldn’t lie to her again. Not about this. He would at least try.
Wouldn’t he? But what if he’d agreed to come not to help her, but to help Mary?
Seeing all those guards at the gate reminded her of the danger. She shouldn’t have asked him to take such a risk. But how could she not, when he was the only way to reach her daughter?
Good God, she was so anxious, she couldn’t think straight.
Her gaze darted frantically to the courtyard, where the large traveling party appeared to have reached its final preparations.
Where was he? What if Joan was among the party?
She was being ridiculous. Lachlan was right. She could be anywhere. Besides, Bella hadn’t seen anyone in the traveling party who looked familiar. Nor did she recognize the arms of the knights.
Her gaze swept over the crowd coming to a sudden halt. A group of finely gowned women appeared in the courtyard.
She stilled, feeling a strange tingle of awareness buzz down her spine. One of the ladies wore a dress of deep scarlet with a matching veil.
Bella gasped, her heart coming to a stunned stop. Her insides drained in a pool at her feet. She staggered, reaching for a nearby tree to steady her. Her legs had turned to jelly.
Red was Joan’s favorite color. It had been since her father remarked how well it looked on her as a young girl. With her dark hair, fair skin, and crimson lips, the bold color emphasized her daughter’s dramatic coloring.
It was Joan. She knew it was Joan.
And she was leaving.
Joan mounted her horse and started to follow the long procession out the gate. A bolt of panic shot through Bella.
She couldn’t just let her daughter go without seeing her. Her feet started moving of their own accord. All she could think was that she had to get closer. Just one look …
Following the path that Lachlan had taken, she shot through the trees. A moment later she heard someone hard on her heels.
Sir Alex grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. They were alone, as Boyd had taken the watch. “Where the hell do you think you are going?” The young knight’s face clouded with embarrassment, realizing what he’d said, he amended, “my lady.”
Bella didn’t care about blasphemies. Her only thought was to reach Joan before she was gone.
“My daughter is leaving.”
He frowned. “How can you be sure?”
“I saw her.”
He shook his head. “Not from that distance. It’s too far to make out her face.”
Bella’s heart was racing. She didn’t have time for this. By time she made it down to the road through the village, Joan would be gone.
She tried to pull away. “I didn’t need to see her face. It was her. I’m certain of it.” She looked into his skeptical eyes. “Don’t you think I’d know my own daughter?”
She heard the rising hysteria in her voice but didn’t care.
“It’s been a few years,” Sir Alex said gently. “She’s probably changed—”
“It’s her,” she insisted, tired of patronizing men, even those who meant well. “I know it’s her.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Please, Sir Alex, I must … I have to see her face. I won’t get too close.” She gazed up at him imploringly, too frantic to care that she was begging him and taking advantage of his chivalrous nature.
He looked torn. “MacRuairi won’t like it. He wanted you to wait here until he got back.”
“But he doesn’t know she’s leaving. He won’t have found her so quickly. He’s going to miss her.” She looked over her shoulder, seeing the party moving through the gate. “Please,” she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks as emotion rose inside her. “There isn’t much time. I can’t let her go without looking at her face.” Her voice caught. “I haven’t seen her in three years.”
Sir Alex swore again. “Viper is going to kill me,” he said under his breath. “Very well, but don’t move an inch from my side.”
Bella would have thrown her arms around him and hugged him, but there wasn’t time. She raced down the path, the grim-faced knight at her side.
When they reached the village, she feared she was too late. The crowd was so thick, it was hard to see the road.
Sir Alex grabbed her arm before she could go farther. “We stay here,” he said firmly.
Bella rose on her tiptoes, trying to see over the deep crowd of villagers, but it was useless. She wasn’t tall enough and the crowd was too dense.
She took a quick look around. The lad’s garb was working; no one was paying any attention to her.
She couldn’t stay here. But it was clear she’d pushed the young knight as far as he would go. Vowing that she would apologize later, the moment Sir Alex lightened his hold, she bolted through the crowd.
She received a few “heys” and “watch it, lads,” but eventually she made it to the edge of the road where she saw that the procession had come to a stop. The loud disgruntled voices behind her she attributed to complaints about Sir Alex, whom she could hear plowing through the crowd in pursuit. Unlike a small lad, the big warrior’s stepping in front of them wasn’t appreciated.
He came up beside her. She didn’t need to look at him to sense the fury emanating from him. “You and I are going to have a long talk if we make it out of this,” he murmured under his breath.
Bella bit her lip, knowing she would feel guilty later, but right now she was too busy trying to find—
Her stomach knifed. A soft cry tore from her throat as her gaze fastened on the achingly familiar face of the lady in the scarlet gown.
It was her daughter. She’d known it, but seeing her face …
Her heart clenched. It was different.
Joan stood not a dozen yards away, deep in conversation with a merchant who was holding a stream of colorful ribbons to her head. She appeared to be amused by the old man’s spirited attempt to sell her something, and a reserved smile tugged the edges of her mouth.
Smiling. Joan was smili
ng.
Some of the fear Bella had been holding inside let go. From all appearances her daughter was well.
But God, how she’d changed! The last time Bella had seen her, Joan had been like a colt: all long limbs and slightly too-large features, charmingly awkward as she stood poised on the cusp of womanhood.
But she’d still been a girl. Now she looked …
Bella’s chest squeezed. She looked like a young woman. Though only four-and-ten, Joan appeared much older. The large features of girlhood now seemed refined and perfectly at place in her gently sculpted, heart-shaped face. With her big blue eyes, pale skin, dark hair, and regal features, her daughter had become a beauty.
The resemblance to her father was marked. In fact, except for her eyes—which were dark blue and wide set like hers—she looked nothing like Bella. She was even built differently. Whereas Bella was of middling height and until recently had always tended toward the curvaceous, Joan was tall and slim, her curves undeniably feminine but more modest in proportions.
Bella’s heart tugged, realizing just how much she’d lost. More than she ever knew. Her daughter had become a woman, and she’d missed every blessed minute of it. Though achingly familiar in so many ways, the woman before her was essentially a stranger.
Sir Alex must have heard her cry and followed the direction of her stare. “Is that her?”
Something in his voice caused her to look away from her daughter a moment. The knight appeared stunned.
“Aye,” Bella whispered in a deep voice. “It’s her.”
“She’s a beauty.”
Bella frowned, hearing the note of masculine appreciation in his tone. “She’s four-and-ten,” she replied, giving him a sharp look before turning back to her daughter. But Bella had been only a year older when she’d married Buchan.
The knight grimaced. “She looks older.”
A man had come over and started to talk to Joan and the two young women standing with her. Bella didn’t recognize him, but from his fine clothing and jewels, she knew he must be someone important. Who was he to her daughter?
The Viper Page 21