The Viper

by Monica McCarty

  “Aye, he is,” she said fiercely.

  “Is he worth your daughter’s life?” Despenser interjected softly.

  The breath left her. She froze in abject horror. She turned on William. “You would do this? You would harm your brother’s daughter to capture one man?”

  “He isn’t just one man,” Despenser snapped. “He can lead us to many others. Men the king will be extremely grateful to know the identities of.”

  She should have known it would be Despenser’s political ambitions at work. She pretended not to know what he was talking about and continued to stare accusingly at William.

  “Of course I don’t want to see the lass harmed,” he assured her. “But you leave us no other choice.”

  “Where is she?” she demanded. “Where is my daughter?”

  “She’s safe. For now,” Despenser said ominously.

  But she could see from William’s face there was more. “She’s in the guard room at Berwick Castle.”

  No. Bella felt the ground begin to move. Her stomach knifed.

  “I believe there’s a cage free for her, if you refuse,” Sir Hugh added.

  Oh God, no! Horror rushed to smother her. Then everything went black.

  * * *

  It was a few hours before Lachlan could make his way back to her. He led his pursuers south for miles. After ditching both his horse and his borrowed, too-small armor near the sea—hoping they’d think he’d escaped by ship—he’d circled back on foot.

  It seemed to take forever. His heart was pounding in his throat the entire time. If anything happened to her …

  He tried not to think about it, tried to concentrate on his surroundings, but fear had wormed its way into his consciousness and no amount of force and determination would root it out.

  Although there were still a few search parties concentrated in the area around the convent, the forest approaching the hunting lodge was ominously silent. His senses honed even sharper. Occasionally, he would hear a shout or the sound of dogs barking in the distance behind him, but it seemed the English had yet to extend their search this far out in his direction.

  It was almost too quiet. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. The dark feeling of foreboding weighed heavier with each step.

  Though his heart urged him to race back to Bella as quickly as he could, he forced himself to proceed cautiously and be on the watch for any signs of danger. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. He wouldn’t let his emotions distract him—not this time.

  Please, let her be safe. Lachlan repeated the prayer over and over in his mind. Though after so many years of disuse, he didn’t expect anyone to be listening.

  He kept to the shadows, darting through the trees and shrubs, pausing occasionally to listen and scout for any signs of a trap.

  Nothing. Winter had deadened even the sounds of nature.

  When at last the clearing and the old forester’s cottage came into view, he could barely breathe. It seemed as if he’d been holding his breath for hours.

  He scanned the moonlit landscape. Water on the right; horses tied to a tree exactly where he’d left them; wooden cottage a little farther away in the distance, slightly obscured by the trees, and dark but for the faint flicker of the oil lamp streaming through the cracks in the shutters.

  He moved slower now, every nerve ending set on edge. Though his senses told him nothing was wrong, his instincts urged otherwise.

  Suddenly, he froze at a cracking sound from above. A few moments later, he heard the sound of leaves rustling and realized it was an animal moving along the branches.

  With a long exhale, he continued. Finally, he stood a few feet away from the lodge. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he hooted like an owl to let her know he approached and waited—heart hammering and blood pounding—for her response.

  It came. The melodious call of the nightingale. The sweetest damned sound he’d ever heard. Thank God. All was well.

  He bounded up the last few feet and pushed open the door, half-expecting her to be there to greet him.

  He was surprised instead to see her seated on a stool before the fire with her back to him.

  But it was she, and his heart sighed with relief to see her sitting there. “Bella?”

  She turned only enough for him to see her profile, as if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Her face was as still and as pale as carved alabaster, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  A chill slid down his back. He lurched forward, taking her hand. It was as cold as ice. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Before the words were out of his mouth, he had his answer. His head jerked around at the sounds coming from outside as a swarm of soldiers descended around them like vultures.

  No. His mind warred with his heart. He raced back to the open door, not wanting to believe what was happening.

  But when he saw Despenser and Comyn emerge from the trees, he knew the inescapable truth: Bella had led him right into a trap.

  Shock permeated every fiber of his being. But the pain of betrayal that followed cut like a knife through his heart.

  Not again. He couldn’t have made the same mistake again. She loved him; she would never betray him. There had to be an explanation.

  As the men came forward to take him, he turned to look at her. “Why?”

  If he hoped for a denial, he was to be disappointed.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried, her face crumpling in despair. “Oh God, Lachlan, I’m so sorry.” The men grabbed him from behind. He let them drag him away. It was true. “They have Joan. They have my daughter!”

  Twenty-one

  They’d lied to her.

  Bella thought the moment they dragged Lachlan away, seeing the shock of betrayal written on his face, was the worst moment of this hideous nightmare. But being brought back to Berwick Castle, tossed in the guard room, and told she would not be reunited with her daughter after all—that her daughter didn’t even know she was here, and that it had all been a lie to trick her into betraying Lachlan—made it so much worse.

  Her daughter had never been in danger. According to William, she rejected any connection with her mother and enjoyed her position in England. Bella was relieved to know her daughter was safe but refused to believe the rest.

  She was ashamed by how easily she’d been duped. How once again they’d used her fear for her daughter to control her, this time inducing her to betray the man she loved.

  The look on his face when he’d realized what was happening would haunt her for the rest of her life. She sank back against the stone wall. However short that life might be.

  Despair flooded through her. To have found happiness after all these years and have it wrenched away so cruelly was a crushing blow. Lachlan would never forgive her. Just like his wife and mother, she was just another woman who’d betrayed him.

  Even knowing she hadn’t had a choice didn’t make it any easier. He had a chance in prison; her daughter didn’t.

  He was right. Everyone was capable of betrayal because everyone had a weak spot. And they’d found hers.

  She bowed her head on her knees, her heart twisted with anguish. Where was he? What was happening to him? Were they hurting him? Was he cursing her name right now for what she’d done to him?

  She couldn’t bear to think about it.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, burning like acid. God, how miserably she’d failed! Not only Lachlan but her daughter as well. Now they were all at the mercy of Edward and his men.

  Dear God, what would become of them?

  The English were taking no chances of his escape.

  The last thing Lachlan remembered before being doused with cold water was Bella’s anguished face as he was being dragged away. They’d manacled his hands, and then he’d felt an explosion of pain behind his ear. From the violence of his headache, he gathered a war hammer or the hilt of a sword had struck him from behind.

  The ice-cold water brought him harshly back to consciousnes
s. He sat up, only to feel his head explode in pain, followed by a surge of instantaneous nausea. Rolling over, he retched uncontrollably on the damp ground beside him. His vision blended into doubles.

  “Looks like he’s awake,” he heard a voice above him say.

  He looked up, seeing a man peering down on him from a square opening about ten feet above him. It was the only source of light in the dark pit, and Lachlan took a moment to memorize as much of the room as he could before responding, knowing that as soon as the guard closed the door it would be as black as Hades in there.

  Bile threatened again, but Lachlan refused to let himself think about it. He needed to keep the panic at bay. But it snapped in the back of his mind unrelentingly.

  The walls seemed to be closing in around him. He was choking, and he had to force even breaths through his lungs.

  The pit was ten feet by fifteen of solid, jagged, rough-cut rock that had been built by God, not man. The floor was sandy dirt and rock. Bones, pieces of old straw, and hardened human excrement appeared to have been pushed to one corner by the last occupant. Though he saw no evidence of rats, he could almost hear the squeaks and scampering.

  Sweat gathered on his icy brow. Stay calm. Think.

  He found what he was looking for in the far corner.

  When Lachlan didn’t respond, the man threw another bucket of icy water on him.

  This time he realized the full horror of his predicament. The water hit naked skin. Before they’d dropped him in the pit, they’d stripped him of every last piece of clothing. He didn’t have his tools, his weapons, anything.

  How the hell was he going to get his hands free?

  Reflexively, he pulled against the manacles pinning his hands behind him. The iron bands suddenly felt tighter—stronger—now that he knew he wouldn’t be able to unlock them.

  Panic snapped a little louder, a pack of rabid dogs just waiting to be set free.

  He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts, spraying droplets of water from his sopping hair. “Thanks for the bath,” he replied. “Next time would you mind sending down some soap?” He sniffed. “It stinks down here.”

  The man chuckled. “After a while, you won’t notice. I’m glad you are in such good humor. You’ll need it. They’re bringing in someone special for you.” He paused for effect. “The Extractor. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”

  Lachlan’s blood went cold. The Extractor was the King of England’s most feared torturer, known for being able to extract information from even the most unwilling of prisoners.

  Lachlan’s mind filled with images—memories of what he’d gone through before and things he’d learned of since.

  But he gave no indication of the effect the words had on him. “You can save him a journey; I’ve met men of his ilk before.”

  Though his features were largely masked by the shadow cast by the light behind him, Lachlan could see the guard smile. “We’ve heard you can be difficult. But he’s not coming all this way just to meet you.” He turned his head. “Bring her in.”

  God, no! Lachlan’s heart hammered. Every muscle in his body flared with the urge to fight. But he knew he couldn’t react.

  “Stop!” Bella shouted. “Where are you taking me?”

  The fear in her voice cut at his heart. But he knew he couldn’t do anything.

  He heard the muffled sounds of struggle from above as two men dragged her in. He forced himself to lie perfectly still as they forced her head down into the opening where he could see her.

  “Lachlan! Oh, God, Lachlan is that you? What have they done to you?”

  His mouth curled in anger. “Get that bitch out of here.”

  She gasped, recoiling in shock. “Lachlan, please, I’m so sorry. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Do you think I want to listen to your explanations? You betrayed me,” he spat malevolently. “Get her the fuck out of my face!”

  He heard her broken sob as the men pulled her back. His chest burned. When the original guardsman’s face appeared again, Lachlan added, “I’ll be looking forward to watching what your visitor has in mind for that bitch. When he’s done, I want a turn.”

  Her soft cries tore at his heart as they led her away.

  The guard frowned, as if that hadn’t gone as he’d planned. “I thought you were lovers?”

  “She’s the reason I’m here. Do you think I give a shite what happens to her?”

  It was obviously not the reaction the guard had been expecting.

  Which was exactly what Lachlan was hoping for.

  The guard shook his head. “You’re a cold-blooded bastard, MacRuairi. But you’ll have some time to think about it. The Extractor won’t be here until tomorrow night.”

  And before Lachlan could say anything more the door slammed shut, sending him into a sea of blackness.

  Lachlan knew he couldn’t count on them to believe what he’d said about Bella. The thought of what they might do to her to get him to talk …

  His gut twisted. He wouldn’t last long. He could hope to delay them with lies, but for how long? How long before he was faced with the choice of watching the woman he loved suffer agonizing pain or betraying his friends?

  He should have known better than to offer bold proclamations of his ability to withstand any kind of torture to Bruce. Everyone had his breaking point. Even he.

  Bella’s was her daughter. How could he blame her for what she’d done? When faced with an impossible choice, she’d chosen to protect her daughter. The moment of betrayal he’d felt had turned to understanding when he’d learned the truth. He could only imagine what they’d threatened to get her to agree.

  And what was she going through now, being imprisoned again?

  He needed to get out of here as soon as possible. His mind went to work in the darkness. It was so pitch black he couldn’t see his own feet. There was one good thing about learning from the guard what they intended: Lachlan’s fear for Bella had outstripped the panic of being in another dank hole.

  He scooted around the perimeter of the room, inching toward the pile of bones. It wasn’t easy with his hands chained behind his back, but he dug through the grisly pile, tossing aside anything that was too big. Eventually, he found a piece that might work—it was about the size and length of his little finger.

  He stood. After finding a rock at the right height, he held the bone as firmly as he could and banged his hands backward. He swore when the impact caused him to lose his grip. He had to sweep his hand around in the dark a while to find the bones. But the second time, it worked. The bone splintered in half.

  He examined both pieces and chose the sharper of the two, which he honed further by filing it for a while against the rock.

  When it was about the right shape and size, he carefully went to work on the manacles. It took him an hour, mostly because he didn’t want to rush and chance the bone snapping off in the lock, but eventually his hands were free.

  Feeling around in the dark was easier now, and he worked his way around the room until he found what he’d noticed before: a small rectangular drain.

  Berwick Castle had been built on a motte adjacent to the sea. At one time, part of the motte had been surrounded by water. The drain had been necessary to prevent the chamber from flooding with water. An iron grate covered it, but if he could work it free he might be able to squeeze through it and find his way out.

  He worked for hours on the grate. Using the chain between the manacles that had bound his hands, he wrapped it around the grate and pulled. But the damned thing seemed welded into the rock.

  He pulled and dug until his hands bled. God, what he would have done for Boyd’s additional strength!

  It was one of the most satisfying moments of his life when the bloody grate broke free.

  Ignoring the demons of panic roaring in his head, Lachlan forced himself to squeeze into the tight hole. There was barely an inch to move around him. He wound like a snake through the rocky maze, contorting his body into th
e narrowest shape possible and praying he didn’t get stuck. Jagged pieces of rock tore through his flesh, but he could hear the sound of water below and knew that he must be close.

  But then his luck ran out. The drain took a sharp turn down, halving in size. The sea and freedom lay a tantalizingly short distance beneath him—no more than forty feet—but he’d gone as far as he could go.

  He let out a string of blasphemies that would have sent him straight to hell if he wasn’t already there.

  He wouldn’t give up. Not even when they came for him. But Lachlan knew that right now, his best chance was to pray for a miracle.

  Twenty-two

  His miracle arrived that night.

  Lachlan was ready for the door to open. He’d spent hours gathering what weapons he could: a half-dozen rocks of various sizes chipped from the walls of the drain, the manacles and chain, a larger piece of bone sharpened to a point to use as a crude dirk.

  At the first sounds of someone fiddling with the lock, he stood with his back against the wall in the darkest corner. He would need time for his eyes to adjust to the sudden blast of light, and he wanted to draw the guard’s head down into the pit.

  The guard seemed to be having an unusual amount of difficulty with the lock. Lachlan could hear muffled oaths coming from above.

  Finally it opened.

  The narrow beam of light was blinding. As soon as he saw the guard’s head descend, he took aim at the blur and fired, throwing the piece of steel as hard as he could.

  Hurling stones into the sea as a lad had been a favorite pastime of his, and it came to great effect when he heard an oath and the guard tumbled forward into the pit. The guard was unusually big for an Englishman, and he landed with a resounding thud.

  Lachlan ignored his angry cursing and focused on the hole above, waiting for the next guard to come forward.

  “Damn it, Viper,” a familiar voice said from above. “What the hell did you hit him with?”

  Lachlan’s stomach pitched forward. Ah hell. “Hawk?”

  His cousin’s grinning face peered down at him. He winked. “At your service.”