The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(108)

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 to her even if he had to get through the entire English army to do it.

Bella washed, ate a few bites of cheese and oatcake, fiddled with the fire, tried to lie down on the old straw bed she’d covered with a plaid, and, having exhausted her options, began to pace around the old wooden building. As it wasn’t much bigger than the ambry at Balvenie Castle, it didn’t take more than a few strides to cross from one end to the other. Every few minutes, she would take a short detour to the small shuttered window and peer through the opening to see if anyone approached.

But it was so dark outside, all she could make out were the dark and slightly sinister-looking shadows of the trees.

She threw up her hands in frustration. This was torture. Waiting was torture.

Ever since they’d reached Berwick she’d been unable to contain her excitement. After so many years, she would finally be able to see her daughter face-to-face, to hold her in her arms, to hear the sound of her voice.

Lachlan would make it happen. Not once did she doubt him. She knew she could count on him.

The past few days had been fraught with danger, uncomfortably cold, and filled with mind-numbing exhaustion. But through it all, she’d been happier than she could remember in years. Although there had been no more opportunities to make love, she’d slept a few hours in Lachlan’s arms in the saddle—he appeared to be able to go for days without sleep—and they’d talked whenever the pace allowed.

Despite the circumstances, their time alone had been wonderful. When her daughter was returned to her, her happiness would be complete.

She stopped before the window again and carefully lifted the wooden latch to open the shutter wide enough to peek outside. Shivering as the cold night air rushed into the room, she peered out into the darkness.

Nothing.

How long had it been? An hour, maybe longer?

She was about to close the shutter, when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. A branch swayed back and forth. It could have been the wind, but for a second she thought she saw the large shadow of a man.

Her heart jumped. Thank God, he was back!

She slammed the shutter closed, grabbed the oil lamp, and raced to the door. Tearing it open, she said, “Lachlan, I …”

Her voice died when a man stepped out of the shadows.

“Hello, Isabella.”

Her heart plummeted to the ground. There, standing before her, was her husband’s brother, William Comyn.

Instinctively, like a cornered hare, she looked around for a means of escape. But all thoughts of fleeing vanished, when roughly two dozen men emerged from the trees to encircle the lodge. One of them was the man whom she now recognized as Sir Hugh Despenser.

The happiness of the past few days, the excitement she’d been brimming with moments before, and all hope for the future died in the space of a cruel heartbeat, leaving nothing but despair and fear.

God in heaven, she’d die before she let them imprison her again!

It wasn’t the entire English army, but it seemed like a good part of it. From Lachlan’s perch hidden in the shadows of the church bell tower, he could see that the soldiers had surrounded him. Literally. There was a line of at least a hundred men all the way around the convent just beyond the ditch. He might be able to fight his way through, but without a horse, they would be on him like wolves.

A loud banging at the gate sent fissures of alarm running through the convent. He could hear the anxious shouts as the nuns retreated to the safety of the church. A few nuns with obvious authority—including undoubtedly the prioress—came to the gate. A moment later, soldiers flooded into the cloister.