The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(110)

“Even for freedom?” Despenser held out the bone. “For you and your daughter?”

Bella stilled. “You expect me to believe that?”

He shrugged. “You are not important to us, the brigand is. Sir William has graciously agreed to allow you to retire to his estates in Leicester with your daughter—at least until her marriage can be arranged. No one will know who you really are. Isabella MacDuff will be thought to be safely retired in a convent.”

Bella looked back and forth between the two men. Even if she could trust them—which was doubtful—she would never betray Lachlan like that.

She shook her head. Dread settled in her belly like a stone. But she realized she would face imprisonment rather than betray him. “You might as well take me back to Berwick right now; I won’t do it.”

Despenser smiled. “Such bold words. But I feared you might be difficult.”

Sir William appeared distressed. “For once in your life be reasonable, Isabella. The scourge isn’t worth it.”

“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.