The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(21)

“The king,” she asked. “Where is he? I must speak with him.”

Edward’s eyes slid over her. Though the hard, ebony-like gaze betrayed nothing, she sensed the crude thoughts. “He’s busy. What do you need? Perhaps I can give it to you?”

Her eyes narrowed, hearing the suggestion in his words if not his tone. She knew what was being said. The vicious lies started by her husband as a basis for setting her aside had spread even through their own camp. That Edward Bruce would even hint at Buchan’s lies infuriated her. He should know better.

“I need the king,” she said in a tone that suggested a substitute—especially a younger brother—would not do. She knew how sensitive Edward was to comparisons to his royal brother. “It’s important.”

He gave her a scathing look; her jab had struck. “He’s over there.” He pointed to a circle of men standing apart from the rest near the shieling that was housing the king’s precious few war horses. “But I’d wait until he’s done.”

The king looked to be in an important meeting. She recognized some of Robert’s most trusted knights: Sir Neil Campbell, Sir James Douglas, the Earl of Atholl, and a few others, including William Gordon and Magnus MacKay.

Though the sight of the last two men always pleased her, and she’d enjoyed speaking to them when their paths had crossed over the past few months, something about their place in the king’s army confused her. For ordinary men-at-arms, they seemed to keep unusually important company.

She often saw them with a few other men, including one who seemed unusually close in the king’s confidence: a West Highland chieftain from the Isle of Skye named Tor MacLeod.

Something about these men stood out. Not just their impressive size and strength—Highlanders were a tall, muscular lot—but the command and air of authority that surrounded them.

They ate with the other regular men-at-arms, barracked with them, and fought beside them, but then they would disappear for days, even weeks, on end without explanation. It was odd.

She followed Edward’s advice. Fortunately, she didn’t have long to wait. The meeting broke up a few minutes later, and the men started to disperse. All except for one.

She felt a strange shock reverberate through her. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. Lachlan MacRuairi hadn’t changed in the months since she’d seen him last. If anything, he only looked more disreputable. His hair was longer, his jaw more stubbled, his black leather cotun dustier and stained with blood, and he appeared to have added a few weapons to the armory already strapped to his back.

His face, too, looked leaner and harder.

But if anything, it only added to his dangerous appeal.

Her mouth pursed with annoyance. Obviously, some things hadn’t changed. The brigand was still a handsome devil who exuded some kind of base masculine virility. And if the erratic race of her heart meant anything, she still noticed it.

She needed to put a stop to this. Set-aside wife or not, her inexplicable attraction to Lachlan MacRuairi was wrong. She’d had enough trouble in her life; she didn’t need any more from a notorious pirate bastard who looked at her as if all she was good for was what she could do to pleasure him. And she knew exactly how to do that. She’d been instructed well.

She crossed the clearing, weaving through the chaos, and approached the shieling from the side. Unsure whether to interrupt, she hoped to catch Robert’s attention, but the two men were too busy arguing to notice her hovering nearby. She didn’t mean to listen, but they weren’t exactly keeping their voices low.

“Find someone else,” Lachlan bit out. “Put Douglas or Atholl in charge. I’ll serve you better in the west with Hawk.”

Bella frowned, wondering who this Hawk was, until she realized what he was saying. Then, were the situation not so dire, she would have smiled. MacRuairi was doing the objecting for her. He didn’t want to lead them.

“I decide how you should serve me, not you. Are you refusing my orders?”

Bella stilled, watching Lachlan’s reaction to the king’s challenge. His jaw clenched so hard his mouth turned white, and his eyes sparked with defiance. He held very still. Almost too still. Like a coiled snake ready to strike.

She could hear the grudging tightness in his voice when he replied. “Nay, I’m not refusing. I’m asking you to reconsider. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

What, duty and responsibility? She shouldn’t be surprised. A man who ignored his own clan was hardly a leader.

But as menacing as MacRuairi could be, Robert Bruce was one of the greatest knights in Christendom and not a man to back down from anyone—even a mean, overly muscular cutthroat. “This is exactly what you signed up for. Why do you think I want you in charge?”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Bella could practically feel the tension crackling between them.

Finally, Lachlan nodded. “I’ll ready the horses.”

Bella watched in frustration as he ducked into the shieling. It would have been nice if he could have convinced Robert, but it was going to be up to her to make him see reason.

The king started walking toward her and was so distracted that he might have walked right by her had she not stopped him.

“Sire, a word if you please.”

He glanced up and saw her. The hint of a smile attempted to break through the mask of strain. Her heart clenched with sadness, seeing the change that had come over him.