The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(25)

“I couldn’t help noticing that you didn’t part on the best of terms last time. You seemed a little … edgy.”

The smile on Gordon’s face pricked him more than it should. “A situation I remedied soon enough,” he lied. “One pair of velvety thighs is as good as another.”

Gordon shook his head. “You have a real gift for the poetic, MacRuairi. If I ever need a bard, I know who to come to.”

Before Gordon could ask any more questions about the countess, Lachlan ordered him to gather everyone and meet by the shieling. The king had decided to let the ladies take the few remaining horses. Bruce and the handful of men who would accompany him were taking to the heather and mountains, where the horses would only slow them down.

Lachlan followed Gordon a few minutes later. His anger had cooled, though not completely abated. He was more upset at himself than anything else. He should have more control.

If his reaction after the attack in the forest hadn’t warned him, this should. The sight of her naked … the vision had been haunting him for four damned months. Christ, his body hardened just thinking about it. It had taken everything he had to not react. To not let his eyes gorge on every inch of that creamy naked flesh. One glance had been enough to nearly push him over the edge.

God, those br**sts … sinfully big, perfectly round, and tipped with tight pink ni**les. His mouth watered just thinking about them.

Bella MacDuff had been built for men’s fantasies. He’d wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. Instinctively, he knew that after years of self-control, he’d met the woman who could break him.

He’d been furious. At himself. At her. So he’d lashed out. Not just with lust, but also, he knew, with something equally unsettling: fear. Seeing her vulnerable in that bastard’s arms had chilled his blood.

And now he was jealous, for Christ’s sake. What the hell was happening to him? He knew better than to fall prey to that weakness. Jealousy fueled by lust had wreaked enough havoc in his life. The last time people had counted on him he’d let his emotions distract him. His men had lost their lives because of it, and he’d lost everything. Now, when he was so close to getting some of it back, there was no way in hell he was going to travel down that path again. He’d worked too hard to risk it.

He weighed the sack of gold at his waist. Bruce had kept his promise so far, and Lachlan intended to keep his. The first chance he had, this gold would be on its way to the Isles. One more payment on a debt he hoped to pay in full in two and half years’ time.

What was it about Bella MacDuff that got to him? Her bold tongue? Her harlot’s body? He didn’t know. But since he couldn’t very well cover her with a sack for the next God-knows-how-long (no matter how much he was tempted), he’d do his best to avoid her.

He suspected he was going to be too damned busy getting the women to safety to worry about one lass no matter how distracting, anyway.

A suspicion that was confirmed a few minutes later when he got his first glimpse of his new charges.

Ah, hell.

The man known as the most feared mercenary in the Western Isles, meaner than a snake and just as deadly, who’d never backed down from a fight no matter how bad the odds, wanted to walk—nay, run—away.

He’d become a hired sword just to avoid this kind of situation. The king asked too much. No debt, no land, no amount of coin was worth this.

One, two, three … three children, damn it! And more women than he wanted to count.

Jesus. He felt ill. He didn’t need this. How the hell was he going to get them a hundred miles across some of the most difficult terrain in Scotland to safety with half the English army hunting them?

Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, he met the bold, blue-eyed gaze of Bella MacDuff. The hint of challenge there was enough to spur him to action. He had a job to do, damn it, and he’d do it.

But the weight of responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders. He’d had enough death on his watch.

He quickly organized the men, giving them their instructions for the first part of the journey, but it took longer to sort out the horses than it should have, as it turned out a number of the ladies had limited riding experience.

He, in turn, had limited experience commanding a group of women. Hardened warriors didn’t have tender feelings, and they sure as hell didn’t look like they were about to burst into tears when you snapped an order or two.

When one of the ladies balked at getting on the big war horse with MacKay, his frustration nearly got the better of him. He was half a second away from tossing her on the horse himself—or telling her she could wait for the English to arrive to escort her if she didn’t get on the damned horse—when he found relief from an unexpected source.

The countess put her hand on his arm. He stilled, a fierce swell rising inside him. The gentle touch had an instant calming affect. She looked up at him, and for a moment he was lost in a sea of blue.

Beautiful, he thought. With lashes as long and feathery as the wing tips of a raven.

“Perhaps I might be of some help?”

He’d forgotten how husky her voice was. How it spread over his skin and seeped into his bones.

When she looked at him like that—with kindness and understanding—it felt as though his chest had suddenly grown too tight. The unfamiliar reaction rattled him. Lachlan had survived this long by an acute sense of danger, and right now every instinct flared with warning.