The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(32)

She’d overreacted because he’d made her feel something different, and in doing so revealed far more than she wanted to. She’d never told anyone what she’d just told him. Not even her mother, though Bella suspected she had guessed.

“If you are ready,” he said, “I can carry you back.”

Her eyes widened with alarm. Good god, no! “That isn’t necessary,” she said hastily.

The slightly bored, slightly mocking expression that she found so confoundingly impenetrable had returned to his face, but the muscle ticking below his jaw made her think the vehemence of her reaction had bothered him. “I think I can control myself for a few minutes, Countess.”

“It’s not that.” She flushed, realizing her reticence had offended him. Was she to believe that a hired sword, a man who made no qualms about selling himself to the highest bidder, would balk at forcing a woman? Surprisingly, she did. “I believe you.”

It was the willingness part that worried her.

His eyes held hers for a moment, and he nodded. Before she could find a reason to object further, he scooped her off the rock, cradling her in his arms like a child.

She gasped in surprise, instinctively looping her arms around his neck to keep from falling. But he was in no danger of dropping her. She might have been a bairn for all the effort it took him to carry her.

It might have had something to do with the size of the muscles in his arms and the steely shield of his chest. She’d noticed his strength before, of course. He was so powerfully built and tall it was hard not to. But being confronted with the flexed proof wrapped around her was a different kind of noticing.

She hadn’t expected him to be so warm. His heat engulfed her, making her feel a little funny. All warm and melty.

She turned her head, resting one cheek against his shoulder, not wanting him to see the effect he had on her. She breathed in his warm, masculine scent, thinking it strange again that a brigand could smell so good. He must bathe more than any man she’d ever met. Apparently, he had a strange liking for cold rivers.

Unwittingly, she relaxed. He carried her in silence for a moment, navigating easily through the darkened forest. She peeked up at him from under her lashes. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and his jaw was shadowed with dark stubble. It made him look even more dangerous. Except for his lashes. She’d never noticed how long they were. It was strange to find a hint of softness on the otherwise hard facade. She could see that tic again, and there were tiny lines around his mouth. Maybe it was more difficult to carry her than she’d realized?

She frowned, noticing something else. There were a few fresh cuts and bruises on his face, but nothing as deep as the cut across his cheek. Unconsciously, she reached up to trace it with her finger. She thought she felt him tense, but it was gone before she could be sure. “That must have hurt.”

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

“How did it happen?”

She didn’t think he was going to answer her, but he finally said, “I turned my back on someone with a dagger.”

There was something more to the story, but it was clear he wasn’t going to tell her. “Did you get it while you were imprisoned?”

There was no mistaking the tensing of his muscles this time. He tried to erase his reaction with a sardonic lift of his brow, but he was holding her too close: she’d felt it. “I wasn’t aware you knew so much of my history, Countess.”

She tried not to flush under the accusation in his gaze. “It’s hardly a secret.”

“Is that right? And what do you know about it?”

His words were cool, but she sensed the emotions simmering under the surface. Suddenly she knew exactly how Mary had felt when she’d confronted her about spreading rumors: guilty and defensive. “That you betrayed your brother-in-law, John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, in battle, and that he caught you and had you imprisoned.”

“That’s what they say?” He laughed, but the sound was harsh and without humor.

“Do you deny it?” She realized how badly she wanted him to.

Without her realizing it, they’d reached the tent. He set her down carefully. “If you want to know something, ask me. But you shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Countess.”

The subtle taunt in his voice pricked. Did nothing matter to him? “You mean things like did you kill your wife?”

He stilled. Something raw flashed in his eyes, and she immediately wished her question back.

“Nay,” he said evenly. “That’s true.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. He’d shocked her, as was obviously his intent, but she sensed there was something he wasn’t saying.

Before she could question him further, he gave her a slight mocking bow. “Good night, Countess. Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Six

Lachlan had never been so glad to see battlements in his life.

The distinctive shield-shaped curtain wall of Kildrummy Castle rose out of the mountainous landscape like the warrior’s paradise of Valhalla.

With its ashlar stone walls and six massive towers, Kildrummy had been built by the Earls of Mar not only as a defensive stronghold, but also as a magnificent testament to the wealth of the earldom.

It wasn’t because the castle was considered one of the finest in Scotland that Lachlan was happy to see it. Nay, he was glad to see it because the last two days of riding had been torture.