The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(33)

Of his own damned making. What the hell had he been thinking?

God’s blood, even through the thick leather of his cotun he could feel her softness burning against him. Every shape and curve of her back seemed imprinted on his. And that bottom. He groaned. Two days of having that soft, round bottom nestled against his groin was more than any man could be expected to bear.

He couldn’t even breathe without being aware of her—the air around her seemed infused with the faint scent of roses.

She shifted against him, giving a contented little sigh in her sleep as she snuggled her back deeper into his chest, her silky-soft, downy head tucked under his chin.

She forgot to be wary of him when she slept. He liked it. Too damned much. His arms drew tighter around her. To keep her steady in the saddle, of course.

He should have let her ride with one of the other men. But when they’d stood by the horses the morning after her accident, deciding whom she should ride with, he’d found himself ordering her to ride with him.

It wasn’t because she’d wanted to ride with MacKay, damn it. And it sure as hell wasn’t because he couldn’t stand the thought of another man touching her. He just didn’t want to be dodging the girlish flirtations of Mary Bruce all day. Besides, her ankle was tender and one of the other men might forget she was injured.

But if he’d known how hard it would be to have his arm wrapped around her waist for hours, while her incredible br**sts—the size and shape of which had been burned on his memory—bounced against it, he might have reconsidered.

He glanced down. His chest swelled with an unfamiliar emotion, and he quickly looked back to the road in front of him. God damn it, did she have to look so sweet? With her cheek resting against his chest, wispy little tendrils of white-blond hair curling at her temples, her long, dark lashes curling against her creamy skin, and her bold features soft in repose, the proud countess looked almost vulnerable.

This swell—whatever it was—in his chest bothered him. It made him feel—damn it—protective.

A feeling that thankfully went away as soon as she woke up and turned those flashing eyes on him.

But he didn’t like this at all. His control was faltering. He couldn’t think straight around her, which was dangerous for all of them. He needed to do something. Clearly, fighting this maddening desire for her wasn’t working.

It had been too long. He needed to find a way to take the edge off.

Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she stirred. He knew she was awake when he felt her back stiffen and pull away from him. He clenched his jaw. Not that it bothered him.

Suddenly, she sat up even straighter. “We made it?”

She glanced up at him, and he could see that the relief in her eyes matched the excitement in her voice.

“Aye,” he answered, trying not to notice how close her mouth was to his.

Her eyes filled with something else. Gratitude, he realized, when she said, “Thank you.”

He felt that uncomfortable swelling again in his chest and turned sharply away. “Don’t thank me yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“The English will not give up so easily. Even now they could be marching toward us.”

He almost regretted his forthrightness when he felt a shiver shudder through her. But hiding the truth from her wouldn’t help keep her safe. She needed to know exactly what they were up against: the most powerful, wily, and vengeful king in Christendom, who was out for blood.

Bella MacDuff had made a powerful enemy when she’d placed a crown on Bruce’s head. He hoped to hell it was worth it.

Though the light was fading with the dusk, he could still make out the play of fear and worry on her stubborn features. “But we shall have at least some reprieve. They will not find us right away. You said they did not follow us?”

He shook his head. “Not from what we could tell.” Hopefully, the English wouldn’t realize the ladies had separated from the rest of the army. What was left of it, anyway.

“It’s Rob—the king—they want. They’ll follow him west.”

This time he didn’t tell her what he thought. It wasn’t just the king Edward would pursue with a vengeance. If they discovered the ladies missing, they would come after them as well. Moreover, Kildrummy Castle, with its strategic location at the juncture of the roads leading north into Buchan and Atholl, was a valuable prize even without the queen and Bella.

She took his silence as agreement and relaxed against him slightly as they navigated the path leading up to Kildrummy. The castle sat on a rise, surrounded by a wide ditch in the front and a steep riverbank in the back—natural defenses made nearly impenetrable by the strength of the castle itself. High, thick stone walls were topped with numerous towers to defend against any encroachers who attempted to cross the ditch. The massive donjon known as the Snow Tower was seven stories high, with walls in places eighteen feet thick.

Lachlan knew something was wrong even before they crossed the narrow bridge to the two gatehouse towers that guarded the main entry to the castle. Though it was dusk, it was still light enough for villagers to be milling about. But the place was deserted.

He could almost feel the tension in the air. If Gordon hadn’t ridden ahead to warn Nigel Bruce of their arrival, he suspected they would have found the portcullis down, the gates barred, and the arrow slits in the towers filled with archers.