The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(41)

Lachlan’s mouth fell in a hard, unrelenting line. “It can’t be helped. You can sleep on the galley when we reach Wick.”

“They won’t make it to the galley. Not at this pace.” Her eyes bored into his. “Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing us so hard?”

He didn’t want to alarm her unnecessarily. All he had was a bad feeling. “We won’t be safe until we reach Norway.”

“Please, Lachlan.” The sound of his name on her tongue made something in this chest tighten. “Just look at them. They can’t go on.”

He did what he’d purposefully avoided. His gaze scanned the once fine ladies who now looked as scraggly as beggar women collapsed against the trees or rocks for support. The young earl was curled up in a ball in his mother’s lap, Mary Bruce lay with her cheek resting against a moss-covered log asleep, and Marjory, the young princess, was asleep in the queen’s arms.

“There’s sanctuary in Tain,” she said. “We could take shelter at St. Duthac’s Chapel for the night.”

She’d obviously thought about this. She was right; King Malcolm had granted Tain the status of sanctuary by charter over two hundred years ago. By law and tradition, it was a place where fugitives could take refuge.

His mouth fell in a hard line. He knew he’d pushed them as far as he could. “Very well. We’ll stay the night in Tain.” He looked up to the sky; the rain had turned into a fine mist. “If the weather breaks, we can try to secure a galley from there.”

Even before they reached the church, Lachlan regretted going against his instincts and acceding to the countess’s demands. What the hell was happening to him? Once again he was letting a woman control his actions.

He couldn’t let her get to him like this. This fierce attraction, this … whatever it was that was making him feel like this, had to end. He wouldn’t let a woman hold that kind of power over him again. All his men had been killed because his c**k was hard for a woman. The same weakness was biting him in the arse again.

But Bella was nothing like his wife … was she?

He couldn’t get that image of her and Bruce out of his mind. It gnawed at him, festering, like a sore under his skin.

He was in a foul temper by the time they reached the old chapel nestled on a rise overlooking the sea. No more than thirty by twenty feet, the stone building with a vaulted wood roof held a few benches, a stone altar, and little else. Fortunately, as it was late, it was also deserted. The priest probably slept in the nearby rectory.

He made sure the women were settled before heading out to scout the area to ensure they hadn’t been followed. Since the rain had stopped, he would also look for a galley. The sooner they were on the way, the better.

He’d just closed the wooden door behind him when Bella turned the corner, nearly running into him.

“Where are you going?” she asked. Her eyes raked his face. “Is something wrong? You seem angry.”

He doubted she realized she’d taken a step toward him, but he did. Every muscle in his body pulled taut as her soft scent rose to play havoc with his senses—and his sense.

“To look around and see about finding a galley,” he said in a tight, clipped voice.

He wondered if she knew how much effort it took not to touch her. Not to push her up against the door and give in to the maelstrom raging inside him. Maybe then he would rid himself of this ache of need that seemed to be consuming him. She’d shredded years of control to ribbons. He didn’t want to feel like this, damn it.

He gritted his teeth. Get the job done. But he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

She had her head tilted back to look up at him, and he could see the mark of sadness in her eyes. “Must we leave Scotland? Is there no place else we can hide?”

He knew she was tired. That she wasn’t thinking rationally. That the thought of leaving her daughter was tearing her apart. But he felt the anger flare inside him.

He’d warned her what she risked, but she hadn’t wanted to listen to him. Part of her still didn’t realize the magnitude of what she’d done. Whether in Norway or in Scotland, the truth was the same. “Don’t you understand, Countess?”

His darkly mocking tone caused her to draw back a little. “Understand what?”

“Your daughter was lost to you the moment you put the crown on Bruce’s head. Buchan will never let you take the lass. For all you know, he’s probably already hidden her away in England.”

She gasped, but he forced himself not to react to the stricken look on her face.

“Why are you saying this? Why are you being so cruel?”

“Because it’s the truth, whether you want to see it or not.”

“You’re wrong. I will never stop fighting to get my daughter back. I’ll find a way. When Robert—”

The mention of the king’s name made something inside him snap. He grabbed her by the arm, wanting to shake her as badly as he wanted to pull her up against him. “Robert?” he scoffed. “Bruce is done, Bella. He’ll be lucky to make it out of the country alive.” He hated himself for asking the question, knowing the weak emotion that was driving it. “Why did you do it? Why did you risk so much?”

Her eyes scanned his face; it was clear she didn’t understand the intensity behind his question. “Because I believe in him, and things you believe in are worth fighting for.” She waited, hoping for him to say something—probably to agree with her—and seemed disappointed when he didn’t. “I couldn’t stand by and do nothing when I had a chance to help. Robert is Scotland’s best chance for freedom. He sees what the men who came before him did not: that to win we must not only defeat the English on the battlefield, we must also not defeat ourselves. He will do whatever it takes to unify Scotland behind him, even if it means forgiving old enemies. And you’re wrong. He isn’t done. Done is how legends are born.”