The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(57)

“Two of my men will stay behind to watch the convent for a few days to make sure nothing happens.” His grip tightened around her upper arms, forcing her to heed his words. “You’re free, Bella. You aren’t going back there.”

The fierceness in his voice touched something inside her. She blinked up at him. It took a moment for his words to penetrate. Free. Dear God, she was free! For so long she’d dreamed of this moment; now that it was actually here it didn’t seem real. Or maybe she wouldn’t let it seem real. Maybe she was scared that something might happen to force her back. Lachlan’s words had been aimed right at that fear. How was it that he seemed to understand her feelings before she did?

Because he’s been there. The jolt of realization reverberated through her. He’d been imprisoned, too. Their eyes held in shared understanding. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t seem to find the words. “Thank you,” she said softly.

It seemed ironic to be thanking him for rescuing her when she’d blamed him for putting her there for so long. Bella was not yet ready to absolve him of guilt in that regard, but he’d saved her from a lifetime of imprisonment, and for that alone, he deserved her thanks.

He gave her a terse nod, his uncomfortable expression making her think he saw the irony as well. “Come,” he said, leading her deeper into the forest. “The others are waiting for us.”

By “others” Bella assumed at least a dozen men, perhaps a score. She should have known better. They reached a small clearing in the trees beside a burn, where his men waited for them with horses. Her rescue party consisted of only five warriors, although admittedly they were an imposing-looking lot. Lachlan, the man who’d posed as a laborer, another man she didn’t recognize, and two she did.

A broad smile spread across her face and she felt the first prickle of tears. The last time she’d seen them was at Kildrummy Castle. She’d assumed they’d suffered the same fate as Nigel Bruce. Being forced to watch Nigel’s vicious execution was one of the lowest points of her captivity. The murder of that golden knight would haunt her forever.

She rushed forward, grasping their hands in hers. “Robbie! Sir Alex! It is so good to see you.”

Robbie Boyd and Sir Alex Seton returned her smiles and greeting. Sir Alex spoke first. “It is good to see you as well, my lady.”

Two years had wrought changes in the young knight. The fresh-faced handsome and gallant youth had been hardened by war and tragedy. Their fears about his brother Christopher’s fate two years ago had been realized. Alex’s famous brother—one of Bruce’s closest companions—had been executed by the first King Edward not long after the battle of Methven. Christina Bruce, still imprisoned in a convent in England, had lost yet another husband.

Robbie Boyd looked the same. He was still the strongest-looking man she’d ever seen. Big as a mountain, every inch stacked with heavy muscle, the dark-haired warrior looked as if he could take on the entire English army and win.

“MacLean. Lamont,” Lachlan said, introducing the final two men. “Lady Isabella MacDuff.”

More Highlanders, she realized. Bruce seemed to have surrounded himself with them. Not surprising, she supposed. Highlanders were a big, fierce lot, and these two were no exception.

MacLean, the man who’d pulled her from the carriage, had the tough, grizzled look of a man who lived on the battlefield. Of similar height to Lachlan, but with a leaner build, his dark-blond hair fell in disheveled waves to a jaw that hadn’t seen a razor in some time. But behind the scruffy beard, his eyes were sharp blue and his features surprisingly refined and chiseled.

The other man, Lamont, was also unusually tall and broad-shouldered (she’d begun to see a pattern amongst Robert’s men), with short, dark hair, light eyes, and a relatively clean-shaven jaw.

MacLean had exchanged his laborer’s clothing for the padded war coat and dark leather chausses worn by the other men. They all wore heavy, dark cloaks to cover the various weapons strapped to them. There was no coat of arms or other insignia to identify them, which was understandable as they were in enemy territory.

Bella greeted the men and thanked them for their help.

Lachlan went to one of the horses, retrieving something from one of the leather bags tied to the saddle.

“Here,” he said, handing her a pile of wool. “Put these on. They aren’t fancy, but they’re clean.” She took one look at the clothes and gaped at him in disbelief. “You want me to wear breeches?”

He shrugged as if it were nothing. “You will attract less notice as a lad—especially if we come across any soldiers. Make sure you tuck your hair well up in the cap.”

She wanted to argue, but what he said sounded reasonable. Being dressed like a lad was a better disguise than a black veil.

“There’s an old forester’s cottage over there,” he said, pointing through the trees behind her. “You can change and have something to eat. Try to get some rest while you can. We’ll leave as soon as it is dark. With so many English around, we don’t want to take any chances.”

Bella looked at him in shock. She thought he’d understood. “I’m not going back to Scotland. Not yet.”

The men looked at her in surprise. Except for Lachlan. He knew exactly what she wanted to do. His piercing gaze held perfectly steady. Unflinching. Unmovable. Prepared to do battle. She didn’t have to look into those ruthless eyes or glance at the wall of steely muscles to know that he wasn’t a man accustomed to losing.