The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(62)

Eventually, the sobs ebbed, and she blinked up at him through the watery haze of tears. “If you won’t help me, I’ll go myself.”

Christ’s bones! So much for being needed. Even shattered, she still managed to be stubborn. He couldn’t take this anymore. “Damn it, Bella, you’re not going anywhere by yourself.”

Her eyes searched his, and the hope shimmering in the sparkling blue depths tore at the last vestiges of his resolve. “Does that mean you’ll take me?”

Could he offer her a compromise? He supposed there was a first time for everything. But he hoped to hell he didn’t end up regretting this. He could manage one short—very short—detour.

“It’s too dangerous to take you”—her face fell—“but …” She looked up at him again. “But I will see if I can get a message to her.”

The look of abject joy on her face was almost harder to take than her tears. “Oh, Lachlan, thank you—”

He stopped her. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not making you any promises. And you must swear to do exactly as I say. I don’t want you anywhere near danger. Where is she?”

“Roxburgh.”

He lifted a brow. “Your daughter is at Roxburgh Castle?”

She nodded. “Aye, her cousin Alice Comyn is marrying Henry de Beaumont—he’s just been appointed constable.” She must have sensed the interest in his tone. She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Does it matter?”

He shook his head. “Nay.” But it might explain why Mary Bruce was being moved from her prison. He hoped MacLeod and his other Highland Guard brethren attempting to free Mary had found the same success he had. But unlike with Bella, they didn’t know when Mary was supposed to be moved. He knew his fellow guardsmen could still be there and didn’t want to interfere with their plans—nor would he say anything to Bella or anyone else that might compromise the mission. But at the same time, the wedding could provide a good distraction. There would be lots of people—and lots of celebrating.

“When is the wedding?” he asked.

She shook her head, eyeing him curiously. “I don’t know.” She stared up at him, big blue eyes dominating her pale, tear-stained face. He felt something inside him tug, and it was too high and too close to his heart to be lust. What the hell was she doing to him? “Did you mean it, Lachlan? You aren’t saying this just to appease me. Will you really take me to Roxburgh?”

He nodded grimly. At most it would add a day to their journey, but he did not delude himself: Every minute they stayed in the borders—on the English or Scottish side—was a minute too long. If anyone recognized them … he’d better make damn sure they didn’t.

Although Roxburgh was technically in Scotland, the English had garrisoned all the major strongholds in the Marches.

“We’ll go,” he said. “And I’ll see what I can find out, but you aren’t going anywhere near the castle. I mean it, Bella. Do you understand?”

The sternness in his voice fell on deaf ears. She nodded exuberantly and then tossed her arms around his neck, hugging him with all her strength.

Gratitude was a new experience for him, and if the swell in his chest meant anything, he suspected he could get used to it if he wasn’t careful.

The smart thing to do would have been to extricate himself, step away, and return to his duties. But he’d never been smart when it came to Bella MacDuff. So he let his arms circle around her and savored the strange peace that came over him just from holding her.

It would be over soon enough.

Twelve

With the long journey ahead of them, Lachlan ordered Bella to get some rest as they waited for night to fall. A wait that seemed interminable. But finally, as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, they were on their way.

As he’d promised, MacLean and Lamont had stayed behind in Berwick for another couple of days to watch the convent, leaving their party at four: him, Boyd, Seton, and Bella.

Traveling at night was fraught with risk and usually undertaken at a slow pace, but Boyd had been raised in the Marches and knew every inch of the terrain. With his skilled navigation, they kept a steady pace on the darkened road that ran along the banks of the River Tweed.

Every instinct urged him to push hard and get out of the area as quickly as possible, but Lachlan was conscious—too damned conscious for his peace of mind—of Bella. He knew he should be paying attention to the road, but more often than not, his eyes were on the slim back riding a few feet ahead of him, making sure she was all right.

Though her spirit seemed undiminished—he still couldn’t believe she’d managed to get him to agree to this—her frailty worried him. The imprisonment would have taken a toll on her physical strength. When he’d been released from prison, he’d felt as weak as a kitten.

He frowned. Was it his imagination, or was she slumping more in the saddle with each passing mile?

Although it was a fairly warm autumn night, she had two plaids wrapped around her narrow shoulders. His mouth fell in a grim line, suspecting the cause. He’d been imprisoned before. He knew what it was like to be cold. The kind of cold where you never thought you’d be warm again. But his icy pit in the ground wasn’t a cage high on a tower exposed to the elements. He couldn’t imagine—

Damn it. He couldn’t think about it. He’d go half-crazed if he thought about it.