The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(70)

Bella’s heart tugged, realizing just how much she’d lost. More than she ever knew. Her daughter had become a woman, and she’d missed every blessed minute of it. Though achingly familiar in so many ways, the woman before her was essentially a stranger.

Sir Alex must have heard her cry and followed the direction of her stare. “Is that her?”

Something in his voice caused her to look away from her daughter a moment. The knight appeared stunned.

“Aye,” Bella whispered in a deep voice. “It’s her.”

“She’s a beauty.”

Bella frowned, hearing the note of masculine appreciation in his tone. “She’s four-and-ten,” she replied, giving him a sharp look before turning back to her daughter. But Bella had been only a year older when she’d married Buchan.

The knight grimaced. “She looks older.”

A man had come over and started to talk to Joan and the two young women standing with her. Bella didn’t recognize him, but from his fine clothing and jewels, she knew he must be someone important. Who was he to her daughter?

Barely had the question formed when Bella’s pulse jolted to a race. Joan was moving away from the merchant and returning to her horse.

She was going to ride away. Bella was going to lose her chance to contact her. To let her know she had never stopped thinking about her. Never stopped missing her. Never wavered an instant in her determination to get back to her.

It had been hard enough getting Lachlan to agree to come here; he would never agree to go after her.

Joan neared her horse. Bella froze like a deer in the hunter’s sight. In a moment, her daughter would be gone.

Every instinct clamored to call out her daughter’s name. To run to her, fold her in her arms, and carry her away from this nightmare.

But she couldn’t. Dear God, she couldn’t. There were too many soldiers. They would never be able to get away.

She looked around frantically. She had to do something. She couldn’t just let her go.

A sign. She needed to give Joan a sign that she was with her. That she hadn’t forgotten her.

She found it a few feet away, lying on a merchant’s table. Would she understand?

Sir Alex had a firm hold of one of her wrists, not taking any more chances on her getting loose. But the table was close enough for her to lean over and …

She snagged the pale-pink silk rose that had caught her eye and deftly slipped it off the table. The merchant, so caught up in the procession, didn’t notice.

Sir Alex, however, did. “Damn it,” he swore, reaching for it. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

But it was too late. Her brain had stopped working the moment she’d seen her daughter; she was thinking with her heart.

In one surreptitious motion, she tossed it between the crowd toward Joan. The pale-pink silk rose landed a few feet to her left.

“Ah hell,” Sir Alex swore, seeing what she had done. He started to drag her away.

Bella kept her eyes pinned on her daughter. For a moment she thought Joan wouldn’t see it. But then she jolted to a sudden stop as if she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. Even in profile, Bella could see her face pale and her eyes widen. She understood.

Unfortunately, Joan wasn’t the only one to notice. Though Bella had intended to catch only her daughter’s attention, the distinguished lord walking ahead of her turned at the movement.

Suddenly, Bella had a bad feeling. Was the rose more of a sign than she realized?

Joan’s gaze shot in the direction of the crowd. Whether their eyes would have met, whether her daughter would have recognized her in the lad’s garb, Bella would never know. For at that moment, a man grabbed Bella from behind, tearing her from Sir Alex’s grasp and hauling her up against him.

She’d been caught.

Lady Joan Comyn was enjoying herself. She’d never heard such ridiculous flattery in her life and couldn’t help but smile at the man trying to sell her ribbons for three times the price she could purchase them for in London.

She’d had precious little to smile about in the few months since her father had died. Actually, it had been far longer than that, but she tried not to think of her mother—it was too painful.

Her life was in England now.

Of her new guardian, Sir Hugh Despenser, Joan didn’t know what to think. Their interactions had been few, and when—such as now—he came to hurry them along, he seemed more impatient and annoyed than truly angry. Of age with her father, he was shrewd—his position as the king’s favorite told her that—and she would not underestimate him.

As she and Margaret followed Sir Hugh back to their horses, Joan tried not to look at the crowd that was taking in their every move. But she couldn’t help feeling self-conscious. Though she understood the fascination, she was naturally shy and reserved, and uncomfortable with people looking at her. With what had happened to her mother, it was perhaps understandable.

Suddenly, she sensed a movement out of the corner of her eye. When she looked down, it took her a moment to realize what it was.

Her heart slammed to a stop. Her breath caught in her chest with the force of a hammer.

Without realizing what she was doing, she knelt down to pick the item up, holding it almost reverently in her hand. Her eyes glazed with tears.

Who …? What did this mean?

Instinctively, she turned in the direction where she’d sensed the movement. Her eyes scanned the crowed, looking for an answer. But there were so many people it was impossible to guess from where it had come.