The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(72)

After nearly three years of working together in situations where one errant sound could be the difference between life and death, they knew how to communicate in silence. A nod of his head and dart of his eyes told Seton what he wanted him to do.

Seeing that the younger man understood, Lachlan let her go. But it wasn’t easy. Every primitive instinct clamored to hold on to her and … just hold on.

He had to stop himself from not catching her back to him when Despenser noticed what had drawn Lady Joan’s attention.

Damn it, this wasn’t good. Not good at all.

So much for remaining unnoticed. It seemed as though every pair of eyes in the retinue was turned in their direction. And in at least one pair he saw recognition.

He held his breath as the color slid from Lady Joan’s pale face. Their eyes met for one long heartbeat.

Would she call him out? Identify him as a rebel and send him to his death?

She turned away. He breathed a ragged sigh of relief, thinking that the reports of her allegiance to the English must be wrong. But when she crushed the rose under her heel, he reconsidered. Damn. Her disavowal of her mother couldn’t be any plainer.

Ah, hell. His gaze shot to Bella. Seton was slowly easing her through the crowd, but it wasn’t fast enough. They’d managed to move only a few feet away. Any hope that she hadn’t seen the crushed rose or heard her daughter’s words fled the instant he saw her stricken expression.

He caught only a glimpse of her face in profile before Dragon pulled her away, but it was enough.

His chest tightened. Seeing her in pain … damn it, it pained him. He would have done anything to spare her from another moment of it. Lady Joan had crushed her mother’s heart as surely as she had crushed that flower.

But if he thought the worst was over, he was wrong. A man who’d been riding ahead had come back to investigate and had noticed Seton and Bella. “You there. Where are you going?”

Lachlan swore. He wasn’t a praying man, but if he were ever going to start, now would be the time. The man who’d noticed Bella was her former brother-in-law, William Comyn. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a stranger to Lachlan. Indeed, in the long line of people eager to see his head adorning the gates of a castle, William Comyn would be standing in the front. Years ago Lachlan had humiliated him on the battlefield, and the proud nobleman had never forgotten it.

Lachlan tugged the cap he wore lower over his brow, though it was scant protection if Comyn turned his way.

But right now the danger was Bella.

Seton pulled her behind him and turned to face Comyn. Lachlan had never been so grateful to hear Seton’s bloody English accent. “To the castle, my lord,” he said. “The lad is supposed to be at work, not gaping at the pretty ladies.”

Seton bowed, bestowing a dazzling grin on Joan and the other ladies, who blushed prettily.

Lachlan owed the knight an apology. It seemed all that gallantry and chivalry wasn’t completely useless.

Comyn, however, was not impressed. His eyes narrowed. “You, boy, why are you hiding back there?”

Knowing there was no other choice, Seton eased Bella out from behind his back.

Lachlan stilled, his senses primed, ready to do whatever it took to defend her. Bàs roimh Gèill. Death before Surrender. It was the motto of the Highland Guard and one of the few things they all agreed upon.

She kept her eyes downcast, the cap shielding most of her face. That, coupled with the loss of weight wrought by her imprisonment …

He hoped to hell it was enough.

He glanced toward Despenser’s group and noticed a furrow appear between Lady Joan’s brows as she studied Bella.

Bella mumbled something in a low voice.

“What’s that?” Comyn said. “Speak up, boy.”

Seton backhanded Bella’s shoulder—a little harder than Lachlan thought necessary. “You heard the lord,” he said, then turned to Comyn apologetically. “He’s shy, my lord.”

Lachlan knew this couldn’t go on much longer. That disguise wasn’t going to hold up under scrutiny.

Joan put a hand on Comyn’s arm. “Please, uncle, let the lad get back to work. He looks to be in enough trouble already.” She gave a small laugh. “Lord Despenser is eager to begin our journey.” She looked at the crushed rose. “I’m sure nothing was meant by it.”

Comyn patted her hand indulgently, but he didn’t turn from Seton and Bella, who stood unmoving in the crowd. A crowd that was only too grateful to have the attention turned on someone other than themselves. Lachlan had to do something to turn it on someone else—someone who was preferably not him.

He wished he had that pig. He looked around for something—anything—that could provide a distraction.

He didn’t have a pig, but he had chickens. A few feet away were half a dozen hens in a temporary coop and tied beside it, one big, fat cockerel.

It was the cockerel that he focused on. He inched toward the rope.

Comyn opened his mouth to say something, his gaze still fixed on Bella and Seton, and Lachlan knew he’d run out of time. He pretended to trip forward, slicing through the rope with a dirk hidden in his hand as he crashed into the table to which it had been tied.

A table laden with baskets of eggs.

“Me eggs!” the farmer cried out.

Hell, “me eggs” were dripping down his damned face. Lachlan went to wipe it, but then stopped himself. Instead, he buried his face in some of the hay that had been cradling the eggs in the baskets. As disguises went, this one was bloody uncomfortable.