The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(81)

Another man had to help to pin him down. Together the two of them dragged him to the door. Bella felt his panic as clearly as if it were her own. She knew exactly what he was feeling. “Stop!” she cried out. “You can’t put him in there.”

It would drive him mad. As it would her.

She made an attempt to move toward him, but Comyn grabbed her and yanked her head back by the braided coil at the top of her head. He twisted her face toward the light. “You and I are going to get better acquainted.” His eyes slid lecherously over her face. “At first I thought MacRuairi was buggering a lad. But you’re a damned sight prettier than any lad.” Bella shot him a look of furious disgust. When his dirty finger smoothed over her chin, she had to fight the urge to snap her teeth and bite. “A little pale and skinny, but aye, a real stunner with the mouth of a French whore.”

“Put your hands on her and you won’t die quickly.” Lachlan hurled the threat over his shoulder as the men were trying to push him through the door. The closer he got to the pit prison the more frantically he fought, kicking, twisting, using his elbows, using whatever he could to slow them down.

Finally, the brute pushed her head back with a disgusted grunt. “Bloody hell, you can’t control one chained man?”

He crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed Lachlan by the neck of his leather cotun to haul him up to face him.

The smile on Lachlan’s face chilled her blood. “This is your last chance,” he said idly. “Let us go or die.”

Something in Lachlan’s gaze must have warned him. Comyn thrust him away with a nervous laugh. “You must be mad.”

Barely had the words left his mouth when Lachlan attacked. He spun around, untwisting the chains that were somehow no longer manacled to his wrists. In one smooth motion he tossed a loop of chain over Comyn’s head, crossed his hands, and jerked them apart, snapping the man’s neck before the other two men had a chance to react.

“Get down,” he yelled to her, as he took another section of the chain and looped it over the other two men, preventing them from reaching their weapons.

Bella dove to the ground and saw him slide one of the men’s daggers from his belt and draw it across their throats. The men hadn’t hit the floor when the knife sailed through the air and landed with a thud right between the stunned eyes of the last man.

In a matter of seconds, Lachlan had just killed four men.

His eyes found hers. “Are you all right?”

She nodded dumbly, still stunned by what she’d just seen and the unbelievable turn of events. “How did you undo the manacles?”

He shook his head. “Later. We have to get out of here—someone else could walk in at any minute.” He was already going through the dead men’s clothing and removing weapons. “The good news is we’re close to the gate, and if they are expecting Sir William at any time, with luck the iron yett won’t be closed. Here,” he thrust a dirk in her hand, “do you know how to use it?”

She shook her head. “Nay, but I will figure it out if necessary.”

He smiled, grabbing her behind her head to pull her in for a hard, fierce kiss. “That’s my lass, always ready to fight.”

Her heart squeezed. My lass. Of course, he didn’t mean anything by it, but it filled her with an overwhelming sense of longing nonetheless.

He moved to the door, pressing his ear to the wooden slats before pushing it open.

“Finished already, Sir—?”

That was as far as the soldier got before Lachlan sank the steel of his blade into the side of his neck.

But he wasn’t alone. “Watch out!” she cried, as another guard appeared from the other side.

Her warning was unnecessary. Lachlan had a dirk in his other hand as well and had already used it. He dragged both men inside the guard room they’d just vacated and closed the door behind him.

Holding his finger up to his mouth to indicate silence, he led her as they slipped along the side of the building, hiding in the shadows. The gate was not ten feet in front of them, at the end of the narrow passageway, one side of which was the tower housing the guard room. A similar tower opposite formed the other side.

At the end of the passageway was the iron yett and at least a half-dozen men-at-arms guarding the gate. But Lachlan was right—the yett wasn’t closed. Still, she didn’t see how they were going to slip past six armed guards.

Lachlan stopped about five feet from the gate. When one of the men started laughing loudly, he whispered, “As soon as I move, run. I need you out of the way.”

She nodded, understanding. It was as before: Her capture had forced him to surrender. Lachlan could take care of himself. There was no question of that. It was she who hobbled him by requiring him to protect her. Bruce’s secret army … Good God.

She didn’t have time to think. In the next instant he moved and she followed right behind him, not stopping when he engaged the first soldier or the next. She ran past him, fending off a guard with a swipe of her dagger, and raced down the sloped dirt entry, not looking back. She barely flinched at the bone-chilling clatter of swords that reverberated behind her, shattering the quiet night air.

Suddenly, she heard the whiz of arrows fly over her head, heading not toward her but toward the castle. Two men appeared out of the darkness in front of her, slipping out from behind one of the castle’s outer buildings.