She’d hated having to lie to Lady Anna, Sir Arthur’s sweet-tempered young bride who’d been nothing but a friend to her, but her claim that she was ill and would prefer not to be disturbed except by her mother bought them some time. Her mother had reluctantly gone along with her plan, recognizing the danger Joan was in.
They rode for nearly two days straight, stopping only to change horses where they could and tend to their most basic needs. With each mile, the pain and emptiness in her chest seemed to grow, as did the distance between them. She wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. He seemed so remote. So aloof. His expression painfully blank when he looked at her.
She’d never seen him like this. Part of her wished he would lash out at her again in anger. At least that she understood—that she could defend against. But this stony silence was so unlike him, she didn’t know how to react. It threw her off balance and gave proof to her fear that whatever had been between them had been irretrievably broken.
If the silence hurt, the strained attempts at conversation were even worse. It seemed the only thing he could think to do to break the silence was to point out every route marker on the road and make her repeat over and over the directions to a safe house in Berwick in case anything happened to him.
It was almost as if he were preparing her for something.
Though they were alone, they’d never felt more apart. It was clear that he would rather be anyplace but here with her. He took every opportunity to hunt, bringing her back more grouse, pheasant, and partridge than they could possibly ever eat. Was he avoiding her, or was there another purpose?
Finally, the strained awkwardness became so unbearable Bella couldn’t take it anymore. When Lachlan ordered her to stop on the third night, telling her that they had to sleep if only for a few hours, she knew she had to try to break through this oppressive silence. She had to tell him that she hated what had happened just as much as he did. That she was wrong to have done what she did. That even after what had happened, she didn’t want him to go. That she cared for him.
He might not return her feelings, but she had to at least tell him what they were.
She thought she had time. When she’d left to go wash by the icy river, he’d been collecting armfuls of heather—for what purpose she didn’t know. But when she returned from tending her needs and washing as best she could, the heather had been dumped in a pile and he was gone.
It was nearly dark by the time Lachlan approached the small clearing by the river where they would camp for the night. They’d been fortunate not to have rain or snow the first two nights, but he could feel the dampness in the air and knew that a storm was on the way. A cold storm.
A miserable journey was about to get more miserable.
Though Bella hadn’t raised a word of complaint, he wasn’t going to put her through a night of riding in sleet and snow. They would have to stop to rest sometime, and tonight was as good as any. He hoped the storm would also slow down any pursuers. But if his fellow guardsmen—Bruce wouldn’t send anyone else—had gone by ship, he knew they might well be ahead of them.
At least he and Bella had made it through the hills before the weather changed. Though the most difficult terrain of their journey was now behind them, leaving the highlands meant they were entering the most dangerous. English garrisons held all the major castles from here to Berwick. To have a chance at reaching the convent in time, they had to take the main road, increasing the danger.
Not wanting to test their luck by risking a night at an inn, Lachlan had decided to stop at the site of an ancient fortification known as Doune, just north of Stirling. The fort was in ruins, but there were walls enough to provide shelter for the night. Situated on a small rise, it would give him a good view of anyone who tried to approach.
He quickly scanned the area around the ruined stone-and-timber fort. It was bleak. Desolate. The russet heather-covered hillside was fronted by the dark, brownish-gray waters of the river. The landscape was as cold, dank, and forbidding as the skies. But it would serve their purpose, and he hoped be unlikely to attract unwanted company.
He’d been hunting longer than he intended. The animals sensed the storm as well, but he’d managed to trap a small hare. Maybe she’d like that better than the birds? He’d also collected enough wood to cook it and keep them warm for the night.
Bella had been washing when he left, and he’d taken care not to disturb her. Hell, he could still barely look at her without feeling the knife of shame twist through his gut. He had to at least try to apologize, even if he knew she’d never be able to forgive him. The tension between them had become unbearable.
He didn’t know how to talk to her. All it seemed he could do was blather on about the roads. His attempts to show her how sorry he was had fared no better. She’d looked at him as if he was half-mad when he’d handed her the string of birds that he’d hunted for her. Then the heather he’d collected earlier to give her something soft to sleep on—women liked that, didn’t they?—had been crawling with beetles.
He whistled the signal to let her know he approached, stilling when instead of a reply, he heard a soft sob.
His pulse spiked, senses flaring with alarm.Bella!
Heart in his throat, the hare and wood fell to the ground as he raced the last few feet up the hill into the small stone enclosure.
The cold, damp air hit him the moment he ducked his head under the low doorway. It was so dark that at first he didn’t see her. He followed the sound to the back corner of the small room, loose pieces of stone crunching under his footsteps. She was curled up in a ball against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs and her face buried in her knees.
He rushed forward and knelt beside her. “Jesus, Bella, what happened?”
She lifted her head, blinking up at him as if she’d just realized he was there.
His eyes raked her face. Thank God, she appeared unharmed.
“Came…b-back…you…g-gone,” she managed in between big, gulping sobs.
Lachlan felt some of the pressure in his chest begin to release. He reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her face to his. “Foolish lass, you couldn’t have thought I would leave you?”
She looked so miserable his chest squeezed. He ached to pull her into his arms, but he didn’t want to make it worse.
“Yes. No.” She blinked up at him, the glare of accusation in her eye. “You did.”
She wasn’t referring to today, but to a month ago.I tried. “It mattered to you?”
