“Then is it his skills you object to?”
She shook her head again, recalling the half-dozen men littered on the forest floor. She could hardly complain of that. “It’s his loyalty that I question. How can you be certain of his allegiance? The man is little better than a brigand.”
His mouth curved, the first sign of amusement she’d seen on his face in a long time. “Aye, he is that. But you have nothing to fear, Bella. If MacRuairi says he’ll do something, he does it. It’s getting him to agree that can be tricky.”
The distinction did little to reassure her. “Please, Robert.” She put her hand on his arm, her cheeks pinkening. “I couldn’t help but overhear…” She bit her lip. “He doesn’t want to go with us either. He’s forsaken his own clansmen; what makes you think he can lead us? Isn’t there someone else who could take us?”
Robert shook his head. “I’ve made my decision, Bella. I’m not asking you to trust him, I’m asking you to trust me.”
She did trust him. Even with everything that had happened, she believed in him. Her conviction in that had not wavered. Scotland had lost its champion, and its hope for freedom.
“Of course I do.” She bowed her head in acquiescence, tears shimmering in her eyes as everything that had been lost, and everything that might have been, came crashing down on her.
“Go then, lass, get your things. There isn’t much time. The Lord of Lorn will be hunting us.”
A hot lump seemed stuck in her throat, knowing this was goodbye. “Where will you go?”What will you do?
The haunted look returned to his eyes. “We’ll make for the coast. I have friends in the west. We’ll rebuild. Gather more troops and try again.”
Neither of them believed it. Robert Bruce’s cause was lost. He’d be lucky to make it out of Scotland with his life.
The tears began to fall. “Goodbye, Robert.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her hard. “Goodbye, brat.” Despite the circumstances, she smiled through her tears at the memories of what he’d called her when they were young. “Take care of my wife.” He hesitated. “This has been difficult for her. Elizabeth isn’t used to hardship. She doesn’t have your fighting spirit.” He drew back and gave her one last look. “I’m sorry, Bella. I never meant…”
His voice dropped off.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I’ve done nothing that I wouldn’t do again today. You are The Lion.”
The symbol of Scotland’s kingship. And despite all that had happened and the uncertain fate that awaited them all, she meant it.
She watched Robert walk away, and with a sigh turned back to the woods. She could only pray the king knew what he was doing.
She glanced up and startled, finding herself staring right into the eyes of the brigand himself. Her heart jolted. She couldn’t look away, caught—trapped—by the force of the connection. She’d forgotten how intense his eyes were. They bored into her, hot and penetrating.
She flushed, awareness rippling across her skin like wildfire. To her disappointment, she realized her reaction to him hadn’t changed. If anything it had grown stronger.
But it wasn’t just her reaction that caused her pulse to flutter and race. One look in his eyes and she knew he’d heard her.
He was furious. And something else. Something raw and primal flashed in his eyes. Something that made her want to turn and run.
But she’d learned long ago to never show weakness. Controlling her emotions was how she’d survived her marriage. Stoic submission and indifference, not tears and fear. A man could control her body but not her will.
She lifted her chin and forced herself to walk toward him, giving no hint of the furious pounding of her heart. Their eyes held in a silent duel.
“Countess,” he said with a nod of the head, an unmistakable note of mockery in his voice.
She pretended that it didn’t grate. Instead, she lifted a single brow. “I’m surprised you are still around.”
He smiled, but she sensed that her comment had bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Just waiting for a better offer.”
She knew he was trying to get to her, but it didn’t prevent her mouth from tightening. Her attempt to combat his anger with disdain wasn’t working. Lachlan MacRuairi was nothing like Buchan. There wasn’t a weak bone in his body. It would take more than a few words and a cold look to defy him. But she wouldn’t let him intimidate her. Her eyes skidded over him. “How much is a hired sword worth these days?”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. But he held her gaze. “More than you could pay.”
There was an edge to his voice that she didn’t understand. But it made her feel as if she’d done something wrong. As if she’d pricked beneath the seemingly impenetrable surface of mockery and struck emotion. As if, like her, he was good at masking his emotions. She just hadn’t thought he had any.
But as he turned on his heel and strode away, she had to wonder why a man who didn’t care about anything was so angry.
