“But he told me a messenger had gotten word to Joan.”
“Aye, but the king didn’t order it.”
“Then, who …?” Her voice slowed to a stop. Her gaze snapped to William’s in silent question.
He pushed back from the table and cast a glance toward the opposite end of the dais. “Who do you think?”
Bella was stunned, following the direction of his gaze. Lachlan had returned to the Hall and stood talking to Nigel. Had he been the one to take the message to Joan? But why, why would he do that?
It was kind and thoughtful. Two words that didn’t usually come to mind when she thought of him.
Had she misjudged him? Was he not the opportunistic brigand, loyal only to his purse, that she first thought? Was he not immune to what was going on around him? Did he care more than he let on?
Did he care for…her?
It shocked her how much she wanted it to be true.
Barely had the question formed when Nigel withdrew a small leather bag from the sporran at his waist and handed it to Lachlan, who quickly tucked it in hiscotun.
It was like a slap in the face. There was no noble purpose hiding under his mercenary facade. He’d never pretended differently; why should she try to make him into something he wasn’t? She knew why: to find an excuse for this illogical attraction to him.
Feeling foolish and not a little angry with herself, Bella left the Hall. If she was walking a little fast, it was because there was so much to do before they left. She wasn’t fleeing. And if her eyes were blinking a little too rapidly, it was because they were burning from the dry air of the peat fires.
What the hell was wrong with her? Why had she fled the Hall as if the devil were nipping at her heels?
Lachlan followed her out the door and into the courtyard. “Countess!”
He knew she heard him when she flinched, but she didn’t stop. He caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “Damn it, what’s the matter with you?”
In the torchlight, her eyes shimmered. “Nothing.” She tried to jerk away. “Let go of me.”
He dropped her arm, surprised by the coldness of her voice.
“Was there something you wanted?” she said tonelessly, not looking at him.
He frowned, confused. “You should be more careful with your ankle. You were walking too hard and too fast.”
Hell, he sounded like a nursemaid. The lass was making him daft.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Damn it, Bella. What’s the matter? Why are you so angry? Is it about Norway? We can’t stay here. Surely you see that? It’s the king’s orders,” he reminded her. It hadn’t escaped his notice what had persuaded her before. “It’s what Robert wishes,” the queen had said. It was clear Bruce held great power over her. The question that kept grating on him was why.
“And how much is our safety worth?”
He jerked back at the scorn in her tone. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw Nigel give you the bag of coin. I don’t know why it surprises me. You would probably sell your mother if the price was high enough.”
He stilled; every muscle in his body went hard. Slowly, he forced himself to relax. A smile curled his mouth. “She wouldn’t have been worth much.”
Bella gasped in shock. “How can you say something so horrible?”
He shrugged indifferently. “It’s the truth.”
She studied him in silence for a moment. He knew she’d sensed there was more to the story when she asked, “Who was she?”
“A Welsh princess my father caught sight of on one of his raids and decided to take, in keeping with my Norse ancestors’ penchant to take thralls.” He didn’t waste time on bitterness. The past was the past; it couldn’t be changed.
