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.
Boyd and Seton—with the horses.
She was still a few feet away when she heard footsteps behind her.
Lachlan scooped her up and carried her the last few steps, lifting her onto one of the horses.
“Thanks for the help,” he said dryly, hoisting himself up in his saddle.
Robbie grinned. “Took you long enough. I was beginning to worry.”
Lachlan muttered something that sounded like “Sod off, Raider.” But she couldn’t be sure. They were already riding, racing for their lives, away from the castle that was stirring to life.
Sixteen
Lachlan looped the drying cloth around his neck and made his way back toward the stable, carrying his freshly laundered linen tunic and braies over his arm. He’d let them dry a little by the fire before packing them in his bag.
God, it felt good to be clean! After nearly two days of hard riding, with only brief stops to water the horses, he hadn’t been able to wait to find the nearest loch and wash the filth away. So much blood had caked on his head from the wound at his temple it had started to itch like the devil under his helm.
But they’d managed to evade their pursuers, and with any luck, by this time tomorrow his mission would be complete.
It was almost over. He’d done what he set out to do and rescued Bella. There was nothing left unfinished. He would claim his reward and end his service to Bruce with a clear conscience.
He should be thrilled. He should be anxious to get back as soon as possible. But he’d insisted they stop and not push forward to the coast.
It was for Bella, he told himself. He wasn’t trying to delay.
He was still a short distance from the stables when the wooden door flung open and Seton came storming out, a murderous look on his face.
“Where are you going?” Lachlan shouted from across the grassy field.
The young knight didn’t stop. “To keep watch on the bloody hill.” He headed off in the opposite direction without another word.
Boyd was sitting by the fire, sharpening his sword, when Lachlan entered. Reputed to be the strongest man in Scotland, Boyd was used not just for his hand-to-hand combat skills, but also to intimidate.
The big warrior’s innocent expression didn’t fool him. Tension thick enough to cut with that blade he was holding hung in the air.
“What the hell is the matter with Dragon?”
As if he needed to ask. Boyd and Seton had been an ill pairing from the first day the men chosen for the Highland Guard had gathered on the Isle of Skye for MacLeod’s “training.” Torture, was more like it. It had been the most grueling, brutal training regimen Lachlan had ever been through, including a weeklong trial through the pits of hell aptly dubbed Perdition.
After nearly three years, the English knight and fierce Scottish patriot had learned to work together, but tension had been building between them since they’d headed west out of Peebles, rather than continue north, in an effort to lose their pursuers.
Their journey through Lanarkshire and Ayrshire brought them deep into the heart of Wallace country. It was the place where the first seeds of rebellion had been born, where Boyd had fought alongside Wallace, and also, unfortunately, the place where Boyd had lost his father to English butchery. Boyd hated the English, and although Seton’s family held lands in Scotland, they hailed from the North of England.
Boyd shrugged. “What’s usually the matter with him? I offended his precious knightly sensibilities.”
Seton had never fully embraced the revolutionary pirate style of warfare that Bruce had adopted: abandoning the knightly code to defeat the much larger and better-equipped English army. Tactics that had been used by the Highlanders and West Highland descendants of Somerled for generations. This new style of warfare was the very reason the Highland Guard was formed, and what made it unique: a small team of the best warriors in each discipline of warfare—irrespective of clan affiliation—who could get in and out quickly, utilizing surprise attacks calculated to impose maximum damage and fear.
Lachlan shot him a dark glare. “Meaning you provoked him.”
Boyd’s jaw locked. “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him for what he said last night.”
