The two warriors had nearly come to blows when they’d stopped for a quick rest to water the horses by Douglas Castle. Bella had innocently asked what had happened to the burned-out castle, the seat of Sir James Douglas, one of Bruce’s closest household knights.
Seton had replied that it was the place where Bruce’s men had forgotten their honor—a slight aimed directly at Boyd, who’d fought alongside Sir James Douglas the year before when they’d retaken the castle by capturing the English garrison stationed there, tossing them in the cellar before lighting it on fire. An incident that had spread fear through the hearts of the English soldiers stationed in garrisons all across the Southwest and Marches, irreverently known as “Douglas’s Larder.”
Honor had no place in war, but Seton held firm to some of the code of the past.
“Well, I need you both to help me sail the ship to get us out of here, so you’ll have to wait to kill him until we get back. But if I were you, I’d make sure he doesn’t have a dirk on him, or you might be the one trying to talk your way out of hell.”
Boyd laughed. “Your mood has improved. Must be the dip in the loch?” He sniffed in the air. “Myrtle today, is it?”
Lachlan scowled and tossed the drying cloth that was around his neck at him, telling Boyd exactly what he could do with it. He used what soap was available, damn it.
Boyd laughed and continued sharpening his blade before the fire pit in the center of the old longhouse that now served as the stables and shelter for the farm animals when it got too cold. The family that was sheltering them for the night—the parents of a man who’d died fighting alongside Boyd and Wallace—resided in the newer stone cottage that stood at the base of Loudoun Hill just across the yard.
Though they weren’t completely out of danger, and wouldn’t be until they were north of the Tay, this part of southwest Scotland was much friendlier to Bruce than the Marches. Moreover, from the top of Loudoun Hill, the site of Bruce’s near-miraculous defeat of the English last year on his return to Scotland, they would be able to see anyone approaching for miles.
It was safe enough to rest for a few hours, but they would leave for the coast well before dawn.
Bella hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d insisted she sleep in the cottage. She needed a bed, damn it, even if only for a few hours. He could have forced her to ride with him again, but he didn’t trust himself to hold her against him for hours. He might not want to let her go.
He wasn’t avoiding her. Nay, he was just going to make damn sure they weren’t surprised again. He’d been caught with his pants down—literally. He wasn’t fool enough to say he regretted it—it had felt too incredible for that—but it had been a mistake. For more reasons than one.
If he’d hoped having her once would free him from this irrational infatuation, he’d miscalculated badly. It hadn’t dulled his desire for her one whit. If anything, the too brief, too hurried, too frantic incident had only whetted his appetite for more. But he knew it was too dangerous. The danger wasn’t from his enemies but from himself. If he touched her again it would only reinforce the irrational feeling that she was his.
Whatever this strange connection was between them, it didn’t mean anything. He sure as hell wasn’t fool enough to think it could be permanent.
Lachlan hung his damp clothes over a wooden post and sat opposite Boyd on a stool that he assumed was used for milking. He placed his weapons beside him and removed a steel padlock from his bag. MacKay had made it for him, and he’d yet to figure out the way to unlock it.
Boyd looked at him slyly over the flames of the fire. “You never did say what happened back in Peebles.”
Lachlan quirked a brow lazily, poking the blunted iron nail in the hole. “I didn’t think I needed to explain. I was taken by surprise.”
“Hmm,” Boyd said, studying him with a considered expression on his face. “I can’t remember the last time you were taken by surprise.”
Boyd was fishing, damn him. The arse had bloody well guessed what had happened, but Lachlan gave no indication he knew what Boyd was talking about. “It’s been known to happen once or twice,” Lachlan said dryly. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”
Suddenly, Boyd sat back in shock, staring at him as if he’d just glimpsed the Holy Grail. “My God, you like her!” He shook his head with disbelief. “I never thought I’d see the day, but you really like her.”
Lachlan shot him a warning glare. “Of course I like her. How could I not? After what she’s been through? She’s a damned hero, didn’t you know?”
That was part of the problem. She was a hero and he was a notorious, bastard mercenary who had more men hunting him than he could count. Her safety depended on anonymity; with him she would always be in danger.
“So does this mean you’ve reconsidered?”
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Boyd shrugged. “With you and Lady Isabella…I thought you might be thinking of sticking around a little longer.”
Lachlan stilled. For a moment he wondered…
Nay, it was impossible. Anger rose inside him. Damn Boyd for trying to confuse him! He didn’t need this shite.
“Just because I want to fuck her doesn’t mean I’m going to forget what I’ve worked for for three years. When the king holds his council, I’ll have my reward. Why the hell would I stay?”
Ten years ago he’d had everything ripped away from him. Now he had his chance to get some of it back. He’d have a home, a place to call his own, and be truly independent for the first time in his life. Answering to no one. Being responsible for no one. With no ties and debts left to pay. That was the only freedom for which he’d fought.
“You’re a real arse, Viper. The lady deserves better.” On that they could agree. “But you know what I think? I think she’s gotten to you. Though hell if I know what she could possibly see in you.”
She didn’t see anything in him. There was nothing to see. “God’s blood, Raider, when did you start sounding like my cousin?”
