The Viper (43 page)

He released her nipple, looking into her eyes as he brushed his finger over her dampness. She shuddered, then squirmed as her body flooded with warmth. "Are you wet for me?"

She moaned, lifting her hips against his hand, silently begging for him to touch her and find out. But still he swept over her. His mouth slid down her stomach, pressing tiny kisses along the trail forged by his hands.

"I want to taste you right here." He pressed her intimately with his fingers.

Oh God
. Her breath quickened in anticipation as she realized what he was going to do. What he'd threatened so coarsely to do before.

Should she stop him? Surely she should stop him. But her body was quivering, throbbing with need. And her hips--her hips couldn't seem to stay still.

"Do you trust me?"

His voice was husky with promise, a dark temptation too powerful to be resisted.

She could only nod. Words would not form. Anticipation beat in her like a drum.

He settled his dark head between her thighs, cupping her bottom to lift her hips toward his mouth, holding her gaze the entire time.

Oh God.

There would be no shying from this intimacy. But the wickedness, the wantonness, the naughtiness only served to deepen her arousal.

He seemed to be waiting for some kind of reply. Or maybe he was just prolonging the agony. "Let me love you, Bella."

And then he did. Kissing her. Tonguing her. Loving her with his mouth until she no longer knew her name. Until all she could think about was the exquisite torture he was exacting on her. Until the unbelievable sensations became too much.

She'd never imagined anything could feel like this. The pressure of his mouth. The flick of his tongue. The scratch of his whiskers against the sensitive skin.

She writhed. Moaned. Trembled.

He sent her tumbling over the edge, and then sent her over again. She cried out as wave after wave of pleasure spasmed through her.

He was inside her. Filling her. Taking her with long, tender strokes. Skin to skin. Their bodies melding in a fusion of heat and passion.

But when she looked into his eyes, she knew it was far more than that.

It was perfect. With each slow, penetrating stroke, she felt his love for her. And when at last they came together, she heard the words again, echoing in her ears.

The love and happiness that had eluded her for so long were finally hers. She savored every moment of joy, knowing how hard fought it had been won.

Hours later, after he'd built a fire, fed her, and loved her once more, she slept entwined in his arms, for the first time in years feeling hope in the promise of tomorrow. With Lachlan by her side, everything was going to be all right.

Twenty

Lachlan didn't like it, but he didn't have any other choice. He drew the hood of the dark robe over his head and turned back to look at her standing in the doorway. God, he didn't want to leave her. "I won't be long," he said.

She put her hand on his arm with the unconscious ease of a woman who knew every inch of him and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. After so many hours in the saddle, it will feel good to move around and stretch my legs."

He frowned. He didn't like leaving her alone, but he didn't have a choice. He had to scout the convent and find Margaret. She would be safe here for a couple of hours. "Don't stray too far from the cottage. Though there aren't likely to be any hunters or poachers at night, there are wild animals in the forest, or you could fall and twist an ankle--"

She stopped him with a laugh. "You sound like my mother."

His jaw clenched. "Damn it, Bella, I'm serious. Just because we've made it so far without any problems doesn't mean we're safe. We still have to get you in and out of that convent without being seen."

Not to mention getting out of England, through the Marches, and back to the safe part of Scotland. His stomach knifed. What the hell were they doing here?

But she wasn't listening. Her mind had leapt beyond the "details" the moment they'd reached the outskirts of Berwick. As soon as he'd had confirmation from an informant whom the Highland Guard had used many times before that Despenser's party had arrived at the castle the day prior, Bella hadn't been able to sit still.

On their journey she'd confided more of the details of her imprisonment, including how they used the prospect of contact with her daughter to control her. He knew part of her had been protecting herself in case this was yet one more in a long line of disappointments. Once she'd learned Joan was close, however, there'd been no holding her back.

"I can't believe I'm going to see my daughter in a matter of days--maybe as soon as tomorrow."

The dreamy smile on her face made his chest tighten. He knew how much this meant to her, and he would cut off his right arm to make it happen, but she was getting ahead of herself. "
If
I can get you in there."

She lifted up on her toes to press an unfortunately chaste kiss on his mouth, which he suspected was merely to soften his frown. "Of course you'll get me in. It's a convent, not a heavily guarded castle, and it's protected by nuns, not soldiers. It will be child's play for you."

Unwavering faith wasn't something he was used to, and it made him bloody uncomfortable.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. So far everything had gone according to plan. But it was an adage among the Guard that the only thing you could count on in a mission was that something would always go wrong.

So far nothing had. The morning after the storm they'd woken to sunshine. The thin layer of snow hadn't slowed them down at all, and by the end of the morning had melted. They'd changed horses just south of Edinburgh and made it to Berwick on the fifth day of their journey--nearly a half-day quicker than he'd anticipated. After the quick meeting with the informant to confirm Despenser's presence, they had gone to the forester's cottage by the stream that they'd used when they rescued Bella. Best of all, there had been no sign of his Highland Guard brethren.

Why couldn't he shake the feeling that something was wrong?

He knew why. He was too damned happy, and he didn't trust it. Happiness made him wary. And tentative. He didn't want anything to screw it up.

By unspoken agreement, he and Bella had avoided talking about the future for the same reasons. She needed to ensure her daughter's safety first, and he needed to ensure hers. There would be time when this was over. But the memories of what had happened the last time he'd mentioned a future still stung.

She was right. He was more conventional than he'd realized. He wanted her as his wife. But she loved him. It would have to be enough for now.

"It's not getting you in that I'm worried about," he replied. "It's getting you out. What if one of the nuns notices something and decides to look a little closer? What if Comyn does something? I don't trust him."

His words seemed to finally have the desired chilling effect. She sobered. "It's worth the risk, Lachlan. I have to try to do this." She put his hand on his cheek. How quickly he'd become used to the tender touch. To crave it.

"My vows--Margaret's vows--will protect me. And if not, I have you."

God, he wanted to be deserving of that faith. "I'm only a man, Bella--not a magician. There are some barriers even I cannot get past. You better than anyone know that."

She paled, the memories of her confinement too fresh.

He swore. "Ah hell, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just want you to be cautious. Remember, you did promise to follow orders."

Her mouth quirked. "All right. You win. I'll stay close to the cottage."

He smiled and dropped a kiss on her lips. "Now, there's an agreeable lass."

She made a face. "Go. Before I become very disagreeable."

He smiled and gave her another kiss, this one much more fierce, before reluctantly taking his leave.

As the convent was only a couple of miles away, he traveled on foot. This way he would attract less notice in the event anyone was nearby. He picked up the pace as he went, moving quickly through the trees and brush.

On some missions the members of the Guard would run like this for hours, across uneven terrain, up and down hills, in snow, rain, and sun. In one of their first training exercises, that sadist MacLeod had demanded that each one of them run fully armed from his castle of Dunvegan along the coast to the northern point of the Waternish Peninsula--a distance of about fifteen miles--in two hours. He'd let them rest all of five minutes before ordering them to run back.

Raised on the sea, and used to the quick Viking style attack of his forebearers, running came about as naturally to Lachlan as riding did to MacKay. The blasted Highlander could run for days. Though Lachlan had hated every minute of the training, he had to admit the endurance and speed had proved useful more times than he'd like to remember.

Now he could run for hours without thinking about it. But he'd still sure as hell rather be in a boat.

He slowed as he neared the convent. St. Mary de Mount Carmel was situated in a small forested glen in a remote area on the outskirts of town. Though it was quiet, and nothing appeared out of the ordinary, he intended to be damned careful.

He told himself it was just like any other mission. But it wasn't. He had Bella to worry about.

Emerging from the edge of the tree line, he scanned the area around the small walled enclosure. The moon was full, providing plenty of light. At least it did for Lachlan, who had unusually keen vision at night.

The convent consisted of three main buildings around a central cloister. To protect the nuns from the outside world, a ten-foot-high wall and a ditch had been built around the main buildings. But without guards and with only a locked gate to prevent entry, it was more for privacy than a defensive barrier. Hell, even an Englishman could breech these paltry defenses.

Lachlan figured his biggest problem was going to be staying hidden once he was inside. A man in a convent would stand out. The dark robe would help him blend into the darkness, but nothing could hide his size. And unlike other missions, he couldn't use his blade to cover any mishaps or surprises.

There were few things he refused to do, but killing women--nuns, no less--was one of them.

He waited in the darkness, watching and listening. Finally, about a half-hour after he'd arrived, the bell rang.

It was what he was waiting for. The call to evening prayers. All the women would be in one place.

He waited about ten more minutes, making sure everyone would be inside the church, and then made his move. He picked the darkest area of the castle--in this case the east side, which was shaded by the trees and mountain behind--and came out into the open. He'd be visible for about a hundred yards after he left the safety of the trees.

Dashing across, he made it without incident to the wall. Using gaps in the stones and jagged edges of the rock as finger- and toeholds, he climbed up a few feet until he could grip the top edge. From there he lifted himself up--not an easy feat, loaded down with armor and weapons. But pulling yourself up from a dead hang was another one of MacLeod's favorite training exercises.

Lying flat on the two-foot-wide platform, he stilled, getting his bearings. He was above what he suspected was the dormitory where the nuns slept. To his left in the center was the church, and opposite was the refectory.

He scanned the area for any sign of movement. Seeing nothing, he dropped down inside. As he wasn't familiar with the duration of church liturgies--hired swords didn't tend to spend a lot of time at church--he didn't know how much time he had. Moving quickly, he crossed the cloister, passing through what had to be a garden for the kitchens, before ducking behind an arched column of the walkway connecting the church to the refectory.

From here, he took some time to find the best position from which to watch the nuns emerge from the building. He needed to find Margaret as quickly as he could and follow her, or find a way to draw her away to speak to her privately. If he had to, he would wait until they slept and then sneak in and wake her.

It was imperative that he find her tonight. Margaret, with her knowledge of the layout and schedule of the convent, would be able to provide the best time and place to make the temporary switch before the meeting with Comyn and Joan.

Unfortunately, hiding places were limited. But he settled on a gap between the steepled roof of the church and the flat roof of the walkway. From the high position, he would have a good view of the nuns coming out of the chapel door. It was good and dark, with little chance of anyone seeing him. It also provided him with multiple escape routes, by traversing the roofs and dropping down on either side.

Once he was in position, it was just a matter of waiting. About twenty minutes later he heard the door open and the nuns began to emerge.

Although there was a nice beam of light from a torch to illuminate their faces as they stepped from the church, the women had a tendency to bow their heads as they walked. Combined with the veils and wimples that covered most of their faces, identifying Margaret was going to be more difficult than he'd realized.