Читать книгу Lion's Lady - Suzanne Barclay - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Rowena finished her ale and set the cup aside.

“More?” Sim inquired, standing behind her, ready to serve.

“Nay, I could not eat or drink another morsel.” She eyed the remaining scraps of meat pie. “Though it was delicious.”

“Aye. Lady Glenda sets a good table, but I must apologize for the company,” Lion’s squire added. His statement was punctuated by a hoarse shout and a round of drunken cheers.

Wincing, Rowena glanced toward the center of the hall. The tables had been cleared back to allow room for a wrestling match of sorts. Two large men, stripped down to linen drawers, were attempting to squeeze the life out of each other.

“It grows late, and I really must find my brother by marriage to see if he has found us lodging.”

Sim frowned. “I did send someone to inquire. Sir Eneas is not within the walls.”

“Run off and left me again. Well, I shall have to shift for myself, then.” She stood, but Sim barred the way.

“Lion said you were to wait here.”

“He does not have the ordering of me.”

“Nay, but he is finding a room for you.”

“And I can guess where it will be.”

Sim flushed. “Nay, my lord is not like that. You can trust him to make honorable arrangements for you.”

Once before she’d trusted Lion. No more. “I will see to it myself.” She stepped around him and into a burly stranger.

“Well. Lonely, are ye?” He stank worse than the garderobes. His black-and-purple plaid was stained with food, his eyes bleary with drink. “I can fix that.” He reached for her.

Sim shoved between them. “Off with you, John Chisholm. This lady is under my lord of Glenshee’s protection.”

“Get away, lad,” John snarled.

“Nay,” Sim said to the brute who towered over him.

Rowena gasped. “Sim, do not—”

“It’s ye who’ll be moving along, Dank John,” said the big redhead who’d materialized beside them.

John glared at the newcomer, but before he could protest, two more men in Sutherland green and blue appeared.

Cursing under his breath, John moved off.

“Thank you,” Rowena whispered. Her knees were suddenly so weak she steadied herself on the edge of the table.

“Glad to help.” The big man bowed. “I’m Red Will. This here’s Naill and that’s Lem’s Sandie.”

The wiry older man grinned at her. Fair-haired Lem’s Sandie blushed and bobbed his head.

Rowena managed a smile. “Thank you for noting my plight.”

“Oh, we’ve been keeping an eye on ye,” Red Will said.

“Per Lord Lion’s orders?” she asked faintly.

“Aye. He doesna want anyone harassing his lady.”

“I am not—”

“Lady Rowena?” inquired an imperious voice.

Rowena spun her head, braced for yet another confrontation.

The woman standing before her was of middle age, tall, thin and horsey looking. Her gown was of costly velvet, but the mustard shade was vastly unbecoming, turning her skin the color of tallow. Still, the crown of wispy brown braids atop her head gave her a regal look, and her eyes held a wary intelligence.

“Ach, ’tis Lady Glenda,” Red Will explained.

“My lady.” Rowena dropped a hasty curtsy.

“I am sorry not to have come sooner.” Her gaze moved from Rowena’s untidy hair to her muddy boots and back to her face. “You look as though you’ve had a long, terrible journey.”

Rowena smiled wryly. “My backside can attest to that.”

An answering smile curved Lady Glenda’s thin lips, making her eyes twinkle and her face seem almost pretty. “Ah. A sense of humor and a bit of wit. How refreshing.” She raised her hand, rings winking in the torchlight of the crowded hall.

Donald rushed over. “You have need of me. Lady Glenda?”

“Put the lady Rowena in the green room, Donald.”

“But—but when Lady Selena asked to have that chamber, you said it must be held ready for Lady Anne.”

Lady Glenda flushed. “That is because I did not want that sly woman entertaining her lovers in my sister’s room. She has the morals of a barn cat,” she said in an aside to Rowena. “Selena, not my Annie.” She glanced about the hall and grimaced. “There’s little we can do about yon riffraff being here, Donald, but the earl vowed I would have the arranging of the domestic matters in my own castle.”

“Aye, my lady.” Donald grinned. “Twill be a pleasure to see Lady Rowena settled in the green room.” He cocked his head, surveying her. “You’ll be wanting a bath.”

Rowena blinked, a bit dazed by the tempting offer. “Oh, but it’s so late...so much trouble...”

“Not at all.” He bowed. “Shall I show you up now?”

“I’ll do it,” said his mistress. Her lip curled slightly as she gazed about the hall. “I do wish Alexander would exert more control over his men.” She sighed. “Still, I know he has more important things on his mind.” The lady picked up her skirts and turned in a graceful sweep. “Come, let us away.”

“Gladly.” Lifting her muddy skirts, Rowena trailed after her rescuer. The older woman set a brisk pace across the entryway with its impressive display of ancient armaments and into a stone stairwell that spiraled tightly up two floors and opened into a well-lit corridor.

“Drat. I should have thought to bring a candle,” Lady Glenda grumbled. “’Tis what comes of acting in haste. Ah well.” She reached for a torch set in an iron holder in the wall.

“Allow me.” Rowena lifted the brand free.

“Ah. You are not one of those frail lasses who lets others do all the work.”

“If I were, I’d be home in my bed, not here, alone in a strange place full of louts and brigands.”

“Why aren’t you?” Lady Glenda asked as they walked down the hall. “Home in your bed instead of here?”

“I’ve come to ensure my son’s inheritance. You see—” she stepped through the door Lady Glenda had opened “—my husband died a week ago.”

“Oh. I am sorry.”

“So am I. Both because he was a good and honest man, and because our son is only five.”

“Ah.” Lady Glenda took the torch and thrust it into a pile of wood lying ready in the small corner hearth. The fire caught quickly, sending flickers of light over the fine furnishings—a tall, canopied bed draped in green velvet, a carved chest, a table and two chairs set beneath the window. “I know just how much of a challenge it can be, raising a child without a man. My oldest brother was two and ten when our da died. But our clansmen supported William. Is there no one to help you guide your young son into manhood?”

“Aye, there is, but Finlay, my husband’s cousin, and Father Cerdic are somewhat old and infirmed.”

“Mmm. That is a problem.” Lady Glenda plucked a thick candle from the mantel. As she stooped to light the wick from the fire, she groaned. “I am sorry for your loss and your troubles, but at least you loved and were loved in return. And you have your son...a living symbol of that love.”

At least you were loved. The pain stabbed through Rowena, quick and deadly as a knife thrust. “Aye,” she whispered.

“I—I hope that one day soon I will also know that joy,” Glenda said, cheeks flushing.

“You and the earl will wed?”

“He has not yet asked...but he is busy.” Her hands fluttered, unnecessarily tidying the bed drapes. “Tell me about your son.”

“Paddy is bright and quick and has a sweet disposition. ’Tis a joy to teach him, a thrill to watch him master each new task. But...” Rowena hesitated. Six years of living among the Gunns, of keeping her thoughts and plans to herself, made her cautious. Lady Glenda had befriended her, but if Eneas learned that she intended to have him ousted as Paddy’s guardian—

“But...?” Lady Glenda prompted.

A knock at the door spared Rowena from lying. At the lady’s command, servants entered with steaming buckets of water. Donald himself ducked behind the screen in one corner and dragged forth a small wooden tub. He set it before the fire with great ceremony, and the servants filled it quickly, then departed.

“Shall I send up a maid to help you?” Donald asked.

Rowena shook her head, dazed by the attention. “I’m used to seeing to myself, Thank you for all you’ve done.”

“Aye, well, I cannot claim all the credit. Before he left on the earl’s business, Lion asked me to arrange things thusly,” said Lady Glenda.

Rowena’s smile faded. “I see.”

“Two of the Sutherlands will be outside your door tonight,” Donald told her. She did not make the mistake of saying she did not want a guard. “If you need aught else, send one of them down to me in the hall.” The steward bowed to her, then to Lady Glenda, and headed for the door.

“A moment, Donald,” Lady Glenda called after him. “I’ve instructions to give you for the morrow.” She turned to Rowena. “Enjoy your bath and sleep well. In the morning you can tell me more about the challenge you’re facing.”

“Thank you, my lady. You have been more than kind.”

Glenda smiled wryly. “While I cannot claim to know what lies between you, if anything, I know how it chafes to have your life ordered by a strong man. No matter how well meaning. If it is any comfort, I am exceedingly glad he did, for I’ve enjoyed meeting you. And I’ve said that about precious few people these past three months. I look forward to our chat tomorrow.” She exited with the grace and dignity of a queen.

Rowena sighed, drained and buffeted by the events of the day. Her emotions had suffered more ups and downs than a skiff on a wind-roughened loch. The quiet of the room wrapped around her like a healing balm. How lucky she was to have this haven.

Lion arranged this, taunted a little voice. Did he think to share this room with her, to take up where they had left off six years ago? Well, he’ll soon learn that she was not the foolish, gullible lass she’d been then.

Stiff with determination, Rowena stalked to the tub and shucked off her dirty clothes. “Ah,” she sighed as she sank into the hot water. It melted the ache from weary muscles and banished the cold. “This is heaven.” There were days on the trail when she’d thought she would never be warm again.

The urge to linger, to steep in the water as she used to when she was young and carefree, was tempting, but the bath was cooling fast, and if Lion was planning to invade her chamber, she did not want him to catch her thus. She picked up a handful of soft soap, sniffed appreciatively at the sweet scent of heather and began scrubbing her grimy arms.

Working quickly, she moved on to unplait her braids. It was not easy to wet the long, curly hair, harder still to work a lather through it, but her scalp itched fiercely. And she was not climbing dirty into Annie Shaw’s bed. As Rowena washed, she tried to keep her mind on meeting the earl, but her thoughts kept straying to Lion.

He’d deserted her six years ago, yet stuck by her side tonight while she tended young Harry.

“There are things you should know,” he’d said.

What explanation could he give that would excuse his actions? If his father had changed their plans, Lion could have met her and told her so. Had he feared that she would cry and beg him to stay or to take her with him?

Bah, it did not matter now.

She ladled water from the bucket over her head to rinse away the soap. If only she could be shed of her problems as easily, she thought as she stood and wrapped about her the long linen towel left warming by the fire.

Bundled in a thick bed robe, she crawled into bed and leaned against the pillows. She stared into the fire and drew the wide-toothed wooden comb through her tangled hair, her thoughts on the morrow. She’d arise early, don her best gown and see if she could catch the earl in the hall breaking his fast. With any luck, Eneas would not have had a chance to corner the earl and fill his ears with lies.

Tired as she was, Rowena found sleep elusive, her thoughts haunted by images from the past. Images of Lion.

Had he arranged for her to have this room so he could join her? The notion was terrifying. And thrilling.

“Ah, it feels good to be free of that cursed place, if only for a few hours,” Bryce observed as they cantered away from Blantyre and headed into the hills.

“Aye,” Lion answered. A slender moon lit their way, the air smelled fresh and clean. It had not been easy for them to leave unobserved by the edgy earl’s guards, but soon after coming here, he had secured a copy of the postern gate key. Once away from the castle, he and Bryce had walked down to the village and gotten their horses from Roderick, a Sutherland working there as the blacksmith’s helper.

Lion would have been grateful to leave behind the stink of intrigue and corruption, except for his worry about Rowena. The lass had always been headstrong. Though he’d warned her to stay away from Alexander and had left Red Will to watch her, his gut was by no means easy on that score.

It was incredible seeing her again after all this time. The wonder of it had struck him anew as he’d sat beside her in the hall, watching the play of emotion over her face, marveling at the changes the years had made. Rowena was here, free of Padruig, free to take another man. Lion wanted to be that man. He would be that man.

Winning her would not be easy.

Lion grimaced. Somehow he had to overcome her distrust.

“You’re worried about the meeting with the MacNabs. Surely Robbie will listen to you. His father and yours are old friends, and you played together as lads.”

Lion shook away one problem to shoulder an even larger one, the one that had brought him to Blantyre. “It’s not Robbie I’m worried about. Aedh is chief of the clan, and he will have given his son specific orders about what to tell Alexander concerning his barbaric plans.”

“Aye, the MacNabs are much like us and most other honorable clans—not eager to make war on their neighbors.”

“But I fear the MacNabs are a stubborn lot.”

Bryce chuckled. “You are not?”

“At least I know when to bend.” Lion’s father had taught him that, among other valuable lessons, and he’d never missed Lucais Sutherland’s sage advice more than he did now. Lion had fought his way across France, had intrigued with the best—or worst—of them at French Robert’s court, yet he’d never felt as inadequate to a task as he did this one. The enormity of trying to protect whole clans of men who resented his interference, while trying to find proof of Alexander’s treason, was nearly overwhelming.

“You think Robbie will not bend?”

“I would not have, were I eight and ten and off on an important mission for my old bear of a sire. If you’ve ever seen Aedh in a rage, you’d hardly blame the lad.”

They crested the rise and raced along a high plateau that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the horizon. A rocky outcropping came into view, black against the new grass. Lion headed toward it, slowing so the stallion could maneuver between the boulders. The trail turned sharply, then opened into a tiny meadow. The clearing teemed with horses and with men warming themselves before a few small campfires. Lion was about to complain about the lack of sentries when a wee man sprang from behind a rock.

“We was on the point of sending out a search party,” Heckie grumbled, his weathered face cracked by a smile.