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

Chapter Five

Though ’twas nearly midnight, hours since the attack in the woods, Laurel couldn’t sleep. Instead she lay on the narrow bed that had been hers since childhood, staring at the shadows the night candle cast on the canopy over her head. Ordinary shapes. Yet the way they writhed and twisted as the flame shifted in the light breeze coming through the open shutters made them seem...alive. Hideous monsters with ruined faces.

Shivering, Laurel closed her eyes, but the image remained, floating on the sea of fog. ’Twas the gravel-voiced man, scarred features twisted with hatred, hands outstretched to grab her.

Run! Run! She whirled away, found herself trapped in the mists. And suddenly Kieran was there, leaping in front of her with a savage cry. His sword gleamed in the half-light as it sliced through her attacker. The apparition vanished.

Kieran! she cried, but no sound passed the lump in her throat. Yet he heard and rounded on her, naked chest heaving, head thrown back, dark hair flowing free. Silky black ribbons clinging to the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders. Strong. Primitive. Yet ‘twasn’t his superior size that frightened her. ’Twas the hunger in his eyes. Gleaming like gemstones, they bored into her, fierce predatory eyes that saw too much, wanted even more. They struck an answering chord deep in her belly, igniting a flare of heat that threatened to consume her from the inside out. He wanted her.

And she wanted him. In ways she’d never thought possible. There was warmth beneath his cold, hard facade. And pain. Such pain. The need to heal overcame her fear. She extended her hand. “Come to me. You’ll be safe with me, I promise.”

His eyes widened. “Nay. It can never be. I can never trust again.” He backed away from her and was swallowed up by the mist.

“Kieran!” Laurel bolted upright in bed, arms extended to catch him, but they grasped empty air. ’Twas only a dream, another stupid vision. She flopped down on the bed, hollow and aching inside. Damn. How could she look at him again without remembering the passion that had briefly flared between them? Or his anguished dismissal of her. What did it mean?

She struggled to make sense of the dream. It must have been fueled by her gratitude for his rescue. If not for Kieran she wouldn’t be tucked in her bed, the scratch on her neck covered with her aunt’s balm and a linen bandage: she’d be dead. Or worse...in the hills somewhere, helpless prey for that...that animal with the horrible face and mad eyes. Sweet Mary, those eyes...

Nay, do not think of that! Laurel clenched the bed linens and forced the foul notion away. She was safe. Safe in Edin Tower. Kieran’s men guarded the pass and just before her aunt had hustled her away, she’d heard him order twice the usual complement of MacLellans to patrol Edin’s walls. Still her mind refused to let go of the incident in the woods. There was something that nagged at her.

Laurel stopped fighting the memory and instead began to pick it apart. Two things struck her when she’d finished. The unmarked reiver was English, and he’d mentioned sending for an army.

An army! Oh, why hadn’t she remembered this before? She had to tell Grandda and Ellis. Tossing aside the covers, she grabbed a woolen robe from the foot of her bed and dragged it on over her night shift while she stepped into a pair of leather slippers. Halfway to the door, she realized ’was the middle of the night and no one would be up save the troopers on the wall.

Waking her grandfather was out of the question. Ellis. He wouldn’t mind being awakened for something so important. She fairly flew down the darkened corridor, took the circular stairs at a reckless clip and stuck her head into the great hall to see if Ellis was sitting up drinking and talking as was his wont. The fire had been banked for the night, and a single torch burned at the far end of the room. In the gloom, she could make out the servants and such men as weren’t standing watch, curled up in their blankets and snoring sonorously on the rush-strewn floor.

As the commander of Edin’s guard, Ellis rated a small wall chamber in the old wing. Laurel made for it as quickly as she could but found the room empty. His armor and sword were missing from the corner. He must be at the pass. Doubtless by Kieran’s order. It shamed her that she’d been too dazed by the attack to give a thought to defensive strategy. Feet dragging, she retraced her steps till she stood at the bottom of the stairs. She should seek her bed, but despite the late hour and all she’d been through, she feared she wouldn’t sleep. Worse was the fear she’d dream again. Mayhap she’d look in on Freda and the pups. That never failed to soothe her.

Outside, the courtyard was deserted, but near as bright as day. Normally one or two torches were lit to guide the steps of any who needed to find the jakes in the night. Now, however, a dozen or more burned smokily from steel rings set in the tower and outbuildings. More of Kieran’s doing, Laurel thought, giving him high praise for his precautions.

Easing the door shut, she started down the outer staircase. ‘Twas built of stone with a wooden covering to keep off the rain, so ’twasn’t till she’d reached the ground that she realized it had rained while her aunt was fussing over her. The worn stone of the courtyard gleamed wetly in the light, and the air was so heavy with moisture her breath fogged as she exhaled.

“Who goes there?” demanded a rough voice.

Laurel squeaked and turned to find Geordie behind her, sword out. “What are you doing sneaking about in the dead of night?” she demanded,

He scowled and stuck out his chest. “I’m on guard duty.” Poor Geordie, only a few inches taller than her five feet and four inches, with a youthful face and freckles he tried to hide under a sparse red beard.

“Why are you guarding the inner ward?”

“Sir Kieran said ‘twas needful, what with the poor excuse for a wall we’ve got. Said ’twouldn’t keep out a bairn.”

“That man is too quick to find fault.”

Geordie sheathed his sword. “Never say ye’re not taken with him, too. The lasses have been all atwitter ever since he came.”

A pang shot through her. It couldn’t be jealousy. “Doubtless he’s twittering back. A man like him would draw lasses like—”

“Dunno. He spends all his time with his men.”

Laurel nodded, her mind back on the army. If she told Geordie, he’d do something foolish. If she told Kieran, he wouldn’t believe her. Or worse, she’d let slip the story of her visions and he’d laugh at her. Best to wait for Ellis. “Well, good night to you, Geordie.” She set off for the stable.

“Are ye planning on riding out?” he asked, keeping pace.

“In my bed robe?”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “’Tis just that he said ye weren’t to ride out alone.”

“He what? Of all the...the arrogant, high-handed...No doubt he threatened to whip you if you disobeyed.”

“Nay. He said if aught bad happened to ye, he’d skin alive the man who let ye leave the tower alone.”

Laurel sighed. Obviously fear was the only tactic Kieran understood. Her people would have done as he asked simply to keep her safe. “I’m just going to visit Freda. Then I promise I’ll go straight back to bed.” If not to sleep. Still it satisfied Geordie, who clumped off on his rounds.

Tomorrow she’d have to have another talk with Kieran about his deplorable tactics, she decided as she slipped inside the byre. Here, too, ’twas usually dark, for fear a lighted torch would start a fire. But someone had brought over from the hall a sturdy iron-pike candle holder and placed it in the middle of the stable. Five feet tall, its base bolted in a pan of sand, the stand held a single candle as thick as her forearm.

“Of all the careless...” Laurel hurried down the aisle between the stalls and stood on tiptoe, lips pursed to douse—

“Leave it,” growled a horribly familiar voice.

Spinning around, she came face-to-face with the man she’d hoped not to see anytime soon. “Kieran.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and...” Wait. Why was she stammering like a lass caught filching sweetmeats. “I don’t owe you an ex—”

“You were nearly killed this afternoon.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her into the light. His gaze went instantly to the linen swathe around her neck. “Your aunt says ’twas just a scratch, but you are never to disobey me!” he shouted.

Before Laurel could frame an answer, a low snarl came from the shadows at the back of the barn. Freda! Laurel wrenched free of Kieran’s grasp and whirled. “Easy, lass,” she crooned, careful to keep her body between Kieran’s and the hound, who crept toward them on her belly, ears back, teeth bared. For all she didn’t like Kieran’s methods, she had no desire to see his throat ripped open as Aulay’s had been.

“I made peace with the bitch when I stabled Rath this eve,” Kieran said, and tried to step around Laurel.

“Only because you weren’t threatening me then.” Laurel moved with him, arms spread to warn him back. “Freda—”

“Nonsense, I’ve a way with animals” He put a hand on Laurel’s shoulder. Freda snarled, the muscles flexing beneath her sleek coat as she tensed to spring.

“For God’s sake, stay quiet, Kieran. Freda has scant patience with loud males who threaten her mistress. ‘Tis all right, Freda. He...he’s a...a friend.” The words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t certain what she felt for Kieran. “That’s a good lass,” she continued when Freda ceased to snarl. So far, so good. “Crouch down behind me,” she told Kieran, and knelt in the straw. Wonder of wonders, he did as he was told. “Now, put your hand beneath mine.” She held her right hand out to Freda, grateful to see ’twas far steadier than her heartbeat. Until Kieran slipped his hand under hers. His skin felt incredibly hot. The silky-rough swirl of dark hair covering the back prickled against her palm and made her pulse dance.

“Easy,” Kieran murmured, and it took her a moment to realize ’twas to her he spoke, not Freda.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t expected you’d feel so...warm.” Now she felt warm, hot, actually. Just as she had in her dream.

“Get on with calming the dog.” He sounded more Scots and less pleased with her than usual. So much for the dream being true.

“Of course.” Affecting a cheery voice, which Freda mercifully didn’t dispute, Laurel called the hound forward and held out the pair of hands—hers and Kieran’s. As she waited for Freda to sniff them over, Laurel stared at the long, tanned fingers laced with her own smaller, paler ones. Seeing them linked thus made her belly clench, and for an instant, she could see them lying together, their naked limbs entwined, his face bent closer to hers...

“Oh.” Laurel gasped and jerked her hand back, severing the connection and shattering the mental image.

“Shh,” Kieran muttered, his attention still on Freda. He held his hand under Freda’s questing nose, waited till she gave them a sniff of acceptance, then ran his long fingers over the hound’s muzzle, to scratch between her eyes.

Freda gave a blissful sigh and probably would have sat there all night, but one of her pups gave a wee bleat. Reminded of her duties, she dashed away. Halfway to her nest of blankets, she looked back at Kieran and gave a soft woof of invitation.

“I guess that means I’ve passed her test.” He lithely climbed to his feet. The crooked half smile he tossed over his shoulder before he followed Freda was such a surprise that Laurel rubbed her eyes to make certain she hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t, for there it was again, focused on the tiny pup he’d lifted from the rest. So, he did know how to smile, she thought. Why, then, did he snarl and scowl at everyone?

Intrigued, Laurel drifted over and sank down beside him in the straw, absently fondling the nose Freda shoved at her. Gentle. She hadn’t thought Kieran Sutherland had a gentle bone in his body, yet there was such gentleness in the way he held the fragile pup.

He looked over, saw her watching him and blinked. Instantly his body tensed, and he started to set the pup back down, but Laurel caught hold of his hand and stayed him. She felt him trembled. Clearly he was embarrassed to be seen without his surly mask. She was just as determined not to let him slip it on again.

“They are so dear,” Laurel crooned. With her other hand she reached out to stroke the wee one’s downy head.

“Aye,” Kieran managed to say, but his mind wasn’t on the pup. Laurel’s touch sent a wave of liquid fire through him. ‘Twas worse now than a few moments ago when his attention had been focused on winning over Freda. Now he felt raw, exposed. He watched her pet the pup and swore he could feel her stroking his body. ’Twas heaven and hell.

“You must have had dogs as a lad,” Laurel said, her voice another kind of caress.

He wanted her. Wanted to feel her hands on him, hear her crying out as he joined his body to hers. Jesu, it must be his weariness of the late hour, because no woman had ever affected him so strongly. Think of something else. Anything else. He gazed down at her head, bent now over their joined hands and it struck him what was different about her tonight. “Your hair is loose.”

“Aye. I was abed, but I couldn’t sleep. You, too?” She looked up at him and Kieran nearly swallowed his tongue. Candlelight turned her unbound hair into a fiery halo. Redgold curls framed her delicate, oval face, tumbling down over her slender shoulders to reach the curve of her hips. Wild and impudent, those wayward curls were a reflection of her very nature. One tendril had sneaked inside the vee of her robe. His fingers twitched with the urge to follow it. “Kieran?” she asked.

“What? Oh, aye. Nay.” He felt like a man possessed, his senses aflame with a desire he’d sworn never to give full rein. “I—I am used to sleeping on the ground in the open and found your grandsire’s bed overly soft and the bedchamber stuffy.” And lonely. But he couldn’t tell her that. Conscious he’d already revealed too much, he retreated behind a barricade that had stood him in good stead. Anger. He’d frighten her off. “Why did you disobey my order this afternoon?”

She jumped up, as he’d hoped, but the pain that darkened her eyes hurt him. Hands falling to her sides, hem trailing in the straw, she walked toward the candle as slowly as a prisoner bound for the gallows.

“What is it?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

Dare she tell him the truth? If she didn’t, how could she expect him to confide in her? And she wanted that, needed to know him, to understand him. “I had a vision,” she mumbled, voice low and hoarse. “I—I don’t expect you to believe me....”