Читать книгу Lion's Legacy - Suzanne Barclay - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Still smarting from Kieran’s set-down and her grandfather’s orders to accompany the wretch on his inspection tour, Laurel sought refuge in the stables. There, in the back corner, Freda had decided to birth her five pups. Half wolf, half hound, they were the one bright spot in a sea of misery. At the moment, they slept peacefully, bellies bloated with the milk that still clung to their muzzles. Their mother lay nearby, her head on her paws.

“Taking a rest from your duties, lass.” Laurel reached down to scratch Freda’s ears. Yellow eyes narrowed to blissful slits and the thick tail thumped in appreciation. “’Tis been a long two weeks for me, too.” She sat in the straw, groaning as she stretched her legs out before her and leaned her head against the rough stone wall. “And not likely to get easier anytime soon.”

Freda laid her muzzle on Laurel’s thigh. A not-so-subtle hint for attention that wasn’t overlooked. They’d been through a lot together, she and the dog who’d been Duncan’s gift on her twelfth birthday. The year she’d become a woman. God help her. Nay, that wasn’t true. Only twice had she had cause to regret her sex—on the night Aulay had revealed his real reason for wedding her and again the day her grandfather had been wounded. Both times she’d needed the kind of physical strength few women possessed.

“Grandda’s hired a mercenary,” she murmured as she stroked the broad head. “An outsider.” Picking up the tension in her mistress’s voice, Freda growled. “He isn’t like Aulay, but he is a threat.” If not to her clansmen, then to her sanity. Aye, Kieran was dangerous in ways Aulay had never been, even though her husband’s evil scheme had nearly cost the lives of her brother, her grandfather and herself.

Kieran Sutherland unsettled her as no other man ever had. The way he’d looked at her in the storage hut had turned her knees to jelly, her insides to hot butter. The feel of his big hand on her skin had made it seem raw and a size too small. Mayhap Annie was right and she was sickening with something.

“Laurel!” Annie tore into the stables, spied Laurel and hurtled toward her. “Come quick. He’s going to kill him.”

Laurel jumped to her feet. “Is it the reivers?”

“Nay. ’Tis Sir Kieran. He’s going to beat that lovely Welshman to death.” Annie grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the door. “Ye have to stop him.”

“Who is this Welshman, and what did he do?”

“Rhys...he broke some stupid rule.”

“Ah.” Well Laurel remembered Ellis relating Kieran’s threat to punish one of his men. Not on her land, he didn’t. “Where?”

“The tiltyard.”

Laurel all but left Annie in her dust as she ran across the courtyard and through the inner gates. Just as she charged down the grassy slope toward the outer ward, an ominous crack split the air. ’Twas followed immediately by a gasp that Laurel first thought must have come from the victim, but as she rounded the corner of the wall, she saw the hard-packed earth of the training field was filled with people. MacLellans and mercenaries alike craned their necks to get a better view of the drama.

“Let me pass.” Laurel elbowed her way through the throng to its rotten core. There, his hands braced above him on the pole that held the quintain, stood a dark-haired man, naked to the waist. A long red line marred his muscular back.

“Get it over quickly,” the man rasped. Even as he spoke, he tensed, and the leather lash licked out again.

The stranger bucked beneath its kiss. The crowd moaned.

Laurel gasped in outrage, then advanced before the fiend could strike again. “Cease,” she cried, drawing everyone’s gaze. She ignored all eyes save the violet ones that narrowed at her approach. “Cease at once. We don’t hold with whippings here.”

“’Tis obvious the lash was spared too often in your case, mistress,” Kieran snapped. “But this man is mine to puni—”

“Nay. He is my grandfather’s man now,” Laurel countered on a wave of anger and inspiration. “And I’d see Grandda’s goods don’t suffer for your vile treatment.”

“’Tis all right, m’lady. I disobeyed an order and deserve to pay the price,” the victim said. Poor man.

“No doubt you’re used to being ill-used by this monster.” Laurel placed herself between victim and tormentor. “But I will not let you suffer so whilst you’re here.”

“Stand aside,” Kieran bellowed, and closed the gap between them till he towered over her. His knuckles stood out white where he gripped the handle of the whip; his face was red with rage.

Sweet Mary, he was a fearsome sight. Laurel crossed her arms over her chest lest he see her heart thudding against her ribs. “Nay,” she replied with more courage than she truly felt.

“Bloody hell, woman. Do you know what you risk?”

“Leave my sister alone!” cried a shrill voice. Malcolm tore through the crowd, threw himself in front of Laurel and spread his arms wide, as though the puny things could keep her from being harmed by the huge, glowering knight.

Laurel’s own fear was forgotten in a rush of concern. Malcolm was fierce for one so young, a wee warrior raised among peacemakers, surely a throwback to the crusader knight who’d settled this valley long ago. But he’d be no match for Kieran. “Collie, I can manage.” She tried to step around her brother.

“Nay. Though Grandda won’t let me ride out with the men, I’m laird here in his stead. I’ll handle this,” he added, his pale blue eyes incongruously adult in a sea of cinnamon-colored freckles. She felt him tremble as he squared his shoulders and returned his attention to Kieran, but his voice was strong as he commanded, “Ye’ll leave my sister be and cease beating yon man.”

“And who might you be, lad?” Kieran demanded.

Malcolm flinched but stood his ground. “I am Malcolm MacLellan, heir to these lands and laird of them in my grandda’s stead,” he repeated.

“Are you now?” Kieran raked Malcolm’s slight frame from spindly legs to the shock of red hair. Laurel held her breath, recalling the derision with which Aulay had treated her brother. Kieran didn’t mock, he tipped his head respectfully. “I am Kieran Sutherland, hired by your grandsire to eliminate the reivers.”

“Really?” Collie’s eyes rounded. “Can I come with ye?”

“Collie!” Laurel exclaimed. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“I’m not allowed to handle a sword,” Collie said, adoring gaze fastened on Kieran. “But I’m handy with a bow and arrow.”

Kieran’s black brows rose. “But you must be seven or eight. I was a page and proficient with sword and lance by that age. Why have you not seen him properly trained?” He transferred his glacial gaze to Laurel.

“His rearing is none of your concern,” Laurel said.

“And the disciplining of my men is none of your concern. I suggest you stick to your needlework.”

“Only if I can stitch your lips shut.”

A gasp swept through the crowd; Kieran turned red.

Rhys laughed. “Mayhap ye’d best finish this later...after my guardian angel has departed.”

“’is not a laughing matter, Rhys,” Kieran snapped.

“Nay, but ‘tis a pity to quarrel with the lovely granddaughter of our employer.” Rhys smiled. “My thanks for yer concern, lady, m’lord.” He bowed to her brother.

Collie cocked his head. “Did it hurt?”

“Mostly my pride.” Rhys flashed another smile. “But ’twas well deserved for I was wrong to disobey my leader’s orders.”

Collie looked from Rhys to Kieran, and Laurel could hear the wheels turning in his head. “When I disobey, they take away my horse and make me stay inside and practice my letters.”

“Reading,” Kieran sneered. “Your time would be better spent learning to defend the lands you’ll one day rule.”

“Will ye teach me?” Collie asked, eyes wide and adoring.

“Mayhap. If I am here that long,” Kieran replied.

Laurel’s heart leapt. She wanted Collie safe inside Edin, not dashing about in harm’s way. “You will not be,” she said. “Collie, fetch my medicine chest. Come within, Sir Rhys, and I’ll tend your wounds,” she added as her brother reluctantly left.

“I will see to him,” Kieran grumbled.

Goaded by her fears for Collie, Laurel snapped, “I wouldn’t trust Sir Rhys to your care.”

“Think you I would harm my own friend?”

“You’d have beaten him to death had I not come along.”

“Five lashes never killed any man.” Kieran glared at the still grinning Rhys. “And he well knows he earned them.”

Laurel sniffed. “Because he thought you were in danger.”

“The reason doesn’t matter. He went against my orders.”

“That I did,” Rhys interjected. “And though I do thank ye for what ye tried to do, Lady—”

“He’ll still get the remaining three lashes,” Kieran said.

“Not till you leave Edin. Whilst you are here, no man will feel the sting of the whip.”

“And how am I to maintain discipline?”

Laurel smiled sweetly. “Any man who commands only by fear of punishment doesn’t deserve to lead.”

Kieran inhaled sharply. “You dare criticize my—”

“I think I may faint after all,” Rhys interjected.

“I will kill her,” Kieran snarled.

Stretched out belly-down on the bed, Rhys lifted his head. “Mayhap we should leave, then.”

Kieran stopped long enough to glare at him, then resumed pacing before the fire crackling in the hearth of the room to which they’d been led a scant hour ago. Duncan’s own bedchamber till he was wounded. Surprisingly fine it was, though Kieran seemed oblivious to the amenities, Rhys thought. The big bed with its straw-filled mattress, the high-backed chairs flanking the fire, the colorful wool hangings that brightened and warmed the whitewashed walls, all bespoke comfort, if not wealth.

“I need Duncan’s coin to buy the men and arms required to take Carmichael Castle and force Ross’s surrender,” Kieran said.

Even knowing it was futile, Rhys took up the old argument. “Could ye not forget that and get on with yer life?”

Kieran rounded on him, eyes narrowed. “Forget my uncle murdered my father, then lied to me, made me think he was my father and I his heir? The first fifteen years of my life were a lie. I’ve spent the next eight gaining the skills I need to avenge my father and regain what my family stole from me and my sire. I’ll have no life till my task is complete. You were witness to the oaths I made when I left Scotland.”

Aye, he had been, God rue the day. Rhys closed his eyes on the anguish in Kieran’s. This was wrong. Much as he loved Kieran, would do anything to help him, this quest for vengeance that drove him was wrong. If only he could make his friend see that, but eight years of intermittent arguing hadn’t made a dent in Kieran’s deep-seated hatred or his single-minded determination. And now here they were back in Scotland, within two days’ ride of Carmichael land. Once Kieran had settled things here, he’d buy an army and march north, pitting himself against his blood kin. If only there was some way to make Kieran see reason.

Knowing there wasn’t, Rhys sighed and turned his mind to the matter at hand. “Money aside, I like the old man. If we do not stay, the reivers will certainly overrun this valley.”

“Aye. They depend overmuch on their natural defenses, and are ill prepared for battle...soft as thistledown” Even as he spoke, Kieran recalled a woman who was more fire than fluff.

“Hmm. Lady Laurel reminds me of yer Aunt Elspeth.”

“Rhys,” Kieran warned. But he’d had the same notion, though what he felt for Laurel in no way resembled the respect and affection that had always flowed between him and his father’s younger sister. “She’s a menace.”

“Still she means wale.” Rhys chuckled. “When I think of the way she charged to my rescue and protected her young brother. Such loyalty to family is admirable,” he pointedly added.

Kieran grunted. How fierce she’d looked championing Collie. A bittersweet reminder of how the Carmichaels had always stuck by one another. Which was why Ross’s deception had struck so deep. ’Twas an unhealed wound that festered still. One he did his best to ignore. “She’s undermined years of discipline.”

“The men are well trained, and not like to soften.”

“They’d better not. I need every man in fighting trim with his wits about him. Even in the best of times, the Border country is near as wild and untamed as the Highlands. With Robert on the throne, there is no law. Each man must look to his own defense. And without us, the MacLellans will surely fall.”

“Why, then, did Lady Laurel seek to drive us away?”

“Because she’s the most contrary female I’ve yet met.” And the most desirable. Kieran’s fist clenched so tightly on the ale cup that his knuckles hurt. ’Twas naught compared to the need aching deep inside. “She even wears men’s clothes.”

“Aye.” Rhys eased himself into a sitting position. “Even so, she’s a comely woman. Do ye not agree?”

Kieran’s scowl deepened. “Even did I find her appealing—which I do not—you know all females are forbidden to me.”

“Now. But surely one day you will wed.”

“I doubt it.”

“But...but what of Carmichael Castle? Will ye risk yer life to regain it, then let it go to another when you die?”

Kieran shrugged, but his feelings were anything but casual. Part of him yearned for the special unions he’d observed in his youth...his Aunt Elspeth and her husband, Lucais Sutherland. His grandparents, Carina and Lionel Carmichael, even Ross and Megan, his wife. He’d grown up watching them all laugh and argue and love, dreamed of one day finding a woman who completed him just as these couples did their mates. That dream had been one of the many that had died the day his life shattered.

Nay, marriage involved closeness, sharing, and he’d not let anyone get that near to him. Not ever again. “Mayhap I’ll will it to one of Aunt Elspeth’s brood.” She, at least, had decried Ross’s treachery on the terrible night Kieran had learned Ross and Megan were not his parents, but his uncle and aunt.

“I told you your lies would come back to haunt you one day,” Elspeth Carmichael Sutherland had shouted at her older brother. Ross hadn’t said a word, just stared at Kieran, guilt and remorse twisting his handsome features. Shocked beyond belief, Kieran had fled the hall, but when the enormity of Ross’s deceit had sunk in, he’d returned and attacked his uncle. Ross’s shouts had roused the guard, and Kieran had fled in fear of his life. If Ross knew he was in Scotland, he’d kill Kieran as he had Lion.

“Mayhap I’ll order a funeral pyre made of Carmichael Castle, as did the Vikings from whom my Sutherland side is descended,” Kieran said coldly. “Aye, ’twould be a fitting end to my legacy. I came into the world with naught. I’ll leave the same way.”

It saddened Rhys to hear his friend speak so. Though Kieran had tried to make himself into a man who lived only for war and revenge, he wanted the very things he avoided. A woman. A home. A family. Only he was too steeped in hatred to realize it. Pray God he came to his senses before it was too late. Rhys decided to give the Almighty a hand. “If Lady Laurel is heiress to part of Edin Valley, her husband would gain some valuable property.”

“What care I for these puny lands?”

“I was thinking of myself.” Rhys glanced sidelong at his friend, noting the color that stained his cheeks, the displeasure that thinned his mouth. Ah, a man would have to be blind not to see the emotion that crackled between Laurel and Kieran.

“I’d have thought Annie more your sort,” Kieran grumbled.

“Who? Oh, the plump little maid who brought Lady Laurel to save me.” Rhys shrugged. “She’s pretty, but she hasn’t the fire of her mistress.” Or of the Lady Nesta. Now there was a—

“She has a nasty temper.” Kieran grimaced as he fingered the spot where her sharp knee had grazed his thigh.

“Ye look more in need of Lady Laurel’s healing balm than I. What say ye we take our ease this afternoon and ride out to survey the demesne lands on the morrow?”

“And have her think she’s bested me?” Kieran grabbed his sword belt from the chest at the foot of the bed. “If my leg aches, ’tis no more than I deserve for having underestimated that little witch... twice. But she’ll pay.”

“Kieran. What are you planning?” Rhys asked, but he talked to thin air, for Kieran had strode from the room. Snatching his tunic on over his head, Rhys gave chase.

“Remain abed and let your flesh heal,” Kieran muttered as they descended the tightly curving stairs. “’Tis an order.”

“Make it so, and ye’ll have cause to whip me again, for my place is at your side.”

Kieran stopped and turned, face stark in the light filtering in from the arrow slit. “I regret ’twas necessary to...”

“Me, too.” Rhys grinned. Kieran had so tempered his strokes he’d barely broken the skin. “Still I expect ye’ll lay on the remaining strokes...if we can manage to avoid my protectress.”

“Someone should teach that female she cannot meddle in men’s affairs,” Kieran growled.

“Seems I’m the one who’s lessoned you,” the very woman in question called out from the bottom of the stairs, her soft voice laced with sarcasm as it echoed in the stairwell.

Kieran whirled and bounded toward her. Stopping one step above so he towered over her, he set his features into a mask that had made battle-hardened warriors tremble. She gasped, eyes dilating with fear, but didn’t retreat. It made him even angrier. “You haven’t even the sense to flee one such as I?”

“I have faced down a worse man than you and survived.”

Who? he wanted to ask. What man had caused the shadows that clouded her clear gaze? Unbidden came a wave of protectiveness, the urge to shelter this tiny, brave woman from harm.

As though sensing his pity, she lifted her chin. “Well, do we ride out or stand here trading insults?”

Kieran shook himself, wondering what strange magic she possessed that had him acting the veriest of fools whenever she was about. “We ride to the pass. The defenses along the river are key, yet seem inadequate. I’d strengthen them before taking stock of the rest of Edin Valley,” he said, lord to squire.

“Inadequate,” she sputtered as he pushed past her. “I’ll have you know—”

But Kieran didn’t pause to hear the rest. He was too busy trying to outrun the light scent that clung to her. Why had he never noticed before that heather was such a seductive fragrance?

The air was so still Henry Percy could hear his own heart race as he stared at the mountains that hid Edin Valley from the rest of the world. Behind him lay the rolling backs of the Lowther Hills and the thick forest that hid his band of raiders, handpicked for this, the first step in Henry’s grand scheme. Ahead lay the flat, grassy plain bordering the river Tweed and across the treacherously swift water, the tumble of rocks that concealed the only entrance to the valley.

This was by no means the Englishman’s first foray across the Border, for the Percys were a riding family, and he’d been harrying the Scots for most of his thirty years. But this time he hadn’t come for anything as paltry as lifting cattle or burning crofts. He’d come after far richer game. Excitement tensed Henry’s body beneath his woolen tunic and expensive French body-armor. He looked up into the branches of the sturdy pine against which he’d been leaning while he waited for night to fall. “How much longer before we can attack?”

“Curse the luck. We’ll have to wait.” His spy dropped to earth, landing on the balls of his feet like a cat.

Henry frowned. “What now?”

“They’ve set a guard outside the pass,” he croaked. The unnatural hoarseness of his voice drew Henry’s eye to the puckery pink scar that bisected his throat, giving the appearance that someone had tried to carve him from ear to ear. Likely a MacLellan, given the Scot’s willingness to betray that clan.

’Twas a measure of Henry’s desperation that he’d hired a man whose name he didn’t even know. “You said they never did that.”

“Nor do they.” The Scot’s mouth twisted beneath the ruins of his nose, another mark of the vile life he’d obviously led. Above it, his eyes gleamed with a fierce, predatory light.

Henry’s uneasiness increased. “Why have they done so now?”

“How should I know? Mayhap they’re expecting us.” The Scot wrenched open his threadbare cloak to reveal a dented sword and brace of dirks. The garments he wore were, as far as Henry had seen, the only set he possessed. Though of fine quality wool, they were thin and tattered, the gold thread edging the neck and hem of the tunic tarnished. Either he’d stolen them or he was a nobleman down on his luck. Whichever, he was dangerous. “If so, they will not find me unprepared this time,” the Scot grumbled.

“’Tis obvious from the defense they’ve mounted thus far that you didn’t kill old Duncan,” Henry said with asperity.

“’Twasn’t for want of trying.” The Scot scowled. “If ye’d sent those reinforcements more quickly, we’d have taken them—”

“I came as soon as possible, though I could ill afford the time away from my own preparations,” Henry retorted. Because he didn’t trust the Scot, he’d come with these troops, leaving Captain FitzHawk in England to raise the rest of the army.

“The MacLellans are such milksops, I wouldn’t have thought they’d fight us so fiercely. We were near captured ourselves. But we’ll get inside this time, and it’ll be just as I said.”

Henry looked toward the mountains. “It had better be.”

“Never fear, m’lord. I’m as good as my word. Before the fortnight’s out, ye’ll be the next king of Scotland.”

“What?”

The Scot smiled. “I know what ye’re about.”

Henry started. Impossible. No one but FitzHawk knew the true extent of his ambitions. “How could you?”

“Why else would ye be so interested in getting across Scotland to Edinburgh in secret with an army? Rest assured I won’t fail ye. Our goals are closely matched. I, too, want what should have been mine... Edin Valley.” He paused a moment. “Edin’s perfect fer yer needs. Ye can march up the valley through the pass at the other end and come out a day’s march from Edinburgh without alarming the countryside and rousing the clans.”

“Another pass? Mayhap we could get in easier that way.”

“’Tis a secret, known only to the laird. I searched the hills for months looking for a way in, but couldn’t find it.”

“How do you know it exists, then?”

“I came close to being that laird,” the Scot muttered.

Henry scowled. “Why have I not heard of this place before?”

“I told ye the MacLellans keep to themselves like a clan of hermits. They raise most of what they need in the valley. They’ve a mill to grind their grain, trees hanging ripe with fruit, game aplenty in the forests. For salt, spices and such, Duncan goes once each spring and fall to trade at the market in Kindo.”

Which was how the Scot had waylaid the old man...with the aid of Henry’s troops. But so many of Henry’s men had been wounded in the skirmish that the Scot had not had the troops to press on and capture Edin Tower. Especially since the cursed MacLellans had vigorously patrolled the entrance to the valley.

Henry scanned the quiet landscape. Thankfully no one outside Edin was aware of the ambush. Stealth was critical to his plans, and Edin Valley was just what he’d been looking for. A place where he might mass his forces in secrecy, then launch his attack on Scotland before the alarm could be raised. By the time old Robert roused the clans, Henry would be sitting on the throne.

Still there was the problem of getting into the valley without causing a stir. “Mayhap I should have approached Duncan and paid him for the right to pass through his lands.”

“He wouldn’t have agreed.” The spy slanted Henry a sly glance. “Duncan doesn’t hold with outsiders, claims they’ve been left alone because he doesn’t meddle in politics or other people’s affairs. And, too, he’s a Scot through and through. He’d rather die than help an Englishman conquer his country.”

“Half English.” Henry’s mother had been a Percy, seduced by the old Scots king. For years Henry had suffered the shame of bastardy and the sting of not belonging on either side of the Border. Now he’d found a way to turn his Scots’ blood to his advantage. “You do not share Duncan’s loyalties?”

The Scot’s smile was as dark and menacing as the austere mountains. “All I want is what ye promised me—lairdship of Edin Valley and free rein to do as I will with its inhabitants”

Pity for the MacLellans stirred in Henry’s chest. He suppressed it. Conquerors couldn’t afford consciences. “How do you suggest we get inside?”

“I’m going to sneak across to the river, hide in yon trees and see if I can make out the strength of their guard.”

“I’m with you.” He wasn’t letting the Scot out of his sight till this campaign was over.