Читать книгу Lion's Legacy - Suzanne Barclay - Страница 11

Chapter Four

By the time the scouting party from Edin neared the pass, the sun had been blotted out by a ridge of clouds. The threat of impending rain seemed small compared with the storm brewing among the members of Clan MacLellan. ’Twas all Kieran’s fault, Laurel thought, for he’d done naught but criticize. First because she’d insisted on leaving Collie behind, then about things in general.

“’Tis a mistake to rely solely on Edin’s natural defenses,” he’d growled when the hapless Ellis had tried to explain. “Guarding the entrance to the pass isn’t enough. They can lay siege to it, wear you down with repeated forays. Though you haven’t lost many men yet, the raiders have robbed you of sleep and taxed your resolve. Tired, frightened men make mistakes. The reivers need only wait, picking you off at their leisure.”

Grudgingly Laurel had admitted he had a point, but ’twas the way he made it that rubbed them all raw till even the easygoing Ellis had fallen back, leaving her to ride alone with the surly mercenary. Kieran had no tact, no care for others’ feelings. Why did he act so, she wondered, glancing sidelong at him. He’d removed his helmet the better to study the valley. Seen in profile, his handsome features were as harsh and unrelenting as the surrounding mountains. What forces had so cruelly shaped him?

Beneath that prickly hide of his, she’d glimpsed another man. A man who’d administered a lashing on principle yet had been more hurt by it than his victim. A man who could have crushed Collie with one blow but hadn’t raised his hand to the lad.

In fact, when Collie had entered the master chamber with her medicine chest, he’d immediately sought out Kieran and announced he was going to ask his grandfather for a sword.

Kieran had quietly said he’d had a wooden sword when he was seven and suggested Collie ask for one instead.

“I want a real sword. I want to kill like ye do.”

Kieran had shaken his head. “No man enjoys killing, but if your grandsire approves, I’ll teach you to wield a wooden sword.”

Collie had accepted this with a sigh and gone off to corner Duncan, but Laurel had watched Kieran. Did he dislike killing? If so, why did he make his living with a sword? What sort of man was he? The urge to find out was more compelling than it should have been, given her horrible marriage and Kieran’s harshness.

Nay, she wasn’t doing this for herself; ‘twas for her kin. The MacLellans needed Kieran if they were to survive, and the way things stood, her people would not willingly follow him. “’Twould salve Ellis’s pride did you suggest instead of demand and find fault,” she said, testing the waters.

He snorted. “I’m here to save his hide, not his pride.”

“Prettily said. Are you a poet?”

He looked appalled. “Nay. I’m a mercenary.”

“A knight may be both warrior and poet.”

Another snort. “Not me.”

“Why did you become a mercenary?”

“Because I’m good at killing people. I enjoy it.”

Liar. “Have you been doing it long?” she asked as sweetly as though he’d said he was a wood-carver or a blacksmith.

“Since I was five and ten.”

Young. Too young to embark on such a hard life. “Was your sire a mercenary, too?”

“Nay.” He snarled and turned away, but Laurel wasn’t done with him. It took her several minutes and dozens of questions—most answered by a grunt or a single word—to pry loose the facts that he had no siblings, his father had been the eldest son of a noble house, his mother a Highland lady. Both were dead.

“My parents are dead, too,” Laurel said softly. He didn’t ask for details, but she supplied them anyway, ending with how she and Malcolm had been raised by Duncan and Nesta. “Who had the raising of you?” she innocently inquired.

He started so violently that his stallion balked and pranced forward. “Easy, Rath.” Kieran’s tone as he quieted the horse was so gentle and patient he seemed like another man. So, he could be kind when it suited him. Talk of his upbringing was painful and she wondered why he was estranged from his family. By the time he had Rath calmed, Laurel had decided on a new line of questioning.

“He’s a fine beast. I’ve never seen so large a horse. He makes three of our shaggy little ponies,” she said.

Kieran’s lips twitched in what for him must be a smile, and he leaned forward to pat the stallion’s glossy black neck. “My English cousins, the Sommervilles, have been raising such horses for years. When I could afford to, I bought Rath from them.”

Laurel stored away the information. “Wrath as in anger?”

“Nay.” Another twitch. So, he had a sense of humor under all that surliness. “Rathadack. ’Tis Gaelic for—”

“‘Lucky omen.’ How come you to speak the ‘old tongue.’ ”

“I fostered in the Highlands with Lucais Sutherland, the husband of my Aunt Elspeth. How come you to speak the Gaelic?”

Laurel was delighted he’d asked a question. “We MacLellans keep many of the old ways.” She’d learned Gaelic from Nesta as preparation for the day when she’d be seeress of the MacLellans, but unless her gift improved, that day would never come.

What pained her? Kieran was concerned to see her lovely mouth turn down. What is it, he longed to ask, but keeping his distance was too ingrained. Already he knew too much about her for his own peace of mind.

Suddenly she straightened and shook off her sorrow with a force of will he admired, for he knew what strength it took. Her too-bright smile touched him even more. “I inherited my mother’s knack at weaving,” she said. “Though I haven’t her skill with details. Actually—” she leaned close, tone low and confiding “—my deer look like pigs, my people like sticks with hair, but I’ve a good eye for color.”

Kieran tried to close his ears but her clear, sweet voice slipped between the chinks in the wall he’d built around his heart, beguiling him with her mix of wit and self-deprecation. “And what did you inherit from your sire’s family?” he found himself asking.

“Naught I’ve the skill to use.” She turned away, but not before he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, he who’d steeled himself not to care for another’s feeling—except mayhap Rhys’s.

“’T-tis naught. I—I have something in my eye.”

“Let me see.” He angled closer. She pulled her mount away.

“Nay. I can look to myself.” Aye, so she could. She had as much pride and courage as most men. Her strength of character impressed him against his will.

“Will ye go up onto the rocks and get the lay of the land?” Rhys asked, reining in beside them.

Kieran scowled, conscious of how perilously close he’d come to opening himself up to Laurel. A serious mistake. Furious, he growled, “Take ten of our men and scout the cliffs for any trails that might offer access from the outside. I’ll take the other twenty along the river and do the same.” Studiously ignoring Laurel, he asked Ellis when the raiders attacked.

“In the dead of night when we are drowsing at our posts,” Laurel replied, angered by his snub. “We?” Kieran challenged.

Laurel lifted her chin. “I lead them in Grandda’s place.”

His black brows slammed together in clear disapproval. “The battlefield is no place for a female.”

Laurel couldn’t have agreed more. But... “If I didn’t go, Collie would. ’Tis my duty to act as Grandda’s eyes and ears.” She read grudging respect in his eyes before he urged Rath forward. It warmed her more than another’s effusive praise, for he didn’t seem to think much of her sex. Was a woman responsible for the ghosts that haunted him? She should let them rest, but she’d been born curious, and he was a mystery she longed to plumb.

When they cleared the tunnel through the cliff, she paused to study the broad plain that stretched between the mountains and the Lowther Hills a mile distant. Brooding clouds hung low in the sky, bringing with them an early dusk. The wind that stirred the trees along the river’s far bank held a promise of rain to come. As she watched the branches twist and bend, Laurel fancied she saw something...someone lurking in the shadows.

Shivering, she drew her cloak closer around her. ’Twas just her imagination. There was naught in the woods save birds and wee animals. She’d been affected by Kieran’s wariness, that was all.

He’d halted several paces ahead of her, back straight as the pines bordering the water, head up like a hound scenting the air. Then he unbent enough to lean toward his squire and comment on what he saw. It took her a moment to realize he was lessoning young Jamie in the art of soldiering, much as Father Stephen had taught her to read and cipher. ’Twas totally unexpected in a man who kept discipline by beating a man for breaking one order. Grudgingly she admitted Kieran could teach Collie things she couldn’t. Things her brother needed to know. They’d been wrong to shield her brother from the rougher side of life.

“Kieran has a canny knack for bringing out the best in others,” Rhys commented, walking his horse up alongside hers.

“Not in me, apparently?

Rhys chuckled. “Nay. But then, the path we are destined to tread is not always evident from the first.”

“What does that mean?”

“’Tis a thing my da used to say.”

Likely intended to convey some twining of her fate and Kieran’s. Well, she was having no part of it. “When you mount the cliff, have a care for loose stones.”

Rhys grinned but accepted the change of subject. “I take it ye’ve been up there?”

The memory of the last time she’d climbed the heights, scrambling for her life in the dead of night with Aulay hard on her heels and Freda baying after them made her belly clench. “Aye, ‘tis a fearsome drop straight down to the rocky riverbed.” As Aulay had discovered. “A deadly fall.” Especially when a wolfhound had ripped open your throat As Aulay had also learned. ’Twas a lesson he’d taken from this life into hell.

“If you’re through dallying with her, we’ve work to do,” Kieran called out.

Laurel looked up and found him staring at her. His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes seemed to glow in the shadowy depths of his helmet. Awareness tingled down her spine. For one moment she was cast back in time and place to the storage hut and the feel of his hands holding her as though he’d never let go. ’Twas almost as though something in him cried out to her, drew her closer when common sense urged distance.

“Command and I will obey without question,” Rhys said, and Kieran glanced away, mercifully breaking the spell.

“’Twill be a first, then,” Kieran grumbled. “That stretch of woods will have to go,” he announced, turning toward the river.

“Go?” Laurel straightened in her saddle. “But—”

“’Tis a hazard.” He looked first to Ellis, then young Jamie, everywhere but at her. “The reivers could sneak across yon field and mass there for an attack.”

“Now just a moment.” Laurel nudged her mare forward to confront Kieran. “Those woods are scarce ten feet wide in most spots. If a band of men did seek to hide in them, they’d be strung out from here to Kindo. And besides,” she added before he could give voice to the anger flushing his face, “my aunt says if we cut down the trees and burn the brush, ’twill destroy healing herbs that grow nowhere else in—”

“Better to wipe out a few plants than your clan.”

“I forbid it,” Laurel cried.

“You haven’t any say in the matter.” His jaw worked as though he meant to chew the trees down with his teeth.

Laurel gripped the reins so tightly her hands went numb. “We shall see about that. When Grandda and Aunt Nesta hear—”

“Your grandsire will agree with me.” Obviously he cared no more for her aunt’s opinion than he did for hers.

“Touch one tree and I’ll...I’ll—”

“You will follow my orders.”

“Or you’ll whip me?” Laurel asked, knowing he’d never dare.

His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “Have a care how far you push me, lady.” With that, he jammed down the visor of his helmet, effectively ending the argument, and barked orders to her clansmen. Twenty were to remain at the mouth of the tunnel while Rhys climbed the rocks and Kieran rode upstream.

“Will ye take the lady with ye?” Rhys asked.

“She waits here where ’tis safe.” He cast her a knowing glance. “Duncan would fret did harm befall his granddaughter.”

Clever man, Laurel thought as she watched Kieran descend the cliff path and ford the river. He’d known exactly how to gain her compliance. Clearly there was more to him than fierceness and brawn. She studied the width of his shoulders, the proud carriage of his head, a pang of longing coiled tight in her chest. He was truly a magnificent man. If only...

Nay. There was no use wishing for what could never be. Even were it not for the vague warning of her visions, Kieran wasn’t for her. He was too cold, too ruthless. If she ever wed again—and she must if she hoped to have bairns—’twould be to a warm, passionate man such as her father and grandfather. Not one who harshly ordered her woods razed.

Laurel’s uneasiness returned as she scanned the trees and bracken. The forest wasn’t as thick as the one covering the Lowthers, still a few men might hide there if they managed to cross the plain unseen. Her grandsire had stripped the near bank of the river bare for just that reason, but spared the far one because her aunt had argued in favor of saving the plant life.

Even as she stared at the woods, an image flashed into her mind. Two men. Dressed in black. Kneeling in the trees to her left. Watching. Spying. The hair at her nape rose.

Laurel shifted in the saddle. “Geordie, I saw...” The words died aborning even as the trooper looked at her. No one would believe her. “I’m going down to the riverbank,” she murmured.

The young trooper’s lips pursed in the midst of his auburn beard. “Sir Kieran said ye were to stay here.”

“No man has the ordering of me. ’Twill only take a moment, and I’ll be back ere he returns.” With a toss of her head, Laurel set her mare down the steep grade. Geordie didn’t try to stop her. He was half in love with her and had been deferring to her from the time they’d played together as bairns.

Laurel held her breath as her mare forded the river, expecting at any moment for the spies to leap out and grab her. Fool. Likely there weren’t any spies. But the feeling was so strong that she played out the drama, heading to the right when she’d gained the far bank, as though she followed Kieran’s trail. Once in the woods, she doubled back to the left, dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to a stout oak branch.

Unslinging the bow from her shoulder, she set off toward the grove she’d marked from the top of the ridge. ’Twas cool and dark under the trees, the spongy moss muffling her steps as she slowly walked along the river. Overhead, the leaves fluttered in the breeze that carried the rich smell of damp earth and herbs. Lacy ferns nodded to the same beat, heads bobbing over the rushing water. The familiar sounds and scents soothed her raw nerves.

The thought of chopping down the forest hurt, even though she knew Kieran was right; it did pose a danger. Rude and arrogant he might be, but the man clearly knew his trade.

A crackle in the brush up ahead stopped Laurel cold. Praying her dark clothes blended into the shadows, she held her breath.

“Where did MacLellan get those mercenaries?” a man snarled.

Laurel choked, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

“How am I to know?” The second voice was low and raspy as a rusty hinge.

“Bloody hell. They outnumber us now. We’ll have to lie low and send for the rest of my army,” the first man muttered.

“Fool,” the gravel voice said. “If we strike whilst the mercenaries are away from the valley, we’ll stand a better chance of overpowering the men they’ve left behind.”

Sweet Mary! ’Twas the reivers! Laurel trembled, struggling to hear over the frantic beat of her own heart.

“We’ll work our way downstream till we’re out of sight of the guards at the tunnel, cross the plain, fetch back the rest of the men and attack,” said the rougher of the two.

“They are my men, and I say we wait.” It seemed the smooth-talking man was the one in charge here.

What to do? Should she stay here until they left, or work her way back to her horse and ride to warn the men on the cliffs? Leave! her better sense urged. She took a cautious step back; a twig snapped beneath her boot.

“What was that?” This came from the gravel voice.

“Likely an animal. We’ve a good view of the river from here, no one could have sneaked up on us.”

“But there’s thick woods twixt here and the crossing, and we haven’t been watching careful since the mercenaries rode out.”

Laurel froze, heart pounding so hard she feared the spies would hear it. She couldn’t see them for the gloom and intervening foliage. With any luck, they couldn’t see her. But to move was to risk detection. Mind racing with equal parts fear and determination, she sifted through her options.

“I’m going to take a look around,” the gravel voice said.

That decided things. Laurel began backing up. Her stomach rolled as she saw a figure rise in the shadows only twenty feet away. ’Twas now or never. She lurched around and took off running through the trees.

“As ye see, the river cuts so close to the mountains that there isn’t any bank to speak of on the far side.” Ellis gestured toward sheer cliffs that seemed to sprout out of the water.

Kieran nodded, impressed by the natural barrier. “Is it like this the rest of the way around these mountains?”

“Aye. On the valley side the slopes are gentle enough to graze our beasts on, but the outside is steep and unforgiving. Every now and then a sheep wanders up to the top, loses its footing and tumbles down the other side. Breaks its neck, that.”

“Hmm. So, clearly if an attack comes, it must be mounted against the tunnel entrance.”

“Aye. But we’ve beaten them back twice. Mayhap they’ll grow tired of throwing men after a losing cause and leave us be.”

“It doesn’t seem so. Your lookouts reported seeing smoke in the Lowthers. Likely they are camped there, just waiting for an opportunity to strike. We’ll have to stop them,” he muttered. The sooner the better, then he’d collect his pay and ride away.

Ellis sighed. “How do we do that?”

“Take the fight to them. We’ll lay a trap and lure them into it.” Even as he spoke the words, Kieran felt his gut tighten with apprehension. What the...? A quick sweep of the plain, riverbank and mountain cliff yielded no sign of trouble. And yet... “We should be getting back.” It wasn’t a whim, it was necessity that had him tugging Rath around. He had to get back. He had to make certain Laurel was all right.

Now what had put that maggot in his brain? She’d amply proven her ability to protect herself. But...

Dread icing his skin beneath his woolen tunic, Kieran urged the stallion into a gallop, scarcely caring that the warhorse’s great strides soon carried him well ahead of his men. Just as he reached the river ford, a scream shattered the silence, echoing off the cliff face.

Laurel!

Kieran started toward the river, then realized the cry had came from downstream on this side of the water. Setting spurs to Rath, he raced along the tree line. Those damned trees. God alone knows why she’d ventured from the safety of the cliffs.

“Laurel! Laurel!” Kieran roared.

In answer, her horse suddenly burst from the brush up ahead. Eyes rolling white in their sockets, ears laid flat, it ran past as though pursued by the hounds of hell. Heedless of the danger, Kieran plunged into the trampled brush. A few paces into the woods, he came upon a scene that confirmed his worst fears.

Laurel, her back to a tree, her dirk flashing before her as she tried to keep a man at bay. Another lay on the ground, an arrow protruding from his arm. The dimness couldn’t hide the fear in her eyes or the blood on her tunic.

“Laurel!” Kieran leapt from Rath even before the stallion had come to a stop, and ran forward, drawing his sword.

“Kieran!” Laurel’s face shone with relief.

’Twas short-lived. For her opponent used the moment to knock her weapon aside. Grabbing hold of her arm, he jerked her back against him and laid the edge of his sword against the vulnerable curve of her neck. “Move and she dies”

“Harm her and ’twill take you days to die,” Kieran vowed, but he stopped. He dared not even look at Laurel for fear he’d go mad and charge the man who threatened her life.

“An empty promise,” snarled the man who held Laurel. To his cohort he called, “Get our mounts.”

The man, larger and better dressed than the other brigand, struggled to his feet and stumbled off through the woods. Despite his injury, he returned in a flash leading a pair of horses. So anxious was he to be off, that the man swung into the saddle even as he flung the reins of the second beast at his friend.

Kieran would be damned if he’d give her up. “If ’tis a hostage you want, take me in her place.”

“Nay,” Laurel exclaimed.

“She suits my purpose better,” her captor said, then started dragging her toward his horse.

Damn. Where were Ellis and the others? Kieran had never felt as powerless or as desperate as he did now. He couldn’t let them take Laurel. “If ’tis ransom you want, take my horse. His trappings alone are worth a king’s ransom.”

The reiver stopped and raised the visor on his helmet to look Rath over, revealing a hideously scarred face. Jesu, the man looked as though he’d climbed up from hell itself.

Poor Laurel was likely near to fainting in this fiend’s clutches. Kieran glanced at her, intent on offering what comfort he could. Fainting, ha! The little vixen raised that deadly knee of hers and buried it in the vulnerable juncture of her captor’s thighs. The man screamed, dropped her arm and bent forward.

Laurel dashed toward Kieran and he toward her. To him, it seemed to take a lifetime for them to meet.

“Oh, Kieran.”

She wrapped herself around him, panting and shivering. She felt so small, so vulnerable. Everything inside him tensed with the need to protect her.

“Hush. ’Tis all right,” he murmured, voice raw with fear, relief and something else he dared not examine. “Get behind me now, whilst I deal with these two.”

Just then, Ellis and the others burst into the clearing. The mounted outlaw wheeled and ran. But Kieran’s elation lasted only a second, for the downed reiver surged up from the ground. Coming in low with his sword, he struck Ellis’s horse full in the chest. The beast screamed and reared, dumping his rider and plowing into those who followed.

’Twas chaos. Men shouted and sawed on their reins in an attempt to avoid trampling Ellis or the thrashing horse. Panicked by the scent of blood, their mounts shrieked and bucked. In the resulting confusion, Kieran saw the scarred outlaw hobble to his horse. Mounted but bent over in the saddle, he wheeled away into the trees, spurring after his cohort.

“Damn, they won’t get away. Martin, head after them, and I will follow,” Kieran shouted, disentangling himself from Laurel.

“Nay!” She grabbed hold of his arm. “Nay, you mustn’t go after them. They said they had reinforcements in yon hills.”

“What?” Kieran looked away from her frightened face just in time to see all the men save Ellis take off into the trees.

“They’ll be trapped, ambushed as Grandda was.”

“Nay.” Kieran let out a shrill whistle, a long, keening blast, followed by a second, more urgent, note. Moments later it was answered in kind, and he nodded his satisfaction. “They’re doubtless ill pleased to be called off the chase, but ’tis one order they know better than to disregard.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Aye, God and a fair bit of training.” He set her from him. “Why did you leave the cliffs? Was it those damned herbs?”

“Nay, I...I thought-”

“The only thing you need think about is following my orders. A valuable horse is gravely wounded because you wanted a handful of herbs, and you...you could have been killed.”

“Why do you care?” Laurel asked. Beneath the noise and fury of his words, she sensed he was frightened...for her.

“You are my responsibility.” But Kieran knew his concern for her went beyond mere duty. How had she breached his defenses so quickly, made him long for what could never be? As he turned away and gave the order to return to Edin, he vowed to keep his distance from Lady Laurel for the duration of his stay in Edin.