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He had the nerve to look hurt. “Bryce,” he called over his shoulder. “Would you assist the lady Rowena in finding her man?”
Rowena marched down the muddy track, the knowledge that Lion watched her sending an odd thrill down her spine. Seeing him again after all this time was...
Terrible. Horrible.
And exciting.
Dangerously exciting.
That was what frightened her the most.
Bryce Sutherland waited till the little cavalcade, with himself and Lion at its head, had gotten underway before he broached a delicate subject. “How does it seem, seeing the lady Rowena after all this time?” he asked of his cousin.
“I am not sure,” Lion replied.
This from the man who was always confident, always knew which way to jump, no matter how perilous the situation? “’Twas a shock,” Bryce said. Ten years Lion’s senior, he was as much mentor as captain of the elite force that had fought under the Sutherland banner during their years in France.
“Aye. When I realized the lass I’d saved from the MacPherson was Rowena, I damn near fell over.” A muscle in Lion’s cheek jumped as he flexed his jaw. “She is not well pleased to see me,” he said in a low, troubled voice. “And who can blame her, for she thinks I left her without a care or a qualm.”
“Did you not explain what happened that night?”
“She would not speak of it.” Lion exhaled, his eyes bleak in the sockets of his helmet.
“Mmm. Mayhap she will when she is over the shock of the MacPhersons’ attack and her guard’s wounding.” Bryce deftly changed the subject. “Did she say what they were doing here?”
Lion shifted in the saddle, barely resisting the urge to look back at the object of his turbulent thoughts. She’d refused any further help from him. That had hurt. “I did not think to ask.”
“Aye. You were a trifle busy when we arrived.”
Lion flushed. “Appearance to the contrary, I was not trying to seduce her.” Though he’d wanted to. Still did, if the truth be known. He’d gorged himself on women when he’d learned his Rowena had wed another, but none of them had captured his heart or satisfied his soul the way she could.
“Have your feelings for her changed, then?”
“Nay.” His heart had soared when he’d recognized her. “But she made her hatred of me plain enough.”
“She is only recently widowed.”
Lion nodded, gut tightening with guilt.
“According to Eneas Gunn, Padruig’s brother and the leader of this band, they believe Padruig was killed by thieves.”
Did she mourn him? Had she loved him? “Eneas is the wretch who ran off and left her to MacPherson?”
“The same. I’d say there is little love lost ’twixt him and Rowena, for when we’d routed the MacPhersons, he was not anxious to go back and find his brother’s widow.”
“Bastard. I’ll see she’s kept safe,” Lion murmured. “Whether she wants my help or not.”
“I still cannot believe Alexander had Padruig killed simply because he would not bring his few men to Blantyre.”
“The Wolf grows more and more unstable in his thinking.” Silently Lion cursed the earl for wreaking havoc in the Highlands. ’Twas not peace Alexander wanted, but power. Under the guise of curbing lawlessness, he planned to gather about him a huge Highland army. With it, he’d wrest the throne from his weak, ineffectual brother, Robert. “If only we could find proof of Alexander’s true intentions.”
“Mad he may be, but Alexander is clever, too clever to leave evidence lying about.”
“But we know he has designs on the crown. He has promised that when he’s king, he’ll grant land and other favors to some of the more powerful clans, the ones he cannot now sway to his side with gold or intimidation. Rory Campbell saw the document Alexander sent to Archie, chief of the Campbells.”
Alarmed, Rory had ridden to Lion’s family at Kinduin, where he’d been fostered as a lad. Lion had only just returned from France when Rory burst in with his tale of treachery and intrigue. They’d agreed that Lucais, Lion’s father, would go to Edinburgh to try and convince the king to recall Alexander from the Highlands. Rory would return to Blantyre and secure the promissory note. But Rory had been ambushed and killed. The murder of his friend had launched Lion into a desperate scheme of his own to infiltrate Alexander’s ranks. He’d been right successful, too. The earl trusted him...as much as the wily wolf trusted anyone.
“We’ve had Alexander’s things searched and found naught,” Bryce glumly reminded him.
It had not been easy getting a Sutherland, disguised as a servant, into the chamber Alexander used at Blantyre. “Naill could not get into the locked strongbox. ’Tis the most likely place for the earl to store such damaging evidence.”
“We must somehow get inside that chest, no matter how dangerous,” Bryce murmured. Searching the personal belongings of a man as powerful and ruthless as Alexander Stewart would be akin to walking bare naked through a room full of vipers. One false step and they’d all be dead. “Mayhap we might slip a sleeping potion into his wine and take the key from around his neck while he is unconscious.”
Lion shook his head. “If he suspected that he’d been drugged, he’d kill every servant in the place...and mayhap even harm Lady Glenda.” Lion liked the woman, who was chatelaine of Clan Shaw’s stronghold Blantyre Castle. Three months ago, Alexander had decided the large, strategically placed fortress would make the perfect headquarters from which to conduct his “pacification” of the Highlands. He’d presented himself at the castle gates, and when Lady Glenda had balked, had proceeded to seduce the homely, middle-aged woman. Lately, however, there’d been signs the earl wearied of his mistress.
“We must come up with something,” Lion said grimly. And while he was on the subject of problems, he added, “I will think on it whilst I escort Rowena to wherever she is bound.”
“Eneas said they were destined for Blantyre Castle.”
Lion gasped and whirled to stare at the woman whose image had haunted him—waking and sleeping—during his years in France. She was looking down at the injured man his lads carried in a litter. Harry had received a grave wound to the side trying to defend her. His sacrifice had given Lion the time to reach her. Harry was unlikely to live, but that hadn’t discouraged Rowena from tearing up her own shift to fashion a bandage for him. She’d always had a soft spot for hurt things.
“Why are they going there?” Lion asked.
“Clan business, Eneas told me. Nastily, I might add, as though I had no right to inquire into his affairs.”
“Any man who leaves a woman in distress is no man at all.” He looked back again, studying the delicate line of her face. “And Blantyre is no place for a gentle lass like Rowena.” The vain, shallow women who hung about the earl’s court would slash her to ribbons with their vicious tongues. And the men... Lion’s gut roiled at the thought of his fragile Rowena pursued by Georas MacPherson and his ilk.
As though sensing his scrutiny, Rowena looked up. Their gazes met, locked. Her eyes were as dark as peat smoke and just as mysterious, her pale, dirt-streaked features coolly blank. When had she learned to guard her thoughts like that? Lion wondered, remembering the lass whose every notion he’d been able to read from the first.
Staring into her closed face, he knew exactly what he wanted. To win her back. But would she give him the chance? Not willingly, if her steely gaze and set jaw were any indication. They were all the spur his competitive spirit needed. She’d been a cautious, wounded thing when he’d first met her. He’d gentled her and won her then. He’d do it again.
Lion grinned, flashing her fair warning with a look. His smile widened when she stiffened, outrage painting red flags on her colorless cheeks. ’Twould be an interesting contest.
Chapter Three
Though she rode with one eye on poor Harry, Rowena’s thoughts were on the man who led them through the misty forest.
She’d never expected to see him again. In the early days following her marriage, consumed by pain and bitterness, she’d wished for Lion to die of some withering disease. Surely her life must be cursed, for not only was he hale, hearty and twice as handsome now, she was also in his debt. Oh, how that galled.
“Lawd, that must be Blantyre Castle,” Clem Gunn said from the pack of clansmen who rode behind her. “Is it not the grandest place ye’ve ever seen?”
Rowena looked ahead, her eyes widening. Blantyre rose out of the fog, spires pricking the sullen sky from behind tall, stout walls. The lights shining from the square towers beckoned, offering warmth and comport Like a stalwart gray sentinel, the edifice seemed to offer sanctuary. Or was it only her need for a haven that made her fancy she’d find one here?
The gatehouse bristled with armed men, but Lion was instantly recognized and the drawbridge lowered. Over the narrow causeway they rode, and into the spacious outer bailey. The grassy field was crammed with tents of all description, from fine canvas ones to drab bits of oiled cloth. ’Twas like a miniature city, really, with stables, a blacksmith and even an ale tent set up by an enterprising merchant.
“Who are these men?” Clem asked.
“Likely the men come to help the earl subdue the outlaws,” Eneas replied. “Large as it is, there would not be room for so many inside Blantyre. The most important of the clan leaders would have chambers inside the castle. And those of lesser rank might steep six and eight to a room in pallets on the floor.”
“Where will we sleep?” Rowena asked faintly.
“I’d wager that Lord Lion will find a cozy spot for you...in his room,” Eneas said nastily.
He would not dare. Would he? “I will seek out the steward and ask if I may have a pallet in the serving maids’ garret,” she said firmly. Yet her trepidation grew as they rode under the sharp teeth of the portcullis into the inner bailey.
The cobbled courtyard was bounded on all four sides by stark gray walls, the great tower of the castle rising five stories above them like a stone giant. The area teemed with activity like a disorderly hive. Some men practiced with dirk and sword, their curses and grunts ringing off the stone walls, their flailing weapons imperiling those who chanced to walk too close. Other men sat about drinking or dicing.
“See what Lion’s brought us,” shouted a coarse voice. “A fresh, winsome lassie.”
All activity stopped. Men lowered their swords and stared. Others left off their gaming and watched goggle-eyed as Lion led his band to the foot of the main stairway. Then they surged forward, an unkempt tide of shouting males.
Rowena gasped and recoiled in the saddle.
“Back!” Lion roared. “All of you.” His command was reinforced by a solid wall of Sutherland targes and swords. “These people are my guests.” Lion’s hard, censorious gaze wandered over the crowd. One after another, the men shrugged and turned back to what they’d been doing.
Lion appeared beside her. “Rowena, I apologize for these men. They are not under my command and—”
“They seemed to obey you.” Evading the hands he extended to lift her down, she slid to the ground on her own.
“Listen to me.” He placed his hands on the saddle, caging her between the horse and himself. “Blantyre is not a safe place. Be on your guard,” he added, thrusting his face close to hers, “lest you find yourself cornered by one of these lechers.”
“You are the only lecher who impugns me.” She drew in a sharp breath and with it the scent that was uniquely Lion’s. It taunted her, brought her senses vividly alive. The small space between them seemed charged with a life of its own. He felt it, too, his long-lashed eyes going wide, his nostrils flaring. Nay. She did not want this. What had been between them was dead, killed by his desertion. “Let me pass,” she said, wishing she sounded firmer, less desperate.
“Lion! Lord Lion!” shouted a high, panicked voice.
Lion turned his head. “Here is Donald Shaw, the steward. Blantyre is crowded, but I will see if I can get him to—”
“We will make our own arrangements,” Rowena said regally, ducking under Lion’s arm.
“There’s no room,” Donald exclaimed as he waddled down the main stairway. His round belly heaved before him like a bag full of fighting cats. “No room at all. Neither in the castle nor the outer bailey.” He stopped beside Eneas Gunn, apparently having picked him out as the leader of these newcomers. “Ye’ll have to pitch a tent outside the walls.”
“The hell you say.” Eneas leaped from the saddle and glowered down at Donald from his considerable height advantage. “I’m Eneas Gunn, and I’ve important business with the earl.”
Donald crossed his arms over his fine woolen tunic. “Lady Glenda, chatelaine of Blantyre, has graciously allowed the earl to use the castle as his headquarters, but my lady has the running of the castle.” He glared up at Eneas. “I say it would not matter if ye were the king’s own brother. There are no beds to be had. Not even a pallet on the—”
Eneas grabbed hold of Donald’s tunic and shook him so the poor man’s chins quivered. “Now listen here, you little—”
“Release him,” Lion said, seizing Eneas’s upper arm.
Swearing loudly, Eneas let go of Donald and tried to shake off the offending hand. “How dare you presume to touch—”
“Be glad I don’t break your arm for leaving your brother’s wife to the MacPhersons.” Lion’s voice was low, yet dangerously tight, his eyes nearly black with anger. “Or beat you bloody for abusing Donald, who is only doing his duty.”
Rowena, who had witnessed a few of Lion’s more passionate outbursts of temper years ago, marveled at this newfound control. Combined with his size and strength, it would make him a formidable opponent.
Eneas, however, was either too blind or too enraged to sense the danger. Curling his lip, he jerked free to address the nearest man. “Where is the earl?”
“Out riding.”
“We will wait, then, to pay our respects and hear what the earl has to say about our accommodations.” Eneas whirled on his own men. “Dismount and stay here.” With a last malevolent glance at Lion, he stomped up the stairs and into the castle.
The name Donald called Eneas under his breath made Lion chuckle. “I know you’re a mite pressed for space, but we’ve an injured man.” He gestured toward the litter his men had set on the ground.
“I’d gladly give up my tiny chamber to show my thanks,” Donald said heartily. “But Felis, the herb woman, has a small chamber where she treats the sick.”
Lion nodded and gave the order to bring Harry. He frowned when Rowena stepped along beside the litter. “There’s no need for you to go. Felis is very skilled.”
Rowena froze him with a glare. “Harry is one of mine. Even had he not been wounded protecting me, I’d still see to him.” Head high, she marched behind in the wake of the litter. Donald led them through a maze of well-lit corridors to a narrow wall chamber.
The herb woman answered the door and ordered the bearers to place Harry on a pallet by the small fire. “’Tis a mortal wound he’s taken, my lady,” she said ominously.
Rowena looked at the blood-soaked pad and grimaced. “Aye, it is severe, but mayhap if it’s stitched shut and a tight compress applied, the bleeding will stop.”
The old woman nodded. “I think ’tis a waste of time, but feel free to use whatever you need.” She gestured to the chest of medicines in the corner. “I’ve been summoned to the village to help with a birthing. The mother lost her last one, poor thing, so I cannot tarry.”
“That is all right. I’ve some skill in such things. Thank you again for the use of this room and your supplies.”
“Aye.” Felis drew on her cloak. “Any friend of Lion’s is deserving of my help,” she said before she left.
Rowena scowled at him.
“Is there anything I can do?” Lion asked hopefully.
“Nay. I need nothing from you.”
“I’ve a bit of experience with wounds, and I know the sight of blood always made you queasy. I could—”
“I have overcome my aversion to blood,” she said flatly.
.Lion’s mouth thinned. “I will stay nonetheless.”
“I would prefer you did not, but doubt that will sway you.”
“Nay, it will not. For as long as you are in Blantyre, you must be under my protection.”
“I do not believe I am in any danger. I think you just want an excuse to—to annoy me,” she finished, unwilling to give voice to the tension that simmered between them.
“Many of the men who’ve answered the earl’s summons are of the worst sort, the dregs of the Highlands. They are without honor or conscience. Pray forgive me for not wanting you to fall into the clutches of others like the MacPhersons.”
Rowena stifled a shudder at the reminder of what he’d saved her from. But forgiveness didn’t come easy. “I’ve not the time to argue.” She turned her attention back to Harry. “He has lost a great deal of blood, so I must act quickly.” She peered into the pot beside the fire and found it empty.
“I sent my squire for hot water and whiskey,” Lion said.
Rowena gritted her teeth. “I must cut his tunic away from his body.”
Kneeling, Lion proffered his own dirk to her. “’Tis sharp, so mind what you’re doing, lass.”
“Around you, always.”
