Aye, 'twas a perfect night for the things Highlanders did best—for skulking about in the brush, for executing a raid or meeting in secret. And Lion was about all three. Appreciating the irony of the situation, he smiled. The twinkle in his pale eyes and the dimple that softened his lean face had earned him the undying devotion of more than a few lasses. But not the one he'd wanted most.
Lion's smile dimmed. How ironic that he had braved the spring storm to try and save the life of the man he hated above all others. If he did nothing and Padruig Gunn died, Rowena would be free… Nay, he'd not be able to live with the guilt.
Sensing his restlessness, Turval pawed the ground.
"Steady, lad. It'll not be long now." They'd left Blantyre Castle well ahead of his quarry, and Padruig had to take this trail on his homeward journey. He'd be along any moment; Lion would do his duty, then ride off.
His horse started, long ears pricking forward.
"Is he come?" Gathering the reins to steady his mount, Lion leaned low and peeked between the branches of a sheltering pine. Sure enough, a single man guided his horse along the rocky banks of the creek swollen with late spring runoff.
"Jesu, he's daft, riding in the open as though he hadn't a care in the world," Lion grumbled. He should leave him to his own devices, but his sense of justice wouldn't let him.
As Padruig rode abreast of his hiding place, Lion urged his horse out from cover.
"What the…?" Pale light shimmered on deadly steel as Padruig lifted the sword from across his thighs. "Who are ye?"
"A friend." Lion held both empty hands aloft.
"Friends dinna creep up on a man in the dark." Padruig was a big, rawboned man of some five and forty years, with thinning hair and a warrior's scarred face. How could Rowena have wed him? It hurt thinking of him with his Rowena, kissing her, lying with her, getting her with child.
"You left Blantyre in rather a hurry. And given the delicacy of my mission, it seemed best to meet you here."
"Step into the open where I can see ye."
Lion edged his horse out from under the canopy of branches.
Padruig's widened as they focused on Lion's face. "Lion Sutherland." A brittle note underscored his surprise.
"Aye." They had not been introduced during the brief hours Padruig had spent at Blantyre, come in answer to the summons of Lion's current overlord, Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan. "How is it you know me?"
Padruig shrugged. "I'd reason enough to learn yer name."
Had Rowena spoken of him? Had she told her husband that because of Lion she'd come to him no maid? It gave Lion savage satisfaction to know he'd been the first to taste her sweetness. It was not nearly enough, but it was all he had to ease the ache of yearning and regret. "I see," Lion said edgily, wondering if he faced a jealous husband. It would be his first time for that, for he was no poacher.
"I doubt ye do. Then again…" Padruig's thin mouth lifted in what could have been a smile or a grimace. "Have ye come to kill me over it?"
Lion frowned. Although he seemed a blunt, uncomplicated man, there were unnerving layers of meaning in Padruig Gunn's speech. Mysteries Lion had no time to unravel. "You rejected the earl's request for men to help him subdue the outlaws that plague the Highlands," he said, returning to the business at hand.
"Subdue outlaws?" Padruig cursed and spat. " 'Tis an excuse to curb our independence and strip us of our property. Alexander Stewart'll wipe out those clans that oppose him and take over their lands. He'll make himself king of the Highlands, mark my words."
Lion was amazed at how well Padruig understood the situation. Most of the clan leaders who had agreed to follow Alexander had either been fooled by his high-sounding mission or thought to gain power themselves. Those who had not joined him were of two groups—the lawless ones who did, indeed, need to be controlled and a few clans like the Sutherlands who guessed the earl's darker purpose and wanted to stop him.
It was a dangerous, mayhap impossible task. One that had cast Lion in the role of spy in Alexander's court. "If Alexander is as ambitions and ruthless as you say—" and Lion knew firsthand that he was "—then you were a fool to defy him so openly."
"Bah. He'll not miss the few Gunns I could have brought to his army. We're a small, isolated clan."
"He's not a man who takes kindly to being told nay."
Padruig snarled a curse.
Lion sighed. He couldn't imagine his young, sunny Rowena wed to this cold, gruff man. Trying to do so hurt. "It would have been better to pretend to fall in with his plans."
"Lie?"
"What harm in a lie that saves lives and buys us time?"
"Time to do what?"
"Find a way out of this damnable situation," Lion replied.
"By agreeing to side with a rogue and murderer? Wolf, I've heard men call him behind his back. And it seems most apt, given the relish with which he raids and murders."
Lion admired his convictions, if not his stubbornness. "Have you no care for your clan? For your…your wife?" The word stuck in his throat.
"Ah, my wife." Padruig's searing gaze raked Lion from his bare head to his leather boots, then back up. "I've a care for her—and for the lands I'd leave my son. Which is why I'll not dirty myself by associating with that bastard. But I thank ye for the warning. Were our positions reversed, I wonder if I'd do the same." He tugged on his horse's reins and urged the beast into motion.
Lion sat scowling as he watched Padruig pick his way up the glen. When he passed from sight, Lion reluctantly moved off to the left, up the little-used trail he himself had taken. At the lip of the ridge, he paused long enough to ascertain he was alone, then set off to get his men. They had miles to go for his meeting with Fergie Ross.
Another hard, crusty old man with a stubborn streak who would rather defy the earl than harken to Lion's plans.
He'd gone scarce a quarter mile when he heard it—a hoarse scream that tort across the quiet land. "Bloody hell." Wrenching his horse around, he raced along the rim of the glen, calculating how far the Gunn might have gotten in the few minutes since they'd parted. When he reached the cut in the land where a stream poured down to join the creek in the glen, he dismounted, hobbled his horse and crept down on foot.
He was nearly to the bottom when a troop of men galloped past. A score or more, he judged by the sounds of their horses. Though he could not see them for the brush, he caught a flash of red and blue. MacPhersons? Aye, it made sense. Alexander often sent Georas MacPherson to do his dirty work.
Blade drawn, Lion crept through the underbrush. The sight of Padruig sprawled beside the stream in a pool of blood stopped him. He moved forward to feel for signs of life, but found none.
Damn. Damn. He should have gone with Padruig. Followed him at least. And died with him? Sobering thought, but Lion's guilt didn't ease. "Jesu, Rowena, I'm sorry. So sorry."
The clatter of hooves on stone sent him scrambling for cover. It was not Padruig's murderers come back, but his own men who burst onto the scene.
"We heard a cry," Bryce explained, controlling his nervous mount as he surveyed Lion. "Are you hurt?"
"Nay, but Padruig Gunn is dead."
"Alexander's men?"
"Likely. They were MacPhersons, I think." Lion knelt again by the body. "And it wasn't robbery, for his purse is still here."
"Damn, if only we'd realized the earl would stoop to this."
Lion stood. "He grows desperate indeed if he will murder a man over a few troops for his damned army. I should have tried harder to convince the Gunn he was in danger."
"What now? Will you take the body to his people?"
Lion debated only a moment before shaking his head. "I'm overdue to meet with Fergus. If I do not show up, God alone knows what foolishness he'll undertake." He looked down at Padruig again. "And the Gunns are bound to ask who did this, mayhap seek revenge against Alexander, and die in turn." He exhaled. "Red Will, take three of the lads and carry Padruig Gunn near to home. Leave him at the side
of the road…" Like refuse. Lion cringed, but couldn't waver. "Make it look as though he'd been attacked and robbed." Fewer questions that way.
Even by Highland standards, Padruig Gunn's funeral was a wild and raucous affair. The Gunns come to mourn their fallen chief cavorted about Hillbrae Tower's great hall like revelers on a feast day. Shouted songs and laughter vied with sobs of regret at his passing.
But then, the Gunns did everything to excess, thought Rowena as she surveyed the mess and swiftly calculated the cost in food, drink and broken furniture.
" 'Tis a grand send-off we're giving him, eh?" Finlay Gunn shouted above the din. "Cousin Padruig would have loved this."
Seated beside the old warrior at the head table, Rowena, widowed four days and terrified at what lay before her, let loose her temper. "He'd have enjoyed it a bit more had he been alive to do so. Damn him," she snapped. "Where had he gone? Why was he riding about alone?"
"Clan business," said Finlay, who was the only one Padruig had ever confided in. "Ye know what store he set by duty,"
"Duty!" She spat the word out like a curse. "Men wave that banner about as though it was handed down from God, but 'tis only an excuse to go adventuring." The memory of Lion's long-ago desertion twisted sharp as a knife in her chest. Though she would never forgive Lion Sutherland, she'd tried hard to forget him. Padruig's death, his desertion, had brought it all back: the pain, the fear and, aye, the anger. They roiled inside her, stinging like salt in a fresh wound. " 'Tis the women and children who pay the price while you men go off to pursue your duty."
"Easy, lass." Finlay laid a scarred hand on her arm. "I ken ye're grieving for Padruig and worried about what the next years will bring, but there's no need to carry on so."
Oh, but there was. Shivering, Rowena sagged against the high-backed chair, a smaller version of Padruig's mammoth one to her right. She cast a sidelong glance at the chair's occupant—the new chief of Clan Gunn. Paddy, her five-year-old son.
The red head of hair that seemed to mark him as a Gunn was bent over his plate as he toyed with an oatcake. His sweet face was in profile to her—rounded cheeks, a stubborn jaw and a nose he'd need to grow into. The nose handed down from Lucais Sutherland to Lion and thence to Paddy.
He was so young, so precious, so vulnerable. She'd do anything to protect him. Anything.
Her gaze shifted to the man on Paddy's other side.
Eneas's face was also in profile—harsh, lean and predatory. Padruig had warned her often of his brother's ambitions to rule the clan. Now the only thing that stood between Eneas and his goal was her Paddy. Suddenly Rowena was afraid, more afraid than she'd been in years. What if Padruig had not been set upon and murdered by thieves? What if Eneas had killed him? What if he planned to eliminate her son as well?
A crockery cup flew past her nose and smashed against the floor inches from Padruig's bier, drawing her attention from the past to the dangerous present. Even in death, Padruig looked harsh and indomitable, his craggy features set in disapproval, his red-gray brows bunched in a frown over his broad nose. She had not loved him. She could never love anyone again, but Padruig had sheltered and protected her. Till now…
"I have to keep Paddy safe," she said under her breath.
"Aye, and I'll help ye," Finlay whispered. Older than Padruig by three years, a seasoned warrior sidelined from the battlefield by a knee injury, he was kinder, more com-passionate than her husband. Finlay had been the first to welcome her when she'd come here as a frightened bride. She was frightened now, longed to take Paddy and run home to the MacBeans. But she'd given up her right to leave when she'd wed Padruig and accepted his bargain. For the sake of that vow and Paddy's future, she was bound to the Gunns of Hillbrae till the day she died.
"I'm sorry to tear at you, Finlay. 'Tis just that I'm worried." The knot in her belly tightened. Padruig had been a cold and indifferent husband, preferring his mistress's bed to hers, thankfully. But he'd been Rowena's bulwark, her protector.
Finlay smiled faintly. "Dinna fret. Before he went off, Padruig bade me take care of ye and the lad. I'll see he's raised right, taught what he needs to know. He's been declared Padruig's heir, and the men will honor that. Paddy will rule Clan Gunn when he's old enough."
'Twas what she'd schemed, sacrificed and, aye, even lied to ensure. Paddy's future. Everything she'd done these six years had been for her son. "You're a fine man, Finlay Gunn. I know you'll do your best by us," she said softly, her expression carefully controlled again. "But 'twill be ten years at least till he can fight for himself. Years filled with peril."
Finlay nodded, his brown eyes sober. "I'll watch over him till then, see that he's strong and capable."
"But you do not know what Eneas has planned," Rowena murmured, giving voice to her fears at last, even though it meant embroiling Finlay in more danger. "An hour ago, I passed by Padruig's counting room and heard Eneas speaking with Clem."
"Go on," the old man urged.
She hesitated. But where else could she could turn? Few of the Gunns would believe Eneas capable of harming his own nephew. Her father was dead, and her brother was not strong enough to face down Eneas Gunn. Lion was, whispered a traitorous voice.
She had a brief, vivid image of Lion wielding his heavy claymore, muscles rippling beneath his saffron shirt as he fought to drive off two men who had attacked her at that first clan gathering. His opponents had been grown men, Lion a youth of ten and eight, but he'd bested them to save her life.
Lion, the champion of her youth.
Lion, the nemesis of her darkest nightmares. After what he'd done, she'd not accept a cup of water from him if she were dying of thirst. If there was any justice in the world, Lion Sutherland was dead of the plague.
"Come, lass, a burden shared is lighter," Finlay said.
Rowena sighed and leaned closer, glad of the noise in the hall. "On the morrow, Eneas rides to Blantyre Castle to meet with the Earl of Buchan."
"What? But—but that is where Padruig had gone, in answer to the earl's summons."
"Why? Who is this earl?"
"He's the king's brother, sent here to subdue the clans that have been reiving and murdering. To do it, he must raise an army, and he wanted Padruig to provide some men."
"Oh. It sounds a grand scheme," Rowena said absently, her own troubles more immediate. "Eneas plans to tell the earl of Padruig's passing and swear fealty to him on Paddy's behalf."
"Fealty? Some of the Lowland clans follow that English custom of swearing allegiance to the king, but we Highlanders do not need to seek anyone's approval of what we do. Especially when the king's as weak a vessel as Robert. What does Eneas hope to gain by groveling at the earl's feet?"
"Eneas told Clem he'd ask the earl to declare himself Paddy's guardian," she said faintly.
"But Padruig intended for you, Father Cerdic and myself to have the raising of the lad. He said so before all the clan and made every man swear to support Paddy as his heir."
"Clem reminded Eneas of that, but Eneas said that the earl would not know of this—this unnatural notion of Padruig's." She twisted the linen napkin in her lap, the burning in her belly intensifying. "Eneas says that task should fall to Padruig's only brother, and he's certain the earl will agree."
"No Gunn will care what this earl says."
"But they may." She took hold of Finlay's arm. "Much as they loved Padruig and do love Paddy, also, there are many in the clan who will not love being ruled by a woman, a priest and a—a…" She could not bring herself to call Finlay a cripple, as Eneas had when making his point. "The young men especially want a vigorous chief who can hunt with them and lead them into battle. They will not see the danger to Paddy. They will not see that once Eneas is Paddy's guardian, he could take my son away from us and…and mayhap kill him."
"Eneas would not harm his own nephew."
"Life in the Highlands is hard and chancy. Accidents do happen, even to a grown warrior like Padruig," she added pointedly. "I mean to see that none be
fall my son till he's old enough and strong enough to fend for himself."
"I will speak with Eneas and make him see that we will not stand for any mucking about with Padruig's wishes."
"He will not listen."
"Then I will ride to Blantyre and inform this earl of Padruig's desires."
"Thank you," Rowena murmured. But she knew that even a few minutes in the saddle were torture for Finlay's bad leg. "We will think of something, I am sure."
"Now what are you whispering about, Rowena?" inquired a voice as cold and sibilant as a snake's hiss.
Rowena gathered her courage, then slowly looked over her son's red head to the glittering eyes of her adversary. Eneas had disliked her from the moment of their first meeting, the young wife of his childless brother, bringing with her the promise of an heir to displace Eneas. When she'd fulfilled that promise and birthed Paddy, Eneas's animosity had ripened to a hatred that burned bright in his dark eyes.
Even in the crowded hall, with Finlay beside her, she felt vulnerable. Eneas had always unnerved her, his malevolent stare seeming to strip away her lies and pretexts. She resisted the urge to squirm. One sign of weakness and he'd strike like the hawk he so resembled. Before, she'd had Padruig's support. Now she was on her own, her wits her only defense. Digging deep into the well of strength some say came to all mothers when their young were threatened, she prepared to do battle for her son's future, his very life. "We were discussing the order of march to the gravesite." She was pleased by her level voice.
"Indeed?" Eneas's hard gaze narrowed. He was a large, lean man, with sharp features and thin lips set in a permanent sneer. Younger than Padruig by ten years, he had his half brother's strength and determination, with none of Padruig's sense of honor. "Father Cerdic first, then myself and Paddy."
"He's too young to walk so far."
Between them, Paddy left off crumbling his oatcake and tipped his head back to look at her. His round face was unusually pale. Mauve shadows bruised the hollows below expressive, whiskey-colored eyes the same shape as his father's. In them, she saw fatigue and confusion. He liked his uncle Eneas no better than she did. Her fault, but better wary than too trusting. "Mama, can I get down now? My bum's gone to sleep."
Lion's Lady Page 2
