Poor lamb. He'd been through so much. The shock of losing his stern, remote father, the tensions sparking between the remaining adults in his life, the excitement of the funeral…
"Aye, love, I'll have Jennie take you up—"
"He stays," Eneas said flatly.
Rowena's head snapped up. She felt her face heat, and struggled with her temper. "He's exhausted from kneeling by his father's bier all night." At your insistence.
"We all sat vigil. 'Tis expected. As laird, Paddy must look beyond his own comforts," Eneas said with obvious relish.
"He's just a lad."
"Aye, he is." And I'm a man grown. More than capable of ruling if I can find a way, his eyes warned. "But he must grow up quickly." He smiled thinly. "I'd be remiss in my obligations as Paddy's uncle and teacher if I let him shirk his duties."
There was that hated word again. And with it came the opening shots in what promised to be a long, deadly war. Damn Eneas for making it seem he wanted the best for Paddy when she knew he didn't. Despite the suffocating heat in the crowded hall, a chill slithered down her spine. What to do? Should she fight Eneas on this and look disrespectful to Padruig's memory? Or give in and risk appearing weak?
" 'Tis all right, Mama." Paddy put his hand on her arm, his small fingers warm and as reassuring as the light squeeze he gave her. His face was childishly round, his eyes so like his father's, sharp and wise beyond his few years. "I want to be there when they bury Father, so I can mark the spot. I'm going to raise a cairn there the way they do for the heroes in the tales you've told me. 'Twill likely take awhile and the stones will be small, but I'll carry larger ones when I'm bigger."
Now it was tears she battled. Paddy, her wee Paddy, was protecting her, just as his father had done so long ago.
"Well put, Paddy," Finlay said a trifle too heartily. "He has the makings of a fine chief."
"With the proper guidance," Eneas said pointedly.
"You'd be just the man to teach him," shouted a voice Rowena knew right well.
She glanced at the nearest table, where Clem sat smiling at Eneas. A huge lout, Clem was a veritable devil with claymore, dirk or his bare fists, and the most dangerous of Eneas's thugs. There were other men in the crowd, men who were more honorable and less greedy for power than Eneas and his cronies, but if Eneas insisted on being named Paddy's guardian, they'd side with him over her—an outsider and, worse, a woman.
Rowena knew then what she must do—go to Blantyre and convince the earl to uphold Padruig's will. Eneas would not like it, would try to prevent her from making the journey, if she asked his permission. So she wouldn't ask, she'd strike now, in the presence of these witnesses—and quickly, before they were too drunk to care.
Rising, she shouted above the din, "Silence, please. I need a moment of your time on urgent clan business."
The Gunns stopped talking and stared at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted wings. Small wonder they were shocked by her outburst. In all her years at Hillbrae, she'd never raised her voice in the hall. While Padruig had given her the running of the keep, the management of the clan was men's business, so she'd stayed quietly in the background, reading her few precious books, sewing her husband's clothes and raising her son.
"First, I want to thank you for coming to honor Padruig. I know he would be pleased." Conscious of the incredulous stares, she hurried on. "Last night while I kept vigil beside Padruig's bier, I recalled his fears that should something happen to him before Paddy was grown, some other clan might think us leaderless and try to snatch up our holdings."
"Think you I cannot defend what is ours?" Eneas snarled.
Rowena smiled. "I know you would fight valiantly to do that, but our losses might be heavy. Why risk a fight when Padruig himself had a plan that would avoid bloodshed?"
"He did?" asked Finlay.
"He did," Rowena lied without compunction. "The king has sent his brother, the Earl of Buchan, to subdue the more warlike clans and bring peace to the Highlands. I will go to the earl, tell him of Padruig's passing and swear fealty to the crown on Paddy's behalf."
"You!" Eneas shouted. "Why would you go?"
"Because Padruig named me as Paddy's guardian, along with Father Cerdic and Finlay," Rowena said sweetly.
Her statement was greeted by murmurs of ascent from some in the crowd and a low curse from Eneas.
"With the leadership of Clan Gunn thus confirmed by the king's representative, no clan would attack us without running afoul of the earl and risk being declared outlaw by him," Rowena said in a calm, firm voice, rather pleased with her reasoning.
The grinding of Eneas's teeth was so loud Rowena could hear it over the nervous pounding of her heart. Her palms were wet, her stomach in knots, but she knew she'd won. Eneas could not decry the scheme and then set out on the same errand himself.
"I will, of course, go with you," he growled. "To make certain no harm befalls my brother's widow."
"How kind you are."
Eneas glared at her, his eyes lethal weapons. "The journey will be hard and dangerous."
"I look to you to see us safely to Blantyre."
Eneas cursed under his breath, then motioned the steward over to him. "Wat, pass the word, 'tis time for the lifting." Spearing her with another scathing look, he shoved back his chair and stomped away toward his underlings.
Finlay stood also. "That was well done Rowena, but I will go with you to make certain Eneas minds his manners."
"I can look out for myself, Finlay. I need you to remain here to make certain Paddy is safe."
"For all he's a hard man, Eneas loved Padruig. He'll not harm his brother's son," Finlay repeated.
The icy fist around Rowena's heart tightened. If Eneas learned that Paddy was not Padruig's son, he'd have no compunction about killing him.
Paddy's giggle cut across her dark thoughts. "I dinna think most of the men will get themselves up the hill, much less lift Father," he said lightly.
Squinting against the smoky pall, she watched the Gunns attempt to rally themselves for the trip to the kirkyard. Drunk as they were, most of the men and some of the women were literally falling down. "Not surprising. Ten kegs of ale emptied since dawn."
"Aye. But ye did him proud." Finlay grinned as he helped her to her feet. "For all he was spare with his words and not one to share his feelings, Padruig respected ye lass."
Rowena nodded glumly, looking back on her cold, loveless marriage and ahead to her bleak, dangerous future. "That is something, I suppose."
"Make way," Wat the Steward cried, elbowing people aside as he cleared a path for the fallen laird's nearest and dearest.
Jennie met Rowena at the outer door. "I've brought your fur-lined cloak and the young laird's, too." She handed Finlay Paddy's cape, then drew Rowena aside to assist her in dressing. Three years Rowena's senior, the maid was plump and pretty, with red hair and freckles as numerous as her suitors. A capable maid and trustworthy friend, she had left Tarbert to live among the Gunns with her mistress. If not for her support, Rowena wouldn't have lasted a fortnight as Padruig's bride. "You're pale as new snow," Jennie scolded.
"Small wonder." Rowena pressed a hand to her head, hoping to still the grinding ache.
"What has Eneas done to hurt you now?"
"Jennie…"
"Eneas knows I hate him."
"Aye, but that was before." Rowena glanced ahead.
Someone had opened the door, letting in a swirl of blessedly fresh spring air. Eneas stood in the entryway, his big body blocking the light. A symbol, surely, for he'd like to blot her and Paddy out…permanently.
"From now on, I want you to keep that sharp tongue between your teeth, Jennie MacBean," Rowena said in a rush. "With Padruig gone, we must all watch our step."
"And our backs."
"Aye." Rowena shivered and turned, her heart quieting when she saw Finlay kneeling to fasten Paddy's cloak with the heavy broach, the symbol of his lairdship. God keep him safe.
"Mama?" P
addy tugged on her hand. "If I build Father's cairn very high, do you think he'll like me better?"
"Your father loved you," Rowena said.
Paddy looked down and traced a circle on the stone floor with the toe of his boot. "He never said so. Sometimes he looked at me…" his thin shoulders moved restlessly beneath the heavy cloak "…as though I'd turned into a bowl of boiled kale." Paddy's least favorite food.
Rowena sighed, aching for her small son but knowing no words to explain. "He had much on his mind, love. If he grimaced and glowered, 'twas not at you. You were very, very important to him. Come, the others will be waiting. Let us walk up together and bid your father farewell."
His hand, though small, was reassuringly warm in hers. She wondered who was helping whom as they began the long trek up the slope to the kirk. It had rained last night, and the ground steamed mist into the chilly air, giving the scene an otherworldly quality. If only this was a dream and she'd awaken to find Padruig alive, her life unchanged. While she was about it, why not wish she could awaken and find these past six years had been a nightmare and she was still Rowena MacBean, young, carefree and in love with Lion Sutherland?
Nay, for then she'd not have Paddy.
As they followed the line of mourners up the hill, Rowena vowed on Padruig's soul that she'd find a way to keep Paddy safe, no matter what she had to do.
Chapter Two
The journey to Blantyre was every bit as horrible as Finlay had warned her it would be. Rain turned the roads into mud-clogged trails, slowing their progress through the mountain passes. A two-day journey dragged into five interminable ones, riding at the mercy of the wind-driven rain and Eneas's equally foul temper. Each night, he'd insisted on camping in the woods, with only their plaids and the oiled cloth Wat had sent along for protection from the elements.
Just to spite her, Rowena was certain. Wet, exhausted and miserable as she was, she refused to give Eneas the satisfaction of showing it. She rode behind him, shoulders square, with only the heat of her determination to keep the cold at bay.
"When do you think we'll reach Blantyre?" grumbled Harry Gunn, the young soldier Finlay had sent along as her squire.
"Ye've got to have someone to do yer bidding and watch out for ye," Finlay had muttered. "Seeing as how ye've refused to take along one of the maids."
"I must leave Jennie here to care for Paddy. Bad enough he's lost his father. Now his mother is riding away. He needs someone to cosset him and reassure him. And the other maids are either too old to withstand the ride or too flighty."
"The earl's court is likely to be a rough place."
"I've lived among rough men all my life," she'd said with a toss of her head, rather enjoying the freedom to decide things for herself after so many years under Padruig's thumb.
"I heard Eneas tell Clem we should reach Blantyre sometime today," Rowena said now to her freckle-faced escort.
"Not a moment too soon." Harry grimaced as he shifted. "Me bum's permanently flattened, I'll wager."
Rowena smiled and blew a drop of rain off the end of her nose. "I know just what you mean."
"Will it be a grand place, do ye think?"
"I shouldn't wonder, for Finlay tells me it is the ancient seat of Clan Shaw, and they a wealthy house." Oh, she did so want to make a good impression on the mighty earl who'd taken up residence there. She had a moment's qualm, thinking of the woolen gown carefully folded into her saddle pouch. It was the finest thing she'd ever owned, and Jennie had assured her that the deep blue color was vastly becoming. Yet Rowena feared the noble courtiers would see through the bright plumage to her drab MacBean roots.
"Do ye think there'll be lassies there, and all?"
"For shame, Harry," she said. "You are supposed to be guarding me, not chasing after a flock of light skirts."
"My lady! I—I assure ye I didn't mean it, I—"
"I was teasing, Harry."
He glanced sidelong at her, dark eyes wide under a tangle of dripping red hair. "I've never heard ye jest before, my lady. Ye were always a most serious and proper sort."
"I suppose that's true." But there had been a time, a brief time, during that wild, glorious summer with Lion, when she'd been gay and happy and loved. The memory brought with it a pang of longing so sharp she could smell the heather that had grown in the fields. Six years it had been since she'd been held or kissed. Six long, lonely years.
"Lady Rowena?"
She started. "Aye, Harry."
"Look up ahead. Eneas's scouts have ridden in with word we're within a league of Blantyre Castle."
"Praise be," Rowena said. "Can we pause that I might change into fresh clothes and try to get a comb through my hair?"
"I doubt Eneas'll stop, and I'd not want to linger alone in these woods."
Rowena followed his wary gaze into the dark, dripping forest, which seemed to close in on them. Steam rose from the black boulders crowding the edge of the trail. It mingled with the mist in the trees, forming a dense fog within whose depths all manner of evil might lurk. Somewhere nearby a hawk's lonely cry split the silence, sending a shiver down Rowena's spine. "I suppose you are right. Hopefully the earl will understand."
"Ye look fine as ye are, in any case, my lady. Except for the bit of mud on yer cheek."
Rowena hastily scrubbed at her face. "Oh dear, it is vitally important that the earl look kindly on me."
"We must hurry along," Harry urged. "Eneas and his men have reached yon bend in the road, and we'll lose sight of them."
Rowena lifted her head to find Eneas glancing back over his shoulder, watching her from the head of the column. The hatred in his eyes settled the question. He'd like naught better than to lose her…or see her fall prey to some lethal accident. "You are right, Harry. Let us make haste."
The words had scarcely left Rowena's mouth when the thud of muffled hoofbeats came from behind them, mingled with the low rumble of male voices.
"Mayhap 'tis scouts from Blantyre come to welcome us," Rowena whispered.
"Nay, they come too fast." Harry freed his sword. "Quickly, make for Eneas and the others," he urged.
Too late. Mounted men erupted from the trees behind them, brandishing swords and screaming fit to curdle the blood.
Eneas showed his true mettle. Or rather, his back. He fled ahead of the attacking horde without a backward glance, his men scrambling after him like a pack of terrified rabbits.
"Sweet Mary, we are lost," Rowena cried.
Harry wheeled to face the oncoming men. "Ride, my lady," he shouted. "Dinna stop till ye reach Blantyre."
There was no time to argue, no time to thank Harry. Digging her heels into her horse's ribs, Rowena sped along the track Eneas had taken. Branches slapped at her face; briars tore at her clothes. Behind her, she heard the grate of steel on steel, followed by an ominous cry.
Harry.
There was no time to mourn, no time for pain and regret. Rowena focused all her energies on staying in the saddle and keeping her mount moving on the track. A minute they rode, maybe two, before she heard the pounding beat of hot pursuit.
"Faster! Faster!" Rowena urged, giving her mare its head. Her heart flew into her throat as the beast stumbled. "Nay." She pulled back on the reins, fighting for balance, praying for a miracle. It was not granted. With a sharp equine squeal of protest, the horse went down, throwing Rowena off over its head.
She hit the ground with a teeth-jarring thump. The world went black, then misty gray. Stars danced before her eyes. She tasted blood and dirt.
"Chase down the others, I'll see to the wench," shouted a coarse voice.
Rowena clawed at the dirt, trying to rise, to crawl into the concealing foliage a foot away. Hard hands grabbed her by the shoulders and wrenched her up. There she dangled, like a fish on a hook, feet milling in the air, her head muzzy as a drunk's.
"Well, well…" Even seen through a misty haze, her captor's face was terrifying, with blunt, brutish features weathered by sun and wind, close-set bla
ck eyes and a tangle of inky hair. "She's a mite dirty at the moment, but she may clean up fine."
"I dinna want to wait," snarled a sullen voice. The speaker was smaller than his hulking companion and better looking, if you discounted the meanness in his pale eyes.
Terror chased the cobwebs from Rowena's aching head. Mustering what courage she could, she said, "Release me this instant," in her most imperious voice. The effect was ruined by her position.
The brute laughed. "Why, 'tis no serving wench we've caught, Dickie me lad, but a fine lady."
"She don't look so fine…and it don't make a damn bit of difference to me who she is." Dickie reached for the laces on the front of her gown.
"Wait!" Rowena said, hating the quaver in her voice. "I am Lady Rowena Gunn, come with my kinsmen on important business with the Earl of Buchan. If you will take me—unharmed—to Blantyre Castle, my brother will reward you richly."
The brute's eyes narrowed assessingly. "Dickie and me, we've no need of gold, but a fresh wench…" He cocked his head, a merciless grin splitting his ugly face. "Now that's a reward a man'd have to be dead to pass up."
"Dead is what you'll be if you don't release the lady," said a low, soft voice. The man who stood behind the brute was leaner but taller than her attacker. A helmet shadowed his face. From beneath it, black hair flowed over massive shoulders. With his sword held before him and his dark cape fluttering out in the wind, he resembled an avenging angel.
" 'Tis Glenshee," Dickie exclaimed.
Cursing, the brute cast Rowena into the bracken and drew his sword as he turned to face the newcomer. "Ye're alone." A savage smile split his ugly face.
"I have Avenger." The knight hefted his claymore with one hand, letting the half-light play on the runes carved into the gleaming blade. "That's enough to deal with the likes of you, Georas MacPherson."
Georas's laughter was coarse and mean, his attack lightning quick. His sword slashed down. Metal screamed on metal as the dark knight countered the stroke, driving Georas back. Face red with fury, MacPherson lunged, shouting for Dickie, who came in swinging his own blade. The blow fell on the leather-and-metal targe the knight held over his left arm. Before Dickie could disengage, Glenshee twisted the shield, scoring Dickie's arm with the metal point at its center.
Lion's Lady Page 3
