Lion's Legacy. Suzanne Barclay

      Chapter Two

      “Ye what?” Duncan demanded, eyes bugging out.

      “I captured Sir Kieran, and tomorrow we’ll send him on his way,” Laurel said for the third time in as many minutes.

      Her grandfather’s bushy white brows slammed together. “I hired him to protect Edin.”

      “And I’ve proven what a poor choice he was. If I could take him captive, how can you expect him to save—?”

      “Ye came on him unawares. Ellis said so himself. ’Tis dishonest, catching a man with his hose down,” he grumbled.

      “I didn’t.” She had been lurking in the woods, trying to decide how best to approach Sutherland and persuade him to leave, when he’d stepped into her lair...so to speak. Realizing what the men were about, she’d turned her back. But whilst waiting for Geordie to tell her they’d finished, a plan had formed. An inspired plan, if she did say so herself. No one had been hurt. She winced as she recalled the bloody bump on Kieran’s head. No one had been badly hurt, she amended. And there was Grandda’s prize mercenary trussed up in the granary.

      Though likely there’d be hell to pay when he regained consciousness, she thought, recalling his angry outburst just before Geordie had hit him over the head. Neither her vision nor her aunt’s conjuring had done justice to the man’s size. Or his looks. Not handsome, exactly, for his features were too rugged for that—broad forehead, high, prominent cheekbones and an arrogant jaw outthrust as though daring the world to take a swipe at it. Aye, his face had the unrelenting angles of carved stone, and his dark violet eyes haunted her still.

      Laurel drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Beneath Kieran’s fury she’d glimpsed something startling. A loneliness that touched her very soul, for she knew all about loneliness.

      “’Tis a bad bit of work ye’ve been about this morn. ’Twill take more glibness than I’ve got just now to soothe his pride.”

      “We don’t need him, Grandda. If I could catch Sir Kieran and his men preoccupied, then I shouldn’t have any trouble outwitting the reivers should they come again.”

      “They will.” His head sagged into the pillow. “Then what’ll become of us?” He looked so frail that Laurel flew to his side.

      “Grandda.” Mindful of his wounded chest, she grabbed his gnarled hand where it lay clenched in the blankets. “I—”

      “Here, now, don’t fash yourself. I’m not dead yet. Still I’d rest a mite easier in my bed if I knew there was someone to protect ye and the lands I’ll be leaving to young Malcolm.”

      ’Twas exactly what she’d been worried about. Merciful heavens, she’d barely managed to thwart Aulay. She’d stand no chance against someone as large and strong as Sutherland if he tried to take Edin from within. “We don’t need help,” she cried. “With you to plan what must be done and Ellis and me to carry out your or—”

      “Ah, lass.” He pulled his hand from her grasp and reached up to smooth the curls from her face. “Though our people have the heart to defend what’s theirs, they lack the skills. We’ve lived so peaceably here behind the mountains that I didn’t think any knew we existed or cared. But now those men have drawn our blood, they’ll not leave us be.”

      “Then hire someone else.”

      “Why? When Kieran Sutherland’s already here. What have ye against him?” His piercing blue gaze was sharp as ever.

      “I...I told you I dreamed of him,” Laurel began, loath to leave herself open to ridicule but seeing no other way.

      “What did ye see?” her aunt inquired, gliding to the other side of the bed, a steaming bowl in her hands, a frown crinkling her fine red brows. Below them, Nesta’s eyes were intent, searching. They were pale as frost and rimmed by a circle of black. Witchy eyes. ’Twas said no mortal dared meet those eyes and utter a lie, for Nesta’d see clear through it.

      Laurel was desperate enough to risk it. “I—I saw him sacking Edin,” she stammered.

      “Ah, did ye now?” Nesta looked away as she set the bowl on the small bedside table, but Laurel knew that she knew ’twas a lie. One of the drawbacks in being kin to a capable witch.

      “Well, his expression was that of a hungry wolf about to pounce on a staked deer. He would, too. He’s hard and rude and...and cruel. He...he dragged me from my horse and shouted at me.”

      “And ye did naught, I suppose,” her grandsire said.

      Clearly Ellis had told him exactly what had happened. “Kieran is a threat to us. I—I felt it in my dream.” Her throat tightened. If God had gifted her with these visions, why, oh why couldn’t he have given her the skill to read them?

      “’Twill be fine, lass.” Duncan patted her hand as he used to when she’d skinned a knee. “Kieran comes of good stock, and his honor is legendary. I heard he forbids his men to rape any women they capture. He was forced out of France for attacking a royal duke to prevent him from sacking a nunnery. Run along and fetch him from wherever ye’ve got him. I’ll soon sort this out.”

      “Grandda!”

      “Ye’ll eat first ” Nesta shoved a spoonful of broth in her sire’s mouth. “And Laurel, not every outsider’s like Aulay Kerr.”

      Nay, Kieran was nothing like Aulay. Her late husband had been leanly built, soft-spoken and sneaky as a snake. She’d dreamed of Aulay, too. On the night before they’d wed. An odd, murky nightmare of a steep cliff, rushing water and a howling dog. It had taken days for that dream to become reality and then she hadn’t recognized the warning till it was nearly too late to save herself and those she loved. This time she’d not be so quick to dismiss her vision. Kieran Sutherland had to leave.

      “Kieran? Kieran, can ye hear me?” Rhys called.

      Kieran roused to darkness, a terrible throbbing in his head. Battling the pain, he raised his chin and croaked, “What the hell happened?”

      “Ye went after our young captor. One of his men took exception and bashed ye over the head.”

      “Feels like he split it in two. Where are we?”

      “A hut of some kind. Windowless and, from the mildew smell, likely used to store grain,” Rhys added.

      “Thank God. I thought mayhap I’d been struck blind.” He tried to sit up, discovered his hands were tied behind his back and his legs likewise bound at the ankles. “The others?”

      Dirt scraped as Rhys shifted. “They were taken away to another part of the keep. How do ye feel?”

      “Like a fool. To think I walked straight into Duncan MacLellan’s trap—sprung by some callow youth, no less.”

      Rhys snorted. “I meant yer head, but if ye can work up that much heat and anger, ye must be all right.”

      “Nay, nor will I be till I’ve avenged this day’s work, starting with Duncan and Ellis and finishing with the lad who—”

      “I do not think Ellis was aware of what was planned. Did ye see how shocked he looked when the lad appeared and ordered us to lay down our weapons?”

      “Nay.” By that time, a red, rage-induced mist had obscured all but the cheeky grin of the lad who’d not only dared to shoot him, but forced his surrender by threatening Jamie. “I shouldn’t have given in. Likely he wouldn’t have harmed so young a lad as Jamie.”

      “’Tis not yer way to risk others’ lives,” Rhys said quietly. “Still, Ellis had yer armor removed and a blanket placed over ye. Hardly the actions of a man bent on murder. I wonder if a mistake of some sort was made.”

      “The mistake was made by the