Suzanne Barclay - Lion's Legacy

Outside, the courtyard was deserted, but near as bright as day. Normally one or two torches were lit to guide the steps of any who needed to find the jakes in the night. Now, however, a dozen or more burned smokily from steel rings set in the tower and outbuildings. More of Kieran’s doing, Laurel thought, giving him high praise for his precautions.

Easing the door shut, she started down the outer staircase. ‘Twas built of stone with a wooden covering to keep off the rain, so ’twasn’t till she’d reached the ground that she realized it had rained while her aunt was fussing over her. The worn stone of the courtyard gleamed wetly in the light, and the air was so heavy with moisture her breath fogged as she exhaled.

“Who goes there?” demanded a rough voice.

Laurel squeaked and turned to find Geordie behind her, sword out. “What are you doing sneaking about in the dead of night?” she demanded,

He scowled and stuck out his chest. “I’m on guard duty.” Poor Geordie, only a few inches taller than her five feet and four inches, with a youthful face and freckles he tried to hide under a sparse red beard.

“Why are you guarding the inner ward?”

“Sir Kieran said ‘twas needful, what with the poor excuse for a wall we’ve got. Said ’twouldn’t keep out a bairn.”

“That man is too quick to find fault.”

Geordie sheathed his sword. “Never say ye’re not taken with him, too. The lasses have been all atwitter ever since he came.”

A pang shot through her. It couldn’t be jealousy. “Doubtless he’s twittering back. A man like him would draw lasses like—”

“Dunno. He spends all his time with his men.”

Laurel nodded, her mind back on the army. If she told Geordie, he’d do something foolish. If she told Kieran, he wouldn’t believe her. Or worse, she’d let slip the story of her visions and he’d laugh at her. Best to wait for Ellis. “Well, good night to you, Geordie.” She set off for the stable.

“Are ye planning on riding out?” he asked, keeping pace.

“In my bed robe?”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “’Tis just that he said ye weren’t to ride out alone.”

“He what? Of all the...the arrogant, high-handed...No doubt he threatened to whip you if you disobeyed.”

“Nay. He said if aught bad happened to ye, he’d skin alive the man who let ye leave the tower alone.”

Laurel sighed. Obviously fear was the only tactic Kieran understood. Her people would have done as he asked simply to keep her safe. “I’m just going to visit Freda. Then I promise I’ll go straight back to bed.” If not to sleep. Still it satisfied Geordie, who clumped off on his rounds.

Tomorrow she’d have to have another talk with Kieran about his deplorable tactics, she decided as she slipped inside the byre. Here, too, ’twas usually dark, for fear a lighted torch would start a fire. But someone had brought over from the hall a sturdy iron-pike candle holder and placed it in the middle of the stable. Five feet tall, its base bolted in a pan of sand, the stand held a single candle as thick as her forearm.

“Of all the careless...” Laurel hurried down the aisle between the stalls and stood on tiptoe, lips pursed to douse—

“Leave it,” growled a horribly familiar voice.

Spinning around, she came face-to-face with the man she’d hoped not to see anytime soon. “Kieran.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and...” Wait. Why was she stammering like a lass caught filching sweetmeats. “I don’t owe you an ex—”

“You were nearly killed this afternoon.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her into the light. His gaze went instantly to the linen swathe around her neck. “Your aunt says ’twas just a scratch, but you are never to disobey me!” he shouted.

Before Laurel could frame an answer, a low snarl came from the shadows at the back of the barn. Freda! Laurel wrenched free of Kieran’s grasp and whirled. “Easy, lass,” she crooned, careful to keep her body between Kieran’s and the hound, who crept toward them on her belly, ears back, teeth bared. For all she didn’t like Kieran’s methods, she had no desire to see his throat ripped open as Aulay’s had been.

“I made peace with the bitch when I stabled Rath this eve,” Kieran said, and tried to step around Laurel.

“Only because you weren’t threatening me then.” Laurel moved with him, arms spread to warn him back. “Freda—”

“Nonsense, I’ve a way with animals” He put a hand on Laurel’s shoulder. Freda snarled, the muscles flexing beneath her sleek coat as she tensed to spring.

“For God’s sake, stay quiet, Kieran. Freda has scant patience with loud males who threaten her mistress. ‘Tis all right, Freda. He...he’s a...a friend.” The words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t certain what she felt for Kieran. “That’s a good lass,” she continued when Freda ceased to snarl. So far, so good. “Crouch down behind me,” she told Kieran, and knelt in the straw. Wonder of wonders, he did as he was told. “Now, put your hand beneath mine.” She held her right hand out to Freda, grateful to see ’twas far steadier than her heartbeat. Until Kieran slipped his hand under hers. His skin felt incredibly hot. The silky-rough swirl of dark hair covering the back prickled against her palm and made her pulse dance.

“Easy,” Kieran murmured, and it took her a moment to realize ’twas to her he spoke, not Freda.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t expected you’d feel so...warm.” Now she felt warm, hot, actually. Just as she had in her dream.

“Get on with calming the dog.” He sounded more Scots and less pleased with her than usual. So much for the dream being true.

“Of course.” Affecting a cheery voice, which Freda mercifully didn’t dispute, Laurel called the hound forward and held out the pair of hands—hers and Kieran’s. As she waited for Freda to sniff them over, Laurel stared at the long, tanned fingers laced with her own smaller, paler ones. Seeing them linked thus made her belly clench, and for an instant, she could see them lying together, their naked limbs entwined, his face bent closer to hers...

“Oh.” Laurel gasped and jerked her hand back, severing the connection and shattering the mental image.

“Shh,” Kieran muttered, his attention still on Freda. He held his hand under Freda’s questing nose, waited till she gave them a sniff of acceptance, then ran his long fingers over the hound’s muzzle, to scratch between her eyes.

Freda gave a blissful sigh and probably would have sat there all night, but one of her pups gave a wee bleat. Reminded of her duties, she dashed away. Halfway to her nest of blankets, she looked back at Kieran and gave a soft woof of invitation.

“I guess that means I’ve passed her test.” He lithely climbed to his feet. The crooked half smile he tossed over his shoulder before he followed Freda was such a surprise that Laurel rubbed her eyes to make certain she hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t, for there it was again, focused on the tiny pup he’d lifted from the rest. So, he did know how to smile, she thought. Why, then, did he snarl and scowl at everyone?

Intrigued, Laurel drifted over and sank down beside him in the straw, absently fondling the nose Freda shoved at her. Gentle. She hadn’t thought Kieran Sutherland had a gentle bone in his body, yet there was such gentleness in the way he held the fragile pup.

He looked over, saw her watching him and blinked. Instantly his body tensed, and he started to set the pup back down, but Laurel caught hold of his hand and stayed him. She felt him trembled. Clearly he was embarrassed to be seen without his surly mask. She was just as determined not to let him slip it on again.