Suzanne Barclay - Lion's Legacy

“Take me to Duncan MacLellan,” he snarled.

“Why? What will you do?”

“Teach him he cannot betray me.”

Laurel forgot her own fears. “He had naught to do with that. ’Twas my idea, my orders that sent my clansmen af ter—”

Kieran cursed. “What man would follow a female?”

“Lady Laurel?” Ellis called from the doorway. “What—?”

“Seize him,” Laurel ordered, snagging the initiative.

“Attempt it and she suffers the consequences.” Kieran’s expression was murderous, but his hold didn’t turn bruising, nor did he ask for a weapon to hold at her throat.

A hopeful sign. “He doesn’t mean it,” Laurel decided.

Ellis frowned. “I cannot take the chance.”

“Untie my man,” Kieran demanded in a voice that brooked no argument. But for an instant the fury blazing in his eyes muted to regret. A mercenary with a conscience? She saw it then, the gentleness he sought to hide. The contrast between dangerous and vulnerable shook her to the core. Almost causing her to forget her fear that he was a threat to her clan. Almost.

The trip across the courtyard to the tower passed in a blur of neat stone buildings and curious faces. It took only a few moments, yet ’twas the longest Kieran had taken since he’d ridden away from home years ago. Every step of the way he was taunted by the scent and feel of the female in his arms. He should put her down, would have if her little body hadn’t been frigid with tension. Release her and she’d likely fly at him again. Damn, but he’d only just managed to avoid that deadly knee of hers. If she attacked, she might be hurt. Kieran was many things...most of them uncivilized, but he’d never once stooped to harming females.

“I swear I acted alone,” she said again as they climbed the tower. “I’ll gladly take whatever punishment you decree, if you leave my grandfather alone. He’s old and was gravely wounded.”

Kieran tried to turn a deaf ear to her pleas. That she was small and fragile, yet had faced him down with more courage than most men, struck a chord in him. She reminded him of his fiery Aunt Elspeth, the only member of his family who hadn’t betrayed him. Only what he felt for Laurel wasn’t familial.

Ellis paused before an oaken door banded with iron, lifted the latch and stood aside.

“You go first,” Kieran growled, wary of yet another trap. Following Ellis into the warm, brightly lit chamber, he scanned it quickly, taking in the only inhabitants, a red-haired woman in a black robe and an old man propped up in bed.

“Please, please don’t hurt him.” Laurel’s nails dug into his flesh through the woolen tunic.

Kieran’s heart contracted as though she’d reached inside and clenched it. “I do what I must,” he mumbled, nearly dropping her in his haste to be free of this strange effect she had on him. Yet when she swayed, he reached out to steady her. After he let go of her hand and turned toward the bed he noted that, without her to fill them, his arms felt as empty as his soul had these past years. Nay, she wasn’t for him. No female was. Anger rasped in his voice as he demanded of Duncan, “Why did you ambush me?”

“’Twas a foolish mistake, naught more.” The old man smiled, but pain lined his leathery face. Though older and grayer, he looked much as Kieran’s grandsire had when he’d been brought low by a sword thrust...proud and unbowed in the face of death.

Damn. Kieran passed a hand over his face, but it couldn’t wipe away the memories. An unwanted lump rose in his throat. Damn. Damn. What was it about these people that made him remember things he’d sworn to forget?

“Pour him a bit of whiskey, Nessie,” Duncan said cheerfully. “The lad looks done in by our lass’s reception.”

Kieran welcomed the anger that drove out the soft sentiments. “Someone will pay for the attack on me.” He put on his fiercest mask and advanced on Duncan, only to be halted when Laurel moved to block his path. “Stand aside,” he growled.

“And leave my grandfather to your mercy? Nay.”

“Think you I’d strike a wounded man?”

“You assaulted me...a lone, defenseless woman.”

“Defenseless? Defenseless!” He leaned close, his breath hot on her face. “’Twas you ambushed me. And struck me unconscious.”

“That was Geordie,” Laurel yelled back, hands on hips, jaw tilted up to meet the aggressive edge of his cleft chin. “And only because you were shaking the living daylights out of me.”

“I thought I was protecting myself from a man.”

“And Geordie was protecting me.”

“Now that’s settled, here’s yer whiskey.” Her aunt thrust a cup between them. “’Twill chase the dust from yer throat.”

“’Tis not settled,” Kieran snapped, but he took the cup.

Someone had taught him manners, for he muttered a brief thanks. Laurel had hoped to goad him into acting the barbarian. He certainly had the look of one with that stubbled jaw and unruly black hair to match his temper.

“Ye’re most welcome, Sir Kieran,” her aunt cooed.

Was everyone blind to his threat but her? Laurel wondered. It seemed so, for her grandfather began making soothing noises.

“’Twas a mistake. The lass mistook ye for reivers. We’ve dire need of yer aid, lad,” Duncan said. “Draw up a chair and I’ll tell ye what we know of the fiends who did this to me”

Pity flickered in Kieran’s eyes. Wary, but less angry, he did as her grandfather bade.

Laurel repaired to a stool by the hearth to think things over. She still wanted Kieran gone from Edin, but there was something about him that confused her.

“What is it about Kieran that riles ye?” Nesta whispered.

Laurel flinched. “He’s an outsider, like Aulay.”

“Mmm. But he doesn’t look or act like Aulay Kerr.”

“He acts a dozen times worse.”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” Nesta whispered. “Tell me about this dream of yers.” She sat quietly while Laurel poured out the details of the vision and her frustration with not being able to understand it. “It takes time to learn to work the power ye’ve been given.”

“Did it take you a long time?”

“Nay, I was a lass when I did my first conjuring, but—”

“Then I’m hopeless.” Laurel hung her head.

“Never that. The dreams are different than the conjuring is all. Yer great-grandmam had them. I recall my mother saying old Nell had difficulty learning to make sense of her visions.”

“How did she do it?”

Nesta took Laurel’s icy hands in her warm ones. “First ye must come to terms with yer heritage, grow comfortable with it.”

“What if I never do?”

“’Twould be a loss,” Nesta murmured. “When I’m gone, our people will have need of yer special skills. But there’s time yet. Ye’re a MacLellan. We women have always had the gift”

Laurel nodded absently. “If you think of something that might help...some way I could learn to control my dreams.”

“Aye.” A shadow crossed her face. “Though I want ye to develop yer gift, it has its dark side. Ye already know there are superstitious souls who fear me even while they seek the answers to their questions. Worse is looking into the future and seeing the death of a loved one.”

“Or sensing danger and not knowing its source,” Laurel whispered. Why had she dreamed of Kieran? Not once, but many times, each one bringing him closer till she’d finally seen him clearly. Seen his hunger and yearning. What was it he wanted?

“Laurel. Come here, lass,” her grandfather called.

Laurel jerked her head around, and her gaze slammed into Kieran’s. Cold as winter frost, it bored into her, freezing her to the marrow. Gone was all trace of the man who’d held her earlier, eyes hot with a passion that had sparked her own. Here was a warrior devoid of warmth or gentleness. ’Tis what he was destined to be. The insight startled and confused her.