Suzanne Barclay - Lion's Lady

“I am not sure,” Lion replied.

This from the man who was always confident, always knew which way to jump, no matter how perilous the situation? “’Twas a shock,” Bryce said. Ten years Lion’s senior, he was as much mentor as captain of the elite force that had fought under the Sutherland banner during their years in France.

“Aye. When I realized the lass I’d saved from the MacPherson was Rowena, I damn near fell over.” A muscle in Lion’s cheek jumped as he flexed his jaw. “She is not well pleased to see me,” he said in a low, troubled voice. “And who can blame her, for she thinks I left her without a care or a qualm.”

“Did you not explain what happened that night?”

“She would not speak of it.” Lion exhaled, his eyes bleak in the sockets of his helmet.

“Mmm. Mayhap she will when she is over the shock of the MacPhersons’ attack and her guard’s wounding.” Bryce deftly changed the subject. “Did she say what they were doing here?”

Lion shifted in the saddle, barely resisting the urge to look back at the object of his turbulent thoughts. She’d refused any further help from him. That had hurt. “I did not think to ask.”

“Aye. You were a trifle busy when we arrived.”

Lion flushed. “Appearance to the contrary, I was not trying to seduce her.” Though he’d wanted to. Still did, if the truth be known. He’d gorged himself on women when he’d learned his Rowena had wed another, but none of them had captured his heart or satisfied his soul the way she could.

“Have your feelings for her changed, then?”

“Nay.” His heart had soared when he’d recognized her. “But she made her hatred of me plain enough.”

“She is only recently widowed.”

Lion nodded, gut tightening with guilt.

“According to Eneas Gunn, Padruig’s brother and the leader of this band, they believe Padruig was killed by thieves.”

Did she mourn him? Had she loved him? “Eneas is the wretch who ran off and left her to MacPherson?”

“The same. I’d say there is little love lost ’twixt him and Rowena, for when we’d routed the MacPhersons, he was not anxious to go back and find his brother’s widow.”

“Bastard. I’ll see she’s kept safe,” Lion murmured. “Whether she wants my help or not.”

“I still cannot believe Alexander had Padruig killed simply because he would not bring his few men to Blantyre.”

“The Wolf grows more and more unstable in his thinking.” Silently Lion cursed the earl for wreaking havoc in the Highlands. ’Twas not peace Alexander wanted, but power. Under the guise of curbing lawlessness, he planned to gather about him a huge Highland army. With it, he’d wrest the throne from his weak, ineffectual brother, Robert. “If only we could find proof of Alexander’s true intentions.”

“Mad he may be, but Alexander is clever, too clever to leave evidence lying about.”

“But we know he has designs on the crown. He has promised that when he’s king, he’ll grant land and other favors to some of the more powerful clans, the ones he cannot now sway to his side with gold or intimidation. Rory Campbell saw the document Alexander sent to Archie, chief of the Campbells.”

Alarmed, Rory had ridden to Lion’s family at Kinduin, where he’d been fostered as a lad. Lion had only just returned from France when Rory burst in with his tale of treachery and intrigue. They’d agreed that Lucais, Lion’s father, would go to Edinburgh to try and convince the king to recall Alexander from the Highlands. Rory would return to Blantyre and secure the promissory note. But Rory had been ambushed and killed. The murder of his friend had launched Lion into a desperate scheme of his own to infiltrate Alexander’s ranks. He’d been right successful, too. The earl trusted him...as much as the wily wolf trusted anyone.

“We’ve had Alexander’s things searched and found naught,” Bryce glumly reminded him.

It had not been easy getting a Sutherland, disguised as a servant, into the chamber Alexander used at Blantyre. “Naill could not get into the locked strongbox. ’Tis the most likely place for the earl to store such damaging evidence.”

“We must somehow get inside that chest, no matter how dangerous,” Bryce murmured. Searching the personal belongings of a man as powerful and ruthless as Alexander Stewart would be akin to walking bare naked through a room full of vipers. One false step and they’d all be dead. “Mayhap we might slip a sleeping potion into his wine and take the key from around his neck while he is unconscious.”

Lion shook his head. “If he suspected that he’d been drugged, he’d kill every servant in the place...and mayhap even harm Lady Glenda.” Lion liked the woman, who was chatelaine of Clan Shaw’s stronghold Blantyre Castle. Three months ago, Alexander had decided the large, strategically placed fortress would make the perfect headquarters from which to conduct his “pacification” of the Highlands. He’d presented himself at the castle gates, and when Lady Glenda had balked, had proceeded to seduce the homely, middle-aged woman. Lately, however, there’d been signs the earl wearied of his mistress.

“We must come up with something,” Lion said grimly. And while he was on the subject of problems, he added, “I will think on it whilst I escort Rowena to wherever she is bound.”

“Eneas said they were destined for Blantyre Castle.”

Lion gasped and whirled to stare at the woman whose image had haunted him—waking and sleeping—during his years in France. She was looking down at the injured man his lads carried in a litter. Harry had received a grave wound to the side trying to defend her. His sacrifice had given Lion the time to reach her. Harry was unlikely to live, but that hadn’t discouraged Rowena from tearing up her own shift to fashion a bandage for him. She’d always had a soft spot for hurt things.

“Why are they going there?” Lion asked.

“Clan business, Eneas told me. Nastily, I might add, as though I had no right to inquire into his affairs.”

“Any man who leaves a woman in distress is no man at all.” He looked back again, studying the delicate line of her face. “And Blantyre is no place for a gentle lass like Rowena.” The vain, shallow women who hung about the earl’s court would slash her to ribbons with their vicious tongues. And the men... Lion’s gut roiled at the thought of his fragile Rowena pursued by Georas MacPherson and his ilk.

As though sensing his scrutiny, Rowena looked up. Their gazes met, locked. Her eyes were as dark as peat smoke and just as mysterious, her pale, dirt-streaked features coolly blank. When had she learned to guard her thoughts like that? Lion wondered, remembering the lass whose every notion he’d been able to read from the first.

Staring into her closed face, he knew exactly what he wanted. To win her back. But would she give him the chance? Not willingly, if her steely gaze and set jaw were any indication. They were all the spur his competitive spirit needed. She’d been a cautious, wounded thing when he’d first met her. He’d gentled her and won her then. He’d do it again.

Lion grinned, flashing her fair warning with a look. His smile widened when she stiffened, outrage painting red flags on her colorless cheeks. ’Twould be an interesting contest.

Chapter Three

Though she rode with one eye on poor Harry, Rowena’s thoughts were on the man who led them through the misty forest.

She’d never expected to see him again. In the early days following her marriage, consumed by pain and bitterness, she’d wished for Lion to die of some withering disease. Surely her life must be cursed, for not only was he hale, hearty and twice as handsome now, she was also in his debt. Oh, how that galled.