Suzanne Barclay - Lion's Lady

“Eneas would not harm his own nephew.”

“Life in the Highlands is hard and chancy. Accidents do happen, even to a grown warrior like Padruig,” she added pointedly. “I mean to see that none befall my son till he’s old enough and strong enough to fend for himself.”

“I will speak with Eneas and make him see that we will not stand for any mucking about with Padruig’s wishes.”

“He will not listen.”

“Then I will ride to Blantyre and inform this earl of Padruig’s desires.”

“Thank you,” Rowena murmured. But she knew that even a few minutes in the saddle were torture for Finlay’s bad leg. “We will think of something, I am sure.”

“Now what are you whispering about, Rowena?” inquired a voice as cold and sibilant as a snake’s hiss.

Rowena gathered her courage, then slowly looked over her son’s red head to the glittering eyes of her adversary. Eneas had disliked her from the moment of their first meeting, the young wife of his childless brother, bringing with her the promise of an heir to displace Eneas. When she’d fulfilled that promise and birthed Paddy, Eneas’s animosity had ripened to a hatred that burned bright in his dark eyes.

Even in the crowded hall, with Finlay beside her, she felt vulnerable. Eneas had always unnerved her, his malevolent stare seeming to strip away her lies and pretexts. She resisted the urge to squirm. One sign of weakness and he’d strike like the hawk he so resembled. Before, she’d had Padruig’s support. Now she was on her own, her wits her only defense. Digging deep into the well of strength some say came to all mothers when their young were threatened, she prepared to do battle for her son’s future, his very life. “We were discussing the order of march to the gravesite.” She was pleased by her level voice.

“Indeed?” Eneas’s hard gaze narrowed. He was a large, lean man, with sharp features and thin lips set in a permanent sneer. Younger than Padruig by ten years, he had his half brother’s strength and determination, with none of Padruig’s sense of honor. “Father Cerdic first, then myself and Paddy.”

“He’s too young to walk so far.”

Between them, Paddy left off crumbling his oatcake and tipped his head back to look at her. His round face was unusually pale. Mauve shadows bruised the hollows below expressive, whiskey-colored eyes the same shape as his father’s. In them, she saw fatigue and confusion. He liked his uncle Eneas no better than she did. Her fault, but better wary than too trusting. “Mama, can I get down now? My bum’s gone to sleep.”

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.”