Lion's Legacy

“I told you to wait,” Kieran shouted over the chaos.

Rhys lifted the visor of his helmet, completely unchastened. “Ye were gone overlong.”

“What if it had been a trap?”

“And ye caught in it. As your second-in-command—”

“Ye know there is no excuse for disobeyin’ my orders,” Kieran snapped, the Scots burr he’d tried to shake thickening.

“I’m sworn to protect ye, even from yerself.” Rhys glared at him as he used to when they were boys growing up at Carmichael Castle. Kieran, older by two years, had been the leader even then, but the Welsh were not easily led.

“You know the rules,” Kieran growled, furious that the rest of his men had followed Rhys and now waited to see if he’d enforce their strict code. Rhys had acted out of concern for his welfare, but discipline was what kept an army such as his in line. He couldn’t relax the rules. “The penalty for disobeying an order is five lashes. You all should feel its sting, but ’twas Rhys who led this revolt. I’ll defer punishment till we arrive at MacLellan’s Tower.”

Rhys nodded. “I will hold myself ready for ye then.”

“Now, now, surely that’s not necessary,” Ellis interjected. “He was only thinking of yer welfare, and there’s no harm done.”

Kieran turned on him with a snarl that made the man shrink back in the saddle. “My orders are law, as you’ll soon discover if your laird hires me to protect his holdings.”

Ellis blanched. “Aye, well, that remains to be seen.” He headed his horse down the trail, apparently uncaring whether Kieran and his men followed. Unfortunately, pressed as he was for funds, Kieran couldn’t afford to cast aside Duncan MacLellan’s offer of work. He needed every coin he could lay his hands on to finance the scheme he’d vowed to undertake.

“Made another friend, I see,” Rhys said cheerfully as they plodded along after Ellis’s reproving back.

“I’m a mercenary, not a courtier.” He found it best if those he commanded feared him. Still he regretted having to punish his only friend. Raising his visor on the pretext of scanning their surroundings, Kieran said stiffly, “I appreciate your concern.”

“I know.” Rhys glanced at the man whose back he’d guarded as they fought their way across the bloody battlefields of France. Tall and heavily muscled, Kieran was a born warrior, like his long-dead sire, the legendary Lion of the Carmichaels. Yet although he’d been gently reared by his aunt and uncle, “hard” and “cold” were two of the kinder things men said about Kieran behind his back. Rhys alone knew of the incident that had turned a happy, engaging lad of five and ten into an embittered man with but one goal... revenge on those who had betrayed him.

And yet, Rhys knew, too, that beneath the thick shell his friend had grown to withstand the pain of betrayal was a caring core. Though he feared that soon the canker eating at Kieran’s insides would devour even that sliver of gentleness.

Today was a perfect example. ‘Twas not his actions that had roused Kieran’s ire; ’twas the damnable situation Kieran found himself in. Back in Scotland after eight years’ exile, yet no closer to realizing his goal. Further from it, if the truth be known, for near every coin Kieran had saved over the years to finance his revenge had been spent to bring his little army hither when they’d been hounded out of France.

“Yon pass is well hidden.” Kieran’s overture of peace.

Rhys lifted his visor and smiled in acceptance. “’Twould be an easy place to defend, hell to try and invade.”

Kieran grunted in agreement and as they fell to discussing Edin’s natural defenses, the knot in his gut eased. He didn’t have so many friends that he could afford to lose one. Truth to tell, Rhys was his only friend... by choice. The fewer people a man let close, the fewer were in a position to wound him. His uncle’s deceit had taught him that those closest to a man could hurt him the most. ’Twas a lesson he’d never forget, a betrayal he intended to avenge...once he had Duncan’s coin.

“I didn’t realize the Borders sported such land.” Kieran scanned the sheer rock walls, crowding in so close it seemed the trail had been hewn straight through the mountain. In places it was narrowed by tumbled boulders. “You said you had patrols out, yet I haven’t seen any sign of them,” he called ahead to Ellis.

“Nay?” Ellis uttered a sharp whistle, and a score of men popped up from the nearby rocks. They wore conical helmets and the Scottish leine croich, a thigh-length quilted coat that offered less protection than the heavy metal armor Kieran’s men wore, but rendered them quicker and more agile. Each MacLellan held a six-foot spear over his shoulder, cocked and ready.

Behind him, Kieran heard his men gasp. Rhys gave a cough of something that was probably laughter. Kieran wasn’t amused, but he was impressed. His spine prickled with the possibility there was a spear trained there, too. “How many men have you?” Years of practice kept his voice steady.

“Thirty, Sir Kieran.” Ellis had turned in the saddle, his grin reflecting those of his men.

Their levity further roused Kieran’s ire. This was no game. “And how many men do you have outside the valley...in the woods by the river?” he snarled on a hunch.

Ellis’s smile faded. “None. After the reivers came and burned the pair of crofts along there, Laird Duncan thought it too dangerous to risk posting men in the open.”

“How can you know if the enemy is approaching?”

“We have lookouts in the rocks above the pass.”

“And by the time they scramble down and go for help, the outlaws could be through the pass and overpower your guards. Natural defenses alone won’t stop a determined foe.”

“Of course they won’t,” Ellis sputtered. “We have men patrolling the valley and another score billeted at the nearest croft in case they’re needed.”

“Insufficient. But we will look to improving things as soon as I’ve seen what we’ve got to work with. Martin,” Kieran called over his shoulder. “Take ten men and position yourselves on the riverbank below the entrance to the tunnel. I’ll send someone to relieve you at sundown.” Without looking to see that his orders were carried out, Kieran motioned for Ellis to lead on.

As the little cavalcade got under way, Rhys made another suspicious-sounding noise.

“You have aught to add?” Kieran growled.

“Just that these men are not yers to command.”

“They will be the moment Duncan MacLellan hands over the first half of the payment he’s promised.”

“True. Still, ye Scots are an independent lot, with no more liking for being ordered about than we Welsh.”

You Scots. The reference rankled, as did all mention of his heritage. From the moment he’d left Carmichael Castle, he’d become a man without a home, divorced from it and his ancestors. “If they want my help, they’ll follow my orders.”

“I think—” Rhys’s comment ended in a gasp as the party rounded a bend in the trail and broke free of the rocky pass. Ahead of them lay the valley, a lush plain bounded on all sides by the same steep-sided mountains that guarded the pass. Yet here the sun seemed brighter, the air sweeter, the grass greener. “Edin—’tis aptly named.”

Kieran nodded as his gaze swept over the tranquil scene. The strip of water meandering through the center of the valley reflected the deep blue sky overhead, as the fluffy clouds dotting it mirrored the sheep grazing on the grassy mountain slopes. More sheep than he’d seen in years.

Peaceful. Unspoiled. ’Twas like a balm to Kieran’s battered soul.

“It reminds me a little of the hills around Carmichael Castle,” Rhys murmured.

Kieran’s spirits plunged back to earth with a thud. “I asked you never to speak of that place.”

“Aye, so ye did,” Rhys said hoarsely. “And I’ve honored yer wishes, but I cannot forget the home where we were raised.”

Nor could Kieran. God knows he’d tried his damnedest to forget the castle and the people who’d brought him the greatest joy...and deepest sorrow. The castle that should have been his heritage. Stolen from him. He would regain his lost legacy, though the retaking would be steeped in blood... his uncle’s blood. “Lead on,” he told Ellis.

Fortunately the trail winding down from the mountains was steep. Negotiating it took Kieran’s mind from the past and focused it firmly on the present. And the future. His future, for the short term, was tied to defending this valley and earning the coin that would buy his revenge. When they reached the valley floor, he set himself to the task. “Duncan’s message said he’d been attacked on the way to market in Kindo.”

Ellis grunted. “Aye. They were lying in wait for him.”

“Who knew of his plans to take the lambs to market?”

“Everyone in Edin Valley, I suppose.”

“What? Has he no sense?”

“He’s a right canny man,” Ellis said stoutly. “He wouldn’t have lived to eight and sixty otherwise. Naught like this has happened to the MacLellans before. We’ve always lived in peace.”

“I hear hostilities have increased along the Border since Robert came to Scotland’s throne,” Kieran said. ’Twas the reason he’d gone to Berwick hoping to hire out his sword. “Doubtless these reivers thought to make off with your sheep.”

“Duncan was driving young lambs to trade at market when he was ambushed, but they took nary a one.”

“The bastards were likely more eager to save their own skins than lift yer stock,” Rhys said. “Duncan’s message said they’d twice returned. Mayhap they thought to rectify their oversight.”

“Aye,” Ellis said slowly. “We beat them back both times, and in their fury, they burned the two crofts.”

“No doubt they were hoping to draw you out,” Kieran said.

“Aye. So we thought, but the laird had already given the order to bring everyone into the valley, so no lives were lost.”

Kieran frowned. “You didn’t ride out and attack them?”

“We are farmers, not fighters,” Ellis said without shame or regret. “Duncan feared we’d be bested and the valley overrun.”

Cowards, Kieran thought. Clearly his services were desperately needed, for these people had little concept of warfare and no more spine than a flock of sheep. Deep in thought, he hadn’t realized they’d reached the stream until Rhys spoke.

“All this babbling water’s reminded my bladder ’tis been awhile since we stepped down.”

Kieran nodded, acknowledging his own need, and gave the order to stop in the shelter of a copse of trees. Normally his men took their ease in shifts, the rest standing watch, but the peacefulness of their surroundings lulled him into allowing the whole party to dismount. When he’d finished his business, Kieran walked over and knelt to wash his hands in the clear, cold water.

“To arms!” someone shouted.

Cursing his stupidity, Kieran surged to his feet and drew his sword in one swift movement. “Close ranks,” he roared as a wave of mounted men encircled them. He heard a soft whoosh as an arrow pierced his sleeve, pinning his sword arm to the tree behind him. “Rhys! To me!” He grabbed the arrow and tried to jerk it free. But it was firmly caught in the links of his mail.

“Drop your weapons,” called a high, clear voice.

Kieran slewed his head around, found the brush bristling with drawn arrows. “Ellis. Call for your men,” he shouted.

“B-but these are my men,” the poor man replied, looking dazed and confused.

“Then what are they about?”

“We’re about capturing you,” said that same youthful voice. The circle of dark-lad men parted and a shaggy pony walked forward, bearing a slender figure. In the shifting shadows cast by the overhanging branches, it was impossible to make out the rider’s features, except that he was young. Kieran had a swift impression of a pale face dominated by wide eyes and surrounded by a close-fitting mail coif in the instant before he realized that the youth had an arrow notched and aimed at his throat.

“I don’t know who you are,” Kieran growled. “But you will pay for this day’s work.” He vented his frustration by breaking the arrow shaft and wrenching his arm free.

“Hold,” the cheeky youth cried. “If you don’t value your own life, what of this lad?” He trained his arrow on Jamie. Kieran’s young squire made an inarticulate noise and looked to his master for succor.

There was no help for it. Kieran couldn’t endanger the lad. Cursing ripely, he dropped his sword.

“Geordie. Disarm them and bind them. We’ll take them back to Edin Tower. Wait till Grandda sees this,” the youth added softly.

So, Duncan had sought to trap him. Burning with impotent fury, Kieran locked his gaze on his adversary and let his hatred blaze forth. Across the few feet separating them, the youth’s eyes widened with fear. Good. Because when he got the chance, he’d—What the devil? Kieran was stunned to see the youth’s beardless chin rise to meet his silent challenge.

It was the last straw. Heedless of the consequences, Kieran leapt forward, dragged his would-be captor from the saddle and held him at eye level. “Betray me, will you! I’ll burn Edin Tower to the ground for this foul piece of business!”

“I knew it! I knew it!” the lad screamed.

“Bloody hell! If you were a man, I’d challenge you to—” Something crashed into the back of Kieran’s head, and the world went dark.

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 MacLellans, and I’ll be setting it to rights with the point of my sword. No one betrays me. Not ever again.” Though eight years had passed since the night that had shattered his life, his heart had yet to heal Cursing, he turned his mind to escape. By the faint light coming in through the chinks around the door, he dimly made out Rhys on the floor nearby. Ignoring the pain in his head, he rolled toward his friend. “Turn round. See if you can undo the rope on my wrists.”

While Rhys plucked at the hemp, he described their captor’s home. Situated on a spit of land in the middle of a loch, Edin was comprised of two joined towers, four stories tall, with both an outer and an inner courtyard with barracks and an orchard. The few Border fortresses Kieran had visited consisted of a simple house and a peel tower, into which the laird and his people could flee in time of danger. Edin sounded more like the sort of estate that existed further north.

Like Carmichael Castle. Kieran’s home, his heritage, stolen by his uncle.

“I’d feel better about our chances of guarding Edin Tower did it have a stout curtain wall around it,” Rhys said.

“There isn’t a wall?” Kieran cried, forgetting he planned to punish the MacLellans for the ambush, not protect them. The commander in him recoiled from the news that though there was a low wall around the perimeter, the tower’s main line of defense was the loch. “A party of men stripped of their armor could swim the damn thing in the dead of night and take the castle.”

“Providing they made it into the valley. ’Tis our job to make certain they do not.”

Kieran grunted, torn between an inbred need to protect and the desire for revenge. “This whole business sits ill with me.”

“Why would Duncan send a man all the way to Berwick with orders to seek us out? Our horses and armor are valuable, but we’ve little coin.”

“Mayhap he’s in league with the Carmichaels.” Kieran spat the last as though it were poison and not the surname of the powerful family from which he was descended.

Rhys replied with a Welsh curse. “They’d not do such a thing. And ye dishonor the memory of yer parents by saying—”

“I have no memory of them, as you well know. For which I can thank my dear Uncle Ross.”

“Nay! Ye know in yer heart he did not kill yer father.”

“Do I?” Kieran felt the ropes give and seized the moment to abandon a topic he hated. He sat up, swayed on a wave of dizziness and pushed it aside as ruthlessly as he did his past. He made short work of the ropes at his ankles and had just swung round to Rhys when a noise at the door warned time had run out. “Quiet,” he whispered, surging to his feet. Instinctively he reached for his sword, finding his waist naked of the belt that held it and his dirk. No matter, he was angry enough to do murder with his bare hands.

Two steps and he was across the room, back flattened against the stone wall beside the door. A metallic clunk, the creak of rusty hinges and the portal swung open, letting in fresh air and a welcome flood of light. Nerves alert, Kieran watched a single, slender shadow cut through the beam and pause on the threshold, hesitant as a wary deer.

You have reason to fear, you bastard, Kieran thought. Swinging around the door, he grabbed his enemy, lifted him off the ground and shoved him against the wall. A gust of air whooshed from his captive as Kieran slammed into him with his superior weight. The body beneath his was slighter than expected. Good. ’Twas the lad who’d shamed him. Kieran pinned his opponent’s right arm to the wall with his left hand, his right hand went for the throat...