Lion's Legacy

Soft. Soft as silk was the skin that encased that fragile neck. Unsettlingly soft.

Kieran frowned. His narrowed eyes met the wide ones staring up at him from a face gone white as new snow. They were blue, like the sky over Edin Valley, fringed with ridiculously long black lashes. Woman’s lashes. The things he’d been too angry to notice now intruded. The scent of heather wafting up from the body pressed so intimately to his. The pillowy curves of the chest mashed tight to his. Breasts.

His prisoner was a female.

Kieran’s heart stumbled, then jerked to life again. Damn! In his blind haste for revenge he’d assaulted some poor serving wench. Horrified, he took his hand from her throat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words rusty for he humbled himself to no man. Still the female said nothing. Concerned now, he eased his body away from hers. “Did I hurt you?”

She exhaled and slumped against him, her body molding to his like a candle left overlong in the hot sun. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her so she wouldn’t fall. For the second time in as many minutes, Kieran’s blood began to boil. ‘Twasn’t the heat of rage that surged through his veins this time; ’twas a forbidden fire. One he’d avoided for eight years. Desire.

It sank its claws in deep, heightening his senses. He felt raw, exposed, her skin burning his through the layers of clothes separating them. The musky scent of woman and heather taunted him. Nostrils flaring, he drew in her essence. Passion rose in a swift tide, threatening to engulf him. He wanted her with a fierceness that shocked him. Groaning, he tightened his hold on her, driven by the need to bury his aching body in hers.

“I can’t breathe.” Laurel wedged her hands between them and pushed. Surprisingly, his grip eased. “What happened?”

“You fainted.” His voice was deep, compelling.

Laurel looked up. ’Twas him. His face was close. So close, eyes blazing with hot, needful things that ignited an answering spark deep inside her. “Nay,” she whispered, afraid of him, more afraid of what he did to her. “Let me go.” She began to struggle.

Kieran blinked. Damn. He’d made a vow...before God. A sacred vow he’d just come within a hair’s breadth of dishonoring. Then her voice registered. “You!” he exclaimed. “You’re the one who tried to capture me.”

He let go of her and stepped back.

“Did capture you.” Angry, Laurel brought her knee up in an attempt to bring him down. In a move too swift for her to avoid, he turned aside, grabbed her leg and hoisted her up. Quick as that, she found herself held tight against his chest, her limbs clasped securely yet painlessly by arms as hard and unrelenting as steel. “Put me down.”

Dark and condemning, his eyes bored into hers from a face gone stark as carved granite. Nowhere was there a hint of the man who moments ago had looked at her with such longing, such need that she’d felt herself reaching out, wanting to touch, to comfort, to—

“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.

“Go on, dearling.” Her aunt released her hands. “We’ll talk more of this later. I’m glad yon knight has come here. He looks fierce enough to defend us from the devil himself.”

Laurel grudgingly agreed, but as she hurried to the other side of the bed, ’twas Duncan she watched. The color excitement had lent to his skin couldn’t hide the circles under his eyes nor the fatigue in them. “You should rest now, Grandda.”

“Aye,” he said faintly. “I’m that tired, but I’ve a favor I’d ask of ye first before I can sleep.”

Laurel’s nerves went on alert. Duncan never, ever admitted to weakness or talked in that one-foot-in-the-grave voice except when he wanted to coerce her into something. “What?” Warily.

“Kieran desires to ride over Edin Valley and look to our defenses. And I can think of no better guide than ye, lass.”

“Nay!” Kieran exclaimed.

Laurel glared at him over the rumpled bed. How dare he refuse before she could? “Ellis knows the land better than I do.”

“But ’tis ye’ve been seeing my orders were carried out,” Duncan said smoothly. Too smoothly. He was up to something.

“She has?” Kieran’s scathing glance raked Laurel from head to waist and back up. She had a wholly feminine urge to smooth back the curls that had come free from her braid and brush the dirt from her baggy, cast-off tunic.

“Aye. She’s a braw lassie,” her grandsire said proudly.

Kieran’s lip curled. “Females have no business being about men’s work.”

“Defending the clan is everyone’s duty,” she replied.

“You haven’t the skills to—”

“I had skills enough to capture you.”

Kieran’s face turned a satisfying shade of red, and his mouth compressed into a hard line.

Her grandfather made a sound halfway between a choke and a cough. “Well, now. The less said about that, the better, I’m thinking. ’Twas just an honest mistake. All our nerves have been on edge, what with the raiders lurking about.”

“No need to make excuses for my behavior. And the only mistake that’s been made is hiring him,” Laurel replied. She turned on her heel and stalked from the room.

“I’d prefer to ride out on my own,” Kieran said stiffly.

“But ye’ll be needing someone to explain what ye see. And there’s no one knows Edin better than Laurel. Been riding the length and breadth of the valley for years.”

“Without benefit of bath or comb, from the looks,” Kieran muttered. “Very well, then. The sooner I see the lay of the land, the sooner I can set a trap for the raiders. As I said afore, they’re likely outlaws or deserters who came upon Edin and saw an opportunity for quick profit.”

Duncan nodded. “My thinking exactly, but I lacked the battle-trained men to confront them.”

“We’ll make quick work of them,” Kieran promised, then he cleared his throat. “As to money. I receive half the agreed-to fee in advance, the rest when the reivers have been killed.”

“Mayhap ye might waive the advance, since I’m a friend of yer family, so to speak.”

Kieran flinched and his gaze became even more distant and frigid. “I don’t have any family.”

“Was Lion Carmichael not yer sire?”

“So I was told.”

“And ye’re the spitting image of old Lionel Carmichael.”

“How do you know that?”

“We were fostered together. Fell in love with the same lass, we did. George Murray’s daughter, Carina. She is yer grandmam?”

“Aye.” This time Duncan detected a crack in Kieran’s stone facade. So, ho. He still cared for his grandmother. “But I expect half payment before I start a task.”

Disaster. Faced with it, Duncan fell back on the surest of weapons. He shifted in bed and groaned as though he’d ripped out every one of the scores of stitches Nesta had taken putting him back together again. Bless her, she flew to his side.

“What is it, Da?” she cried. To which he made a gurgling, inarticulate reply. “If ye’ll leave us, Sir Kieran, I fear my father’s overextended himself... as usual.”

“Of course.” Kieran quit the room in a flash.

“Ye can stop the moaning and thrashing about now, ye old fraud,” Nesta said when the door closed. “Else ye really will pull loose my fine needlework.”

Duncan went limp. Lord, he was tired, but there was still so much to do. If only he could get up and see to things himself.

“Don’t even think on it.”

He opened one eye. “I wasn’t...exactly.” He stayed quiet while Nesta fussed with his pillows and fetched him a cup of wine...laced with a sleeping powder, if he knew his lass. And he did. “What’s troubling ye?”

“Ye laid up with more thread in ye than a fine lady’s wedding gown. Greedy thieves baying at our door, and he wants to know what’s wrong.” She threw up her hands.

Duncan wasn’t fooled. “’Tis Laurel.”

“Aye, well. ’Tis a heavy burden she’s shouldered.”

“And now I’ve taken steps to relieve her of it, only look how she’s acting,” he grumbled. “Ye’d think young Kieran was our enemy the way she’s set againt him.”

“To her, the fact he’s an outsider’s reason enough.”

“Curse Aulay Kerr.” Duncan drained the cup and grimaced. “He’s a year dead, though.”

“But not forgotten...at least by Laurel.”

“What she needs is another man to take her mind from the one what did her wrong.” His daughter made one of those infuriating female sounds. “What does that mean?”

“Only that I think ye’ve already found Aulay’s replacement.”

“What if I have?”

“They don’t seem to get on overly well.”

An understatement, that. And a pity, for it put a hitch in Duncan’s plans. “He’s a strong lad, not uncomely to look upon and he comes of good stock.” The best, as far as he was concerned.

“He’s estranged from his kin, which doesn’t speak well.”

“There’s usually more to such things than meets the eye,” Duncan said cryptically, knowing ‘twas true in this case. He was glad he hadn’t told anyone how he’d known where to find Kieran. Bitter as the lad was, ’twouldn’t do for him to learn his new employer had been secretly wooing his grandmother from afar.

“He seems a cold man. Not at all the sort to cherish our Laurel or appreciate her loving nature. When he isn’t glaring at her, he stomps around like a bee-stung bull.”

“So would I if a lass bested me as Laurel did him. But ’twill sort itself out,” Duncan murmured as he felt an herbal haze settle over him. He’d sleep a bit, then pen a message to Carina and send Thomas on his way with it.

“What of the coin Kieran expects to have of ye?”

Duncan groaned. ‘Twas what came of making the womenfolk privy to your business. They stuck their noses in where you least wanted them. Laurel was a prime example. Fancy capturing young Kieran so she could prove he wasn’t worthy of hiring. Duncan smiled. He’d have given much to witness that set-to. ’Twas clear Kieran had inherited his grandsire’s hot temper, but he’d also learned to control it, else he’d have taken the flat of his hand to Laurel, and likely gotten the edge of her knee in return.

Aye, they’d lead each other a merry chase. But he had hopes as to the outcome. “Young Kieran’ll get his due...eventually.”

“He wants half now. When he discovers ye don’t have the silver, he’ll ride away again.”

“I’ll just have to find something else to keep him here,” Duncan replied sleepily. He wasn’t worried. Men had gone to war over the kind of passion he’d seen brewing in Kieran Sutherland’s violet eyes when he looked at Laurel. Aye, he’d write to Carina and tell her things were shaping up better than they’d hoped.

Chapter Three

Still smarting from Kieran’s set-down and her grandfather’s orders to accompany the wretch on his inspection tour, Laurel sought refuge in the stables. There, in the back corner, Freda had decided to birth her five pups. Half wolf, half hound, they were the one bright spot in a sea of misery. At the moment, they slept peacefully, bellies bloated with the milk that still clung to their muzzles. Their mother lay nearby, her head on her paws.

“Taking a rest from your duties, lass.” Laurel reached down to scratch Freda’s ears. Yellow eyes narrowed to blissful slits and the thick tail thumped in appreciation. “’Tis been a long two weeks for me, too.” She sat in the straw, groaning as she stretched her legs out before her and leaned her head against the rough stone wall. “And not likely to get easier anytime soon.”

Freda laid her muzzle on Laurel’s thigh. A not-so-subtle hint for attention that wasn’t overlooked. They’d been through a lot together, she and the dog who’d been Duncan’s gift on her twelfth birthday. The year she’d become a woman. God help her. Nay, that wasn’t true. Only twice had she had cause to regret her sex—on the night Aulay had revealed his real reason for wedding her and again the day her grandfather had been wounded. Both times she’d needed the kind of physical strength few women possessed.

“Grandda’s hired a mercenary,” she murmured as she stroked the broad head. “An outsider.” Picking up the tension in her mistress’s voice, Freda growled. “He isn’t like Aulay, but he is a threat.” If not to her clansmen, then to her sanity. Aye, Kieran was dangerous in ways Aulay had never been, even though her husband’s evil scheme had nearly cost the lives of her brother, her grandfather and herself.

Kieran Sutherland unsettled her as no other man ever had. The way he’d looked at her in the storage hut had turned her knees to jelly, her insides to hot butter. The feel of his big hand on her skin had made it seem raw and a size too small. Mayhap Annie was right and she was sickening with something.

“Laurel!” Annie tore into the stables, spied Laurel and hurtled toward her. “Come quick. He’s going to kill him.”

Laurel jumped to her feet. “Is it the reivers?”

“Nay. ’Tis Sir Kieran. He’s going to beat that lovely Welshman to death.” Annie grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the door. “Ye have to stop him.”

“Who is this Welshman, and what did he do?”

“Rhys...he broke some stupid rule.”

“Ah.” Well Laurel remembered Ellis relating Kieran’s threat to punish one of his men. Not on her land, he didn’t. “Where?”

“The tiltyard.”

Laurel all but left Annie in her dust as she ran across the courtyard and through the inner gates. Just as she charged down the grassy slope toward the outer ward, an ominous crack split the air. ’Twas followed immediately by a gasp that Laurel first thought must have come from the victim, but as she rounded the corner of the wall, she saw the hard-packed earth of the training field was filled with people. MacLellans and mercenaries alike craned their necks to get a better view of the drama.

“Let me pass.” Laurel elbowed her way through the throng to its rotten core. There, his hands braced above him on the pole that held the quintain, stood a dark-haired man, naked to the waist. A long red line marred his muscular back.

“Get it over quickly,” the man rasped. Even as he spoke, he tensed, and the leather lash licked out again.

The stranger bucked beneath its kiss. The crowd moaned.

Laurel gasped in outrage, then advanced before the fiend could strike again. “Cease,” she cried, drawing everyone’s gaze. She ignored all eyes save the violet ones that narrowed at her approach. “Cease at once. We don’t hold with whippings here.”

“’Tis obvious the lash was spared too often in your case, mistress,” Kieran snapped. “But this man is mine to puni—”

“Nay. He is my grandfather’s man now,” Laurel countered on a wave of anger and inspiration. “And I’d see Grandda’s goods don’t suffer for your vile treatment.”

“’Tis all right, m’lady. I disobeyed an order and deserve to pay the price,” the victim said. Poor man.

“No doubt you’re used to being ill-used by this monster.” Laurel placed herself between victim and tormentor. “But I will not let you suffer so whilst you’re here.”

“Stand aside,” Kieran bellowed, and closed the gap between them till he towered over her. His knuckles stood out white where he gripped the handle of the whip; his face was red with rage.

Sweet Mary, he was a fearsome sight. Laurel crossed her arms over her chest lest he see her heart thudding against her ribs. “Nay,” she replied with more courage than she truly felt.

“Bloody hell, woman. Do you know what you risk?”

“Leave my sister alone!” cried a shrill voice. Malcolm tore through the crowd, threw himself in front of Laurel and spread his arms wide, as though the puny things could keep her from being harmed by the huge, glowering knight.

Laurel’s own fear was forgotten in a rush of concern. Malcolm was fierce for one so young, a wee warrior raised among peacemakers, surely a throwback to the crusader knight who’d settled this valley long ago. But he’d be no match for Kieran. “Collie, I can manage.” She tried to step around her brother.

“Nay. Though Grandda won’t let me ride out with the men, I’m laird here in his stead. I’ll handle this,” he added, his pale blue eyes incongruously adult in a sea of cinnamon-colored freckles. She felt him tremble as he squared his shoulders and returned his attention to Kieran, but his voice was strong as he commanded, “Ye’ll leave my sister be and cease beating yon man.”

“And who might you be, lad?” Kieran demanded.

Malcolm flinched but stood his ground. “I am Malcolm MacLellan, heir to these lands and laird of them in my grandda’s stead,” he repeated.