Lion's Lady

by Suzanne Barclay

  "Time will tell if I'm clever enough," he said lightly.

  To do what? Seduce her? Likely he'd try, and yet… Rowena frowned, struck by the hidden meaning in his words. She'd known him as a canny lad of eight and ten, yet sensed that the time away had broadened his intelligence. What had he done in France?

  "Lion!" A voice boomed out over the din in the hall, silencing the laughter and even the wail of the pipes.

  Everyone, Rowena included, looked to the doorway. There stood a tall, dark-haired man, his muscular body draped in velvet and gold chains. The princely tilt of his head as he arrogantly surveyed the hall confirmed his identity.

  "The earl," Rowena breathed.

  "True, unfortunately," Lion said just as softly.

  Alexander Stewart's piercing gaze pounced on their quarry. "Lion! I have need of you."

  Lion sighed and stood. "I regret that I must leave you." He took her hand, his lips lingering a moment in a gentle kiss, his eyes locked on hers. "I will have one of my men stay with you."

  "C-could you not introduce me to the earl?" she asked.

  "Lion!"

  "In his present mood, 'twould do more harm than good." Lion bowed formally, then strode over to meet the royal prince, who whisked him from the hall.

  Of all the times for Alexander to choose for a meeting, Lion thought as he grimly followed the earl across the courtyard and into the ancient tower, built by the Shaws a century ago. Up the winding stairs they went, to the old hall where once the Shaw chiefs had ruled. Here Alexander's inner circle of followers met to drink and talk strategy.

  A fire struggled in the central hearth, but a dozen or so torches burned brightly in sconces set the length of the long, narrow room. Alexander did not like dark corners where assassins might lie in wait. Ten Stewart clansmen, the earl's personal bodyguards, sat gaming and drinking at one of the trestle tables. The other tables were occupied by leaders of the clans who'd thus far come to serve Alexander: the Keiths, Chisholms, Mackintoshes, Cummings and, of course, the MacPhersons.

  As Lion entered beside the earl, Georas MacPherson jumped up, toppling the bench on which he'd been sitting. "Glenshee!" His hand fell to his sword hilt. "I demand satisfaction."

  "Name the time and place," Lion said coolly.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Alexander exclaimed.

  Georas snarled, "He attacked me on the trail."

  "Not without provocation."

  "The hell you say. I'd done naught to you," Georas roared.

  "To me, nay, but to the lady—"

  "I saw the wench first. You had no right to interfere."

  "What is this? Two of my best men fighting over a wench?" the earl grumbled.

  "Not a wench, a lady," Lion said grimly. "And you are wrong, Georas. I had every right to stop you. The lady Rowena grew up five leagues from my home at Kinduin. I have known her for years. I'd not stand aside and see any lady mistreated, much less one I—"

  "Mistreated!" Georas MacPherson's face turned scarlet. "She wanted me. I could tell. She just needed a bit of persuading, same as most females do."

  "Persuading, is it?" Lion asked with a softness his men would have recognized as more dangerous than another's shouts.

  "Aye, and I demand a piece of yer hide to replace the one ye ripped from my hand."

  "Easy, Georas. You've forgotten our Lion is more chivalrous than most," the earl said, clearly hoping to ease things.

  Lion knew that Alexander would not discipline Georas, who commanded one hundred of the most ruthless fighters in the Highlands. While others might quibble over being asked to commit murder and wreak havoc, the MacPhersons thrived on it. Likely Georas himself had killed Padruig. Nay, the earl could not afford to alienate the MacPherson chief. But neither would he want to lose the Sutherlands, Lion mused.

  His clan was large and prosperous with strategically located land. Alexander had tried without success to woo Lucais, Lion's father, to his cause. He'd been delighted when the heir to Kinduin had showed up in his camp, never guessing he was welcoming a spy.

  "A pox on his damned chivalry," Georas muttered.

  "Nay, nay, Georas, we could learn much from our old friends in France. 'Tis pleased I am we've someone who's spent time in the French court." The earl winked at Lion.

  Coarse himself, Alexander made much of Lion's courtier ways and was anxious to acquire some himself. Thus Lion spent an hour each day in the hopeless task of trying to coax lyrical French phrases from the earl's wide Scots mouth. He'd had better luck teaching Alexander and his men to wield the lighter-weight Spanish swords and fight in the manner popular on the Continent.

  Georas uttered a crude oath regarding Lion's parentage and the origins of the French king.

  Lion's face heated. The urge to teach Georas a much-needed lesson, burned hot in his veins. It was his Carmichael blood, the cursed temper inherited from the grandsire for whom he'd been named. Lion cooled it with Sutherland logic. A brawl would ruin his plans. "Name the time," he repeated calmly.

  "We'll have none of that," the earl snapped. "I've not enough men that I can afford to lose two of the best. Georas, you'll respect Lion's right to defend his friends. Lion, you'll overlook Georas's rashness. 'Tis just high spirits," he added, signaling his squire to pour ale for all. "Nigh five hundred fighting men have answered my summons, and here they sit, with naught to do till we're strong enough to begin."

  On that, Lion could not disagree. Battle-trained men with too much time on their hands were always a liability. He'd seen the same in France. There the leaders had kept their men busy with constant patrols and with jousts. Unfortunately, the patrols here led to just the sort of thing that had happened to Rowena. Innocent farmers and merchants were often attacked by bored warriors out for sport and plunder.

  What of jousts? The idea of two bands of Highlanders conducting themselves as did tourney knights was laughable. There were no lances, no trained mounts, but…

  "Football," Lion said.

  "Football?" the earl repeated, frowning.

  "Aye, well, it does not have to be that. Any sport will do, so long as it'll let the lads test their strength against one another and, mayhap, win a prize or two."

  Alexander's dark eyes sparkled with understanding.

  "Aye, that is a grand notion. And it'll make a suitable display when the MacNabs come calling." He added, "Aedh MacNab is sending his heir, Robert, to talk about joining us."

  Lion smiled, but his mind was racing. He knew Aedh and Robbie. Neither were the sort to fall in with the earl's schemes. He had to meet with Robbie before he reached Blantyre, and try to convince him to see this Lion's way.

  Dickie MacPherson ambled into the room, cast a malicious glance in Lion's direction, then went to whisper in Georas's ear. Their furtiveness made Lion apprehensive.

  Georas grinned, clapped Dickie on the shoulder and approached Alexander. The smugness of his expression made the hair on Lion's nape prickle.

  "Gunn!" the earl roared. "She's Padruig Gunn's widow?"

  "Aye." Georas's smile turned feral. "That she is."

  "Why is she here?" Alexander demanded, spearing first Lion, then Georas with an enraged gaze.

  "I do not know," Lion was forced to admit.

  "Yer childhood friend has not confided in ye?" Georas taunted. He must not know why, either.

  "There was no time," Lion said stiffly, alarmed by Alexander's anger. The earl had an unpredictable temperament, being generous and friendly one moment, petty and vicious the next. Too often of late he would fly into a rage over a small thing. "But rest assured, Your Grace, I will know by morn."

  Alexander muttered a curse and drained his cup.

  "It is possible they have come to join you," Lion added.

  "A woman?" Alexander's black brows rose. "Much as I need men, I'd not take any who'd follow a woman," he scoffed. His gaze went to Lady Glenda, a woman of great wealth. Kindly but homely, with a long, horsy face and mud-brown hair, she sat at a distant table playing at dra
ughts with Selena MacPherson.

  Lady Glenda looked up, caught the earl's glance and immediately abandoned her game to join him. "You wanted me, my lord?" she said in her soft, lisping voice.

  "Nay," Alexander said absently, oblivious to the lady's hurt expression. He'd seduced her, played court to her in order to gain the use of her castle. His interest in her was obviously waning, for he treated her with less respect every day.

  "What of you, Lord Lion?" Selena inquired archly. "Is there aught you desire?" The seductive gleam in her pale blue eyes left him in no doubt she'd satisfy any craving he might have. She was breathtaking, her red hair a perfect foil for her porcelain-pale skin. Selena was newly arrived at Blantyre, but rumor had it she was a talented and inventive bedmate. Had she approached him the day before, Lion would have been tempted. As it was, he felt scant interest in the lush curves she pressed close to him or in the sensual promises glittering in her eyes.

  Lion smiled coolly. "Alas, my lady, I must be about the earl's business this evening." With that, he bowed to Selena and took the unhappy Lady Glenda aside. "If your sister's chamber is yet unoccupied, could my lady Rowena use it while she is here?"

  "Well…I do not mean to seem miserly, 'tis just that Annie values her things greatly and—"

  "You'd just as soon not see them misused by some careless trollop." He looked pointedly at Lady Selena, who leaned close to the earl as she refilled his ale cup. "Rowena is my lady, and has no designs whatsoever on any other man."

  "I would be pleased to have her use the room, then."

  "She is in the great hall, if I could send word—"

  "I'll go myself." Lady Glenda glanced at Alexander, her expression filled with pitiful longing, then left the room.

  Lion bowed to the earl. "Until the morrow, Your Grace," he said before exiting the room. Every step of the way, he was aware of Georas's hate-filled gaze.

  As he stepped into the gloomy corridor, Lion nearly fell over Bryce.

  "What has he done to upset Lady Glenda?" Bryce said, staring after the lady's retreating back.

  "He ignores her now that he has what he wanted—the run of Blantyre and her Shaws to ride under his banner."

  "Yet she pines for him, dotes on his every word and whim. Can she not see what worthless slime he is?" Bryce snarled.

  "Easy, my friend, I know you sympathize with her." More than that, he feared Bryce was smitten with the earl's lady. "But we've more pressing problems just now." As they walked down the stairs of the old tower, Lion told his cousin about the imminent arrival of the MacNabs and the threat to Rowena. "I've asked Lady Glenda to give her Lady Annie's chamber. 'Tis all I can do for tonight—that and post two men outside her door. Tomorrow I must persuade her to leave."

  "And the MacNabs?"

  "That is the rest of tonight's problem."

  Chapter Four

  Rowena finished her ale and set the cup aside.

  "More?" Sim inquired, standing behind her, ready to serve.

  "Nay, I could not eat or drink another morsel." She eyed the remaining scraps of meat pie. "Though it was delicious."

  "Aye. Lady Glenda sets a good table, but I must apologize for the company," Lion's squire added. His statement was punctuated by a hoarse shout and a round of drunken cheers.

  Wincing, Rowena glanced toward the center of the hall. The tables had been cleared back to allow room for a wrestling match of sorts. Two large men, stripped down to linen drawers, were attempting to squeeze the life out of each other.

  "It grows late, and I really must find my brother by marriage to see if he has found us lodging."

  Sim frowned. "I did send someone to inquire. Sir Eneas is not within the walls."

  "Run off and left me again. Well, I shall have to shift for myself, then." She stood, but Sim barred the way.

  "Lion said you were to wait here."

  "He does not have the ordering of me."

  "Nay, but he is finding a room for you."

  "And I can guess where it will be."

  Sim flushed. "Nay, my lord is not like that. You can trust him to make honorable arrangements for you."

  Once before she'd trusted Lion. No more. "I will see to it myself." She stepped around him and into a burly stranger.

  "Well. Lonely, are ye?" He stank worse than the garderobes. His black-and-purple plaid was stained with food, his eyes bleary with drink. "I can fix that." He reached for her.

  Sim shoved between them. "Off with you, John Chisholm. This lady is under my lord of Glenshee's protection."

  "Get away, lad," John snarled.

  "Nay," Sim said to the brute who towered over him.

  Rowena gasped. "Sim, do not—"

  "It's ye who'll be moving along, Dank John," said the big redhead who'd materialized beside them.

  John glared at the newcomer, but before he could protest, two more men in Sutherland green and blue appeared.

  Cursing under his breath, John moved off.

  "Thank you," Rowena whispered. Her knees were suddenly so weak she steadied herself on the edge of the table.

  "Glad to help." The big man bowed. "I'm Red Will. This here's Naill and that's Lem's Sandie."

  The wiry older man grinned at her. Fair-haired Lem's Sandie blushed and bobbed his head.

  Rowena managed a smile. "Thank you for noting my plight."

  "Oh, we've been keeping an eye on ye," Red Will said.

  "Per Lord Lion's orders?" she asked faintly.

  "Aye. He doesna want anyone harassing his lady."

  "I am not—"

  "Lady Rowena?" inquired an imperious voice.

  Rowena spun her head, braced for yet another confrontation.

  The woman standing before her was of middle age, tall, thin and horsey looking. Her gown was of costly velvet, but the mustard shade was vastly unbecoming, turning her skin the color of tallow. Still, the crown of wispy brown braids atop her head gave her a regal look, and her eyes held a wary intelligence.

  "Ach, 'tis Lady Glenda," Red Will explained.

  "My lady." Rowena dropped a hasty curtsy.

  "I am sorry not to have come sooner." Her gaze moved from Rowena's untidy hair to her muddy boots and back to her face. "You look as though you've had a long, terrible journey."

  Rowena smiled wryly. "My backside can attest to that."

  An answering smile curved Lady Glenda's thin lips, making her eyes twinkle and her face seem almost pretty. "Ah. A sense of humor and a bit of wit. How refreshing." She raised her hand, rings winking in the torchlight of the crowded hall.

  Donald rushed over. "You have need of me, Lady Glenda?"

  "Put the lady Rowena in the green room, Donald."

  "But—but when Lady Selena asked to have that chamber, you said it must be held ready for Lady Anne."

  Lady Glenda flushed. "That is because I did not want that sly woman entertaining her lovers in my sister's room. She has the morals of a barn cat," she said in an aside to Rowena. "Selena, not my Annie." She glanced about the hall and grimaced. "There's little we can do about yon riffraff being here, Donald, but the earl vowed I would have the arranging of the domestic matters in my own castle."

  "Aye, my lady." Donald grinned. "Twill be a pleasure to see Lady Rowena settled in the green room." He cocked his head, surveying her. "You'll be wanting a bath."

  Rowena blinked, a bit dazed by the tempting offer. "Oh, but it's so late…so much trouble…"

  "Not at all." He bowed. "Shall I show you up now?"

  "I'll do it," said his mistress. Her lip curled slightly as she gazed about the hall. "I do wish Alexander would exert more control over his men." She sighed. "Still, I know he has more important things on his mind." The lady picked up her skirts and turned in a graceful sweep. "Come, let us away."

  "Gladly." Lifting her muddy skirts, Rowena trailed after her rescuer. The older woman set a brisk pace across the entryway with its impressive display of ancient armaments and into a stone stairwell that spiraled tightly up two floors and opened
into a well-lit corridor.

  "Drat. I should have thought to bring a candle," Lady Glenda grumbled. " 'Tis what comes of acting in haste. Ah well." She reached for a torch set in an iron holder in the wall.

  "Allow me." Rowena lifted the brand free.

  "Ah. You are not one of those frail lasses who lets others do all the work."

  "If I were, I'd be home in my bed, not here, alone in a strange place full of louts and brigands."

  "Why aren't you?" Lady Glenda asked as they walked down the hall. "Home in your bed instead of here?"

  "I've come to ensure my son's inheritance. You see—" she stepped through the door Lady Glenda had opened "—my husband died a week ago."

  "Oh. I am sorry."

  "So am I. Both because he was a good and honest man, and because our son is only five."

  "Ah." Lady Glenda took the torch and thrust it into a pile of wood lying ready in the small corner hearth. The fire caught quickly, sending flickers of light over the fine furnishings—a tall, canopied bed draped in green velvet, a carved chest, a table and two chairs set beneath the window. "I know just how much of a challenge it can be, raising a child without a man. My oldest brother was two and ten when our da died. But our clansmen supported William. Is there no one to help you guide your young son into manhood?"

  "Aye, there is, but Finlay, my husband's cousin, and Father Cerdic are somewhat old and infirmed."

  "Mmm. That is a problem." Lady Glenda plucked a thick candle from the mantel. As she stooped to light the wick from the fire, she groaned. "I am sorry for your loss and your troubles, but at least you loved and were loved in return. And you have your son…a living symbol of that love."

  At least you were loved. The pain stabbed through Rowena, quick and deadly as a knife thrust. "Aye," she whispered.

  "I—I hope that one day soon I will also know that joy," Glenda said, cheeks flushing.

  "You and the earl will wed?"

  "He has not yet asked…but he is busy." Her hands fluttered, unnecessarily tidying the bed drapes. "Tell me about your son."