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Lion sat scowling as he watched Padruig pick his way up the glen. When he passed from sight, Lion reluctantly moved off to the left, up the little-used trail he himself had taken. At the lip of the ridge, he paused long enough to ascertain he was alone, then set off to get his men. They had miles to go for his meeting with Fergie Ross.
Another hard, crusty old man with a stubborn streak who would rather defy the earl than harken to Lion’s plans.
He’d gone scarce a quarter mile when he heard it—a hoarse scream that tore across the quiet land. “Bloody hell.” Wrenching his horse around, he raced along the rim of the glen, calculating how far the Gunn might have gotten in the few minutes since they’d parted. When he reached the cut in the land where a stream poured down to join the creek in the glen, he dismounted, hobbled his horse and crept down on foot.
He was nearly to the bottom when a troop of men galloped past. A score or more, he judged by the sounds of their horses. Though he could not see them for the brush, he caught a flash of red and blue. MacPhersons? Aye, it made sense. Alexander often sent Georas MacPherson to do his dirty work.
Blade drawn, Lion crept through the underbrush. The sight of Padruig sprawled beside the stream in a pool of blood stopped him. He moved forward to feel for signs of life, but found none.
Damn. Damn. He should have gone with Padruig. Followed him at least. And died with him? Sobering thought, but Lion’s guilt didn’t ease. “Jesu, Rowena, I’m sorry. So sorry.”
The clatter of hooves on stone sent him scrambling for cover. It was not Padruig’s murderers come back, but his own men who burst onto the scene.
“We heard a cry,” Bryce explained, controlling his nervous mount as he surveyed Lion. “Are you hurt?”
“Nay, but Padruig Gunn is dead.”
“Alexander’s men?”
“Likely. They were MacPhersons, I think.” Lion knelt again by the body. “And it wasn’t robbery, for his purse is still here.”
“Damn, if only we’d realized the earl would stoop to this.”
Lion stood, “He grows desperate indeed if he will murder a man over a few troops for his damned army. I should have tried harder to convince the Gunn he was in danger.”
“What now? Will you take the body to his people?”
Lion debated only a moment before shaking his head. “I’m overdue to meet with Fergus. If I do not show up, God alone knows what foolishness he’ll undertake.” He looked down at Padruig again. “And the Gunns are bound to ask who did this, mayhap seek revenge against Alexander, and die in turn.” He exhaled. “Red Will, take three of the lads and carry Padruig Gunn near to home. Leave him at the side of the road...” Like refuse. Lion cringed, but couldn’t waver. “Make it look as though he’d been attacked and robbed.” Fewer questions that way.
Even by Highland standards, Padruig Gunn’s funeral was a wild and raucous affair. The Gunns come to mourn their fallen chief cavorted about Hillbrae Tower’s great hall like revelers on a feast day. Shouted songs and laughter vied with sobs of regret at his passing.
But then, the Gunns did everything to excess, thought Rowena as she surveyed the mess and swiftly calculated the cost in food, drink and broken furniture.
“’Tis a grand send-off we’re giving him, eh?” Finlay Gunn shouted above the din. “Cousin Padruig would have loved this.”
Seated beside the old warrior at the head table, Rowena, widowed four days and terrified at what lay before her, let loose her temper. “He’d have enjoyed it a bit more had he been alive to do so. Damn him,” she snapped. “Where had he gone? Why was he riding about alone?”
“Clan business,” said Finlay, who was the only one Padruig had ever confided in. “Ye know what store he set by duty,”
“Duty!” She spat the word out like a curse. “Men wave that banner about as though it was handed down from God, but ‘tis only an excuse to go adventuring.” The memory of Lion’s long-ago desertion twisted sharp as a knife in her chest. Though she would never forgive Lion Sutherland, she’d tried hard to forget him. Padruig’s death, his desertion, had brought it all back: the pain, the fear and, aye, the anger. They roiled inside her, stinging like salt in a fresh wound. “’Tis the women and children who pay the price while you men go off to pursue your duty.”
“Easy, lass.” Finlay laid a scarred hand on her arm. “I ken ye’re grieving for Padruig and worried about what the next years will bring, but there’s no need to carry on so.”
Oh, but there was. Shivering, Rowena sagged against the high-backed chair, a smaller version of Padruig’s mammoth one to her right. She cast a sidelong glance at the chair’s occupant—the new chief of Clan Gunn. Paddy, her five-year-old son.
The red head of hair that seemed to mark him as a Gunn was bent over his plate as he toyed with an oatcake. His sweet face was in profile to her—rounded cheeks, a stubborn jaw and a nose he’d need to grow into. The nose handed down from Lucais Sutherland to Lion and thence to Paddy.
He was so young, so precious, so vulnerable. She’d do anything to protect him. Anything.
Her gaze shifted to the man on Paddy’s other side.
Eneas’s face was also in profile—harsh, lean and predatory. Padruig had warned her often of his brother’s ambitions to rule the clan. Now the only thing that stood between Eneas and his goal was her Paddy. Suddenly Rowena was afraid, more afraid than she’d been in years. What if Padruig had not been set upon and murdered by thieves? What if Eneas had killed him? What if he planned to eliminate her son as well?
A crockery cup flew past her nose and smashed against the floor inches from Padruig’s bier, drawing her attention from the past to the dangerous present. Even in death, Padruig looked harsh and indomitable, his craggy features set in disapproval, his red-gray brows bunched in a frown over his broad nose. She had not loved him. She could never love anyone again, but Padruig had sheltered and protected her. Till now...
“I have to keep Paddy safe,” she said under her breath.
“Aye, and I’ll help ye,” Finlay whispered. Older than Padruig by three years, a seasoned warrior sidelined from the battlefield by a knee injury, he was kinder, more compassionate than her husband. Finlay had been the first to welcome her when she’d come here as a frightened bride. She was frightened now, longed to take Paddy and run home to the MacBeans. But she’d given up her right to leave when she’d wed Padruig and accepted his bargain. For the sake of that vow and Paddy’s future, she was bound to the Gunns of Hillbrae till the day she died.
“I’m sorry to tear at you, Finlay. ’Tis just that I’m worried.” The knot in her belly tightened. Padruig had been a cold and indifferent husband, preferring his mistress’s bed to hers, thankfully. But he’d been Rowena’s bulwark, her protector.
Finlay smiled faintly. “Dinna fret. Before he went off, Padruig bade me take care of ye and the lad. I’ll see he’s raised right, taught what he needs to know. He’s been declared Padruig’s heir, and the men will honor that Paddy will rule Clan Gunn when he’s old enough.”
‘Twas what she’d schemed, sacrificed and, aye, even lied to ensure. Paddy’s future. Everything she’d done these six years had been for her son. “You’re a fine man, Finlay Gunn. I know you’ll do your best by us,” she said softly, her expression carefully controlled again. “But ’twill be ten years at least till he can fight for himself. Years filled with peril.”
Finlay nodded, his brown eyes sober. “I’ll watch over him till then, see that he’s strong and capable.”
“But you do not know what Eneas has planned,” Rowena murmured, giving voice to her fears at last, even though it meant embroiling Finlay in more danger. “An hour ago, I passed by Padruig’s counting room and heard Eneas speaking with Clem.”
“Go on,” the old man urged.
She hesitated. But where else could she could turn? Few of the Gunns would believe Eneas capable of harming his own nephew. Her father was dead, and her brother was not strong enough to face down Eneas Gunn. Lion was, whispered a traitorous voice.
She had a brief, vivid image of Lion wielding his heavy claymore, muscles rippling beneath his saffron shirt as he fought to drive off two men who had attacked her at that first clan gathering. His opponents had been grown men, Lion a youth of ten and eight, but he’d bested them to save her life.
Lion, the champion of her youth.
Lion, the nemesis of her darkest nightmares. After what he’d done, she’d not accept a cup of water from him if she were dying of thirst. If there was any justice in the world, Lion Sutherland was dead of the plague.
“Come, lass, a burden shared is lighter,” Finlay said.
Rowena sighed and leaned closer, glad of the noise in the hall. “On the morrow, Eneas rides to Blantyre Castle to meet with the Earl of Buchan.”
“What? But—but that is where Padruig had gone, in answer to the earl’s summons.”
“Why? Who is this earl?”
“He’s the king’s brother, sent here to subdue the clans that have been reiving and murdering. To do it, he must raise an army, and he wanted Padruig to provide some men.”
“Oh. It sounds a grand scheme,” Rowena said absently, her own troubles more immediate. “Eneas plans to tell the earl of Padruig’s passing and swear fealty to him on Paddy’s behalf.”
“Fealty? Some of the Lowland clans follow that English custom of swearing allegiance to the king, but we Highlanders do not need to seek anyone’s approval of what we do. Especially when the king’s as weak a vessel as Robert. What does Eneas hope to gain by groveling at the earl’s feet?”
“Eneas told Clem he’d ask the earl to declare himself Paddy’s guardian,” she said faintly.
“But Padruig intended for you, Father Cerdic and myself to have the raising of the lad. He said so before all the clan and made every man swear to support Paddy as his heir.”
“Clem reminded Eneas of that, but Eneas said that the earl would not know of this—this unnatural notion of Padruig’s.” She twisted the linen napkin in her lap, the burning in her belly intensifying. “Eneas says that task should fall to Padruig’s only brother, and he’s certain the earl will agree.”
“No Gunn will care what this earl says.”
“But they may.” She took hold of Finlay’s arm. “Much as they loved Padruig and do love Paddy, also, there are many in the clan who will not love being ruled by a woman, a priest and a—a...” She could not bring herself to call Finlay a cripple, as Eneas had when making his point. “The young men especially want a vigorous chief who can hunt with them and lead them into battle. They will not see the danger to Paddy. They will not see that once Eneas is Paddy’s guardian, he could take my son away from us and...and mayhap kill him.”
“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.”
“How kind you are.”
Eneas glared at her, his eyes lethal weapons. “The journey will be hard and dangerous.”
“I look to you to see us safely to Blantyre.”
Eneas cursed under his breath, then motioned the steward over to him. “Wat, pass the word, ’tis time for the lifting.” Spearing her with another scathing look, he shoved back his chair and stomped away toward his underlings.
Finlay stood also. “That was well done Rowena, but I will go with you to make certain Eneas minds his manners.”
“I can look out for myself, Finlay. I need you to remain here to make certain Paddy is safe.”
“For all he’s a hard man, Eneas loved Padruig. He’ll not harm his brother’s son,” Finlay repeated.
The icy fist around Rowena’s heart tightened. If Eneas learned that Paddy was not Padruig’s son, he’d have no compunction about killing him.
Paddy’s giggle cut across her dark thoughts. “I dinna think most of the men will get themselves up the hill, much less lift Father,” he said lightly.
Squinting against the smoky pall, she watched the Gunns attempt to rally themselves for the trip to the kirkyard. Drunk as they were, most of the men and some of the women were literally falling down. “Not surprising. Ten kegs of ale emptied since dawn.”
“Aye. But ye did him proud.” Finlay grinned as he helped her to her feet. “For all he was spare with his words and not one to share his feelings, Padruig respected ye lass.”
Rowena nodded glumly, looking back on her cold, loveless marriage and ahead to her bleak, dangerous future. “That is something, I suppose.”
“Make way,” Wat the Steward cried, elbowing people aside as he cleared a path for the fallen laird’s nearest and dearest.
Jennie met Rowena at the outer door. “I’ve brought your fur-lined cloak and the young laird’s, too.” She handed Finlay Paddy’s cape, then drew Rowena aside to assist her in dressing. Three years Rowena’s senior, the maid was plump and pretty, with red hair and freckles as numerous as her suitors. A capable maid and trustworthy friend, she had left Tarbert to live among the Gunns with her mistress. If not for her support, Rowena wouldn’t have lasted a fortnight as Padruig’s bride. “You’re pale as new snow,” Jennie scolded.
“Small wonder.” Rowena pressed a hand to her head, hoping to still the grinding ache.
“What has Eneas done to hurt you now?”
“Jennie...”
“Eneas knows I hate him.”
“Aye, but that was before.” Rowena glanced ahead.
Someone had opened the door, letting in a swirl of blessedly fresh spring air. Eneas stood in the entryway, his big body blocking the light. A symbol, surely, for he’d like to blot her and Paddy out...permanently.
“From now on, I want you to keep that sharp tongue between your teeth, Jennie MacBean,” Rowena said in a rush. “With Padruig gone, we must all watch our step.”
“And our backs.”
“Aye.” Rowena shivered and turned, her heart quieting when she saw Finlay kneeling to fasten Paddy’s cloak with the heavy broach, the symbol of his lairdship. God keep him safe.
“Mama?” Paddy tugged on her hand. “If I build Father’s cairn very high, do you think he’ll like me better?”
“Your father loved you,” Rowena said.
Paddy looked down and traced a circle on the stone floor with the toe of his boot. “He never said so. Sometimes he looked at me...” his thin shoulders moved restlessly beneath the heavy cloak “...as though I’d turned into a bowl of boiled kale.” Paddy’s least favorite food.
Rowena sighed, aching for her small son but knowing no words to explain. “He had much on his mind, love. If he grimaced and glowered, ’twas not at you. You were very, very important to him. Come, the others will be waiting. Let us walk up together and bid your father farewell.”
His hand, though small, was reassuringly warm in hers. She wondered who was helping whom as they began the long trek up the slope to the kirk. It had rained last night, and the ground steamed mist into the chilly air, giving the scene an otherworldly quality. If only this was a dream and she’d awaken to find Padruig alive, her life unchanged. While she was about it, why not wish she could awaken and find these past six years had been a nightmare and she was still Rowena MacBean, young, carefree and in love with Lion Sutherland?
Nay, for then she’d not have Paddy.
As they followed the line of mourners up the hill, Rowena vowed on Padruig’s soul that she’d find a way to keep Paddy safe, no matter what she had to do.
Chapter Two
The journey to Blantyre was every bit as horrible as Finlay had warned her it would be. Rain turned the roads into mud-clogged trails, slowing their progress through the mountain passes. A two-day journey dragged into five interminable ones, riding at the mercy of the wind-driven rain and Eneas’s equally foul temper. Each night, he’d insisted on camping in the woods, with only their plaids and the oiled cloth Wat had sent along for protection from the elements.
Just to spite her, Rowena was certain. Wet, exhausted and miserable as she was, she refused to give Eneas the satisfaction of showing it. She rode behind him, shoulders square, with only the heat of her determination to keep the cold at bay.
“When do you think we’ll reach Blantyre?” grumbled Harry Gunn, the young soldier Finlay had sent along as her squire.
“Ye’ve got to have someone to do yer bidding and watch out for ye,” Finlay had muttered. “Seeing as how ye’ve refused to take along one of the maids.”
“I must leave Jennie here to care for Paddy. Bad enough he’s lost his father. Now his mother is riding away. He needs someone to cosset him and reassure him. And the other maids are either too old to withstand the ride or too flighty.”