“I’ve been taught how to attend a man in his bath, but if it tweaks your modesty, I’ll withdraw,” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Copyright

“I’ve been taught how to attend a man in his bath, but if it tweaks your modesty, I’ll withdraw,”

Laurel offered pleasantly.

“’Tis not my modesty that will be strained,” Kieran growled.

“Oh? Will it ease you if I promise I will not look?”

“I doubt it.”

Her expression turned gentle; her hand came up to cup the line of his jaw. “You should do that more often, you know.”

“What?” he managed to ask past the sudden tightness in his chest

“Smile. At least I think it was a smile. The corners of your mouth turned up. And you’ve a dimple, here,” she pointed out, drawing her fingers across his cheek.

Fleeting as her touch was, it left him aching for more. “Knights don’t have dimples.” He tried to be stern, failed

“You do. Though you keep them carefully hidden...like so many other things....”

Dear Reader,

In Lion’s Legacy, the third book of Suzanne Barclay’s Lion Trilogy, a Scottish warrior is hired to protect a tower from English raiders, and discovers that his benefactor has nothing to give him in return for his services but the hand of his unwilling granddaughter. The first book in the series, Lion’s Heart, earned the author a 5 rating from Affaire de Coeur, and The Medieval Chronicle describes Lion’s Legacy as “absolutely captivating.” We hope you’ll agree.

With Twice Upon Time, her second Harlequin Historical time-travel novel, author Nina Beaumont weaves an exciting tale of an ancient curse and a passion too strong to be denied. And in Emily French’s new book, Illusion, the growing love between an ex-soldier and an heiress who have been drawn into a marriage of convenience is threatened by embezzlement and extortion.

Diamond, the fourth title for the month, is the first in Ruth Langan’s new Western series. The Jewels of Texas, featuring four sisters who think that they are only children until the death of their father brings them all together at his ranch in Texas.

Whatever your taste in reading, we hope that Harlequin Historical novels will keep you coming back for more. Please look for them wherever books are sold.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

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Lion’s Legacy

Suzanne Barclay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUZANNE BARCLAY

has been an avid reader since she was very young; her mother claims Suzanne could read and recite “The Night Before Christmas” on her first birthday! Not surprisingly, history was her favorite subject in school and historical novels are her number one reading choice. The house she shares with her husband and their two dogs is set on 55 acres of New York State’s wine-growing region. When she’s not writing, the author makes fine furniture and carpets in miniature.

To Linda, for listening to Lion’s story and for steering me to the wild and wonderful Border Country of Scotland for its conclusion

Chapter One

Edin Tower, June 1381

Danger!

It whispered on the wind and moaned through the trees, making them sway around the tiny, moonlit clearing. Laurel’s heart leapt, then thudded wildly as she whirled around. “Who’s there?” she whispered, scanning the thrashing brush.

No one answered, yet she could feel something out there waiting, watching her. The hair at her nape rose. The forest seemed to press in on her from all sides, dark and mysterious. Then through the trees she saw Edin Tower standing out black against the gray sheen of the loch.

Home! There was home and safety. A single light burned in the tower’s uppermost window. ’Twas likely Aunt Nesta waiting up, wondering where she was. As Laurel unlocked her frozen limbs and took a step, the wind abruptly died away. In the terrible, unnatural silence that followed, she heard a sound. Halfway between a whisper and a whimper.

“Who’s there?” she asked, gooseflesh chasing down her arms and legs. No one answered. She tested the air like a hunted hare, smelled danger lurking beneath the innocent scent of rich loam and trampled herbs. Behind her, a twig snapped.

Laurel spun around, a scream lodged in her throat.

The brush parted, and a stallion stepped into the clearing. Black as the night that had spawned him, he halted at some unspoken command from his rider and pawed the ground, breath billowing like dragon smoke. Laurel’s eyes rose from the gauntleted hands that held the great beast in check to the man himself. He was big, his wide shoulders and thick chest encased in gleaming metal armor.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

If he heard, he made no reply, merely raised the visor on his helmet and stared in the direction of Edin Tower. Pale, eerie moonlight slanted across his features, illuminating them.

Sweet Mary! ’Twas him! The man who’d haunted her dreams this past month. Always before she’d viewed him from a distance, riding across a bloodied battlefield, standing in the prow of a ship as it braved the storm-tossed sea. Yet she’d sensed him drawing nearer and nearer. Now he was here.

“Who are you?” she asked again, voice raw with fear.

He turned toward her then, revealing a ruggedly handsome face framed by thick black hair, but ’twas his eyes that captivated her. They were a cool shade of violet, bright as gemstones, hard and glittering with a hunger that was more threatening than the gleaming length of steel at his waist.

“Why have you come here? What do you want?”

“Everything, ” he murmured, his voice dark as the aura of danger that surrounded them. “Everything you are and will be.”

Edin. He must mean Edin and her clan, for her home and her family were all to her. She backed up a step, then another. She turned and ran.

He came after her, the forest floor shuddering under the weight of his warhorse’s footfalls.

“Nay!” Laurel screamed, and wrenched upright in bed. It took her a moment to realize she was safe in her own bed. Shuddering, skin slick with sweat beneath her linen night shift, she wrapped both arms around her waist and tried to slow her ragged pulse.

“’Twas a nightmare, nothing more.” The words failed to reassure. She didn’t have simple nightmares. Though she railed against the Fates for cursing her so, the visions that disturbed her sleep were far more complex and mysterious than any mere dream. They were a portent, a glimpse into a future she was both unable to interpret and powerless to prevent.

Fear trickled down Laurel’s spine. When the knight had looked at her with those dark eyes, she’d felt...a jolt. A connection such as she’d never felt with another person, not even her Aunt Nesta, who was a seeress. Who was this knight?

“M’lady ? Are ye all right?” Annie MacLellan peered around the door, broad, freckled face scrunched with concern.

“I... I am fine,” Laurel replied, feeling anything but.

Annie frowned. “I heard ye call out”

“I had a dream..”

“Do tell.” Annie giggled. “What was it, another drought?”

Laurel sniffed. “I should think you’d be glad we had a wet spring, instead of the dry one I predicted.”

“Oh, I am, and I didn’t mean to hurt yer feelings, but I thought ye’d given up trying to foretell the future.”

“I have.” She’d stopped telling people what she dreamed. It was too humiliating. Truly she was a disgrace to those who’d gone before—the generations of MacLellan women who’d been gifted with the sight. Sight, bah! In her ’twas more like hindsight. After the fact, she sometimes found a grain of truth linking her vision to the actual occurrence. Small consolation. People expected better from the lass who should be their next seeress.

Mayhap if she’d been a conjurer like her Aunt Nesta, she’d have had more control over her visions. Instead, Laurel’s glimpses into the future came in dreams, unbidden, impossible to interpret and better forgotten. Still she couldn’t suppress a shiver at the memory of the violet-eyed stranger who’d looked at her so angrily yet so possessively.

“Why, ye’re quaking like a newborn lamb. Must be sickening with the ague.” Annie slammed the door and advanced, neat brown braid thumping against her slender back with every purposeful stride. “No wonder. Up half the night, riding the hills with the men.” She grabbed a sheepskin coverlet from the floor and bundled it around Laurel, tisking in fair imitation of Janet, her mother, who was housekeeper at Edin. “Indecent and unwomanly, wearing yer da’s chain mail and carrying his dirk and playing at being a warrior when all the while—”

“I do what I must to protect our people. If that means donning armor and riding into battle in Grandda’s stead, then so be it,” Laurel added. Not for the world would she admit to anyone how much she hated the violence and the fear. Not fear for herself, but the terror that cramped her belly each time she made a decision that sent the men of Clan MacLellan into harm’s way. Sweet Mary aid her, she was a healer, not a fighter. What if she made a mistake and it cost the lives of those she loved?

“There, ye’re trembling again.” Annie molded the sheepskin more tightly to Laurel’s body. “Bide here and I’ll nip down to the kitchens for a hot ale and a posset—”

“I’m just a bit tired.” Tired! She was weary to her soul, sick unto death with fighting and scheming to keep her people safe. “I’ll break my fast with Grandda, as usual.” Laurel threw off the heavy coverlet as she longed to do to the even heavier burden she’d been forced to take on when Duncan MacLellan had been ambushed and gravely wounded.

“Ye were so late getting in, ye should sleep till dinner at least,” Annie grumbled, not liking her lady’s pallor, nor the dark circles under her eyes, but judged the advice would go unheeded. Sighing, she moved to open the chest placed under the room’s single shuttered window. “What will you wear... the green gown or the blue?”

“Is the other set of da’s clothes clean? ’Twould save time if I put them on, for I must ride out again after mass.”

Simple, practical words, yet Annie saw the shadow they sent over Laurel’s fragile features, and her heart sank. How much more was her poor mistress expected to bear? Her parents dead these six years, her grandfather hurt two weeks ago, all of Edin Valley threatened by the reivers who’d done the evil deed and no one to lead the MacLellans save Laurel. ’Twas too weighty a burden for a lass of ten and eight, and her gently reared.

How Laurel found the strength to go on day after day, only God knew. In vain, Annie had tried to persuade Laurel to leave the fighting to the men, but she’d always been stubborn and independent.

“Ye know the laird hates being reminded ye’re determined to lead the men in his place,” Annie said quietly.

Laurel closed her eyes to hide the pain. It wasn’t only duty that made her don the clothes her sire had worn as a lad and ride out to try and catch the raiders. ’Twas guilt. She’d had a vision of trouble and warned her grandda not to leave Edin. The memory of her past inaccuracies flickering in his eyes, he’d patted her on the head, reminded her they needed the salt, spices and wine from Kindo’s merchants and gone as planned. And been ambushed.

Her vision had come true, horribly true, but because so many hadn’t, her beloved grandsire had brushed aside her warning and nearly died. ’Twas a lesson she’d not forget. She’d never again ignore her dreams. But what exactly did this latest one mean?

Laurel opened her eyes. “Men’s garb is more practical, Annie, but I confess I do miss dressing like a lass. I’ll wear the blue gown, then change before I go out again.”

Annie bent to the chest. “Ye’ll catch the fiends soon.” Stout words, yet threaded with the fear that haunted every MacLellan. Truly the reivers, whose sudden interest in raiding Edin Valley had cost Laurel’s kin so dearly, must be made to pay. No matter how unsuited she was for the task, Laurel vowed to hold them at bay until Duncan was well enough to take command.

If he ever was.

Nay. She mustn’t think like that. Suddenly the memory of this morn’s vision flooded back. Was the knight in her dream one of those who’d attacked her grandfather? Springing out of bed, she snatched the gown from the startled Annie and began pulling it on over her night shift.

“Here, here. Have a care or ye’ll rip it,” Annie chided. “Not that ye don’t have gowns aplenty, what with all the lovely things Laird Duncan had made when ye wed Aulay Kerr last year,” she added as she stripped Laurel bare.

It wasn’t the chill draft seeping in through the shuttered window that raised the gooseflesh on Laurel’s body as she donned a fresh shift. ‘Twas the reminder of her short-lived marriage and Aulay’s betrayal. ’Twas what came of trusting an outsider.

“New clothes are the only good thing that came of that sorry mess,” Annie murmured as she drew the blue wool gown over Laurel’s head. “I know ’tis a sin to think ill of the dead...”

“I’m certain the Almighty will make an exception in Aulay’s case,” Laurel said. Her late, unlamented husband had been far more the devil’s servant than God’s.

“Who’d have thought such a pleasant, mild-speaking man’d turn out to be rotten at the core. Too bad, too, for we could have used a strong man like him to defend us now.”

Aye. He’d been a strong man. Laurel’s throat burned with the memory of how Aulay’s hands had felt closing around it and squeezing like a vise. A strong, greedy man.

“He thinks ye should wed again.”

“What?” Horrified, Laurel spun to face her friend. “Who?”

Annie blinked. “Himself. He was telling the Lady Nesta so last eve when I brought him his broth.”

“Why would Grandda want me to wed when my first marriage turned out so ill?”

“’Tis yerself and young Malcolm he’s thinking of,” Annie said, laying a hand on Laurel’s arm to soften the blow. “So as ye’d have someone to protect ye when...if...” Her voice trailed off, but Laurel understood only too well what she meant.

If Duncan died, there’d be only herself to lead the MacLellans until her brother was old enough. Poor Collie, just seven this month, gangly and clumsy as a fawn, yet anxious to defend their clan. “I must see Grandda.” She tried to duck away.

“Hold still: ” Keeping a secure grip on Laurel’s hip-length red hair, the maid began working the tangles from it. ”There is no rush. Himself was just waking up when I came above stairs.”

“How did he seem?”

“Grouchy as ever. Mam says ’tis a sure sign he’s healing,” Annie said gently, for she knew Laurel’s eagerness to be away was born of fear, not lack of concern for her appearance.

Laurel turned as Annie finished tying a bit of gold cord around the end of her braid. It would have to be replaced with leather when she rode out, but Annie had the right of it. ’Twould please Grandda to see her properly gowned and coiffed.

The corridor was cold after the warmth of her chamber, and Laurel quickened her pace, lifting her skirts lest she trip in the narrow stone staircase that circled down to the first floor. A flood of torchlight and the muted sound of voices reached out to her from the great hall, where a score of men partook of ale and brown bread before riding out to stand watch. Pausing in the doorway, Laurel scanned their faces, old and young alike lined with worry and fatigue. Secure as it was, guarded by a narrow pass, Edin Valley wasn’t impregnable. Should the reivers decide to attack in force, Laurel wasn’t certain the MacLellans could hold out.

Sighing, she turned way from the hall and continued down the dimly lit passageway to the room that had been her grandmother’s solar in the days before the new tower housing the laird’s chamber had been added. ’Twas to the solar the men had carried their wounded laird two weeks past. Laurel’s hand tightened on the door as she recalled the many desperate hours that had followed while she and her aunt battled to stitch Duncan’s wounds before he bled to death. They’d managed to save him, but they still could lose him to blood-fever or infection.

Laurel was relieved to see him awake, propped up on several pillows to ease his breathing, for a sword had cut perilously close to his lungs. Duncan’s gray hair had been pulled back from his face and tied at the nape, revealing the sharp angles of the high cheekbones he’d bequeathed to Laurel and the hooked nose he mercifully had not. In the harsh glow of the candle set in a pike beside the bed, his skin looked chalky. The hooded eyes that used to sparkle with mischief focused dully on the hearth.

Following his gaze, she saw that despite the early hour, Aunt Nesta was already here. Dressed in her customary flowing black robe, she crouched by the fire, head bent over a bowl resting on a three-legged stool. Her auburn hair, hip length, unbound as a lass’s and free of gray despite her thirty years, obscured her profile as she leaned over the bowl.

“What do ye see, Nessie?” Duncan’s voice lacked the deep bass rumble of vigor and command it usually held.

“Naught.” Her aunt rocked back on her heels. “I’m that distracted I can scarce summon a proper conjuring.”

The word mocked Laurel’s shortcomings as a witch. Try as she might, she couldn’t summon an image in that ancient gold bowl.

“Try again,” Duncan commanded. “I must know where Kieran is before I worsen.”

Kieran? Who is this Kieran? Laurel wanted to ask, but she was reluctant to intrude on a conjuring in which she could take no part. Silence filled the chamber, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the rasp of Duncan’s uneven breathing.

“Ah!” Nesta exclaimed.

“Ye’ve seen him?” The rope-bound bed creaked as Duncan levered himself up for a peek.

“Aye.” Firelight glinted in Nesta’s red hair as she turned her head toward the bed. “I’ve found him, Da.”

“How far from Edin?”

“He’s on the far side of the pass, for I see the river and foothills beyond him. Ellis has met him, and they are talking.”

Laurel frowned. Why had the captain of Edin’s guard made no mention to her of meeting this Kieran, she wondered.

“And not a moment too soon,” Duncan muttered. “Well, don’t just sit there gaping, lass, tell me how he looks.”

Nesta turned back to the bowl, studied it for so long Laurel thought she’d go mad with the waiting. “Hard.”

“Hard? He’s no more than three and twenty,” Duncan said.

“Oh, his face is young, but his eyes are cold and har—”

“Mayhap ye’ve got the wrong man. Describe him to me.”

“Black haired he is, with strong features, a cleft in his square jaw and...and violet eyes.”

Violet eyes! Disbelief drove Laurel forward. Denial crowding her throat, she stopped beside her aunt and beheld an image floating in the murky water. ’Twas him. Recognition drove the strength from her legs and she sank down, scarcely feeling the cold stones beneath her knees. It couldn’t be, yet it was.

The man from her dreams.

“Wh-who is he?” Laurel murmured, transfixed by the sight.

“’Tis Kieran Sutherland,” Duncan replied. “The knight I’ve hired to protect us from those damned reivers.”

Laurel straightened. “You’d bring a stranger here?”

“He’s known to me. A mercenary whose exploits I’ve followed for some time.” Flushed with excitement, Duncan went on to enumerate Kieran’s feats in battle and on the tourney circuit. “He’s the grandson of a lass I’d a mind to wed. A few years ago I wrote her and...well, never mind that now. Suffice to say when a friend sent word Kieran was returning to Scotland, I took a notion to meet him. Never guessed I’d have need of his skills. Luckily my message found him still in Berwick. Luckier still, he agreed to take service with us.”

Laurel stared at the image, remembering her dream and the hunger in Kieran Sutherland’s eyes. “I want everything you are and will be,” he’d said. Greedy sot. Like Aulay before him, Kieran wanted Edin. “He cannot stay,” she choked out.

“I know ye’ve a distrust of outsiders, lass, but young Kieran’s our only hope.”

“He wants Edin,” Laurel insisted, and when her grandfather pressed her for details, she mumbled, “I...I dreamed about him.”

“Are ye saying ye had a vision of Kieran attacking me?”

“Nay, but he—”

“Is here to help us.”

“Grandda!” Laurel began, hurt and frustrated.

Nesta laid a hand on her arm. “What did ye see?”

Laurel sighed. It hadn’t been what she’d seen but what she’d felt. Danger. No one would believe her. She’d just have to find some way to prove Kieran Sutherland didn’t belong in Edin Valley.

Kieran squinted against the sun just peering over the jagged ridge of mountains that lay before them. As majestic as they were unexpected, the peaks seemed to leap from the rolling hills of the Border country like the teeth of some ancient beast roaring at the sky. So rugged was the terrain, that if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he was back in the Highlands where he’d been fostered, instead of two days’ march north of Carlisle. In fact, had Ellis MacLellan not hailed them as they rode along the river, Kieran would have passed right by.

At Ellis’s direction, they’d forded at a low spot in the rushing river and now faced a sheer cliff face. “Do you propose we walk up the side of that?” Kieran inquired.

The older man grinned, teeth gleaming in his russet beard, laugh lines crinkling the corner of his eyes. “Nay. The entrance to the pass lies just there.” With that, he kneed his horse around a bend in the trail and disappeared into a cleft in the rock.

Kieran’s gut tightened as he eyed the dark aperture.

“Let me go in first,” Rhys offered. A steel helmet obscured the young Welshman’s features, all save the black eyes narrowed with equal parts concern and determination.

“Nay” He’d not send another where he wouldn’t go himself. “You and the others wait here whilst I see what lies within.”

“Kieran, it could be a trap,” Rhys warned.

“Unlikely, but if so, you’ll be free and able to spring me from its jaws.” He scanned the fifty armored men who followed him, capable fighters all and his responsibility. “I’m not a hotheaded youth who charges rashly into danger.” Nay, he’d learned patience and caution the hard way, and they both knew it. “Stay here till I signal ’tis safe to enter.” Swinging his shield from shoulder to forearm, Kieran drew his sword and nudged Rathadack, his warhorse, into the cleft.

Darkness swallowed him up, pressing all around as Kieran moved cautiously forward. His eyes ached from trying to pierce the shroud. A hundred long paces later, his horse turned to the right. Ahead lay a patch of light. Silhouetted in its welcome brilliance, a single mounted man waited. Ellis.

“Takes a body by surprise,” Ellis called out as Kieran approached. Then his glance flicked to the unsheathed sword and his smile dimmed. “Did ye think we meant ye ill?”

Kieran shrugged, not the least bit shamed by his precautions. “I’ve learned to leave little to chance.” His words were lost in the clatter of hooves coming fast through the tunnel. Fearing the worst, he jerked around just as Rhys popped out of the darkness, sword aloft. Hard on his heels rode Martin and Sim. When they spotted Kieran, they ground to a halt in a shower of fine stone and ripe curses.

“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...

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.

“Are you now?” Kieran raked Malcolm’s slight frame from spindly legs to the shock of red hair. Laurel held her breath, recalling the derision with which Aulay had treated her brother. Kieran didn’t mock, he tipped his head respectfully. “I am Kieran Sutherland, hired by your grandsire to eliminate the reivers.”

“Really?” Collie’s eyes rounded. “Can I come with ye?”

“Collie!” Laurel exclaimed. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“I’m not allowed to handle a sword,” Collie said, adoring gaze fastened on Kieran. “But I’m handy with a bow and arrow.”

Kieran’s black brows rose. “But you must be seven or eight. I was a page and proficient with sword and lance by that age. Why have you not seen him properly trained?” He transferred his glacial gaze to Laurel.

“His rearing is none of your concern,” Laurel said.

“And the disciplining of my men is none of your concern. I suggest you stick to your needlework.”

“Only if I can stitch your lips shut.”

A gasp swept through the crowd; Kieran turned red.

Rhys laughed. “Mayhap ye’d best finish this later...after my guardian angel has departed.”

“’is not a laughing matter, Rhys,” Kieran snapped.

“Nay, but ‘tis a pity to quarrel with the lovely granddaughter of our employer.” Rhys smiled. “My thanks for yer concern, lady, m’lord.” He bowed to her brother.

Collie cocked his head. “Did it hurt?”

“Mostly my pride.” Rhys flashed another smile. “But ’twas well deserved for I was wrong to disobey my leader’s orders.”

Collie looked from Rhys to Kieran, and Laurel could hear the wheels turning in his head. “When I disobey, they take away my horse and make me stay inside and practice my letters.”

“Reading,” Kieran sneered. “Your time would be better spent learning to defend the lands you’ll one day rule.”

“Will ye teach me?” Collie asked, eyes wide and adoring.

“Mayhap. If I am here that long,” Kieran replied.

Laurel’s heart leapt. She wanted Collie safe inside Edin, not dashing about in harm’s way. “You will not be,” she said. “Collie, fetch my medicine chest. Come within, Sir Rhys, and I’ll tend your wounds,” she added as her brother reluctantly left.

“I will see to him,” Kieran grumbled.

Goaded by her fears for Collie, Laurel snapped, “I wouldn’t trust Sir Rhys to your care.”

“Think you I would harm my own friend?”

“You’d have beaten him to death had I not come along.”

“Five lashes never killed any man.” Kieran glared at the still grinning Rhys. “And he well knows he earned them.”

Laurel sniffed. “Because he thought you were in danger.”

“The reason doesn’t matter. He went against my orders.”

“That I did,” Rhys interjected. “And though I do thank ye for what ye tried to do, Lady—”

“He’ll still get the remaining three lashes,” Kieran said.

“Not till you leave Edin. Whilst you are here, no man will feel the sting of the whip.”

“And how am I to maintain discipline?”

Laurel smiled sweetly. “Any man who commands only by fear of punishment doesn’t deserve to lead.”

Kieran inhaled sharply. “You dare criticize my—”

“I think I may faint after all,” Rhys interjected.

“I will kill her,” Kieran snarled.

Stretched out belly-down on the bed, Rhys lifted his head. “Mayhap we should leave, then.”

Kieran stopped long enough to glare at him, then resumed pacing before the fire crackling in the hearth of the room to which they’d been led a scant hour ago. Duncan’s own bedchamber till he was wounded. Surprisingly fine it was, though Kieran seemed oblivious to the amenities, Rhys thought. The big bed with its straw-filled mattress, the high-backed chairs flanking the fire, the colorful wool hangings that brightened and warmed the whitewashed walls, all bespoke comfort, if not wealth.

“I need Duncan’s coin to buy the men and arms required to take Carmichael Castle and force Ross’s surrender,” Kieran said.

Even knowing it was futile, Rhys took up the old argument. “Could ye not forget that and get on with yer life?”

Kieran rounded on him, eyes narrowed. “Forget my uncle murdered my father, then lied to me, made me think he was my father and I his heir? The first fifteen years of my life were a lie. I’ve spent the next eight gaining the skills I need to avenge my father and regain what my family stole from me and my sire. I’ll have no life till my task is complete. You were witness to the oaths I made when I left Scotland.”

Aye, he had been, God rue the day. Rhys closed his eyes on the anguish in Kieran’s. This was wrong. Much as he loved Kieran, would do anything to help him, this quest for vengeance that drove him was wrong. If only he could make his friend see that, but eight years of intermittent arguing hadn’t made a dent in Kieran’s deep-seated hatred or his single-minded determination. And now here they were back in Scotland, within two days’ ride of Carmichael land. Once Kieran had settled things here, he’d buy an army and march north, pitting himself against his blood kin. If only there was some way to make Kieran see reason.

Knowing there wasn’t, Rhys sighed and turned his mind to the matter at hand. “Money aside, I like the old man. If we do not stay, the reivers will certainly overrun this valley.”

“Aye. They depend overmuch on their natural defenses, and are ill prepared for battle...soft as thistledown” Even as he spoke, Kieran recalled a woman who was more fire than fluff.

“Hmm. Lady Laurel reminds me of yer Aunt Elspeth.”

“Rhys,” Kieran warned. But he’d had the same notion, though what he felt for Laurel in no way resembled the respect and affection that had always flowed between him and his father’s younger sister. “She’s a menace.”

“Still she means wale.” Rhys chuckled. “When I think of the way she charged to my rescue and protected her young brother. Such loyalty to family is admirable,” he pointedly added.

Kieran grunted. How fierce she’d looked championing Collie. A bittersweet reminder of how the Carmichaels had always stuck by one another. Which was why Ross’s deception had struck so deep. ’Twas an unhealed wound that festered still. One he did his best to ignore. “She’s undermined years of discipline.”

“The men are well trained, and not like to soften.”

“They’d better not. I need every man in fighting trim with his wits about him. Even in the best of times, the Border country is near as wild and untamed as the Highlands. With Robert on the throne, there is no law. Each man must look to his own defense. And without us, the MacLellans will surely fall.”

“Why, then, did Lady Laurel seek to drive us away?”

“Because she’s the most contrary female I’ve yet met.” And the most desirable. Kieran’s fist clenched so tightly on the ale cup that his knuckles hurt. ’Twas naught compared to the need aching deep inside. “She even wears men’s clothes.”

“Aye.” Rhys eased himself into a sitting position. “Even so, she’s a comely woman. Do ye not agree?”

Kieran’s scowl deepened. “Even did I find her appealing—which I do not—you know all females are forbidden to me.”

“Now. But surely one day you will wed.”

“I doubt it.”

“But...but what of Carmichael Castle? Will ye risk yer life to regain it, then let it go to another when you die?”

Kieran shrugged, but his feelings were anything but casual. Part of him yearned for the special unions he’d observed in his youth...his Aunt Elspeth and her husband, Lucais Sutherland. His grandparents, Carina and Lionel Carmichael, even Ross and Megan, his wife. He’d grown up watching them all laugh and argue and love, dreamed of one day finding a woman who completed him just as these couples did their mates. That dream had been one of the many that had died the day his life shattered.

Nay, marriage involved closeness, sharing, and he’d not let anyone get that near to him. Not ever again. “Mayhap I’ll will it to one of Aunt Elspeth’s brood.” She, at least, had decried Ross’s treachery on the terrible night Kieran had learned Ross and Megan were not his parents, but his uncle and aunt.

“I told you your lies would come back to haunt you one day,” Elspeth Carmichael Sutherland had shouted at her older brother. Ross hadn’t said a word, just stared at Kieran, guilt and remorse twisting his handsome features. Shocked beyond belief, Kieran had fled the hall, but when the enormity of Ross’s deceit had sunk in, he’d returned and attacked his uncle. Ross’s shouts had roused the guard, and Kieran had fled in fear of his life. If Ross knew he was in Scotland, he’d kill Kieran as he had Lion.

“Mayhap I’ll order a funeral pyre made of Carmichael Castle, as did the Vikings from whom my Sutherland side is descended,” Kieran said coldly. “Aye, ’twould be a fitting end to my legacy. I came into the world with naught. I’ll leave the same way.”

It saddened Rhys to hear his friend speak so. Though Kieran had tried to make himself into a man who lived only for war and revenge, he wanted the very things he avoided. A woman. A home. A family. Only he was too steeped in hatred to realize it. Pray God he came to his senses before it was too late. Rhys decided to give the Almighty a hand. “If Lady Laurel is heiress to part of Edin Valley, her husband would gain some valuable property.”

“What care I for these puny lands?”

“I was thinking of myself.” Rhys glanced sidelong at his friend, noting the color that stained his cheeks, the displeasure that thinned his mouth. Ah, a man would have to be blind not to see the emotion that crackled between Laurel and Kieran.

“I’d have thought Annie more your sort,” Kieran grumbled.

“Who? Oh, the plump little maid who brought Lady Laurel to save me.” Rhys shrugged. “She’s pretty, but she hasn’t the fire of her mistress.” Or of the Lady Nesta. Now there was a—

“She has a nasty temper.” Kieran grimaced as he fingered the spot where her sharp knee had grazed his thigh.

“Ye look more in need of Lady Laurel’s healing balm than I. What say ye we take our ease this afternoon and ride out to survey the demesne lands on the morrow?”

“And have her think she’s bested me?” Kieran grabbed his sword belt from the chest at the foot of the bed. “If my leg aches, ’tis no more than I deserve for having underestimated that little witch... twice. But she’ll pay.”

“Kieran. What are you planning?” Rhys asked, but he talked to thin air, for Kieran had strode from the room. Snatching his tunic on over his head, Rhys gave chase.

“Remain abed and let your flesh heal,” Kieran muttered as they descended the tightly curving stairs. “’Tis an order.”

“Make it so, and ye’ll have cause to whip me again, for my place is at your side.”

Kieran stopped and turned, face stark in the light filtering in from the arrow slit. “I regret ’twas necessary to...”

“Me, too.” Rhys grinned. Kieran had so tempered his strokes he’d barely broken the skin. “Still I expect ye’ll lay on the remaining strokes...if we can manage to avoid my protectress.”

“Someone should teach that female she cannot meddle in men’s affairs,” Kieran growled.

“Seems I’m the one who’s lessoned you,” the very woman in question called out from the bottom of the stairs, her soft voice laced with sarcasm as it echoed in the stairwell.

Kieran whirled and bounded toward her. Stopping one step above so he towered over her, he set his features into a mask that had made battle-hardened warriors tremble. She gasped, eyes dilating with fear, but didn’t retreat. It made him even angrier. “You haven’t even the sense to flee one such as I?”

“I have faced down a worse man than you and survived.”

Who? he wanted to ask. What man had caused the shadows that clouded her clear gaze? Unbidden came a wave of protectiveness, the urge to shelter this tiny, brave woman from harm.

As though sensing his pity, she lifted her chin. “Well, do we ride out or stand here trading insults?”

Kieran shook himself, wondering what strange magic she possessed that had him acting the veriest of fools whenever she was about. “We ride to the pass. The defenses along the river are key, yet seem inadequate. I’d strengthen them before taking stock of the rest of Edin Valley,” he said, lord to squire.

“Inadequate,” she sputtered as he pushed past her. “I’ll have you know—”

But Kieran didn’t pause to hear the rest. He was too busy trying to outrun the light scent that clung to her. Why had he never noticed before that heather was such a seductive fragrance?

The air was so still Henry Percy could hear his own heart race as he stared at the mountains that hid Edin Valley from the rest of the world. Behind him lay the rolling backs of the Lowther Hills and the thick forest that hid his band of raiders, handpicked for this, the first step in Henry’s grand scheme. Ahead lay the flat, grassy plain bordering the river Tweed and across the treacherously swift water, the tumble of rocks that concealed the only entrance to the valley.

This was by no means the Englishman’s first foray across the Border, for the Percys were a riding family, and he’d been harrying the Scots for most of his thirty years. But this time he hadn’t come for anything as paltry as lifting cattle or burning crofts. He’d come after far richer game. Excitement tensed Henry’s body beneath his woolen tunic and expensive French body-armor. He looked up into the branches of the sturdy pine against which he’d been leaning while he waited for night to fall. “How much longer before we can attack?”

“Curse the luck. We’ll have to wait.” His spy dropped to earth, landing on the balls of his feet like a cat.

Henry frowned. “What now?”

“They’ve set a guard outside the pass,” he croaked. The unnatural hoarseness of his voice drew Henry’s eye to the puckery pink scar that bisected his throat, giving the appearance that someone had tried to carve him from ear to ear. Likely a MacLellan, given the Scot’s willingness to betray that clan.

’Twas a measure of Henry’s desperation that he’d hired a man whose name he didn’t even know. “You said they never did that.”

“Nor do they.” The Scot’s mouth twisted beneath the ruins of his nose, another mark of the vile life he’d obviously led. Above it, his eyes gleamed with a fierce, predatory light.

Henry’s uneasiness increased. “Why have they done so now?”

“How should I know? Mayhap they’re expecting us.” The Scot wrenched open his threadbare cloak to reveal a dented sword and brace of dirks. The garments he wore were, as far as Henry had seen, the only set he possessed. Though of fine quality wool, they were thin and tattered, the gold thread edging the neck and hem of the tunic tarnished. Either he’d stolen them or he was a nobleman down on his luck. Whichever, he was dangerous. “If so, they will not find me unprepared this time,” the Scot grumbled.

“’Tis obvious from the defense they’ve mounted thus far that you didn’t kill old Duncan,” Henry said with asperity.

“’Twasn’t for want of trying.” The Scot scowled. “If ye’d sent those reinforcements more quickly, we’d have taken them—”

“I came as soon as possible, though I could ill afford the time away from my own preparations,” Henry retorted. Because he didn’t trust the Scot, he’d come with these troops, leaving Captain FitzHawk in England to raise the rest of the army.

“The MacLellans are such milksops, I wouldn’t have thought they’d fight us so fiercely. We were near captured ourselves. But we’ll get inside this time, and it’ll be just as I said.”

Henry looked toward the mountains. “It had better be.”

“Never fear, m’lord. I’m as good as my word. Before the fortnight’s out, ye’ll be the next king of Scotland.”

“What?”

The Scot smiled. “I know what ye’re about.”

Henry started. Impossible. No one but FitzHawk knew the true extent of his ambitions. “How could you?”

“Why else would ye be so interested in getting across Scotland to Edinburgh in secret with an army? Rest assured I won’t fail ye. Our goals are closely matched. I, too, want what should have been mine... Edin Valley.” He paused a moment. “Edin’s perfect fer yer needs. Ye can march up the valley through the pass at the other end and come out a day’s march from Edinburgh without alarming the countryside and rousing the clans.”

“Another pass? Mayhap we could get in easier that way.”

“’Tis a secret, known only to the laird. I searched the hills for months looking for a way in, but couldn’t find it.”

“How do you know it exists, then?”

“I came close to being that laird,” the Scot muttered.

Henry scowled. “Why have I not heard of this place before?”

“I told ye the MacLellans keep to themselves like a clan of hermits. They raise most of what they need in the valley. They’ve a mill to grind their grain, trees hanging ripe with fruit, game aplenty in the forests. For salt, spices and such, Duncan goes once each spring and fall to trade at the market in Kindo.”

Which was how the Scot had waylaid the old man...with the aid of Henry’s troops. But so many of Henry’s men had been wounded in the skirmish that the Scot had not had the troops to press on and capture Edin Tower. Especially since the cursed MacLellans had vigorously patrolled the entrance to the valley.

Henry scanned the quiet landscape. Thankfully no one outside Edin was aware of the ambush. Stealth was critical to his plans, and Edin Valley was just what he’d been looking for. A place where he might mass his forces in secrecy, then launch his attack on Scotland before the alarm could be raised. By the time old Robert roused the clans, Henry would be sitting on the throne.

Still there was the problem of getting into the valley without causing a stir. “Mayhap I should have approached Duncan and paid him for the right to pass through his lands.”

“He wouldn’t have agreed.” The spy slanted Henry a sly glance. “Duncan doesn’t hold with outsiders, claims they’ve been left alone because he doesn’t meddle in politics or other people’s affairs. And, too, he’s a Scot through and through. He’d rather die than help an Englishman conquer his country.”

“Half English.” Henry’s mother had been a Percy, seduced by the old Scots king. For years Henry had suffered the shame of bastardy and the sting of not belonging on either side of the Border. Now he’d found a way to turn his Scots’ blood to his advantage. “You do not share Duncan’s loyalties?”

The Scot’s smile was as dark and menacing as the austere mountains. “All I want is what ye promised me—lairdship of Edin Valley and free rein to do as I will with its inhabitants”

Pity for the MacLellans stirred in Henry’s chest. He suppressed it. Conquerors couldn’t afford consciences. “How do you suggest we get inside?”

“I’m going to sneak across to the river, hide in yon trees and see if I can make out the strength of their guard.”

“I’m with you.” He wasn’t letting the Scot out of his sight till this campaign was over.

Chapter Four

By the time the scouting party from Edin neared the pass, the sun had been blotted out by a ridge of clouds. The threat of impending rain seemed small compared with the storm brewing among the members of Clan MacLellan. ’Twas all Kieran’s fault, Laurel thought, for he’d done naught but criticize. First because she’d insisted on leaving Collie behind, then about things in general.

“’Tis a mistake to rely solely on Edin’s natural defenses,” he’d growled when the hapless Ellis had tried to explain. “Guarding the entrance to the pass isn’t enough. They can lay siege to it, wear you down with repeated forays. Though you haven’t lost many men yet, the raiders have robbed you of sleep and taxed your resolve. Tired, frightened men make mistakes. The reivers need only wait, picking you off at their leisure.”

Grudgingly Laurel had admitted he had a point, but ’twas the way he made it that rubbed them all raw till even the easygoing Ellis had fallen back, leaving her to ride alone with the surly mercenary. Kieran had no tact, no care for others’ feelings. Why did he act so, she wondered, glancing sidelong at him. He’d removed his helmet the better to study the valley. Seen in profile, his handsome features were as harsh and unrelenting as the surrounding mountains. What forces had so cruelly shaped him?

Beneath that prickly hide of his, she’d glimpsed another man. A man who’d administered a lashing on principle yet had been more hurt by it than his victim. A man who could have crushed Collie with one blow but hadn’t raised his hand to the lad.

In fact, when Collie had entered the master chamber with her medicine chest, he’d immediately sought out Kieran and announced he was going to ask his grandfather for a sword.

Kieran had quietly said he’d had a wooden sword when he was seven and suggested Collie ask for one instead.

“I want a real sword. I want to kill like ye do.”

Kieran had shaken his head. “No man enjoys killing, but if your grandsire approves, I’ll teach you to wield a wooden sword.”

Collie had accepted this with a sigh and gone off to corner Duncan, but Laurel had watched Kieran. Did he dislike killing? If so, why did he make his living with a sword? What sort of man was he? The urge to find out was more compelling than it should have been, given her horrible marriage and Kieran’s harshness.

Nay, she wasn’t doing this for herself; ‘twas for her kin. The MacLellans needed Kieran if they were to survive, and the way things stood, her people would not willingly follow him. “’Twould salve Ellis’s pride did you suggest instead of demand and find fault,” she said, testing the waters.

He snorted. “I’m here to save his hide, not his pride.”

“Prettily said. Are you a poet?”

He looked appalled. “Nay. I’m a mercenary.”

“A knight may be both warrior and poet.”

Another snort. “Not me.”

“Why did you become a mercenary?”

“Because I’m good at killing people. I enjoy it.”

Liar. “Have you been doing it long?” she asked as sweetly as though he’d said he was a wood-carver or a blacksmith.

“Since I was five and ten.”

Young. Too young to embark on such a hard life. “Was your sire a mercenary, too?”

“Nay.” He snarled and turned away, but Laurel wasn’t done with him. It took her several minutes and dozens of questions—most answered by a grunt or a single word—to pry loose the facts that he had no siblings, his father had been the eldest son of a noble house, his mother a Highland lady. Both were dead.

“My parents are dead, too,” Laurel said softly. He didn’t ask for details, but she supplied them anyway, ending with how she and Malcolm had been raised by Duncan and Nesta. “Who had the raising of you?” she innocently inquired.

He started so violently that his stallion balked and pranced forward. “Easy, Rath.” Kieran’s tone as he quieted the horse was so gentle and patient he seemed like another man. So, he could be kind when it suited him. Talk of his upbringing was painful and she wondered why he was estranged from his family. By the time he had Rath calmed, Laurel had decided on a new line of questioning.

“He’s a fine beast. I’ve never seen so large a horse. He makes three of our shaggy little ponies,” she said.

Kieran’s lips twitched in what for him must be a smile, and he leaned forward to pat the stallion’s glossy black neck. “My English cousins, the Sommervilles, have been raising such horses for years. When I could afford to, I bought Rath from them.”

Laurel stored away the information. “Wrath as in anger?”

“Nay.” Another twitch. So, he had a sense of humor under all that surliness. “Rathadack. ’Tis Gaelic for—”

“‘Lucky omen.’ How come you to speak the ‘old tongue.’ ”

“I fostered in the Highlands with Lucais Sutherland, the husband of my Aunt Elspeth. How come you to speak the Gaelic?”

Laurel was delighted he’d asked a question. “We MacLellans keep many of the old ways.” She’d learned Gaelic from Nesta as preparation for the day when she’d be seeress of the MacLellans, but unless her gift improved, that day would never come.

What pained her? Kieran was concerned to see her lovely mouth turn down. What is it, he longed to ask, but keeping his distance was too ingrained. Already he knew too much about her for his own peace of mind.

Suddenly she straightened and shook off her sorrow with a force of will he admired, for he knew what strength it took. Her too-bright smile touched him even more. “I inherited my mother’s knack at weaving,” she said. “Though I haven’t her skill with details. Actually—” she leaned close, tone low and confiding “—my deer look like pigs, my people like sticks with hair, but I’ve a good eye for color.”

Kieran tried to close his ears but her clear, sweet voice slipped between the chinks in the wall he’d built around his heart, beguiling him with her mix of wit and self-deprecation. “And what did you inherit from your sire’s family?” he found himself asking.

“Naught I’ve the skill to use.” She turned away, but not before he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, he who’d steeled himself not to care for another’s feeling—except mayhap Rhys’s.

“’T-tis naught. I—I have something in my eye.”

“Let me see.” He angled closer. She pulled her mount away.

“Nay. I can look to myself.” Aye, so she could. She had as much pride and courage as most men. Her strength of character impressed him against his will.

“Will ye go up onto the rocks and get the lay of the land?” Rhys asked, reining in beside them.

Kieran scowled, conscious of how perilously close he’d come to opening himself up to Laurel. A serious mistake. Furious, he growled, “Take ten of our men and scout the cliffs for any trails that might offer access from the outside. I’ll take the other twenty along the river and do the same.” Studiously ignoring Laurel, he asked Ellis when the raiders attacked.

“In the dead of night when we are drowsing at our posts,” Laurel replied, angered by his snub. “We?” Kieran challenged.

Laurel lifted her chin. “I lead them in Grandda’s place.”

His black brows slammed together in clear disapproval. “The battlefield is no place for a female.”

Laurel couldn’t have agreed more. But... “If I didn’t go, Collie would. ’Tis my duty to act as Grandda’s eyes and ears.” She read grudging respect in his eyes before he urged Rath forward. It warmed her more than another’s effusive praise, for he didn’t seem to think much of her sex. Was a woman responsible for the ghosts that haunted him? She should let them rest, but she’d been born curious, and he was a mystery she longed to plumb.

When they cleared the tunnel through the cliff, she paused to study the broad plain that stretched between the mountains and the Lowther Hills a mile distant. Brooding clouds hung low in the sky, bringing with them an early dusk. The wind that stirred the trees along the river’s far bank held a promise of rain to come. As she watched the branches twist and bend, Laurel fancied she saw something...someone lurking in the shadows.

Shivering, she drew her cloak closer around her. ’Twas just her imagination. There was naught in the woods save birds and wee animals. She’d been affected by Kieran’s wariness, that was all.

He’d halted several paces ahead of her, back straight as the pines bordering the water, head up like a hound scenting the air. Then he unbent enough to lean toward his squire and comment on what he saw. It took her a moment to realize he was lessoning young Jamie in the art of soldiering, much as Father Stephen had taught her to read and cipher. ’Twas totally unexpected in a man who kept discipline by beating a man for breaking one order. Grudgingly she admitted Kieran could teach Collie things she couldn’t. Things her brother needed to know. They’d been wrong to shield her brother from the rougher side of life.

“Kieran has a canny knack for bringing out the best in others,” Rhys commented, walking his horse up alongside hers.

“Not in me, apparently?

Rhys chuckled. “Nay. But then, the path we are destined to tread is not always evident from the first.”

“What does that mean?”

“’Tis a thing my da used to say.”

Likely intended to convey some twining of her fate and Kieran’s. Well, she was having no part of it. “When you mount the cliff, have a care for loose stones.”

Rhys grinned but accepted the change of subject. “I take it ye’ve been up there?”

The memory of the last time she’d climbed the heights, scrambling for her life in the dead of night with Aulay hard on her heels and Freda baying after them made her belly clench. “Aye, ‘tis a fearsome drop straight down to the rocky riverbed.” As Aulay had discovered. “A deadly fall.” Especially when a wolfhound had ripped open your throat As Aulay had also learned. ’Twas a lesson he’d taken from this life into hell.

“If you’re through dallying with her, we’ve work to do,” Kieran called out.

Laurel looked up and found him staring at her. His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes seemed to glow in the shadowy depths of his helmet. Awareness tingled down her spine. For one moment she was cast back in time and place to the storage hut and the feel of his hands holding her as though he’d never let go. ’Twas almost as though something in him cried out to her, drew her closer when common sense urged distance.

“Command and I will obey without question,” Rhys said, and Kieran glanced away, mercifully breaking the spell.

“’Twill be a first, then,” Kieran grumbled. “That stretch of woods will have to go,” he announced, turning toward the river.

“Go?” Laurel straightened in her saddle. “But—”

“’Tis a hazard.” He looked first to Ellis, then young Jamie, everywhere but at her. “The reivers could sneak across yon field and mass there for an attack.”

“Now just a moment.” Laurel nudged her mare forward to confront Kieran. “Those woods are scarce ten feet wide in most spots. If a band of men did seek to hide in them, they’d be strung out from here to Kindo. And besides,” she added before he could give voice to the anger flushing his face, “my aunt says if we cut down the trees and burn the brush, ’twill destroy healing herbs that grow nowhere else in—”

“Better to wipe out a few plants than your clan.”

“I forbid it,” Laurel cried.

“You haven’t any say in the matter.” His jaw worked as though he meant to chew the trees down with his teeth.

Laurel gripped the reins so tightly her hands went numb. “We shall see about that. When Grandda and Aunt Nesta hear—”

“Your grandsire will agree with me.” Obviously he cared no more for her aunt’s opinion than he did for hers.

“Touch one tree and I’ll...I’ll—”

“You will follow my orders.”

“Or you’ll whip me?” Laurel asked, knowing he’d never dare.

His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “Have a care how far you push me, lady.” With that, he jammed down the visor of his helmet, effectively ending the argument, and barked orders to her clansmen. Twenty were to remain at the mouth of the tunnel while Rhys climbed the rocks and Kieran rode upstream.

“Will ye take the lady with ye?” Rhys asked.

“She waits here where ’tis safe.” He cast her a knowing glance. “Duncan would fret did harm befall his granddaughter.”

Clever man, Laurel thought as she watched Kieran descend the cliff path and ford the river. He’d known exactly how to gain her compliance. Clearly there was more to him than fierceness and brawn. She studied the width of his shoulders, the proud carriage of his head, a pang of longing coiled tight in her chest. He was truly a magnificent man. If only...

Nay. There was no use wishing for what could never be. Even were it not for the vague warning of her visions, Kieran wasn’t for her. He was too cold, too ruthless. If she ever wed again—and she must if she hoped to have bairns—’twould be to a warm, passionate man such as her father and grandfather. Not one who harshly ordered her woods razed.

Laurel’s uneasiness returned as she scanned the trees and bracken. The forest wasn’t as thick as the one covering the Lowthers, still a few men might hide there if they managed to cross the plain unseen. Her grandsire had stripped the near bank of the river bare for just that reason, but spared the far one because her aunt had argued in favor of saving the plant life.

Even as she stared at the woods, an image flashed into her mind. Two men. Dressed in black. Kneeling in the trees to her left. Watching. Spying. The hair at her nape rose.

Laurel shifted in the saddle. “Geordie, I saw...” The words died aborning even as the trooper looked at her. No one would believe her. “I’m going down to the riverbank,” she murmured.

The young trooper’s lips pursed in the midst of his auburn beard. “Sir Kieran said ye were to stay here.”

“No man has the ordering of me. ’Twill only take a moment, and I’ll be back ere he returns.” With a toss of her head, Laurel set her mare down the steep grade. Geordie didn’t try to stop her. He was half in love with her and had been deferring to her from the time they’d played together as bairns.

Laurel held her breath as her mare forded the river, expecting at any moment for the spies to leap out and grab her. Fool. Likely there weren’t any spies. But the feeling was so strong that she played out the drama, heading to the right when she’d gained the far bank, as though she followed Kieran’s trail. Once in the woods, she doubled back to the left, dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to a stout oak branch.

Unslinging the bow from her shoulder, she set off toward the grove she’d marked from the top of the ridge. ’Twas cool and dark under the trees, the spongy moss muffling her steps as she slowly walked along the river. Overhead, the leaves fluttered in the breeze that carried the rich smell of damp earth and herbs. Lacy ferns nodded to the same beat, heads bobbing over the rushing water. The familiar sounds and scents soothed her raw nerves.

The thought of chopping down the forest hurt, even though she knew Kieran was right; it did pose a danger. Rude and arrogant he might be, but the man clearly knew his trade.

A crackle in the brush up ahead stopped Laurel cold. Praying her dark clothes blended into the shadows, she held her breath.

“Where did MacLellan get those mercenaries?” a man snarled.

Laurel choked, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

“How am I to know?” The second voice was low and raspy as a rusty hinge.

“Bloody hell. They outnumber us now. We’ll have to lie low and send for the rest of my army,” the first man muttered.

“Fool,” the gravel voice said. “If we strike whilst the mercenaries are away from the valley, we’ll stand a better chance of overpowering the men they’ve left behind.”

Sweet Mary! ’Twas the reivers! Laurel trembled, struggling to hear over the frantic beat of her own heart.

“We’ll work our way downstream till we’re out of sight of the guards at the tunnel, cross the plain, fetch back the rest of the men and attack,” said the rougher of the two.

“They are my men, and I say we wait.” It seemed the smooth-talking man was the one in charge here.

What to do? Should she stay here until they left, or work her way back to her horse and ride to warn the men on the cliffs? Leave! her better sense urged. She took a cautious step back; a twig snapped beneath her boot.

“What was that?” This came from the gravel voice.

“Likely an animal. We’ve a good view of the river from here, no one could have sneaked up on us.”

“But there’s thick woods twixt here and the crossing, and we haven’t been watching careful since the mercenaries rode out.”

Laurel froze, heart pounding so hard she feared the spies would hear it. She couldn’t see them for the gloom and intervening foliage. With any luck, they couldn’t see her. But to move was to risk detection. Mind racing with equal parts fear and determination, she sifted through her options.

“I’m going to take a look around,” the gravel voice said.

That decided things. Laurel began backing up. Her stomach rolled as she saw a figure rise in the shadows only twenty feet away. ’Twas now or never. She lurched around and took off running through the trees.

“As ye see, the river cuts so close to the mountains that there isn’t any bank to speak of on the far side.” Ellis gestured toward sheer cliffs that seemed to sprout out of the water.

Kieran nodded, impressed by the natural barrier. “Is it like this the rest of the way around these mountains?”

“Aye. On the valley side the slopes are gentle enough to graze our beasts on, but the outside is steep and unforgiving. Every now and then a sheep wanders up to the top, loses its footing and tumbles down the other side. Breaks its neck, that.”

“Hmm. So, clearly if an attack comes, it must be mounted against the tunnel entrance.”

“Aye. But we’ve beaten them back twice. Mayhap they’ll grow tired of throwing men after a losing cause and leave us be.”

“It doesn’t seem so. Your lookouts reported seeing smoke in the Lowthers. Likely they are camped there, just waiting for an opportunity to strike. We’ll have to stop them,” he muttered. The sooner the better, then he’d collect his pay and ride away.

Ellis sighed. “How do we do that?”

“Take the fight to them. We’ll lay a trap and lure them into it.” Even as he spoke the words, Kieran felt his gut tighten with apprehension. What the...? A quick sweep of the plain, riverbank and mountain cliff yielded no sign of trouble. And yet... “We should be getting back.” It wasn’t a whim, it was necessity that had him tugging Rath around. He had to get back. He had to make certain Laurel was all right.

Now what had put that maggot in his brain? She’d amply proven her ability to protect herself. But...

Dread icing his skin beneath his woolen tunic, Kieran urged the stallion into a gallop, scarcely caring that the warhorse’s great strides soon carried him well ahead of his men. Just as he reached the river ford, a scream shattered the silence, echoing off the cliff face.

Laurel!

Kieran started toward the river, then realized the cry had came from downstream on this side of the water. Setting spurs to Rath, he raced along the tree line. Those damned trees. God alone knows why she’d ventured from the safety of the cliffs.

“Laurel! Laurel!” Kieran roared.

In answer, her horse suddenly burst from the brush up ahead. Eyes rolling white in their sockets, ears laid flat, it ran past as though pursued by the hounds of hell. Heedless of the danger, Kieran plunged into the trampled brush. A few paces into the woods, he came upon a scene that confirmed his worst fears.

Laurel, her back to a tree, her dirk flashing before her as she tried to keep a man at bay. Another lay on the ground, an arrow protruding from his arm. The dimness couldn’t hide the fear in her eyes or the blood on her tunic.

“Laurel!” Kieran leapt from Rath even before the stallion had come to a stop, and ran forward, drawing his sword.

“Kieran!” Laurel’s face shone with relief.

’Twas short-lived. For her opponent used the moment to knock her weapon aside. Grabbing hold of her arm, he jerked her back against him and laid the edge of his sword against the vulnerable curve of her neck. “Move and she dies”

“Harm her and ’twill take you days to die,” Kieran vowed, but he stopped. He dared not even look at Laurel for fear he’d go mad and charge the man who threatened her life.

“An empty promise,” snarled the man who held Laurel. To his cohort he called, “Get our mounts.”

The man, larger and better dressed than the other brigand, struggled to his feet and stumbled off through the woods. Despite his injury, he returned in a flash leading a pair of horses. So anxious was he to be off, that the man swung into the saddle even as he flung the reins of the second beast at his friend.

Kieran would be damned if he’d give her up. “If ’tis a hostage you want, take me in her place.”

“Nay,” Laurel exclaimed.

“She suits my purpose better,” her captor said, then started dragging her toward his horse.

Damn. Where were Ellis and the others? Kieran had never felt as powerless or as desperate as he did now. He couldn’t let them take Laurel. “If ’tis ransom you want, take my horse. His trappings alone are worth a king’s ransom.”

The reiver stopped and raised the visor on his helmet to look Rath over, revealing a hideously scarred face. Jesu, the man looked as though he’d climbed up from hell itself.

Poor Laurel was likely near to fainting in this fiend’s clutches. Kieran glanced at her, intent on offering what comfort he could. Fainting, ha! The little vixen raised that deadly knee of hers and buried it in the vulnerable juncture of her captor’s thighs. The man screamed, dropped her arm and bent forward.

Laurel dashed toward Kieran and he toward her. To him, it seemed to take a lifetime for them to meet.

“Oh, Kieran.”

She wrapped herself around him, panting and shivering. She felt so small, so vulnerable. Everything inside him tensed with the need to protect her.

“Hush. ’Tis all right,” he murmured, voice raw with fear, relief and something else he dared not examine. “Get behind me now, whilst I deal with these two.”

Just then, Ellis and the others burst into the clearing. The mounted outlaw wheeled and ran. But Kieran’s elation lasted only a second, for the downed reiver surged up from the ground. Coming in low with his sword, he struck Ellis’s horse full in the chest. The beast screamed and reared, dumping his rider and plowing into those who followed.

’Twas chaos. Men shouted and sawed on their reins in an attempt to avoid trampling Ellis or the thrashing horse. Panicked by the scent of blood, their mounts shrieked and bucked. In the resulting confusion, Kieran saw the scarred outlaw hobble to his horse. Mounted but bent over in the saddle, he wheeled away into the trees, spurring after his cohort.

“Damn, they won’t get away. Martin, head after them, and I will follow,” Kieran shouted, disentangling himself from Laurel.

“Nay!” She grabbed hold of his arm. “Nay, you mustn’t go after them. They said they had reinforcements in yon hills.”

“What?” Kieran looked away from her frightened face just in time to see all the men save Ellis take off into the trees.

“They’ll be trapped, ambushed as Grandda was.”

“Nay.” Kieran let out a shrill whistle, a long, keening blast, followed by a second, more urgent, note. Moments later it was answered in kind, and he nodded his satisfaction. “They’re doubtless ill pleased to be called off the chase, but ’tis one order they know better than to disregard.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Aye, God and a fair bit of training.” He set her from him. “Why did you leave the cliffs? Was it those damned herbs?”

“Nay, I...I thought-”

“The only thing you need think about is following my orders. A valuable horse is gravely wounded because you wanted a handful of herbs, and you...you could have been killed.”

“Why do you care?” Laurel asked. Beneath the noise and fury of his words, she sensed he was frightened...for her.

“You are my responsibility.” But Kieran knew his concern for her went beyond mere duty. How had she breached his defenses so quickly, made him long for what could never be? As he turned away and gave the order to return to Edin, he vowed to keep his distance from Lady Laurel for the duration of his stay in Edin.

Chapter Five

Though ’twas nearly midnight, hours since the attack in the woods, Laurel couldn’t sleep. Instead she lay on the narrow bed that had been hers since childhood, staring at the shadows the night candle cast on the canopy over her head. Ordinary shapes. Yet the way they writhed and twisted as the flame shifted in the light breeze coming through the open shutters made them seem...alive. Hideous monsters with ruined faces.

Shivering, Laurel closed her eyes, but the image remained, floating on the sea of fog. ’Twas the gravel-voiced man, scarred features twisted with hatred, hands outstretched to grab her.

Run! Run! She whirled away, found herself trapped in the mists. And suddenly Kieran was there, leaping in front of her with a savage cry. His sword gleamed in the half-light as it sliced through her attacker. The apparition vanished.

Kieran! she cried, but no sound passed the lump in her throat. Yet he heard and rounded on her, naked chest heaving, head thrown back, dark hair flowing free. Silky black ribbons clinging to the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders. Strong. Primitive. Yet ‘twasn’t his superior size that frightened her. ’Twas the hunger in his eyes. Gleaming like gemstones, they bored into her, fierce predatory eyes that saw too much, wanted even more. They struck an answering chord deep in her belly, igniting a flare of heat that threatened to consume her from the inside out. He wanted her.

And she wanted him. In ways she’d never thought possible. There was warmth beneath his cold, hard facade. And pain. Such pain. The need to heal overcame her fear. She extended her hand. “Come to me. You’ll be safe with me, I promise.”

His eyes widened. “Nay. It can never be. I can never trust again.” He backed away from her and was swallowed up by the mist.

“Kieran!” Laurel bolted upright in bed, arms extended to catch him, but they grasped empty air. ’Twas only a dream, another stupid vision. She flopped down on the bed, hollow and aching inside. Damn. How could she look at him again without remembering the passion that had briefly flared between them? Or his anguished dismissal of her. What did it mean?

She struggled to make sense of the dream. It must have been fueled by her gratitude for his rescue. If not for Kieran she wouldn’t be tucked in her bed, the scratch on her neck covered with her aunt’s balm and a linen bandage: she’d be dead. Or worse...in the hills somewhere, helpless prey for that...that animal with the horrible face and mad eyes. Sweet Mary, those eyes...

Nay, do not think of that! Laurel clenched the bed linens and forced the foul notion away. She was safe. Safe in Edin Tower. Kieran’s men guarded the pass and just before her aunt had hustled her away, she’d heard him order twice the usual complement of MacLellans to patrol Edin’s walls. Still her mind refused to let go of the incident in the woods. There was something that nagged at her.

Laurel stopped fighting the memory and instead began to pick it apart. Two things struck her when she’d finished. The unmarked reiver was English, and he’d mentioned sending for an army.

An army! Oh, why hadn’t she remembered this before? She had to tell Grandda and Ellis. Tossing aside the covers, she grabbed a woolen robe from the foot of her bed and dragged it on over her night shift while she stepped into a pair of leather slippers. Halfway to the door, she realized ’was the middle of the night and no one would be up save the troopers on the wall.

Waking her grandfather was out of the question. Ellis. He wouldn’t mind being awakened for something so important. She fairly flew down the darkened corridor, took the circular stairs at a reckless clip and stuck her head into the great hall to see if Ellis was sitting up drinking and talking as was his wont. The fire had been banked for the night, and a single torch burned at the far end of the room. In the gloom, she could make out the servants and such men as weren’t standing watch, curled up in their blankets and snoring sonorously on the rush-strewn floor.

As the commander of Edin’s guard, Ellis rated a small wall chamber in the old wing. Laurel made for it as quickly as she could but found the room empty. His armor and sword were missing from the corner. He must be at the pass. Doubtless by Kieran’s order. It shamed her that she’d been too dazed by the attack to give a thought to defensive strategy. Feet dragging, she retraced her steps till she stood at the bottom of the stairs. She should seek her bed, but despite the late hour and all she’d been through, she feared she wouldn’t sleep. Worse was the fear she’d dream again. Mayhap she’d look in on Freda and the pups. That never failed to soothe her.

Outside, the courtyard was deserted, but near as bright as day. Normally one or two torches were lit to guide the steps of any who needed to find the jakes in the night. Now, however, a dozen or more burned smokily from steel rings set in the tower and outbuildings. More of Kieran’s doing, Laurel thought, giving him high praise for his precautions.

Easing the door shut, she started down the outer staircase. ‘Twas built of stone with a wooden covering to keep off the rain, so ’twasn’t till she’d reached the ground that she realized it had rained while her aunt was fussing over her. The worn stone of the courtyard gleamed wetly in the light, and the air was so heavy with moisture her breath fogged as she exhaled.

“Who goes there?” demanded a rough voice.

Laurel squeaked and turned to find Geordie behind her, sword out. “What are you doing sneaking about in the dead of night?” she demanded,

He scowled and stuck out his chest. “I’m on guard duty.” Poor Geordie, only a few inches taller than her five feet and four inches, with a youthful face and freckles he tried to hide under a sparse red beard.

“Why are you guarding the inner ward?”

“Sir Kieran said ‘twas needful, what with the poor excuse for a wall we’ve got. Said ’twouldn’t keep out a bairn.”

“That man is too quick to find fault.”

Geordie sheathed his sword. “Never say ye’re not taken with him, too. The lasses have been all atwitter ever since he came.”

A pang shot through her. It couldn’t be jealousy. “Doubtless he’s twittering back. A man like him would draw lasses like—”

“Dunno. He spends all his time with his men.”

Laurel nodded, her mind back on the army. If she told Geordie, he’d do something foolish. If she told Kieran, he wouldn’t believe her. Or worse, she’d let slip the story of her visions and he’d laugh at her. Best to wait for Ellis. “Well, good night to you, Geordie.” She set off for the stable.

“Are ye planning on riding out?” he asked, keeping pace.

“In my bed robe?”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “’Tis just that he said ye weren’t to ride out alone.”

“He what? Of all the...the arrogant, high-handed...No doubt he threatened to whip you if you disobeyed.”

“Nay. He said if aught bad happened to ye, he’d skin alive the man who let ye leave the tower alone.”

Laurel sighed. Obviously fear was the only tactic Kieran understood. Her people would have done as he asked simply to keep her safe. “I’m just going to visit Freda. Then I promise I’ll go straight back to bed.” If not to sleep. Still it satisfied Geordie, who clumped off on his rounds.

Tomorrow she’d have to have another talk with Kieran about his deplorable tactics, she decided as she slipped inside the byre. Here, too, ’twas usually dark, for fear a lighted torch would start a fire. But someone had brought over from the hall a sturdy iron-pike candle holder and placed it in the middle of the stable. Five feet tall, its base bolted in a pan of sand, the stand held a single candle as thick as her forearm.

“Of all the careless...” Laurel hurried down the aisle between the stalls and stood on tiptoe, lips pursed to douse—

“Leave it,” growled a horribly familiar voice.

Spinning around, she came face-to-face with the man she’d hoped not to see anytime soon. “Kieran.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and...” Wait. Why was she stammering like a lass caught filching sweetmeats. “I don’t owe you an ex—”

“You were nearly killed this afternoon.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her into the light. His gaze went instantly to the linen swathe around her neck. “Your aunt says ’twas just a scratch, but you are never to disobey me!” he shouted.

Before Laurel could frame an answer, a low snarl came from the shadows at the back of the barn. Freda! Laurel wrenched free of Kieran’s grasp and whirled. “Easy, lass,” she crooned, careful to keep her body between Kieran’s and the hound, who crept toward them on her belly, ears back, teeth bared. For all she didn’t like Kieran’s methods, she had no desire to see his throat ripped open as Aulay’s had been.

“I made peace with the bitch when I stabled Rath this eve,” Kieran said, and tried to step around Laurel.

“Only because you weren’t threatening me then.” Laurel moved with him, arms spread to warn him back. “Freda—”

“Nonsense, I’ve a way with animals” He put a hand on Laurel’s shoulder. Freda snarled, the muscles flexing beneath her sleek coat as she tensed to spring.

“For God’s sake, stay quiet, Kieran. Freda has scant patience with loud males who threaten her mistress. ‘Tis all right, Freda. He...he’s a...a friend.” The words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t certain what she felt for Kieran. “That’s a good lass,” she continued when Freda ceased to snarl. So far, so good. “Crouch down behind me,” she told Kieran, and knelt in the straw. Wonder of wonders, he did as he was told. “Now, put your hand beneath mine.” She held her right hand out to Freda, grateful to see ’twas far steadier than her heartbeat. Until Kieran slipped his hand under hers. His skin felt incredibly hot. The silky-rough swirl of dark hair covering the back prickled against her palm and made her pulse dance.

“Easy,” Kieran murmured, and it took her a moment to realize ’twas to her he spoke, not Freda.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t expected you’d feel so...warm.” Now she felt warm, hot, actually. Just as she had in her dream.

“Get on with calming the dog.” He sounded more Scots and less pleased with her than usual. So much for the dream being true.

“Of course.” Affecting a cheery voice, which Freda mercifully didn’t dispute, Laurel called the hound forward and held out the pair of hands—hers and Kieran’s. As she waited for Freda to sniff them over, Laurel stared at the long, tanned fingers laced with her own smaller, paler ones. Seeing them linked thus made her belly clench, and for an instant, she could see them lying together, their naked limbs entwined, his face bent closer to hers...

“Oh.” Laurel gasped and jerked her hand back, severing the connection and shattering the mental image.

“Shh,” Kieran muttered, his attention still on Freda. He held his hand under Freda’s questing nose, waited till she gave them a sniff of acceptance, then ran his long fingers over the hound’s muzzle, to scratch between her eyes.

Freda gave a blissful sigh and probably would have sat there all night, but one of her pups gave a wee bleat. Reminded of her duties, she dashed away. Halfway to her nest of blankets, she looked back at Kieran and gave a soft woof of invitation.

“I guess that means I’ve passed her test.” He lithely climbed to his feet. The crooked half smile he tossed over his shoulder before he followed Freda was such a surprise that Laurel rubbed her eyes to make certain she hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t, for there it was again, focused on the tiny pup he’d lifted from the rest. So, he did know how to smile, she thought. Why, then, did he snarl and scowl at everyone?

Intrigued, Laurel drifted over and sank down beside him in the straw, absently fondling the nose Freda shoved at her. Gentle. She hadn’t thought Kieran Sutherland had a gentle bone in his body, yet there was such gentleness in the way he held the fragile pup.

He looked over, saw her watching him and blinked. Instantly his body tensed, and he started to set the pup back down, but Laurel caught hold of his hand and stayed him. She felt him trembled. Clearly he was embarrassed to be seen without his surly mask. She was just as determined not to let him slip it on again.

“They are so dear,” Laurel crooned. With her other hand she reached out to stroke the wee one’s downy head.

“Aye,” Kieran managed to say, but his mind wasn’t on the pup. Laurel’s touch sent a wave of liquid fire through him. ‘Twas worse now than a few moments ago when his attention had been focused on winning over Freda. Now he felt raw, exposed. He watched her pet the pup and swore he could feel her stroking his body. ’Twas heaven and hell.

“You must have had dogs as a lad,” Laurel said, her voice another kind of caress.

He wanted her. Wanted to feel her hands on him, hear her crying out as he joined his body to hers. Jesu, it must be his weariness of the late hour, because no woman had ever affected him so strongly. Think of something else. Anything else. He gazed down at her head, bent now over their joined hands and it struck him what was different about her tonight. “Your hair is loose.”

“Aye. I was abed, but I couldn’t sleep. You, too?” She looked up at him and Kieran nearly swallowed his tongue. Candlelight turned her unbound hair into a fiery halo. Redgold curls framed her delicate, oval face, tumbling down over her slender shoulders to reach the curve of her hips. Wild and impudent, those wayward curls were a reflection of her very nature. One tendril had sneaked inside the vee of her robe. His fingers twitched with the urge to follow it. “Kieran?” she asked.

“What? Oh, aye. Nay.” He felt like a man possessed, his senses aflame with a desire he’d sworn never to give full rein. “I—I am used to sleeping on the ground in the open and found your grandsire’s bed overly soft and the bedchamber stuffy.” And lonely. But he couldn’t tell her that. Conscious he’d already revealed too much, he retreated behind a barricade that had stood him in good stead. Anger. He’d frighten her off. “Why did you disobey my order this afternoon?”

She jumped up, as he’d hoped, but the pain that darkened her eyes hurt him. Hands falling to her sides, hem trailing in the straw, she walked toward the candle as slowly as a prisoner bound for the gallows.

“What is it?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

Dare she tell him the truth? If she didn’t, how could she expect him to confide in her? And she wanted that, needed to know him, to understand him. “I had a vision,” she mumbled, voice low and hoarse. “I—I don’t expect you to believe me....”

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