Lion's Lady. Suzanne Barclay

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      Chapter Two

      The journey to Blantyre was every bit as horrible as Finlay had warned her it would be. Rain turned the roads into mud-clogged trails, slowing their progress through the mountain passes. A two-day journey dragged into five interminable ones, riding at the mercy of the wind-driven rain and Eneas’s equally foul temper. Each night, he’d insisted on camping in the woods, with only their plaids and the oiled cloth Wat had sent along for protection from the elements.

      Just to spite her, Rowena was certain. Wet, exhausted and miserable as she was, she refused to give Eneas the satisfaction of showing it. She rode behind him, shoulders square, with only the heat of her determination to keep the cold at bay.

      “When do you think we’ll reach Blantyre?” grumbled Harry Gunn, the young soldier Finlay had sent along as her squire.

      “Ye’ve got to have someone to do yer bidding and watch out for ye,” Finlay had muttered. “Seeing as how ye’ve refused to take along one of the maids.”

      “I must leave Jennie here to care for Paddy. Bad enough he’s lost his father. Now his mother is riding away. He needs someone to cosset him and reassure him. And the other maids are either too old to withstand the ride or too flighty.”

      “The earl’s court is likely to be a rough place.”

      “I’ve lived among rough men all my life,” she’d said with a toss of her head, rather enjoying the freedom to decide things for herself after so many years under Padruig’s thumb.

      “I heard Eneas tell Clem we should reach Blantyre sometime today,” Rowena said now to her freckle-faced escort.

      “Not a moment too soon.” Harry grimaced as he shifted. “Me bum’s permanently flattened, I’ll wager.”

      Rowena smiled and blew a drop of rain off the end of her nose. “I know just what you mean.”

      “Will it be a grand place, do ye think?”

      “I shouldn’t wonder, for Finlay tells me it is the ancient seat of Clan Shaw, and they a wealthy house.” Oh, she did so want to make a good impression on the mighty earl who’d taken up residence there. She had a moment’s qualm, thinking of the woolen gown carefully folded into her saddle pouch. It was the finest thing she’d ever owned, and Jennie had assured her that the deep blue color was vastly becoming. Yet Rowena feared the noble courtiers would see through the bright plumage to her drab MacBean roots.

      “Do ye think there’ll be lassies there, and all?”

      “For shame, Harry,” she said. “You are supposed to be guarding me, not chasing after a flock of light skirts.”

      “My lady! I—I assure ye I didn’t mean it, I—”

      “I was teasing, Harry.”

      He glanced sidelong at her, dark eyes wide under a tangle of dripping red hair. “I’ve never heard ye jest before, my lady. Ye were always a most serious and proper sort.”

      “I suppose that’s true.” But there had been a time, a brief time, during that wild, glorious summer with Lion, when she’d been gay and happy and loved. The memory brought with it a pang of longing so sharp she could smell the heather that had grown in the fields. Six years it had been since she’d been held or kissed. Six long, lonely years.

      “Lady Rowena?”

      She started. “Aye, Harry.”

      “Look up ahead. Eneas’s scouts have ridden in with word we’re within a league of Blantyre Castle.”

      “Praise be,” Rowena said. “Can we pause that I might change into fresh clothes and try to get a comb through my hair?”

      “I doubt Eneas’ll stop, and I’d not want to linger alone in these woods.”

      Rowena followed his wary gaze into the dark, dripping forest, which seemed to close in on them. Steam rose from the black boulders crowding the edge of the trail. It mingled with the mist in the trees, forming a dense fog within whose depths all manner of evil might lurk. Somewhere nearby a hawk’s lonely cry split the silence, sending a shiver down Rowena’s spine. “I suppose you are right. Hopefully the earl will understand.”

      “Ye look fine as ye are, in any case, my lady. Except for the bit of mud on yer cheek.”

      Rowena hastily scrubbed at her face. “Oh dear, it is vitally important that the earl look kindly on me.”

      “We must hurry along,” Harry urged. “Eneas and his men have reached yon bend in the road, and we’ll lose sight of them.”

      Rowena lifted her head to find Eneas glancing back over his shoulder, watching her from the head of the column. The hatred in his eyes settled the question. He’d like naught better than to lose her...or see her fall prey to some lethal accident. “You are right, Harry. Let us make haste.”

      The words had scarcely left Rowena’s mouth when the thud of muffled hoofbeats came from behind them, mingled with the low rumble of male voices.

      “Mayhap ’tis scouts from Blantyre come to welcome us,” Rowena whispered.

      “Nay, they come too fast” Harry freed his sword. “Quickly, make for Eneas and the others,” he urged.

      Too late. Mounted men erupted from the trees behind them, brandishing swords and screaming fit to curdle the blood.

      Eneas showed his true mettle. Or rather, his back. He fled ahead of the attacking horde without a backward glance, his men scrambling after him like a pack of terrified rabbits.

      “Sweet Mary, we are lost,” Rowena cried.

      Harry wheeled to face the oncoming men. “Ride, my lady,” he shouted. “Dinna stop till ye reach Blantyre.”

      There was no time to argue, no time to thank Harry. Digging her heels into her horse’s ribs, Rowena sped along the track Eneas had taken. Branches slapped at her face; briars tore at her clothes. Behind her, she heard the grate of steel on steel, followed by an ominous cry.

      Harry.

      There was no time to mourn, no time for pain and regret. Rowena focused all her energies on staying in the saddle and keeping her mount moving on the track. A minute they rode, maybe two, before she heard the pounding beat of hot pursuit.

      “Faster! Faster!” Rowena urged, giving her mare its head. Her heart flew into her throat as the beast stumbled. “Nay.” She pulled back on the reins, fighting for balance, praying for a miracle. It was not granted. With a sharp equine squeal of protest, the horse went down, throwing Rowena off over its head.

      She hit the ground СКАЧАТЬ