Lion's Lady. Suzanne Barclay

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      Chapter Four

      Rowena finished her ale and set the cup aside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Lion said you were to wait here.”

      “He does not have the ordering of me.”

      “Nay, but he is finding a room for you.”

      “And I can guess where it will be.”

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

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

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

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

      “Get away, lad,” John snarled.

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

      Rowena gasped. “Sim, do not—”

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

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

      Cursing under his breath, John moved off.

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

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

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

      Rowena managed a smile. “Thank you for noting my plight.”

      “Oh, we’ve been keeping an eye on ye,” Red Will said.

      “Per Lord Lion’s orders?” she asked faintly.

      “Aye. He doesna want anyone harassing his lady.”

      “I am not—”

      “Lady Rowena?” inquired an imperious voice.

      Rowena spun her head, braced for yet another confrontation.

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

      “Ach, ’tis Lady Glenda,” Red Will explained.

      “My lady.” Rowena dropped a hasty curtsy.

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

      Rowena smiled wryly. “My backside can attest to that.”

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