Lion's Legacy. Suzanne Barclay

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

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