Taming The Lion. Suzanne Barclay
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are mercenaries, then,” said Adair.
“Hakon couldn’t afford to buy one man, much less—”
“He could if he pledged to pay them after he’d gotten his hands on our distillery,” Adair growled.
Eoin stuck his handsome face into Adair’s weathered one. “Lot you know, old man. Mercenaries want coin, not promises.”
“Hush, the both of you. I cannot think what to do with you ripping at each other.” Catlyn returned her gaze to the man who had hailed them moments ago. Ross Sutherland was the name he had given Eoin when he sought shelter for his band. He claimed they were travelers lost on their way to Inverness.
In defiance of the biting wind, Ross Sutherland sat straight in the saddle, controlling his restive mount with ease. His face was raised expectantly toward the gatehouse window where Catlyn stood, but there was nothing of the supplicant in his pose. Arrogant, he was, from the tilt of his head to the stubborn set of his square jaw. The rest of his face was hidden in the shadows cast by his visor, but she knew his eyes would be as dark and imperious as his bearing.
“Not Fergussons,” Eoin said. “I say we send someone down to look them over closely and—”
“You get no say,” Adair snapped.
Eoin flushed. His eyes—the big brown ones that had looked so sincere all the while he lied about giving her a lifetime of love and devotion—slid to Catlyn. “The decision is yours.”
She resisted the urge to slump beneath this latest burden. “We cannot afford to let them inside. If they were fewer.” Five and twenty, she’d counted. True there were one hundred men of fighting age under her roof, but...
“I know it pains your tender heart to leave them to the elements.” Eoin laid a hand on her arm. “Let me go down and speak with them, see if I can learn their intent.”
Catlyn extracted her arm from his grasp. Once his touch had made her blood warm with possibilities. That was before she had learned Eoin had been warming Dora’s bed all the while he’d been courting her. “’Tis a kindly offer, but if they captured you—”
“Good riddance,” Adair grumbled. He’d been all for tossing Eoin out for breaking Catlyn’s heart.
Catlyn scowled at her captain. “If they took Eoin, we’d be forced to bargain with them.” Pleasant as it was to think of life without Eoin trailing after her.
“Hello the keep!” shouted Ross Sutherland.
Catlyn whipped back to the window and opened her mouth.
“We cannot let you in,” Adair leaned out and bellowed.
“Not very Christian of you.”
“A man’s gotta look to his own.”
“We mean you no harm.”
“The world is full of liars.” Adair glanced at Eoin.
A rumble of thunder cut off Sutherland’s reply. A few fat raindrops began to fall from the darkening sky.
Catlyn flinched. “A moment, sir knight,” she called down, ignoring Adair’s grunt of disapproval.
Ross Sutherland’s mouth swept up in a smile, his teeth a slash of white in the gloom. “My thanks for your intervention, my lady. It is getting right wet.”
“Oh, we cannot let you inside, but if you’ll wait a moment, I’ll have food and blankets lowered to you.”
The smile became an angry slash. “We’ve blankets aplenty. Yours would no doubt soak through as quickly as ours. What we need is a roof over our heads ere this storm breaks loose.”
Catlyn glanced at Adair and sighed. “I—I am sorry, Sir Ross, but we cannot.” Pride made her add, “Please do not think us uncharitable, but we’ve a powerful enemy hereabouts and dare not take the chance that you are allied with them.”
“So be it.” Ross Sutherland obviously had his pride, too, for he wheeled his great horse and started down the narrow road to the plateau below.
Kennecraig Tower sat on the edge of a deep cleft in the mountain, stark and nearly unassailable. The only access to it was up this trail. Archers on the walls could send a withering stream of arrows or even hot pitch down on the attackers who must move single file up the trail. Every Boyd knew that Kennecraig could not be taken, except by treachery.
Reason enough to turn the Sutherlands away, Catlyn thought. Still she hated doing it. Cupping her hand to her mouth, she called out, “There’s a thick stand of pines along river.” She expected no reply and got none, but she watched them anyway.
When they reached the plateau, the troop stopped abruptly. The reason came clear, for a horde of men suddenly stepped out from behind the huge boulders rimming the plateau.
Catlyn gasped, recognizing their dark plaid with its distinctive threads of red and white. “Fergussons!” And in the fore was Hakon, of the sparse figure and long blond hair.
“Hakon’s leading them.” Eoin scowled. “What are they doing this close to Kennecraig?”
“They must have been waiting to attack us,” said Adair. “If these Sutherlands had not spotted them—”
“Sweet Mary. You don’t think Hakon will harm them.”
“I do not know.”
“But these men have done nothing to Hakon.” Catlyn held her breath and watched the drama unfold in the gathering gloom. She saw Ross Sutherland gesture toward Kennecraig, the wind whipping his cloak back from wide shoulders as he explained their predicament. ’Maybe Hakon will take the travelers back to Dun-Dubh and give them shelter.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Hakon drew his sword. The Boyds’ gasps of horror were drowned out by a sharp clap of thunder. Lightning flashed across the sky. In the spats of dark and light, the battle was joined. The Sutherlands fought valiantly, but the Fergussons were pressing them back. When the first Sutherland fell, Catlyn made her decision.
“Adair! We must do something,” she cried.
“Aye. Archers to the wall!” Wheeling, Adair ran down the tower steps with a swiftness that belied his forty years. Eoin and Catlyn scrambled after him.
“What are you going to do?” she demanded, grabbing Adair’s arm at the base of the steps.
“Get the Sutherlands inside if I can.”
“You won’t have to go out there, will you?” A hundred fears crowded her mind. Concern for her kinsmen’s welfare. Terror that the Fergussons would somehow sneak inside Kennecraig.
“Aye.” Already the creak of chains and gears accompanied the winching up of the portcullis whose iron bars shielded the gate. “But the archers’ll cover us and see no Fergusson gets up the road. Stay inside, mind,” he admonished, patting her cheek. “You’d best be ready with bandages and the like.”
He was gone before Catlyn could protest. As she turned away from the gate, she nearly fell over a knot of household servants. They clung together, whimpering and shivering. Before Hakon Fergusson entered their lives, the folk of Kennecraig had not known fear or violence.
“Is it true?” asked Ulma. “Is it Hakon?” Her maid’s normally ruddy face was white, her merry blue eyes stark.
“It is.” Her parents had taught her that the truth, even a terrible truth, was better than a lie. “But his plans were foiled by the Sutherlands. Some of them have been wounded,” she continued briskly. “We must make preparations to tend them.”
“What shall we do?” a frightened voice cried.
“Dora will know what needs...” Catlyn stopped. Dora was no longer housekeeper here. Catlyn had little training in such matters. Between them, Dora and Catlyn’s mother had run the keep, but Catlyn had dismissed