Lion's Legacy. Suzanne Barclay
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“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