Taming The Lion. Suzanne Barclay

choosing ye for the task of getting it.” Seamus chuckled. “Young Catlyn was fair struck dumb by that pretty face of yers. Should be child’s play for ye to pry what we need from her.”

      “I will get what he wants.” Ross had no other choice. The safety of his clan was at stake. “But I will do it my way.” He glared at Seamus. “And there’s to be no more bloodshed.”

      “Like my master, I will do what is needful to win,” Seamus whispered as they crested the steps and entered the keep. “He said as how I was to watch ye close like. At the first sign ye’re failing, I’m to take matters into my own hands.”

      Chapter Two

      

      

      Catlyn sat in her accustomed place beside Adair at the supper table. Her hands clenched tight in her lap, her cheeks still burning with humiliation.

      She had acted like a fool earlier in the courtyard, staring at Sir Ross like a green lass. You would think she had never seen a handsome man before.

      Catlyn shifted on the bench, cursing the impulse that had led her to don these trappings of a fine lady. The pins holding her comet of braids pressed into her head, making it ache. The high-necked woolen gown itched. She had wanted to appear mature and assured when she encountered the knight again. Instead, she felt foolish, like a child dressed up in her mother’s clothes.

      Around her, the folk of Clan Boyd talked and sipped ale while they waited for the Sutherlands to arrive. They did not gossip or engage in idle chatter. Uppermost in everyone’s mind was the all-important whiskey. Roland and Wesley argued the merits of triple distilling. Eoin, Rabbie and Cinaed, chief crofter, went over the plans for bringing in the barley.

      Catlyn chafed to be away from here. “’Tis obvious they are not coming,” she said to Adair. “I will take a bowl of stew and go down to my counting room.”

      Adair laid a restraining hand on her arm. “Patience, lass. I am sure they will be along directly. It takes time to get men and horses settled into a new place.”

      “There is no reason why I must be here to greet them,” she grumbled. “They are not guests, only wayfarers.”

      “Hmm.” His sharp eyes roved over her feast-day clothes.

      Catlyn lifted her chin. “I did not lace myself into this uncomfortable gown out of vanity, but to show these warriors what sort of lady holds sway here.” And to prove something to Sir Ross, whispered a traitorous voice. She tamped it down.

      “I know it is not your way to preen for a man. Has one of these Sutherlands caught your fancy?” His eyes twinkled. “Sir Ross seemed to stare at you quite boldly.”

      “Him.” Catlyn snorted. “I’d say he is the sort who stares at every lass that way, hoping he can coax her into his bed. Well, we will have none of that while he is here.”

      “Quite right.” Adair frowned. “Still it is time and past you found a man to wed.”

      “I know my duty,” she replied stiffly. She would need an heir, a child of her blood to be the guardian of the family legacy. But after Eoin’s betrayal, she could not imagine trusting any man enough to wed with him, to make him privy not only to her clan’s business but to her person. Her heart.

      “Perhaps when we go to the Doune Fair to sell the Finglas Water you will meet someone who’ll take your fancy.”

      “I have already met them all, and none will do.”

      “Gillegorm MacAdam is a fine, upstanding lad.”

      “He has buckteeth, clammy hands and not a lick of sense between those two great ears of his.”

      “Aye, well, you won’t look at any of the handsome ones.”

      Catlyn ground her teeth in exasperation. “Just because I will not wed a pretty, faithless rogue does not mean I want an ugly husband. Would you have my bairns look like Gillegorm?”

      “Nay.” Adair chuckled. “I just want you to be happy.”

      “I am. I have my work, my friends, my kin.” And hopes that one day her mother would come to her senses. “What need I with some troublesome male?” She pursed her lips. “Speaking of which, how long must we let the knights stay?”

      “A day or two. Till the storm passes and their wounded are on the mend.”

      “Good. I do not like having strangers in the keep. I know I asked to have them brought inside,” she added before Adair could. “But I...” I did not know how oddly Sir Ross would affect me. His darkly handsome face, the barely leashed power in his unusual eyes, played havoc with her senses.

      “I’ve got men watching them, if it makes you feel easier.”

      It did not. Deep inside, she knew she would not be comfortable till he was gone. “You do not trust them, either?”

      “These days we must be on guard against everyone. But they’ve been orderly thus far and given me no cause for alarm.”

      Catlyn wished she could say the same. Remembering the way Sir Ross had looked in the courtyard, his eyes changing from anger to appreciation as they moved over her, made her heart trip. She steadied it with the iron will that had gotten her through so many trials. “I suppose we owe them a few nights’ lodging for saving us from Hakon.”

      “Aye, that they did.” Adair took a swallow of ale. “They are skilled fighters, that’s sure. You should have seen Sir Ross handle that claymore of his.” He shook his head in wonder. “And he sets high standards for his men.”

      “How can you tell that?”

      “Little things. One man was cut down while guarding Sir Ross’s back. The knight delayed his retreat, put himself in danger, to rescue the fallen man. Carried him in over his saddlebow, he did. And, too, each of the Sutherlands saw to the comfort of his mount before settling in himself. They washed their weapons and themselves ere they accepted our invite to dine. They’ve demanded nothing and expressed gratitude for what we have given them.”

      Catlyn nodded, recalling the arrangements Adair had made. Sir Ross and Sir Mathew were lodged in her solar, it being the only suitable chamber. The others were sleeping in the barracks. Old Freda had seen to their wounds. The smithy would mend the dents in their weapons and shields.

      Catlyn was astute enough to realize that these “little things” spoke volumes about a man’s character. “I suppose you think me foolish for being wary of them.”

      “Not at all.” Adair patted her hand with his callused paw. “You are unused to such warlike men.” He sighed. “But we could use such a troop of experienced swordsmen just now.”

      “Surely you are not suggesting we hire them.” Saints above, if a few moments in Sir Ross’s company tied her belly in knots, how would she survive having him around for days? Weeks?

      Instead of a quick denial, Adair heaved another sigh. “Even if we had the coin to pay them, I’d be remiss in my duties if I suggested we take on men whose mettle we do not know.”

      Relief coursed through her veins. “My thoughts exactly.” The sooner Sir Ross left, the better.

      “The Sutherlands are come,” someone called above the chatter in the crowded room. Instantly a cheer went up.

      Catlyn whipped her head around, eyes narrowing against the thin pall of smoke hanging on the damp air.

      Ross Sutherland stood on the threshold, his head high, inky hair blending with the stark tunic he wore over close-fitting black hose. He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her clansmen’s gratitude, like a prince accepting his due.

      The fine hair on Catlyn’s nape prickled. She did not like him. He was too assured, too haughty by half.

      “I’ll say one thing, this knight has the look