Lion's Lady. Suzanne Barclay

is only recently widowed.”

      Lion nodded, gut tightening with guilt.

      “According to Eneas Gunn, Padruig’s brother and the leader of this band, they believe Padruig was killed by thieves.”

      Did she mourn him? Had she loved him? “Eneas is the wretch who ran off and left her to MacPherson?”

      “The same. I’d say there is little love lost ’twixt him and Rowena, for when we’d routed the MacPhersons, he was not anxious to go back and find his brother’s widow.”

      “Bastard. I’ll see she’s kept safe,” Lion murmured. “Whether she wants my help or not.”

      “I still cannot believe Alexander had Padruig killed simply because he would not bring his few men to Blantyre.”

      “The Wolf grows more and more unstable in his thinking.” Silently Lion cursed the earl for wreaking havoc in the Highlands. ’Twas not peace Alexander wanted, but power. Under the guise of curbing lawlessness, he planned to gather about him a huge Highland army. With it, he’d wrest the throne from his weak, ineffectual brother, Robert. “If only we could find proof of Alexander’s true intentions.”

      “Mad he may be, but Alexander is clever, too clever to leave evidence lying about.”

      “But we know he has designs on the crown. He has promised that when he’s king, he’ll grant land and other favors to some of the more powerful clans, the ones he cannot now sway to his side with gold or intimidation. Rory Campbell saw the document Alexander sent to Archie, chief of the Campbells.”

      Alarmed, Rory had ridden to Lion’s family at Kinduin, where he’d been fostered as a lad. Lion had only just returned from France when Rory burst in with his tale of treachery and intrigue. They’d agreed that Lucais, Lion’s father, would go to Edinburgh to try and convince the king to recall Alexander from the Highlands. Rory would return to Blantyre and secure the promissory note. But Rory had been ambushed and killed. The murder of his friend had launched Lion into a desperate scheme of his own to infiltrate Alexander’s ranks. He’d been right successful, too. The earl trusted him...as much as the wily wolf trusted anyone.

      “We’ve had Alexander’s things searched and found naught,” Bryce glumly reminded him.

      It had not been easy getting a Sutherland, disguised as a servant, into the chamber Alexander used at Blantyre. “Naill could not get into the locked strongbox. ’Tis the most likely place for the earl to store such damaging evidence.”

      “We must somehow get inside that chest, no matter how dangerous,” Bryce murmured. Searching the personal belongings of a man as powerful and ruthless as Alexander Stewart would be akin to walking bare naked through a room full of vipers. One false step and they’d all be dead. “Mayhap we might slip a sleeping potion into his wine and take the key from around his neck while he is unconscious.”

      Lion shook his head. “If he suspected that he’d been drugged, he’d kill every servant in the place...and mayhap even harm Lady Glenda.” Lion liked the woman, who was chatelaine of Clan Shaw’s stronghold Blantyre Castle. Three months ago, Alexander had decided the large, strategically placed fortress would make the perfect headquarters from which to conduct his “pacification” of the Highlands. He’d presented himself at the castle gates, and when Lady Glenda had balked, had proceeded to seduce the homely, middle-aged woman. Lately, however, there’d been signs the earl wearied of his mistress.

      “We must come up with something,” Lion said grimly. And while he was on the subject of problems, he added, “I will think on it whilst I escort Rowena to wherever she is bound.”

      “Eneas said they were destined for Blantyre Castle.”

      Lion gasped and whirled to stare at the woman whose image had haunted him—waking and sleeping—during his years in France. She was looking down at the injured man his lads carried in a litter. Harry had received a grave wound to the side trying to defend her. His sacrifice had given Lion the time to reach her. Harry was unlikely to live, but that hadn’t discouraged Rowena from tearing up her own shift to fashion a bandage for him. She’d always had a soft spot for hurt things.

      “Why are they going there?” Lion asked.

      “Clan business, Eneas told me. Nastily, I might add, as though I had no right to inquire into his affairs.”

      “Any man who leaves a woman in distress is no man at all.” He looked back again, studying the delicate line of her face. “And Blantyre is no place for a gentle lass like Rowena.” The vain, shallow women who hung about the earl’s court would slash her to ribbons with their vicious tongues. And the men... Lion’s gut roiled at the thought of his fragile Rowena pursued by Georas MacPherson and his ilk.

      As though sensing his scrutiny, Rowena looked up. Their gazes met, locked. Her eyes were as dark as peat smoke and just as mysterious, her pale, dirt-streaked features coolly blank. When had she learned to guard her thoughts like that? Lion wondered, remembering the lass whose every notion he’d been able to read from the first.

      Staring into her closed face, he knew exactly what he wanted. To win her back. But would she give him the chance? Not willingly, if her steely gaze and set jaw were any indication. They were all the spur his competitive spirit needed. She’d been a cautious, wounded thing when he’d first met her. He’d gentled her and won her then. He’d do it again.

      Lion grinned, flashing her fair warning with a look. His smile widened when she stiffened, outrage painting red flags on her colorless cheeks. ’Twould be an interesting contest.

      Chapter Three

      Though she rode with one eye on poor Harry, Rowena’s thoughts were on the man who led them through the misty forest.

      She’d never expected to see him again. In the early days following her marriage, consumed by pain and bitterness, she’d wished for Lion to die of some withering disease. Surely her life must be cursed, for not only was he hale, hearty and twice as handsome now, she was also in his debt. Oh, how that galled.

      “Lawd, that must be Blantyre Castle,” Clem Gunn said from the pack of clansmen who rode behind her. “Is it not the grandest place ye’ve ever seen?”

      Rowena looked ahead, her eyes widening. Blantyre rose out of the fog, spires pricking the sullen sky from behind tall, stout walls. The lights shining from the square towers beckoned, offering warmth and comport Like a stalwart gray sentinel, the edifice seemed to offer sanctuary. Or was it only her need for a haven that made her fancy she’d find one here?

      The gatehouse bristled with armed men, but Lion was instantly recognized and the drawbridge lowered. Over the narrow causeway they rode, and into the spacious outer bailey. The grassy field was crammed with tents of all description, from fine canvas ones to drab bits of oiled cloth. ’Twas like a miniature city, really, with stables, a blacksmith and even an ale tent set up by an enterprising merchant.

      “Who are these men?” Clem asked.

      “Likely the men come to help the earl subdue the outlaws,” Eneas replied. “Large as it is, there would not be room for so many inside Blantyre. The most important of the clan leaders would have chambers inside the castle. And those of lesser rank might steep six and eight to a room in pallets on the floor.”

      “Where will we sleep?” Rowena asked faintly.

      “I’d wager that Lord Lion will find a cozy spot for you...in his room,” Eneas said nastily.

      He would not dare. Would he? “I will seek out the steward and ask if I may have a pallet in the serving maids’ garret,” she said firmly. Yet her trepidation grew as they rode under the sharp teeth of the portcullis into the inner bailey.

      The cobbled courtyard was bounded on all four sides by stark gray walls, the great tower of the castle rising five stories above them like a stone giant. The area teemed with activity like a disorderly hive. Some men practiced with dirk and sword, their curses