Lion's Legacy. Suzanne Barclay

the dead of night when we are drowsing at our posts,” Laurel replied, angered by his snub. “We?” Kieran challenged.

      Laurel lifted her chin. “I lead them in Grandda’s place.”

      His black brows slammed together in clear disapproval. “The battlefield is no place for a female.”

      Laurel couldn’t have agreed more. But... “If I didn’t go, Collie would. ’Tis my duty to act as Grandda’s eyes and ears.” She read grudging respect in his eyes before he urged Rath forward. It warmed her more than another’s effusive praise, for he didn’t seem to think much of her sex. Was a woman responsible for the ghosts that haunted him? She should let them rest, but she’d been born curious, and he was a mystery she longed to plumb.

      When they cleared the tunnel through the cliff, she paused to study the broad plain that stretched between the mountains and the Lowther Hills a mile distant. Brooding clouds hung low in the sky, bringing with them an early dusk. The wind that stirred the trees along the river’s far bank held a promise of rain to come. As she watched the branches twist and bend, Laurel fancied she saw something...someone lurking in the shadows.

      Shivering, she drew her cloak closer around her. ’Twas just her imagination. There was naught in the woods save birds and wee animals. She’d been affected by Kieran’s wariness, that was all.

      He’d halted several paces ahead of her, back straight as the pines bordering the water, head up like a hound scenting the air. Then he unbent enough to lean toward his squire and comment on what he saw. It took her a moment to realize he was lessoning young Jamie in the art of soldiering, much as Father Stephen had taught her to read and cipher. ’Twas totally unexpected in a man who kept discipline by beating a man for breaking one order. Grudgingly she admitted Kieran could teach Collie things she couldn’t. Things her brother needed to know. They’d been wrong to shield her brother from the rougher side of life.

      “Kieran has a canny knack for bringing out the best in others,” Rhys commented, walking his horse up alongside hers.

      “Not in me, apparently?

      Rhys chuckled. “Nay. But then, the path we are destined to tread is not always evident from the first.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “’Tis a thing my da used to say.”

      Likely intended to convey some twining of her fate and Kieran’s. Well, she was having no part of it. “When you mount the cliff, have a care for loose stones.”

      Rhys grinned but accepted the change of subject. “I take it ye’ve been up there?”

      The memory of the last time she’d climbed the heights, scrambling for her life in the dead of night with Aulay hard on her heels and Freda baying after them made her belly clench. “Aye, ‘tis a fearsome drop straight down to the rocky riverbed.” As Aulay had discovered. “A deadly fall.” Especially when a wolfhound had ripped open your throat As Aulay had also learned. ’Twas a lesson he’d taken from this life into hell.

      “If you’re through dallying with her, we’ve work to do,” Kieran called out.

      Laurel looked up and found him staring at her. His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes seemed to glow in the shadowy depths of his helmet. Awareness tingled down her spine. For one moment she was cast back in time and place to the storage hut and the feel of his hands holding her as though he’d never let go. ’Twas almost as though something in him cried out to her, drew her closer when common sense urged distance.

      “Command and I will obey without question,” Rhys said, and Kieran glanced away, mercifully breaking the spell.

      “’Twill be a first, then,” Kieran grumbled. “That stretch of woods will have to go,” he announced, turning toward the river.

      “Go?” Laurel straightened in her saddle. “But—”

      “’Tis a hazard.” He looked first to Ellis, then young Jamie, everywhere but at her. “The reivers could sneak across yon field and mass there for an attack.”

      “Now just a moment.” Laurel nudged her mare forward to confront Kieran. “Those woods are scarce ten feet wide in most spots. If a band of men did seek to hide in them, they’d be strung out from here to Kindo. And besides,” she added before he could give voice to the anger flushing his face, “my aunt says if we cut down the trees and burn the brush, ’twill destroy healing herbs that grow nowhere else in—”

      “Better to wipe out a few plants than your clan.”

      “I forbid it,” Laurel cried.

      “You haven’t any say in the matter.” His jaw worked as though he meant to chew the trees down with his teeth.

      Laurel gripped the reins so tightly her hands went numb. “We shall see about that. When Grandda and Aunt Nesta hear—”

      “Your grandsire will agree with me.” Obviously he cared no more for her aunt’s opinion than he did for hers.

      “Touch one tree and I’ll...I’ll—”

      “You will follow my orders.”

      “Or you’ll whip me?” Laurel asked, knowing he’d never dare.

      His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “Have a care how far you push me, lady.” With that, he jammed down the visor of his helmet, effectively ending the argument, and barked orders to her clansmen. Twenty were to remain at the mouth of the tunnel while Rhys climbed the rocks and Kieran rode upstream.

      “Will ye take the lady with ye?” Rhys asked.

      “She waits here where ’tis safe.” He cast her a knowing glance. “Duncan would fret did harm befall his granddaughter.”

      Clever man, Laurel thought as she watched Kieran descend the cliff path and ford the river. He’d known exactly how to gain her compliance. Clearly there was more to him than fierceness and brawn. She studied the width of his shoulders, the proud carriage of his head, a pang of longing coiled tight in her chest. He was truly a magnificent man. If only...

      Nay. There was no use wishing for what could never be. Even were it not for the vague warning of her visions, Kieran wasn’t for her. He was too cold, too ruthless. If she ever wed again—and she must if she hoped to have bairns—’twould be to a warm, passionate man such as her father and grandfather. Not one who harshly ordered her woods razed.

      Laurel’s uneasiness returned as she scanned the trees and bracken. The forest wasn’t as thick as the one covering the Lowthers, still a few men might hide there if they managed to cross the plain unseen. Her grandsire had stripped the near bank of the river bare for just that reason, but spared the far one because her aunt had argued in favor of saving the plant life.

      Even as she stared at the woods, an image flashed into her mind. Two men. Dressed in black. Kneeling in the trees to her left. Watching. Spying. The hair at her nape rose.

      Laurel shifted in the saddle. “Geordie, I saw...” The words died aborning even as the trooper looked at her. No one would believe her. “I’m going down to the riverbank,” she murmured.

      The young trooper’s lips pursed in the midst of his auburn beard. “Sir Kieran said ye were to stay here.”

      “No man has the ordering of me. ’Twill only take a moment, and I’ll be back ere he returns.” With a toss of her head, Laurel set her mare down the steep grade. Geordie didn’t try to stop her. He was half in love with her and had been deferring to her from the time they’d played together as bairns.

      Laurel held her breath as her mare forded the river, expecting at any moment for the spies to leap out and grab her. Fool. Likely there weren’t any spies. But the feeling was so strong that she played out the drama, heading to the right when she’d gained the far bank, as though she followed Kieran’s trail. Once in the woods, she doubled back to the left, dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to a stout oak branch.

      Unslinging