Lion's Legacy. Suzanne Barclay

the outlaws could be through the pass and overpower your guards. Natural defenses alone won’t stop a determined foe.”

      “Of course they won’t,” Ellis sputtered. “We have men patrolling the valley and another score billeted at the nearest croft in case they’re needed.”

      “Insufficient. But we will look to improving things as soon as I’ve seen what we’ve got to work with. Martin,” Kieran called over his shoulder. “Take ten men and position yourselves on the riverbank below the entrance to the tunnel. I’ll send someone to relieve you at sundown.” Without looking to see that his orders were carried out, Kieran motioned for Ellis to lead on.

      As the little cavalcade got under way, Rhys made another suspicious-sounding noise.

      “You have aught to add?” Kieran growled.

      “Just that these men are not yers to command.”

      “They will be the moment Duncan MacLellan hands over the first half of the payment he’s promised.”

      “True. Still, ye Scots are an independent lot, with no more liking for being ordered about than we Welsh.”

      You Scots. The reference rankled, as did all mention of his heritage. From the moment he’d left Carmichael Castle, he’d become a man without a home, divorced from it and his ancestors. “If they want my help, they’ll follow my orders.”

      “I think—” Rhys’s comment ended in a gasp as the party rounded a bend in the trail and broke free of the rocky pass. Ahead of them lay the valley, a lush plain bounded on all sides by the same steep-sided mountains that guarded the pass. Yet here the sun seemed brighter, the air sweeter, the grass greener. “Edin—’tis aptly named.”

      Kieran nodded as his gaze swept over the tranquil scene. The strip of water meandering through the center of the valley reflected the deep blue sky overhead, as the fluffy clouds dotting it mirrored the sheep grazing on the grassy mountain slopes. More sheep than he’d seen in years.

      Peaceful. Unspoiled. ’Twas like a balm to Kieran’s battered soul.

      “It reminds me a little of the hills around Carmichael Castle,” Rhys murmured.

      Kieran’s spirits plunged back to earth with a thud. “I asked you never to speak of that place.”

      “Aye, so ye did,” Rhys said hoarsely. “And I’ve honored yer wishes, but I cannot forget the home where we were raised.”

      Nor could Kieran. God knows he’d tried his damnedest to forget the castle and the people who’d brought him the greatest joy...and deepest sorrow. The castle that should have been his heritage. Stolen from him. He would regain his lost legacy, though the retaking would be steeped in blood... his uncle’s blood. “Lead on,” he told Ellis.

      Fortunately the trail winding down from the mountains was steep. Negotiating it took Kieran’s mind from the past and focused it firmly on the present. And the future. His future, for the short term, was tied to defending this valley and earning the coin that would buy his revenge. When they reached the valley floor, he set himself to the task. “Duncan’s message said he’d been attacked on the way to market in Kindo.”

      Ellis grunted. “Aye. They were lying in wait for him.”

      “Who knew of his plans to take the lambs to market?”

      “Everyone in Edin Valley, I suppose.”

      “What? Has he no sense?”

      “He’s a right canny man,” Ellis said stoutly. “He wouldn’t have lived to eight and sixty otherwise. Naught like this has happened to the MacLellans before. We’ve always lived in peace.”

      “I hear hostilities have increased along the Border since Robert came to Scotland’s throne,” Kieran said. ’Twas the reason he’d gone to Berwick hoping to hire out his sword. “Doubtless these reivers thought to make off with your sheep.”

      “Duncan was driving young lambs to trade at market when he was ambushed, but they took nary a one.”

      “The bastards were likely more eager to save their own skins than lift yer stock,” Rhys said. “Duncan’s message said they’d twice returned. Mayhap they thought to rectify their oversight.”

      “Aye,” Ellis said slowly. “We beat them back both times, and in their fury, they burned the two crofts.”

      “No doubt they were hoping to draw you out,” Kieran said.

      “Aye. So we thought, but the laird had already given the order to bring everyone into the valley, so no lives were lost.”

      Kieran frowned. “You didn’t ride out and attack them?”

      “We are farmers, not fighters,” Ellis said without shame or regret. “Duncan feared we’d be bested and the valley overrun.”

      Cowards, Kieran thought. Clearly his services were desperately needed, for these people had little concept of warfare and no more spine than a flock of sheep. Deep in thought, he hadn’t realized they’d reached the stream until Rhys spoke.

      “All this babbling water’s reminded my bladder ’tis been awhile since we stepped down.”

      Kieran nodded, acknowledging his own need, and gave the order to stop in the shelter of a copse of trees. Normally his men took their ease in shifts, the rest standing watch, but the peacefulness of their surroundings lulled him into allowing the whole party to dismount. When he’d finished his business, Kieran walked over and knelt to wash his hands in the clear, cold water.

      “To arms!” someone shouted.

      Cursing his stupidity, Kieran surged to his feet and drew his sword in one swift movement. “Close ranks,” he roared as a wave of mounted men encircled them. He heard a soft whoosh as an arrow pierced his sleeve, pinning his sword arm to the tree behind him. “Rhys! To me!” He grabbed the arrow and tried to jerk it free. But it was firmly caught in the links of his mail.

      “Drop your weapons,” called a high, clear voice.

      Kieran slewed his head around, found the brush bristling with drawn arrows. “Ellis. Call for your men,” he shouted.

      “B-but these are my men,” the poor man replied, looking dazed and confused.

      “Then what are they about?”

      “We’re about capturing you,” said that same youthful voice. The circle of dark-lad men parted and a shaggy pony walked forward, bearing a slender figure. In the shifting shadows cast by the overhanging branches, it was impossible to make out the rider’s features, except that he was young. Kieran had a swift impression of a pale face dominated by wide eyes and surrounded by a close-fitting mail coif in the instant before he realized that the youth had an arrow notched and aimed at his throat.

      “I don’t know who you are,” Kieran growled. “But you will pay for this day’s work.” He vented his frustration by breaking the arrow shaft and wrenching his arm free.

      “Hold,” the cheeky youth cried. “If you don’t value your own life, what of this lad?” He trained his arrow on Jamie. Kieran’s young squire made an inarticulate noise and looked to his master for succor.

      There was no help for it. Kieran couldn’t endanger the lad. Cursing ripely, he dropped his sword.

      “Geordie. Disarm them and bind them. We’ll take them back to Edin Tower. Wait till Grandda sees this,” the youth added softly.

      So, Duncan had sought to trap him. Burning with impotent fury, Kieran locked his gaze on his adversary and let his hatred blaze forth. Across the few feet separating them, the youth’s eyes widened with fear. Good. Because when he got the chance, he’d—What the devil? Kieran was stunned to see the youth’s beardless chin rise to meet his silent challenge.

      It was the last straw. Heedless of the consequences, Kieran leapt forward, dragged his would-be captor from the