Lion's Legacy

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 saddle and held him at eye level. “Betray me, will you! I’ll burn Edin Tower to the ground for this foul piece of business!”

“I knew it! I knew it!” the lad screamed.

“Bloody hell! If you were a man, I’d challenge you to—” Something crashed into the back of Kieran’s head, and the world went dark.

Chapter Two

“Ye what?” Duncan demanded, eyes bugging out.

“I captured Sir Kieran, and tomorrow we’ll send him on his way,” Laurel said for the third time in as many minutes.

Her grandfather’s bushy white brows slammed together. “I hired him to protect Edin.”

“And I’ve proven what a poor choice he was. If I could take him captive, how can you expect him to save—?”

“Ye came on him unawares. Ellis said so himself. ’Tis dishonest, catching a man with his hose down,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t.” She had been lurking in the woods, trying to decide how best to approach Sutherland and persuade him to leave, when he’d stepped into her lair...so to speak. Realizing what the men were about, she’d turned her back. But whilst waiting for Geordie to tell her they’d finished, a plan had formed. An inspired plan, if she did say so herself. No one had been hurt. She winced as she recalled the bloody bump on Kieran’s head. No one had been badly hurt, she amended. And there was Grandda’s prize mercenary trussed up in the granary.

Though likely there’d be hell to pay when he regained consciousness, she thought, recalling his angry outburst just before Geordie had hit him over the head. Neither her vision nor her aunt’s conjuring had done justice to the man’s size. Or his looks. Not handsome, exactly, for his features were too rugged for that—broad forehead, high, prominent cheekbones and an arrogant jaw outthrust as though daring the world to take a swipe at it. Aye, his face had the unrelenting angles of carved stone, and his dark violet eyes haunted her still.

Laurel drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Beneath Kieran’s fury she’d glimpsed something startling. A loneliness that touched her very soul, for she knew all about loneliness.

“’Tis a bad bit of work ye’ve been about this morn. ’Twill take more glibness than I’ve got just now to soothe his pride.”

“We don’t need him, Grandda. If I could catch Sir Kieran and his men preoccupied, then I shouldn’t have any trouble outwitting the reivers should they come again.”

“They will.” His head sagged into the pillow. “Then what’ll become of us?” He looked so frail that Laurel flew to his side.

“Grandda.” Mindful of his wounded chest, she grabbed his gnarled hand where it lay clenched in the blankets. “I—”

“Here, now, don’t fash yourself. I’m not dead yet. Still I’d rest a mite easier in my bed if I knew there was someone to protect ye and the lands I’ll be leaving to young Malcolm.”

’Twas exactly what she’d been worried about. Merciful heavens, she’d barely managed to thwart Aulay. She’d stand no chance against someone as large and strong as Sutherland if he tried to take Edin from within. “We don’t need help,” she cried. “With you to plan what must be done and Ellis and me to carry out your or—”

“Ah, lass.” He pulled his hand from her grasp and reached up to smooth the curls from her face. “Though our people have the heart to defend what’s theirs, they lack the skills. We’ve lived so peaceably here behind the mountains that I didn’t think any knew we existed or cared. But now those men have drawn our blood, they’ll not leave us be.”

“Then hire someone else.”

“Why? When Kieran Sutherland’s already here. What have ye against him?” His piercing blue gaze was sharp as ever.

“I...I told you I dreamed of him,” Laurel began, loath to leave herself open to ridicule but seeing no other way.

“What did ye see?” her aunt inquired, gliding to the other side of the bed, a steaming bowl in her hands, a frown crinkling her fine red brows. Below them, Nesta’s eyes were intent, searching. They were pale as frost and rimmed by a circle of black. Witchy eyes. ’Twas said no mortal dared meet those eyes and utter a lie, for Nesta’d see clear through it.

Laurel was desperate enough to risk it. “I—I saw him sacking Edin,” she stammered.

“Ah, did ye now?” Nesta looked away as she set the bowl on the small bedside table, but Laurel knew that she knew ’twas a lie. One of the drawbacks in being kin to a capable witch.

“Well, his expression was that of a hungry wolf about to pounce on a staked deer. He would, too. He’s hard and rude and...and cruel. He...he dragged me from my horse and shouted at me.”

“And ye did naught, I suppose,” her grandsire said.

Clearly Ellis had told him exactly what had happened. “Kieran is a threat to us. I—I felt it in my dream.” Her throat tightened. If God had gifted her with these visions, why, oh why couldn’t he have given her the skill to read them?

“’Twill be fine, lass.” Duncan patted her hand as he used to when she’d skinned a knee. “Kieran comes of good stock, and his honor is legendary. I heard he forbids his men to rape any women they capture. He was forced out of France for attacking a royal duke to prevent him from sacking a nunnery. Run along and fetch him from wherever ye’ve got him. I’ll soon sort this out.”

“Grandda!”

“Ye’ll eat first ” Nesta shoved a spoonful of broth in her sire’s mouth. “And Laurel, not every outsider’s like Aulay Kerr.”

Nay, Kieran was nothing like Aulay. Her late husband had been leanly built, soft-spoken and sneaky as a snake. She’d dreamed of Aulay, too. On the night before they’d wed. An odd, murky nightmare of a steep cliff, rushing water and a howling dog. It had taken days for that dream to become reality and then she hadn’t recognized the warning till it was nearly too late to save herself and those she loved. This time she’d not be so quick to dismiss her vision. Kieran Sutherland had to leave.

“Kieran? Kieran, can ye hear me?” Rhys called.

Kieran roused to darkness, a terrible throbbing in his head. Battling the pain, he raised his chin and croaked, “What the hell happened?”

“Ye went after our young captor. One of his men took exception and bashed ye over the head.”

“Feels like he split it in two. Where are we?”

“A hut of some kind. Windowless and, from the mildew smell, likely used to store grain,” Rhys added.

“Thank God. I thought mayhap I’d been struck blind.” He tried to sit up, discovered his hands were tied behind his back and his legs likewise bound at the ankles. “The others?”

Dirt scraped as Rhys shifted. “They were taken away to another part of the keep. How do ye feel?”

“Like a fool. To think I walked straight into Duncan MacLellan’s trap—sprung by some callow youth, no less.”

Rhys snorted. “I meant yer head, but if ye can work up that much heat and anger, ye must be all right.”

“Nay, nor will I be till I’ve avenged this day’s work, starting with Duncan and Ellis and finishing with the lad who—”

“I do not think Ellis was aware of what was planned. Did ye see how shocked he looked when the lad appeared and ordered us to lay down our weapons?”

“Nay.” By that time, a red, rage-induced mist had obscured all but the cheeky grin of the lad who’d not only dared to shoot him, but forced his surrender by threatening Jamie. “I shouldn’t have given in. Likely he wouldn’t have harmed so young a lad as Jamie.”

“’Tis not yer way to risk others’ lives,” Rhys said quietly. “Still, Ellis had yer armor removed and a blanket placed over ye. Hardly the actions of a man bent on murder. I wonder if a mistake of some sort was made.”

“The mistake was made by the MacLellans, and I’ll be setting it to rights with the point of my sword. No one betrays me. Not ever again.” Though eight years had passed since the night that had shattered his life, his heart had yet to heal Cursing, he turned his mind to escape. By the faint light coming in through the chinks around the door, he dimly made out Rhys on the floor nearby. Ignoring the pain in his head, he rolled toward his friend. “Turn round. See if you can undo the rope on my wrists.”

While Rhys plucked at the hemp, he described their captor’s home. Situated on a spit of land in the middle of a loch, Edin was comprised of two joined towers, four stories tall, with both an outer and an inner courtyard with barracks and an orchard. The few Border fortresses Kieran had visited consisted of a simple house and a peel tower, into which the laird and his people could flee in time of danger. Edin sounded more like the sort of estate that existed further north.

Like Carmichael Castle. Kieran’s home, his heritage, stolen by his uncle.

“I’d feel better about our chances of guarding Edin Tower did it have a stout curtain wall around it,” Rhys said.

“There isn’t a wall?” Kieran cried, forgetting he planned to punish the MacLellans for the ambush, not protect them. The commander in him recoiled from the news that though there was a low wall around the perimeter, the tower’s main line of defense was the loch. “A party of men stripped of their armor could swim the damn thing in the dead of night and take the castle.”

“Providing they made it into the valley. ’Tis our job to make certain they do not.”

Kieran grunted, torn between an inbred need to protect and the desire for revenge. “This whole business sits ill with me.”

“Why would Duncan send a man all the way to Berwick with orders to seek us out? Our horses and armor are valuable, but we’ve little coin.”

“Mayhap he’s in league with the Carmichaels.” Kieran spat the last as though it were poison and not the surname of the powerful family from which he was descended.

Rhys replied with a Welsh curse. “They’d not do such a thing. And ye dishonor the memory of yer parents by saying—”

“I have no memory of them, as you well know. For which I can thank my dear Uncle Ross.”

“Nay! Ye know in yer heart he did not kill yer father.”

“Do I?” Kieran felt the ropes give and seized the moment to abandon a topic he hated. He sat up, swayed on a wave of dizziness and pushed it aside as ruthlessly as he did his past. He made short work of the ropes at his ankles and had just swung round to Rhys when a noise at the door warned time had run out. “Quiet,” he whispered, surging to his feet. Instinctively he reached for his sword, finding his waist naked of the belt that held it and his dirk. No matter, he was angry enough to do murder with his bare hands.

Two steps and he was across the room, back flattened against the stone wall beside the door. A metallic clunk, the creak of rusty hinges and the portal swung open, letting in fresh air and a welcome flood of light. Nerves alert, Kieran watched a single, slender shadow cut through the beam and pause on the threshold, hesitant as a wary deer.

You have reason to fear, you bastard, Kieran thought. Swinging around the door, he grabbed his enemy, lifted him off the ground and shoved him against the wall. A gust of air whooshed from his captive as Kieran slammed into him with his superior weight. The body beneath his was slighter than expected. Good. ’Twas the lad who’d shamed him. Kieran pinned his opponent’s right arm to the wall with his left hand, his right hand went for the throat...

Soft. Soft as silk was the skin that encased that fragile neck. Unsettlingly soft.

Kieran frowned. His narrowed eyes met the wide ones staring up at him from a face gone white as new snow. They were blue, like the sky over Edin Valley, fringed with ridiculously long black lashes. Woman’s lashes. The things he’d been too angry to notice now intruded. The scent of heather wafting up from the body pressed so intimately to his. The pillowy curves of the chest mashed tight to his. Breasts.

His prisoner was a female.

Kieran’s heart stumbled, then jerked to life again. Damn! In his blind haste for revenge he’d assaulted some poor serving wench. Horrified, he took his hand from her throat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words rusty for he humbled himself to no man. Still the female said nothing. Concerned now, he eased his body away from hers. “Did I hurt you?”

She exhaled and slumped against him, her body molding to his like a candle left overlong in the hot sun. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her so she wouldn’t fall. For the second time in as many minutes, Kieran’s blood began to boil. ‘Twasn’t the heat of rage that surged through his veins this time; ’twas a forbidden fire. One he’d avoided for eight years. Desire.

It sank its claws in deep, heightening his senses. He felt raw, exposed, her skin burning his through the layers of clothes separating them. The musky scent of woman and heather taunted him. Nostrils flaring, he drew in her essence. Passion rose in a swift tide, threatening to engulf him. He wanted her with a fierceness that shocked him. Groaning, he tightened his hold on her, driven by the need to bury his aching body in hers.

“I can’t breathe.” Laurel wedged her hands between them and pushed. Surprisingly, his grip eased. “What happened?”

“You fainted.” His voice was deep, compelling.

Laurel looked up. ’Twas him. His face was close. So close, eyes blazing with hot, needful things that ignited an answering spark deep inside her. “Nay,” she whispered, afraid of him, more afraid of what he did to her. “Let me go.” She began to struggle.

Kieran blinked. Damn. He’d made a vow...before God. A sacred vow he’d just come within a hair’s breadth of dishonoring. Then her voice registered. “You!” he exclaimed. “You’re the one who tried to capture me.”

He let go of her and stepped back.

“Did capture you.” Angry, Laurel brought her knee up in an attempt to bring him down. In a move too swift for her to avoid, he turned aside, grabbed her leg and hoisted her up. Quick as that, she found herself held tight against his chest, her limbs clasped securely yet painlessly by arms as hard and unrelenting as steel. “Put me down.”

Dark and condemning, his eyes bored into hers from a face gone stark as carved granite. Nowhere was there a hint of the man who moments ago had looked at her with such longing, such need that she’d felt herself reaching out, wanting to touch, to comfort, to—

“Take me to Duncan MacLellan,” he snarled.

“Why? What will you do?”

“Teach him he cannot betray me.”

Laurel forgot her own fears. “He had naught to do with that. ’Twas my idea, my orders that sent my clansmen af ter—”

Kieran cursed. “What man would follow a female?”

“Lady Laurel?” Ellis called from the doorway. “What—?”

“Seize him,” Laurel ordered, snagging the initiative.

“Attempt it and she suffers the consequences.” Kieran’s expression was murderous, but his hold didn’t turn bruising, nor did he ask for a weapon to hold at her throat.

A hopeful sign. “He doesn’t mean it,” Laurel decided.

Ellis frowned. “I cannot take the chance.”

“Untie my man,” Kieran demanded in a voice that brooked no argument. But for an instant the fury blazing in his eyes muted to regret. A mercenary with a conscience? She saw it then, the gentleness he sought to hide. The contrast between dangerous and vulnerable shook her to the core. Almost causing her to forget her fear that he was a threat to her clan. Almost.

The trip across the courtyard to the tower passed in a blur of neat stone buildings and curious faces. It took only a few moments, yet ’twas the longest Kieran had taken since he’d ridden away from home years ago. Every step of the way he was taunted by the scent and feel of the female in his arms. He should put her down, would have if her little body hadn’t been frigid with tension. Release her and she’d likely fly at him again. Damn, but he’d only just managed to avoid that deadly knee of hers. If she attacked, she might be hurt. Kieran was many things...most of them uncivilized, but he’d never once stooped to harming females.

“I swear I acted alone,” she said again as they climbed the tower. “I’ll gladly take whatever punishment you decree, if you leave my grandfather alone. He’s old and was gravely wounded.”

Kieran tried to turn a deaf ear to her pleas. That she was small and fragile, yet had faced him down with more courage than most men, struck a chord in him. She reminded him of his fiery Aunt Elspeth, the only member of his family who hadn’t betrayed him. Only what he felt for Laurel wasn’t familial.

Ellis paused before an oaken door banded with iron, lifted the latch and stood aside.

“You go first,” Kieran growled, wary of yet another trap. Following Ellis into the warm, brightly lit chamber, he scanned it quickly, taking in the only inhabitants, a red-haired woman in a black robe and an old man propped up in bed.

“Please, please don’t hurt him.” Laurel’s nails dug into his flesh through the woolen tunic.

Kieran’s heart contracted as though she’d reached inside and clenched it. “I do what I must,” he mumbled, nearly dropping her in his haste to be free of this strange effect she had on him. Yet when she swayed, he reached out to steady her. After he let go of her hand and turned toward the bed he noted that, without her to fill them, his arms felt as empty as his soul had these past years. Nay, she wasn’t for him. No female was. Anger rasped in his voice as he demanded of Duncan, “Why did you ambush me?”

“’Twas a foolish mistake, naught more.” The old man smiled, but pain lined his leathery face. Though older and grayer, he looked much as Kieran’s grandsire had when he’d been brought low by a sword thrust...proud and unbowed in the face of death.

Damn. Kieran passed a hand over his face, but it couldn’t wipe away the memories. An unwanted lump rose in his throat. Damn. Damn. What was it about these people that made him remember things he’d sworn to forget?

“Pour him a bit of whiskey, Nessie,” Duncan said cheerfully. “The lad looks done in by our lass’s reception.”

Kieran welcomed the anger that drove out the soft sentiments. “Someone will pay for the attack on me.” He put on his fiercest mask and advanced on Duncan, only to be halted when Laurel moved to block his path. “Stand aside,” he growled.

“And leave my grandfather to your mercy? Nay.”

“Think you I’d strike a wounded man?”

“You assaulted me...a lone, defenseless woman.”

“Defenseless? Defenseless!” He leaned close, his breath hot on her face. “’Twas you ambushed me. And struck me unconscious.”

“That was Geordie,” Laurel yelled back, hands on hips, jaw tilted up to meet the aggressive edge of his cleft chin. “And only because you were shaking the living daylights out of me.”

“I thought I was protecting myself from a man.”

“And Geordie was protecting me.”

“Now that’s settled, here’s yer whiskey.” Her aunt thrust a cup between them. “’Twill chase the dust from yer throat.”

“’Tis not settled,” Kieran snapped, but he took the cup.

Someone had taught him manners, for he muttered a brief thanks. Laurel had hoped to goad him into acting the barbarian. He certainly had the look of one with that stubbled jaw and unruly black hair to match his temper.

“Ye’re most welcome, Sir Kieran,” her aunt cooed.

Was everyone blind to his threat but her? Laurel wondered. It seemed so, for her grandfather began making soothing noises.

“’Twas a mistake. The lass mistook ye for reivers. We’ve dire need of yer aid, lad,” Duncan said. “Draw up a chair and I’ll tell ye what we know of the fiends who did this to me”

Pity flickered in Kieran’s eyes. Wary, but less angry, he did as her grandfather bade.

Laurel repaired to a stool by the hearth to think things over. She still wanted Kieran gone from Edin, but there was something about him that confused her.

“What is it about Kieran that riles ye?” Nesta whispered.

Laurel flinched. “He’s an outsider, like Aulay.”

“Mmm. But he doesn’t look or act like Aulay Kerr.”

“He acts a dozen times worse.”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” Nesta whispered. “Tell me about this dream of yers.” She sat quietly while Laurel poured out the details of the vision and her frustration with not being able to understand it. “It takes time to learn to work the power ye’ve been given.”

“Did it take you a long time?”

“Nay, I was a lass when I did my first conjuring, but—”

“Then I’m hopeless.” Laurel hung her head.

“Never that. The dreams are different than the conjuring is all. Yer great-grandmam had them. I recall my mother saying old Nell had difficulty learning to make sense of her visions.”

“How did she do it?”

Nesta took Laurel’s icy hands in her warm ones. “First ye must come to terms with yer heritage, grow comfortable with it.”

“What if I never do?”

“’Twould be a loss,” Nesta murmured. “When I’m gone, our people will have need of yer special skills. But there’s time yet. Ye’re a MacLellan. We women have always had the gift”

Laurel nodded absently. “If you think of something that might help...some way I could learn to control my dreams.”

“Aye.” A shadow crossed her face. “Though I want ye to develop yer gift, it has its dark side. Ye already know there are superstitious souls who fear me even while they seek the answers to their questions. Worse is looking into the future and seeing the death of a loved one.”

“Or sensing danger and not knowing its source,” Laurel whispered. Why had she dreamed of Kieran? Not once, but many times, each one bringing him closer till she’d finally seen him clearly. Seen his hunger and yearning. What was it he wanted?

“Laurel. Come here, lass,” her grandfather called.

Laurel jerked her head around, and her gaze slammed into Kieran’s. Cold as winter frost, it bored into her, freezing her to the marrow. Gone was all trace of the man who’d held her earlier, eyes hot with a passion that had sparked her own. Here was a warrior devoid of warmth or gentleness. ’Tis what he was destined to be. The insight startled and confused her.

“Go on, dearling.” Her aunt released her hands. “We’ll talk more of this later. I’m glad yon knight has come here. He looks fierce enough to defend us from the devil himself.”

Laurel grudgingly agreed, but as she hurried to the other side of the bed, ’twas Duncan she watched. The color excitement had lent to his skin couldn’t hide the circles under his eyes nor the fatigue in them. “You should rest now, Grandda.”

“Aye,” he said faintly. “I’m that tired, but I’ve a favor I’d ask of ye first before I can sleep.”

Laurel’s nerves went on alert. Duncan never, ever admitted to weakness or talked in that one-foot-in-the-grave voice except when he wanted to coerce her into something. “What?” Warily.

“Kieran desires to ride over Edin Valley and look to our defenses. And I can think of no better guide than ye, lass.”

“Nay!” Kieran exclaimed.

Laurel glared at him over the rumpled bed. How dare he refuse before she could? “Ellis knows the land better than I do.”

“But ’tis ye’ve been seeing my orders were carried out,” Duncan said smoothly. Too smoothly. He was up to something.

“She has?” Kieran’s scathing glance raked Laurel from head to waist and back up. She had a wholly feminine urge to smooth back the curls that had come free from her braid and brush the dirt from her baggy, cast-off tunic.