the stream in a pool of blood stopped him. He moved forward to feel for signs of life, but found none.
Damn. Damn. He should have gone with Padruig. Followed him at least. And died with him? Sobering thought, but Lion’s guilt didn’t ease. “Jesu, Rowena, I’m sorry. So sorry.”
The clatter of hooves on stone sent him scrambling for cover. It was not Padruig’s murderers come back, but his own men who burst onto the scene.
“We heard a cry,” Bryce explained, controlling his nervous mount as he surveyed Lion. “Are you hurt?”
“Nay, but Padruig Gunn is dead.”
“Alexander’s men?”
“Likely. They were MacPhersons, I think.” Lion knelt again by the body. “And it wasn’t robbery, for his purse is still here.”
“Damn, if only we’d realized the earl would stoop to this.”
Lion stood, “He grows desperate indeed if he will murder a man over a few troops for his damned army. I should have tried harder to convince the Gunn he was in danger.”
“What now? Will you take the body to his people?”
Lion debated only a moment before shaking his head. “I’m overdue to meet with Fergus. If I do not show up, God alone knows what foolishness he’ll undertake.” He looked down at Padruig again. “And the Gunns are bound to ask who did this, mayhap seek revenge against Alexander, and die in turn.” He exhaled. “Red Will, take three of the lads and carry Padruig Gunn near to home. Leave him at the side of the road...” Like refuse. Lion cringed, but couldn’t waver. “Make it look as though he’d been attacked and robbed.” Fewer questions that way.
Even by Highland standards, Padruig Gunn’s funeral was a wild and raucous affair. The Gunns come to mourn their fallen chief cavorted about Hillbrae Tower’s great hall like revelers on a feast day. Shouted songs and laughter vied with sobs of regret at his passing.
But then, the Gunns did everything to excess, thought Rowena as she surveyed the mess and swiftly calculated the cost in food, drink and broken furniture.
“’Tis a grand send-off we’re giving him, eh?” Finlay Gunn shouted above the din. “Cousin Padruig would have loved this.”
Seated beside the old warrior at the head table, Rowena, widowed four days and terrified at what lay before her, let loose her temper. “He’d have enjoyed it a bit more had he been alive to do so. Damn him,” she snapped. “Where had he gone? Why was he riding about alone?”
“Clan business,” said Finlay, who was the only one Padruig had ever confided in. “Ye know what store he set by duty,”
“Duty!” She spat the word out like a curse. “Men wave that banner about as though it was handed down from God, but ‘tis only an excuse to go adventuring.” The memory of Lion’s long-ago desertion twisted sharp as a knife in her chest. Though she would never forgive Lion Sutherland, she’d tried hard to forget him. Padruig’s death, his desertion, had brought it all back: the pain, the fear and, aye, the anger. They roiled inside her, stinging like salt in a fresh wound. “’Tis the women and children who pay the price while you men go off to pursue your duty.”
“Easy, lass.” Finlay laid a scarred hand on her arm. “I ken ye’re grieving for Padruig and worried about what the next years will bring, but there’s no need to carry on so.”
Oh, but there was. Shivering, Rowena sagged against the high-backed chair, a smaller version of Padruig’s mammoth one to her right. She cast a sidelong glance at the chair’s occupant—the new chief of Clan Gunn. Paddy, her five-year-old son.
The red head of hair that seemed to mark him as a Gunn was bent over his plate as he toyed with an oatcake. His sweet face was in profile to her—rounded cheeks, a stubborn jaw and a nose he’d need to grow into. The nose handed down from Lucais Sutherland to Lion and thence to Paddy.
He was so young, so precious, so vulnerable. She’d do anything to protect him. Anything.
Her gaze shifted to the man on Paddy’s other side.
Eneas’s face was also in profile—harsh, lean and predatory. Padruig had warned her often of his brother’s ambitions to rule the clan. Now the only thing that stood between Eneas and his goal was her Paddy. Suddenly Rowena was afraid, more afraid than she’d been in years. What if Padruig had not been set upon and murdered by thieves? What if Eneas had killed him? What if he planned to eliminate her son as well?
A crockery cup flew past her nose and smashed against the floor inches from Padruig’s bier, drawing her attention from the past to the dangerous present. Even in death, Padruig looked harsh and indomitable, his craggy features set in disapproval, his red-gray brows bunched in a frown over his broad nose. She had not loved him. She could never love anyone again, but Padruig had sheltered and protected her. Till now...
“I have to keep Paddy safe,” she said under her breath.
“Aye, and I’ll help ye,” Finlay whispered. Older than Padruig by three years, a seasoned warrior sidelined from the battlefield by a knee injury, he was kinder, more compassionate than her husband. Finlay had been the first to welcome her when she’d come here as a frightened bride. She was frightened now, longed to take Paddy and run home to the MacBeans. But she’d given up her right to leave when she’d wed Padruig and accepted his bargain. For the sake of that vow and Paddy’s future, she was bound to the Gunns of Hillbrae till the day she died.
“I’m sorry to tear at you, Finlay. ’Tis just that I’m worried.” The knot in her belly tightened. Padruig had been a cold and indifferent husband, preferring his mistress’s bed to hers, thankfully. But he’d been Rowena’s bulwark, her protector.
Finlay smiled faintly. “Dinna fret. Before he went off, Padruig bade me take care of ye and the lad. I’ll see he’s raised right, taught what he needs to know. He’s been declared Padruig’s heir, and the men will honor that Paddy will rule Clan Gunn when he’s old enough.”
‘Twas what she’d schemed, sacrificed and, aye, even lied to ensure. Paddy’s future. Everything she’d done these six years had been for her son. “You’re a fine man, Finlay Gunn. I know you’ll do your best by us,” she said softly, her expression carefully controlled again. “But ’twill be ten years at least till he can fight for himself. Years filled with peril.”
Finlay nodded, his brown eyes sober. “I’ll watch over him till then, see that he’s strong and capable.”
“But you do not know what Eneas has planned,” Rowena murmured, giving voice to her fears at last, even though it meant embroiling Finlay in more danger. “An hour ago, I passed by Padruig’s counting room and heard Eneas speaking with Clem.”
“Go on,” the old man urged.
She hesitated. But where else could she could turn? Few of the Gunns would believe Eneas capable of harming his own nephew. Her father was dead, and her brother was not strong enough to face down Eneas Gunn. Lion was, whispered a traitorous voice.
She had a brief, vivid image of Lion wielding his heavy claymore, muscles rippling beneath his saffron shirt as he fought to drive off two men who had attacked her at that first clan gathering. His opponents had been grown men, Lion a youth of ten and eight, but he’d bested them to save her life.
Lion,
