property.”
“What care I for these puny lands?”
“I was thinking of myself.” Rhys glanced sidelong at his friend, noting the color that stained his cheeks, the displeasure that thinned his mouth. Ah, a man would have to be blind not to see the emotion that crackled between Laurel and Kieran.
“I’d have thought Annie more your sort,” Kieran grumbled.
“Who? Oh, the plump little maid who brought Lady Laurel to save me.” Rhys shrugged. “She’s pretty, but she hasn’t the fire of her mistress.” Or of the Lady Nesta. Now there was a—
“She has a nasty temper.” Kieran grimaced as he fingered the spot where her sharp knee had grazed his thigh.
“Ye look more in need of Lady Laurel’s healing balm than I. What say ye we take our ease this afternoon and ride out to survey the demesne lands on the morrow?”
“And have her think she’s bested me?” Kieran grabbed his sword belt from the chest at the foot of the bed. “If my leg aches, ’tis no more than I deserve for having underestimated that little witch... twice. But she’ll pay.”
“Kieran. What are you planning?” Rhys asked, but he talked to thin air, for Kieran had strode from the room. Snatching his tunic on over his head, Rhys gave chase.
“Remain abed and let your flesh heal,” Kieran muttered as they descended the tightly curving stairs. “’Tis an order.”
“Make it so, and ye’ll have cause to whip me again, for my place is at your side.”
Kieran stopped and turned, face stark in the light filtering in from the arrow slit. “I regret ’twas necessary to...”
“Me, too.” Rhys grinned. Kieran had so tempered his strokes he’d barely broken the skin. “Still I expect ye’ll lay on the remaining strokes...if we can manage to avoid my protectress.”
“Someone should teach that female she cannot meddle in men’s affairs,” Kieran growled.
“Seems I’m the one who’s lessoned you,” the very woman in question called out from the bottom of the stairs, her soft voice laced with sarcasm as it echoed in the stairwell.
Kieran whirled and bounded toward her. Stopping one step above so he towered over her, he set his features into a mask that had made battle-hardened warriors tremble. She gasped, eyes dilating with fear, but didn’t retreat. It made him even angrier. “You haven’t even the sense to flee one such as I?”
“I have faced down a worse man than you and survived.”
Who? he wanted to ask. What man had caused the shadows that clouded her clear gaze? Unbidden came a wave of protectiveness, the urge to shelter this tiny, brave woman from harm.
As though sensing his pity, she lifted her chin. “Well, do we ride out or stand here trading insults?”
Kieran shook himself, wondering what strange magic she possessed that had him acting the veriest of fools whenever she was about. “We ride to the pass. The defenses along the river are key, yet seem inadequate. I’d strengthen them before taking stock of the rest of Edin Valley,” he said, lord to squire.
“Inadequate,” she sputtered as he pushed past her. “I’ll have you know—”
But Kieran didn’t pause to hear the rest. He was too busy trying to outrun the light scent that clung to her. Why had he never noticed before that heather was such a seductive fragrance?
The air was so still Henry Percy could hear his own heart race as he stared at the mountains that hid Edin Valley from the rest of the world. Behind him lay the rolling backs of the Lowther Hills and the thick forest that hid his band of raiders, handpicked for this, the first step in Henry’s grand scheme. Ahead lay the flat, grassy plain bordering the river Tweed and across the treacherously swift water, the tumble of rocks that concealed the only entrance to the valley.
This was by no means the Englishman’s first foray across the Border, for the Percys were a riding family, and he’d been harrying the Scots for most of his thirty years. But this time he hadn’t come for anything as paltry as lifting cattle or burning crofts. He’d come after far richer game. Excitement tensed Henry’s body beneath his woolen tunic and expensive French body-armor. He looked up into the branches of the sturdy pine against which he’d been leaning while he waited for night to fall. “How much longer before we can attack?”
“Curse the luck. We’ll have to wait.” His spy dropped to earth, landing on the balls of his feet like a cat.
Henry frowned. “What now?”
“They’ve set a guard outside the pass,” he croaked. The unnatural hoarseness of his voice drew Henry’s eye to the puckery pink scar that bisected his throat, giving the appearance that someone had tried to carve him from ear to ear. Likely a MacLellan, given the Scot’s willingness to betray that clan.
’Twas a measure of Henry’s desperation that he’d hired a man whose name he didn’t even know. “You said they never did that.”
“Nor do they.” The Scot’s mouth twisted beneath the ruins of his nose, another mark of the vile life he’d obviously led. Above it, his eyes gleamed with a fierce, predatory light.
Henry’s uneasiness increased. “Why have they done so now?”
“How should I know? Mayhap they’re expecting us.” The Scot wrenched open his threadbare cloak to reveal a dented sword and brace of dirks. The garments he wore were, as far as Henry had seen, the only set he possessed. Though of fine quality wool, they were thin and tattered, the gold thread edging the neck and hem of the tunic tarnished. Either he’d stolen them or he was a nobleman down on his luck. Whichever, he was dangerous. “If so, they will not find me unprepared this time,” the Scot grumbled.
“’Tis obvious from the defense they’ve mounted thus far that you didn’t kill old Duncan,” Henry said with asperity.
“’Twasn’t for want of trying.” The Scot scowled. “If ye’d sent those reinforcements more quickly, we’d have taken them—”
“I came as soon as possible, though I could ill afford the time away from my own preparations,” Henry retorted. Because he didn’t trust the Scot, he’d come with these troops, leaving Captain FitzHawk in England to raise the rest of the army.
“The MacLellans are such milksops, I wouldn’t have thought they’d fight us so fiercely. We were near captured ourselves. But we’ll get inside this time, and it’ll be just as I said.”
Henry looked toward the mountains. “It had better be.”
“Never fear, m’lord. I’m as good as my word. Before the fortnight’s out, ye’ll be the next king of Scotland.”
“What?”
The Scot smiled. “I know what ye’re about.”
Henry started. Impossible. No one but FitzHawk knew the true extent of his ambitions. “How could you?”
“Why else would ye be so interested in getting across Scotland to Edinburgh in secret with an
