be the one to ride away from you.” When pain darkened his beautiful eyes, the heart she’d thought fortified against him tripped. Why? Why did you leave me without a word? Nay, she did not want to know, could not afford to care why. She lifted her chin. “Do we enter the hall or stand here trading barbs?”
“The slings and arrows of outrage are all yours, lass,” he said quietly. “I would have peace between us.”
“That can never be.” Rowena moved past him and flung open the right-hand door. The wash of light and noise stopped her in her tracks. Blinking, she surveyed the great hall.
It was several times the size of Hillbrae’s. Into it were crammed more people than she’d seen in one place before-beautiful women and burly knights. They laughed and shouted, sang and danced, cavorting about to the riotous wail of a pair of pipers. Torchlight played on formfitting silken gowns in a dozen brilliant colors. Gemstones glittered at the women’s necks and on their fingers. Like fairy princesses they were, bonny and ever so polished.
Rowena hung back, hands clenching in her rumpled skirts. “I must look a sight,” she murmured.
“The offer of my chamber is still open.”
“I am still not interested. Ever,” Rowena said, turning on him.
“Ah, well, can’t blame a man for trying.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “At least let’s clean you up a bit before you must face the harpies.” He seized her chin before she could move away, whisked a square of linen from inside his tunic, moistened it with his tongue and dabbed at her cheek. “Hold still,” he admonished when she squirmed. “Well, you still look like a wee lassie who’s been playing in the mud, but you’ll have to do,” he said cheerfully after a moment.
“Thank you so much.” Rowena flung his hand aside, turned and plunged into the hall, too angry with him to mind the surprised looks cast her way. Belatedly, she realized he’d probably meant to make her angry so she’d forget about being ashamed or intimidated. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
Two men suddenly leaped in front of her, their hands around each other’s necks. “Take that back,” one screamed, shaking the other so his teeth clicked.
“Will not.” His opponent sent a fist flying. It glanced off the first man’s jaw and headed for Rowena.
She gasped and braced for a collision.
Lion whirled her clear of the two combatants. “Mind where you go.” He swept her over to a table near the hearth. Pulling out a bench, he gallantly seated her, then himself.
“I suppose I should thank you.”
“Only if the gratitude is sincere. If it’s not, it’ll be sure to curdle your belly. Hungry?” he asked. Chin propped in his hand, he regarded her with a friendly smile.
Rowena shrugged and looked out at the revelers, seeing a sinister side to the merriment. The two men who’d nearly felled her were themselves rolling on the floor. She caught the glint of a dirk in one man’s hand, but none of those nearby made any attempt to intervene. Mayhap because many of them were drunk, too. A few had passed out on the tables. One man lay retching beneath a bench. No one paid any attention.
She looked away, just in time to see a large man grab one of the serving maids, sling her over his shoulder and stride from the hall. “Why does someone not stop him?”
“’Twould be one against a hundred, and most of them so drunk they’d not listen to reason.”
“Where are your men?”
“Out and about. We none of us care for the entertainments to be had at Blantyre these days.”
“But...” Rowena began, then she sighed and looked down at her hands. She’d fought this same battle when she’d first come to Hillbrae, for the Gunns were a wild and unruly bunch. Padruig alone could control them, except when they were gone with drink. Rowena had learned to lock the maids in her solar when the men were in a festive mood. These men were meaner than the Gunns, she decided. Her gaze strayed to the pair of fighters. One of them lay bleeding on the floor. Seeing the other calmly going through his victim’s money pouch, she shivered.
“This is no place for you, lass. Let me provide an escort to see you home on the morrow.”
Much as she wanted to go, Rowena shook her head. “I cannot leave till my purpose is accomplished.”
“Milord.” A plump, homely maid approached the table and set down a cloth-covered tray. “Here’s the food ye asked cook to keep by for ye and the lady.”
“My thanks, Mairi, and to cook, also.” His smile would have charmed the birds from the trees.
“Always a pleasure to serve ye.” Mairi cast an envious glance at Rowena, then hurried away, evading a dozen groping hands with skillful swats.
“You have many friends among the serving staff.”
“The best kind...if a man plans to eat well.” He whisked the cover off the tray and sniffed. “Cook makes the best meat pies.” He lifted one and juggled it, wincing. “Hot, too. Better let me hold it, or you’ll burn your fingers.
Dazzled by the smell, Rowena did as he bid, leaning forward and taking a big bite. It was delicious, the crust flaky, the meat juicy. It wasn’t till she’d taken her third bite that she realized Lion had her eating out of his hand. Sitting back, she scowled at him. “You think you are clever, don’t you?”
“Time will tell if I’m clever enough,” he said lightly.
To do what? Seduce her? Likely he’d try, and yet... Rowena frowned, struck by the hidden meaning in his words. She’d known him as a canny lad of eight and ten, yet sensed that the time away had broadened his intelligence. What had he done in France?
“Lion!” A voice boomed out over the din in the hall, silencing the laughter and even the wail of the pipes.
Everyone, Rowena included, looked to the doorway. There stood a tall, dark-haired man, his muscular body draped in velvet and gold chains. The princely tilt of his head as he arrogantly surveyed the hall confirmed his identity.
“The earl,” Rowena breathed.
“True, unfortunately,” Lion said just as softly.
Alexander Stewart’s piercing gaze pounced on their quarry. “Lion! I have need of you.”
Lion sighed and stood. “I regret that I must leave you.” He took her hand, his lips lingering a moment in a gentle kiss, his eyes locked on hers. “I will have one of my men stay with you.”
“C-could you not introduce me to the earl?” she asked.
“Lion!”
“In his present mood, ’twould do more harm than good.” Lion bowed formally, then strode over to meet the royal prince, who whisked him from the hall.
Of all the times for Alexander to choose for a meeting, Lion thought as he grimly followed the earl across the courtyard and into the ancient tower, built by the Shaws a century ago. Up the winding stairs they went, to the old hall where once the Shaw chiefs had ruled. Here Alexander’s inner circle
