Pride Of Lions

Pride Of Lions
Suzanne Barclay

PRIDE OF LIONS A Blood Feud Had Ruled Her Lands For More Years Than Anyone Could Remember And Allisun Murry, chieftain of her clan, would not rest until her murdered kin were avenged. Yet the sight of Hunter Carmichael as he rode from the midst of her enemies gave her pause.For the King's man had proven his bravery in the face of certain death, and captured her unsuspecting heart. Allisun Murry stirred Hunter's blood in a way no woman had before. For the magnificent beauty was living proof that ancient warrior queens had once roamed the Scottish hills.Yet would a woman so hellbent on vengeance ever willingly lay down her sword and give in to the passions that now raged between them?

“Get out of my bed,” Allisun snapped. (#u97a32cdf-3f71-5bc9-b9e2-cf4491278472)Letter to Reader (#ufe26a7b9-aade-56e9-ac69-1e08bf9a38be)Title Page (#u16886e59-587f-5cba-a9a2-441c88b966ed)About the Author (#uc33565da-c3d5-547c-b79e-193ac24006e2)Dedication (#u7aa2b535-ef8b-5b1d-8407-9dd9383018bb)Prologue (#ufe0231c3-aa8e-5d41-8ce0-077ed6a97359)Chapter One (#u249f30c8-c8ec-59a9-9548-1cdaed4d4d28)Chapter Two (#u3b018c2e-9c00-58a5-a404-dd3bccdc1e11)Chapter Three (#u7483f047-fd46-5507-bc8e-c836886d2a3b)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Get out of my bed,” Allisun snapped.

Hunter shook his head, his midnight brown eyes glowing with sympathy. “There’s only the one, and my ankle—”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” She made to bolt from the bed, but he was quicker, one hand snagging her wrist. She tried to wrench free. “You’re hurting me.”

“Nay, you are hurting yourself by struggling.”

Allisun stilled, but her pulse beat wildly as she stared at her enemy. His eyes bored into hers with an intensity that stripped away everything but this moment. She was vividly conscious of his superior strength, held in check by the force of his will. Inside her, a primitive fear stirred. He could do with her whatever he wanted. None of the tactics her father and brothers had taught her could help her now. She was utterly powerless. But she would not beg. Lifting her chin, she snapped, “Attack me and have done with it.”

Dear Reader,

If you’ve never read a Harlequin Historical novel, you’re in for a treat. We offer compelling, richly developed stories that let you escape to the past—written by some of the best writers in the field!

We are very excited about Pride of Lions, a new Scottish medieval novel and the latest in THE SUTHERLAND SERIES by Suzanne Barclay. Critics have described her work as “Pure gold!”, “Magical!” and “Totally satisfying.” In her latest, a knight and a warrioress from enemy clans join forces and fall in love when they are lost within the territory of an evil laird. Don’t miss it!

Be sure to look for The Heart of a Here, a darling Western by Judith Stacy. Here, a bad boy turned rancher has thirty days to prove he’ll be a good father to his niece and nephew, and enlists the help of the new schoolmarm. The Knight’s Bride by rising talent Lyn Stone is a heartwarming and humorous tale of a very true knight who puts his honorable reputation on the line when he promises to marry the beautiful widow of his best friend.

Rounding out the month is Burke’s Rules, book two of THE GUARDSMEN series by Pat Tracy. Set in Denver, this story features a perfectly mannered schoolmistress who falls for the “protective” bachelor banker who helps her fund her school. Don’t miss this wonderful, sensuous story!

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical

novel.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

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Pride Of Lions

Suzanne Barclay

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

SUZANNE BARCLAY

Suzanne Barclay considers herself sublimely lucky to be writing historical romances. What other career would allow her to watch old Errol Flynn movies and call it research? Or daydream and call it work?

On those rare moments when she can tear herself away from the stories she is creating, she enjoys walking in the woods with her two dogs, Max and Duffy, whipping up exotic meals for her husband of twenty-three years and pawing through the local antique marts for special pieces to decorate her office/study.

Be sure to watch for the next installment in the Sutherland series, Taming the Lion, coming out in June, 1999.

Suzanne freely admits that she has trouble keeping track of all the Sutherlands and Carmichaels who people her stories, and has prepared an updated family tree detailing the various characters, their marriages and their children. To receive a copy, send a large SASE to: Suzanne Barclay, P.O. Box 92054, Rochester, NY 14692.

To my family,

a constant source of pride and joy.

Prologue

Luncarty Tower, the Scottish Borders

July, 1381

The setting sun bathed the crests of the Cheviot Hills in red fire and deepened the shadows in the woods along the creek that flowed past the tower. Soon it would be full dark, and everyone knew the land about was wild and dangerous.

So why in the world was his aunt leaving the safety of Luncarty’s stout walls?

His belly tight with apprehension, Hunter Carmichael crept after her, careful to stay well back as she negotiated the steep trail down to the edge of the burn. Her movements were quick and jerky, which was not at all like his graceful aunt, his favorite among his father’s five brothers and sisters. But then, she had not been acting like herself all day.

Hunter frowned. Could it be Uncle Jock’s fault?

Last night Hunter had heard Brenna and her husband arguing. The sounds of raised voices and weeping had roused him from sleep. He’d lain there in the dark, in the little wall chamber down the hall from theirs and wondered what to do. His parents sometimes disagreed, but they never shouted, and his father would not have made his mother cry.

A shaft of longing knifed through him. He’d enjoyed his summer here with his beloved aunt, but he wished he was home at Carmichael Castle with his parents. He missed his mother’s gentle smiles, his father’s sage advice and even Father Matthew’s lessons in reading and writing and scripture. Uncle Jock didn’t hold much with book learning, and had allowed Hunter to roam about, fishing and riding and doing as he pleased. He’d liked that very much indeed, but just now, thinking of home made his throat tighten and his eyes prickle.

Bah, he was ten and three, nearly a man. And it was a man’s duty to protect his family, particularly the woman-folk, his father, Ross, had taught him. The memory of those lessons drove Hunter from his warm bed and down the chilly, dark corridor to knock on the door of the master chamber.

“Who the hell’s there?” Uncle Jock demanded.

“H-Hunter.”

There was some grumbling and cursing, but the door opened. Jock McKie’s burly body filled the doorway, clad in loose breeks and a rumpled tunic. “What do ye want?” he demanded.

“I...I heard voices.” Hunter peered around his uncle to where his aunt stood by the hearth, her eyes red, her hair tumbling like a black curtain to the waist of her tightly belted bed robe. She looked no older than he, though she was near thirty. The sight of her, so small and unhappy, roused his protective instincts. Pushing past Jock, he went to take her icy hands.

“Are you all right?” Hunter whispered.

“Of course she is,” Jock snapped, coming up behind him. “We were just discussing something, were we not, Brenna?”

“Aye, that’s true,” she said at once.

Hunter was relieved not to see any bruises on her face. They’d had a soldier at Carmichael who had beaten one of the maids. Bram was his name, and he’d claimed women needed to be hit to keep them in line. Hunter’s father had disagreed vehemently. Ross had whipped the man and dismissed him, but the lesson had stayed with Hunter. Though Jock was a head taller than him and weighed twice as much, Hunter decided that if he’d been beating Brenna, he’d thrash Jock. Or try to.

“We were having words, as married people sometimes do, and lost our tempers,” his aunt added. “I’m sorry we woke you.”