Taming The Lion

“I know it pains your tender heart to leave them to the elements.” Eoin laid a hand on her arm. “Let me go down and speak with them, see if I can learn their intent.”

Catlyn extracted her arm from his grasp. Once his touch had made her blood warm with possibilities. That was before she had learned Eoin had been warming Dora’s bed all the while he’d been courting her. “’Tis a kindly offer, but if they captured you—”

“Good riddance,” Adair grumbled. He’d been all for tossing Eoin out for breaking Catlyn’s heart.

Catlyn scowled at her captain. “If they took Eoin, we’d be forced to bargain with them.” Pleasant as it was to think of life without Eoin trailing after her.

“Hello the keep!” shouted Ross Sutherland.

Catlyn whipped back to the window and opened her mouth.

“We cannot let you in,” Adair leaned out and bellowed.

“Not very Christian of you.”

“A man’s gotta look to his own.”

“We mean you no harm.”

“The world is full of liars.” Adair glanced at Eoin.

A rumble of thunder cut off Sutherland’s reply. A few fat raindrops began to fall from the darkening sky.

Catlyn flinched. “A moment, sir knight,” she called down, ignoring Adair’s grunt of disapproval.

Ross Sutherland’s mouth swept up in a smile, his teeth a slash of white in the gloom. “My thanks for your intervention, my lady. It is getting right wet.”

“Oh, we cannot let you inside, but if you’ll wait a moment, I’ll have food and blankets lowered to you.”

The smile became an angry slash. “We’ve blankets aplenty. Yours would no doubt soak through as quickly as ours. What we need is a roof over our heads ere this storm breaks loose.”

Catlyn glanced at Adair and sighed. “I—I am sorry, Sir Ross, but we cannot.” Pride made her add, “Please do not think us uncharitable, but we’ve a powerful enemy hereabouts and dare not take the chance that you are allied with them.”

“So be it.” Ross Sutherland obviously had his pride, too, for he wheeled his great horse and started down the narrow road to the plateau below.

Kennecraig Tower sat on the edge of a deep cleft in the mountain, stark and nearly unassailable. The only access to it was up this trail. Archers on the walls could send a withering stream of arrows or even hot pitch down on the attackers who must move single file up the trail. Every Boyd knew that Kennecraig could not be taken, except by treachery.

Reason enough to turn the Sutherlands away, Catlyn thought. Still she hated doing it. Cupping her hand to her mouth, she called out, “There’s a thick stand of pines along river.” She expected no reply and got none, but she watched them anyway.

When they reached the plateau, the troop stopped abruptly. The reason came clear, for a horde of men suddenly stepped out from behind the huge boulders rimming the plateau.

Catlyn gasped, recognizing their dark plaid with its distinctive threads of red and white. “Fergussons!” And in the fore was Hakon, of the sparse figure and long blond hair.

“Hakon’s leading them.” Eoin scowled. “What are they doing this close to Kennecraig?”

“They must have been waiting to attack us,” said Adair. “If these Sutherlands had not spotted them—”

“Sweet Mary. You don’t think Hakon will harm them.”

“I do not know.”

“But these men have done nothing to Hakon.” Catlyn held her breath and watched the drama unfold in the gathering gloom. She saw Ross Sutherland gesture toward Kennecraig, the wind whipping his cloak back from wide shoulders as he explained their predicament. ’Maybe Hakon will take the travelers back to Dun-Dubh and give them shelter.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Hakon drew his sword. The Boyds’ gasps of horror were drowned out by a sharp clap of thunder. Lightning flashed across the sky. In the spats of dark and light, the battle was joined. The Sutherlands fought valiantly, but the Fergussons were pressing them back. When the first Sutherland fell, Catlyn made her decision.

“Adair! We must do something,” she cried.

“Aye. Archers to the wall!” Wheeling, Adair ran down the tower steps with a swiftness that belied his forty years. Eoin and Catlyn scrambled after him.

“What are you going to do?” she demanded, grabbing Adair’s arm at the base of the steps.

“Get the Sutherlands inside if I can.”

“You won’t have to go out there, will you?” A hundred fears crowded her mind. Concern for her kinsmen’s welfare. Terror that the Fergussons would somehow sneak inside Kennecraig.

“Aye.” Already the creak of chains and gears accompanied the winching up of the portcullis whose iron bars shielded the gate. “But the archers’ll cover us and see no Fergusson gets up the road. Stay inside, mind,” he admonished, patting her cheek. “You’d best be ready with bandages and the like.”

He was gone before Catlyn could protest. As she turned away from the gate, she nearly fell over a knot of household servants. They clung together, whimpering and shivering. Before Hakon Fergusson entered their lives, the folk of Kennecraig had not known fear or violence.

“Is it true?” asked Ulma. “Is it Hakon?” Her maid’s normally ruddy face was white, her merry blue eyes stark.

“It is.” Her parents had taught her that the truth, even a terrible truth, was better than a lie. “But his plans were foiled by the Sutherlands. Some of them have been wounded,” she continued briskly. “We must make preparations to tend them.”

“What shall we do?” a frightened voice cried.

“Dora will know what needs...” Catlyn stopped. Dora was no longer housekeeper here. Catlyn had little training in such matters. Between them, Dora and Catlyn’s mother had run the keep, but Catlyn had dismissed Dora when she’d found her with Eoin, and Lady Jeannie had not been herself since Thomas died.

“Maybe we should tell Old Freda to ready her medicine chest,” Ulma said gently.

“Of course.” Catlyn nearly kissed the old woman. “Freda will know what should be done. Go along, all of you, and help her gather what is necessary.”

Feeling grossly inadequate, Catlyn raced back up into the gatehouse. Buried beneath the grief of her father’s loss and the weight of her new responsibilities, she had given little thought to who was running the keep. Tomorrow she must remedy that.

From the window, she watched Adair and a score of Boyds trot down the path. It had begun to rain in earnest now. Their weapons—swords, spears and a few fearsome Lochaber axes—shimmered in the cascading lightning. For a moment, she feared Adair planned to take her men into battle against the Fergussons, but halfway to the plateau, he halted.

“To me, Sutherlands!” Adair cried.

The battle seemed to stop as Fergussons and Sutherlands turned and looked up the mountain.

“Retreat!” Adair screamed. “Come within! We offer succor!” To punctuate the offer, he hurled a spear at the nearest Fergusson, catching the gaping man full in the chest. As he toppled off his horse, the gruesome tableau scattered.

Hakon Fergusson roared something coarse and pithy.

The Sutherlands wheeled and spurred back up the hill.

The Fergussons raced after them, swords aloft.

“Archers!” Catlyn screamed, turning to the men pressed shoulder to shoulder on the walls.