But there was awe in Mairi’s voice when she said, “He is the most powerful earl in the land, chancellor and council to your father the king. A travelling contingent such at that one commands instant reverence.”
“Or fear,” Glenna said, fully prepared to dislike this man who represented her father, her father who she had already decided she did not care for despite their shared blood. She knew nothing about this great earl except that everyone seemed to grow quiet when his name was mentioned. “Can men not understand that respect is earned?”
“I suspect the earl does not worry over such things. And respect is due and required by men of rank and birth. You have lived outside the life you live now. You did not see such on yoursmall island. But our land is wild, and there are men who would change the way of things, men who would be cruel and murder and take what they want. In your father’s stead, the earl alone is Scotland’s great protector.”
“Alone?” Glenna laughed. “He and his five hundred armed men?”
“Impressive, though it is to behold from here, that is but a travelling contingent. Were he coming for a battle there would be five times the number of riders, along with warriors on foot and a legion of archers.” She paused and turned. “I have never heard that he is a cruel or unfair man, Glenna.”
Glenna closed the shutters and said, “It matters not to me because I am prepared for battle.”
“Aye. You have fire in your eyes.” Mairi said and began to help her dress and braid her hair.
The earl and his men had long ridden through the gates when both women finished. Glenna stood fully dressed and coiffed, brushed and braided, decorated and standing in the center of the large chamber, her nerves growing raw, her heart beating too hard, a bead of sweat on her upper lip, and her mind thinking of a thousand possible answers.
A knock came at the door and Mairi answered it, saw Lyall and slipped out.
He stood there, tall and gloriously handsome, dressed in a rich, dark blue long tunic with gold design that was his own over dark hose and soft boots. His face was clean-shaven, his golden hair touched his shoulders, and heavy jeweled rings adorned his fingers on the hand he held out to her. His smile for her was clear. His love for her in his eyes.
Lud, how I adore this man.
“Come, love,” he said easily. “We will face them together.”
Without hesitation, Glenna reached for him. His warm hand closed over hers, and she was struck by a wonderful serge of power and sudden strength, and they walked toward the hall, and down the stairs side by side.
Before they reached the stairs, Lyall touched Glenna’s hand and she glanced up quickly and gave him a smile--one he could see did not quite reach her eyes--then she looked straight ahead, her mouth in a thin line of determination though he knew, she was frightened. Her back was straight. Her chin was high.
“You are so beautiful,” he said casually, not looking at her. “I am the most fortunate of men.”
He felt her glance up at him, and he gave in looked down at her sweet face, something he could do for the rest of his days. From beneath feather-thick dark lashes, her eyes were so ebony that they looked as vast and fathomable as the deepest forest under a midnight sky. She chewed on her lip, her guard down.
He gave her wink and she recovered quickly, a clear smile on her lips. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I would argue I am the most fortunate of woman. Who is the more fortunate?”
“Let me think,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we are both wrong and the most fortunate man in the world would be he who holds the heart of Old Gladdys.”
Laughter burst from her, hearty and honest, and for a moment he thought her fear might have subsided. Lyall patted her hand reassuringly before they reached the bottom of the stairs. She was a grand sight, breathtakingly lovely, the unforgettable kind of woman whose image was burned for an eternity in a man’s mind. Like the Canmore she was born to be, she was the image of the regal daughter of a king in the gown she had clutched to her chest as she slept—crimson and fitted of the finest velvet warped with silk, rare and woven with a discriminating Flemish skill and eye, expertly decorated with silver embroidery that hinted of his sister’s fine stitches, trimmed in royal ermine and girdled over her rounded hips with a heavily hammered silver belt set with rubies.
Her black hair hung in stormy waves down her back and past her buttocks, but the hair near her temples was drawn back in twists of thin braids decorated with red ribbands from which hung silver pendants in the shape of stars and drops of perfectwhite pearls the color of her pale skin. The pearls in her hair matched the wide necklace she wore around her throat: three tight stands of large, round pearls with a ruby set in the center, the necklace and the long jeweled belt gifts from his mother and the baron. He, too, had a gift for her, one he now wished he had given her, but ‘twas too late.
At the bottom of the staircase, the cacophony of voices in the room slowly waned as many curious eyes lit upon them. The sudden silence grabbed the room’s attention as quickly as the ringing of the supper bell. In the center of the great hall stood a tall, powerfully-built man with a stark white streak in his dark hair. Next to him were Lyall’s mother and stepfather, and all were surrounded by clusters of retainers--Sutherland’s contingent of knights along with the Montrose household knights and their ladies.
The great earl of Sutherland, Lord Chancellor, Valan de Carleone looked up, then faced them. His wide earl’s belt glinted in the light and his eyes immediately lit upon Glenna. His expression froze and the color drained from his face. “Cait?”
There was a frantic and sudden murmuring from many of the earl’s men. Glenna stopped and looked behind her, then back again, frowning, but Lyall merely ignored the strange reactions and murmurs, stayed calm, and moved them closer.
Ramsey stepped up with Glenna into the group. “My lady, may I present to you Lord Valan de Caleone, earl of Sutherland, Lord Chancellor of Scotland, and old friend and council to your father. Earl Valan, you remember my stepson Sir Lyall Roberson.”
The earl had been studying Glenna as if he were seeing a ghost, but made a quick bow to her and acknowledged Lyall with ‘Sir Ewane’s son.’ Lyall wasn’t certain if he meant to insult or not, or perhaps considering why they were there, he meant to remind him exactly who he was.
But Lyall quickly gauged there was no intent, in fact the earlbarely paid attention to him because he was so busy studying Glenna.
When the earl took her hand he said quietly, as if talking to himself, “’Tis uncanny.”
“What is uncanny, my lord?” Glenna asked.
And his look was assessing, then he gave a slight smile and shook his head. “Just fancy, Lady Glenna. An old man’s eyes play dark tricks. Come with me. I believe we need to speak privately.” He threaded her arm over his and gave Ramsey a nod, asked for two of his knights to accompany him. “And you Robertson.”
An urge came over him to tear her from Earl Valan’s arm, to place his body between them and shout that this was all his fault, but his stepfather was talking to him, asking a casual question and demanding his attention and walking close to his side. His guard? Lyall made a vague comment, but never took his eyes off of Glenna, watching her straight shoulders and stiff spine, her chin unduly high in the presence of her father’s most powerful ally and friend, attuned to her nerves, her every motion and look. Lyall did not want her hurt. She was trying to be his champion.
