Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (28 page)

She watched the gradual change in his movements as his muscles became fatigued and could no longer maintain the perfection he once had, and that devolution became reflected in his expression. The planes of his face grew harsher with anger, the calm but intense concentration he had possessed slowly crumbled away. She watched the warrior before her build himself up then
, brick by brick, tear himself apart.

His expression changed from anger
to fury.

He snarled in rage as he again brought the claymore down
, but this time Lia heard a telling clink as the tip grazed the flagstones at his feet. As if to compensate for the mistake, he roared and snapped it out and around with such force the swing unbalanced him. He staggered and almost fell. He bellowed a curse, again snapping the weapon out and around in what appeared to be an attempt at a block, but even Lia could see it went so wide that if it had been meant to stop a real weapon, he would have left his chest exposed, which would have resulted in a blade through his heart.

Again he roared in rage
, fighting to control the claymore. It was as if he no longer practiced but was fighting a terrible battle against an unseen enemy, something within himself, some horror that only he knew. Lia squeezed her eyes closed, tears burning; he was fighting the horror in his soul.

Another bellow from him snapped her eyes open. Again he staggered off balance
, but this time he was unable to recover and dropped to his knees. His gasps for air echoed in her ears. The rage he evidenced became a palpable thing in the room. Black, terrifying, deadly. He threw back his head and uttered a strangled cry.

Every instinct within Lia drove her
to move forward, to go to his side, but she remained rooted, an inexplicable fear growing within her with each heartbeat.

Still on his knees
, Ronan dropped his claymore. He lifted his hands, shaking violently, and stared at them. The shaking grew worse as he focused on the white scars of newly healed flesh on his wrists, permanent marks from the manacles that had shackled him. He looked down at his chest and the vicious scars riddling his flesh.

“Nay!” he roared, his snarl of fury
dying in a choked sob. He clutched at his head. “Be silent,” he gasped, and a second sob broke free. Suddenly, his hand closed again on the hilt of his claymore. Lia’s gaze locked on his steel-gray eyes. They reflected such agony, such utter desolation. He choked on another sob and tears streamed down his face. His grip shifted on the claymore slightly… and he changed the angle of the blade… he was going to—

“Nay!” Lia screamed and bolted toward him. “Ronan!” She crossed the room with a speed
she did not know she possessed. Her arms wrapped around him as she interposed her own body between him and the claymore he held and knocked it from his hand. Her arms pulled her to him and she cradled his head to her breast with such strength he could not resist her. “Nay, Ronan, please!” she cried, tears flooding down her cheeks.

He gasped for air but abruptly relaxed against her
. A second tortured gasp ripped from him and his arms closed around her as he sobbed like a child, shaking to the core of his being.

Lia clung
to him so hard it was a miracle he could breathe. He cried against her as if his soul had been torn asunder. Her own tears bathed his hair and face as she held him, but she was not going to release him.

She had treated so many people in her young life
, but never had she seen one suffer through so much yet fight so hard to survive… to return to the man he once was. But he didn’t understand. He would never again be the man he once was—that man was truly dead to him. He needed to grieve the loss but also find the strength to face a new future and not fear the man he could become.

His sobs gradually faded and he grew still against her
, but his arms remained tight around her. She continued to hold him, whispering soft reassurances and kissing the top of his brow, her hand caressing his face and hair.

He caught her hand and slowly looked up at her, tears continuing
to stream down his face. “Nay, Lia,” he said hoarsely. “I canna do this… the pain is too much… the memories… the nightmares—” His voice cracked and he drew a deep breath. “I still hear his voice, his laughter. I canna rid myself of it. I am no’ strong enough.” The desolation in his gray eyes shattered her heart.

Her fingers brushed away a tear as it rolled down his cheek. “Ronan, you are strong enough. You have proven that every day since this began. I have seen your strength.”

“Ye’ve only seen my weakness and failure.”

“Nay,” she said firmly. “I’ve seen the strength of a man
, who alone, freed himself from his captors. Who was strong enough to escape despite his wounds. Who found the strength to fight an illness, and who stood before the superstitious fear of his own clan. You did all of this alone and survived.”

He opened his mouth as if
to speak, but she gently traced her fingers over his soft lips and stopped him. “But now you are no longer alone.”

He blinked at her
, and a small spark of hope ignited in his gray eyes. “Not alone?” he whispered.

She smiled down at him. “You will never be alone again.” She threw caution
to the wind, seized the initiative, and started to lower her head, but fear suddenly stopped her. What was she doing? But Ronan slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her closer. His lips touched hers, and Lia kissed him with all the passion her heart held for him.

****

Receiving a kiss from Lia was better than any medicant she had ever devised for him, Ronan realized. Since growing into adulthood, never had a woman sheltered and protected him. Never had his defenses been so completely stripped away either, and never had he felt as vulnerable. He had faced the precipice and nearly ended it all, but it was Lia who had pulled him back from it.

He intensified his kiss, pushing himself up onto his elbow and cupping her face with his free hand. He never imagined himself falling in love with
the Sassenach healer. An hour ago, the thought of falling in love with any woman would have completely terrified him. But now it was a comfort, a balm to his soul that he desperately needed, and he embraced it with all of his heart.

All he wanted
to do was sweep her into his arms, take her to his solar, and make love to her. But a distinctive sound reverberated through the stone of the castle’s foundation and he pulled away, his thoughts scrambling.

“What was
—” Lia began.

“The portcullis being raised and the gates opening. It is dawn.”

“Already?”

He hauled himself
to his feet and reached down to help Lia to hers. He found the plaid she had dropped and wrapped it around her shoulders, realizing she wore only her chemise. He donned his cloak and picked up his claymore then led her upstairs, extinguishing the torches and candles as he went. He guided her up the stairs and approached the great hall.

“Ronan,
are you sure you’re all right?”

“Aye,” he murmured softly and smiled down at her. “Because of ye.” Then h
e paused, looked at himself and eyed her clothing, or the lack thereof. “The servants are awake and rising from their beds.” He hesitated, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll not have your reputation sullied any further until I actually sully it.”

Her cheeks immediately blazed crimson
, and a soft chuckle escaped him. She looked up at him, and as he gazed into her hazel eyes, still liquid with unshed tears, all of his randy banter escaped him and only one thought possessed him. He stepped closer, his lips only an inch from hers.
“Tha thu bóidheach.”

She looked up at him in confusion.

He chuckled again, memorizing every nuance of her bonny face. “Gaelic, of course,” he murmured. “Ye didna think I would neglect that. It means ye are beautiful.” He started to lower his head.

A
sentry’s cry froze his heart and stopped him in his tracks. His head snapped around.

H
e heard the cry from a second sentry.

Then a third echoed the warning
.

Swe
et Jesu, nay!
Dread clamped his gut in its icy claws.

“Ronan?”

“Get above stairs,” he growled.

“What?”

“Get above stairs!” he gently pushed her in the proper direction and sprinted for the door of his keep.

****

As Ronan ran up the stairs to the ramparts, his brother suddenly appeared and fell in step only a pace behind. A sentry on the tower spotted him and pointed. Ronan slid to a stop, and in the distance, he saw what had caused the alarm. An army approached. Ronan spotted the main battle standard, and even from this distance, he could see the heraldry. His blood boiled and his gut clenched.

“
Le March,” Ronan growled.

Aidan’s face paled.

He shot a hard look at his brother. “Where were yer birds on this?”

Aidan gazed at him
, stunned. “Ronan, I had tae move them away from Longshanks tae protect them and tae observe what we dinna ken. We kenned where Longshanks was. We kenned le March might do this.”

Ronan released a pent
-up breath. “Aye, Aidan, forgive me.”

“It’s not Longshanks
?” Lia asked from behind him.

Ronan looked over his shoulder, startled. He had
sent her above stairs. But then he realized she had quickly dressed and returned, still wearing his plaid about her shoulders. His intense rage faded as he looked at her. He took a deep steadying breath and held out his hand. She took it and stepped next to him. Ronan’s arm slid around her shoulders.

“
Nay. ’Tis Baron Hugh le March. The man who captured me,” he said softly. “It seems he has returned tae finish what he started.”

Lia’s face lost color and she swallowed hard. She stared at the approaching army. Her jaw tightened and fury sparked in her hazel eyes. But then she scowled. “What is that behind the army?”

Ronan tore his gaze from her and his fury levered upward as he focused on the three dozen wagons. They carried large wooden structures with one that was massive. All parts of a whole.

“Damnation,” Aidan muttered. “
My birds whispered there be only one trebuchet that large. I thought they were embellishing.”

Horror coiled through Ronan’s gut. Never had he seen the like. “What the devil?”

“Lupus Guerrae,”
Aidan said.

Lia gazed up at him. “What does that mean?”

“War Wolf. At over three hundred feet long, it is Longshanks’s largest siege engine, but it hasna been tested in battle.”

“
By Longshanks allowing the baron tae use the engine,” Ronan said, “he announces his blessing over this attack.”

“I don’t understand,” Lia said, pressing herself more firmly against his side.
“Why are there so many wagons?”

“The trebuchets are too large
tae move, lass. They must be disassembled, packed onto wagons, brought tae the battlefield, then reassembled. By the look of it, War Wolf is so large it probably took them at least a fortnight tae move it here.”

“He also has wagons carrying the siege tower,” Aidan said.

“Aye, it will probably take a sennight for the army tae arrive here and take their battle-set before the walls. That large of a trebuchet will take a month tae assemble. The siege tower might take a bit longer, especially since they will have tae prepare the approach so it doesna sink into the dirt. We will have plenty of time tae bring the villagers within our walls and prepare for the siege.”

Lia’s entire body started shaking.

Ronan looked down at her; to his worry, her face lost even more color. “Lass?”

She looked up at him, sheer terror in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head.

He scowled then looked to his brother. Aidan also watched Lia in concern, a puzzled frown blurring his brow.

“Aidan,” Ronan said softly,
his gaze returning to Lia, “have our sharpest-eyed sentry tally the forces and then meet me in my solar. I am going tae take Lia inside.”

“Aye,” Aidan replied, nodding.

Ronan gently guided Lia down the stairs to the bailey. His gaze fell on a particular corner where a hole formed from water runoff. He abruptly remembered that it was the same void he and Aidan had once used to escape their da and crawl up to the kitchen. Because of the water runoff, Ronan employed men to constantly refill it so the water would not damage the foundation of the keep or the curtain wall.

“Lia
, wait,” he said softly, and instead of leading her back to the keep, he guided her toward it. He released her so he could sit on the edge and use his feet to widen the opening just as he had done on that long-ago day, although he noted ruefully he had to make it much wider than before.

“What are you doing?” Lia asked.

He grinned up at her and winked. “You’ll see in a moment. Hand me the lantern hanging on that post, please.” She did so, and he pulled his fire-striker from his belt pouch. Lighting the lantern, he abruptly disappeared into the cavity.