Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (3 page)

“Almighty have mercy,” Laird
MacFarlane said as he stepped next to Aidan. The laird had been a friend of their father’s and a longtime ally of MacGrigor. He and his troops had fought with them in the battle when Ronan had been captured. The laird had not hesitated to accompany Aidan to find Ronan.

“Aye,” Aidan said tightly. “Come. We must get him home.”

MacFarlane nodded, although his face had grown unusually pale.

The sun
descended in the western sky as the small group crested a rise and Castle MacGrigor stood before them. A more welcome sight Aidan had never seen.

Aidan
had no desire to reveal the state of their laird to everyone who worked and lived at the castle, but he had little choice as they rode through the gates and into the bailey. Aidan bellowed for a litter and for servants to help as he hustled his brother into the castle. The occupants stopped and stared; many crossed themselves, whispering prayers.

Inside the great hall, Ronan
groaned and suddenly sat up on the litter, forcing them to stop and place it on the floor before he toppled from it.

“Ronan,”
Aidan barked, kneeling beside him. “Easy, ye are safe.”

Ronan blinked at him
and his eyes widened. He then glared at a young serving maid only a pace away. The muscles in his face went rigid, his lips pulled downward, giving him a cruel snarl, and for a moment, his pupils grew in size and Aidan caught a red glint in them.

Bloody hell! Not now!
Aidan recognized the expression from childhood, but the blackouts had become so rare Aidan had begun to hope Ronan had defeated them. Unfortunately, as the years passed, Ronan’s expression during these rare attacks had turned vicious and terrifying. Now with his terrible wounds and with blood covering him, he appeared as if hell had welcomed him to its bosom then spat him back out.

The serving maid he had locked in his gaze gasped and retreated. She covered her mouth, shaking.

Aidan gripped his brother’s shoulders. “Ronan,” he barked but knew it would do little good. “ye be home!”

For the barest instant, Ronan’s eyes flicked
to him, but then to Aidan’s horror, they rolled back into his head. Every muscle in his brother’s body stiffened and he knifed backward. Aidan only just stopped him from slamming his already cracked skull into the stone floor. His arms twisted upon themselves and his entire body jerked spastically. Aidan could only stare in shock; never had he seen anything like this from his brother. This was much more than the blackouts Ronan had suffered as a child.

Ronan’s muscles clenched, standing in sharp relief under his skin. The cords in his neck raised and the veins bulged. He fought
to breathe, choking as froth formed on his lips.

The serving maid he had terrified only a moment ago screamed. “Demon! The devil has him!”

Aidan’s head snapped around. “Nay!” he roared. “Be silent, wench!”

One of his kinsmen stepped forward and pulled the screaming woman from the great hall.

With a gasp, Ronan suddenly went limp, breathing raggedly, but at least he was still breathing. “Get him tae the solar now,” Aidan growled. “MacFarlane?”

The man had stood back during the event, his eyes wide with terror. “Aye?”

Aidan pulled him out of earshot of the others. “We need your help. The clans allied with us were quite concerned when they learned my brother had been captured. I need ye tae spread the word we have recovered him. He is alive and will once again lead MacGrigor.”

MacFarlane
’s gaze slid to the litter as the men carried Ronan upstairs. “What happened, young MacGrigor?”

“Nothing,” Aidan growled. “His wounds are grievous
, but he will recover.”

“He be at death’s door,”
MacFarlane snapped.

Aidan bit back a
curse. “Are ye blind? Ye didna see what he did? He freed himself. He willna die. He has too much fight in him. Tell the other clans.”

MacFarlane said nothing, staring at the now empty stairwell.

Aidan gritted his teeth. “On my da’s soul, do it for him if not for my brother.”

MacFarlane
’s gaze returned to Aidan. He swallowed hard then nodded. “Aye, for yer da then, God rest his soul. It would kill him tae see his son in such a state.”

“My brother will live,” Aidan growled. “Tell the others.”

“Aye.” MacFarlane turned and left the great hall, calling for his horse.

****

Two days had passed and Aidan heard the serving maid’s scream all the way into the great hall. Cursing himself, he sprinted for the stairs. He should have known better than to leave her alone with his brother. Hadn’t the last two attacks taught him anything? He exploded through the door but was stunned to see his brother was not in the midst of an attack. Instead, Ronan was conscious, but hurting, and anguish lined his face. He reached toward the serving girl, who cowered in the corner.

“Nay,” he whispered hoarsely. “
I willna harm ye, lass.”

The girl spotte
d Aidan and he noted her hands shook. “I was tryin’ tae tend tae him, but he suddenly roused and grabbed my hand. He wouldna release me. Please, dinna let him hurt me.”

Ronan flinched at her words.

“Nay,” Aidan snapped, “ye ken yer laird. He willna hurt ye…ever.”

Ronan looked at him and his eyes widened. The muscles in his face tightened. Aidan lunged
to his side, but before he could order the servant from the room, Ronan’s eyes rolled back in his head and his muscles began to spasm.

The girl screamed in terror and ran from the room. Her cries of the demon echoed through the keep.

“Damnation! Be silent!” Aidan bellowed but she was already gone.

Aida
n pinned his brother’s arms. Ronan’s injuries were too great; the uncontrollable spasms would only cause more harm.

Marta, the old healer, entered and moved
to help. The froth again formed on Ronan’s lips and he gagged and choked.

Terror pounded within
him; he feared that this attack would be the one to end his brother’s life. His muscles corded under his skin and Aidan battled his brother’s great strength to keep him from hurting himself worse.

As abruptly as the attack began, it ended
, and Ronan slumped into his bed, his breathing ragged. Aidan knew he would not return to consciousness for some time. Slowly he released him and stepped back, shaking.

“Young MacGrigor
,” Marta said, wringing her hands with worry. “I fear yer brother be beyond my simple skills.”

“What mean ye?
” Aidan snapped. His gaze traveled to Ronan, now so still on his bed.

“
The crack on his skull…  the wounds from whip and iron… so much damage.” She turned her head to look at her laird. “I dinna ken how he has survived it at all.”

Aidan
ground his teeth in sheer frustration. In the past two days, the servants had witnessed two other attacks, and just like the maiden a moment ago, they had run screaming in terror of the Demon Laird.

Rumor ran rampant through the keep. The
MacGrigor had made a deal with the devil to escape the English. Now the devil demanded his due.

Aidan
could honestly understand the servants’ fear. “His head wound,” he said softly. “It must be the cause of this.”

“Pray pardon?”

“He was conscious when I first entered.”

“Conscious?” Marta asked in shock.

“Aye, the lass was terrified of him.” He paused and looked at Marta. “Her fear distressed him greatly.”

Marta continued
to wring her hands. Her expression relaxed as she gazed at Ronan. “He has always been a good man, gentle and caring.” She paused, a fond smile coming to her lips. “Ye two were hellions as lads.”

Aidan felt
the pull of a smile. “Aye, that we were, Marta. But ye dinna see it. It is that fire within that sustains him now. Yet I worry that the fear of his own people will break him where the English werena able.”

“We must keep the servants f
rom him. They fear what they dinna understand.”

Aidan
nodded. “But what can we do? My brother has fought too hard tae give up now. I willna give up on him. Surely there is something.”

The old woman fidgeted nervously. “There is another healer who may have the knowledge
tae help… but she is in the land of the Sassenach.”

“She is English?”
Aidan asked horrified. “Damnation, they are the ones responsible for this.”

“Ye
dinna understand. This woman is legendary for her healing skills, and she turns no one away. She does not recognize nations or wealth. Those who come tae her for help are only suffering people in the need of aid. Those who can pay her in gold. Those who canna give her gifts—clothing, food, baubles, or even trade work. But she is old… older than even I. I dinna ken if ye can convince her tae come… the MacGrigor be too weak tae go tae her. But I fear she is his only chance.”

“Where is she?”

“Not far on the other side of the border. A ride of a fortnight tae reach her.”

“Ye speak of a month for her tae come here.
Damnation, Marta, I dinna ken if he will survive a sennight.”

“Ye said
yerself he has fought too hard. We canna give up on him.”

Aidan
cursed softly and gazed down at his brother. Although many would kill to be laird of Clan MacGrigor, Aidan was not one of them. He had no desire to be laird. Ronan’s skills and talents made him perfect for that duty. 

Ronan had fought so hard
to survive what the English had done to him, to survive and escape on his own. If he had the chance to live, Aidan had to give it to him. Ronan deserved that much.

“I will send Robert and Connell on the morn,” he said softly. He crouched and took his brothe
r’s hand. “I will find the help ye need. Just hold on until then, brother.”

“Thank ye, child,” the old man said as Lia handed him a cup.

She smiled. “I don’t guarantee the taste, but the medicants should ease the pain enough for you
to move. Of course, the hot springs will help too.”

The man, his joints swollen with age, could barely move because of the pain. His bones popped like dry tinder when he walked
, and he had forced himself to endure a long and agonizing journey to find the healer whose reputation bordered on that of a miracle worker—Sueta, the old woman who had years ago taken Lia under her wing.

He downed the tea in one swallow, grimaced
, and then gave her a toothless smile. “Not bad.”

“Wait for a bit
, then you should be able to walk to the springs.”

“Thank ye again.” He paused and frowned. “What is your name, child?”

“Lia.”

“Lia of…?”

Pain seized her heart as a terrifying memory flashed through her mind. Fire raged around her, terrible thundering noises threatened to deafen her. The stone walls shivered and collapsed. She had stood, frozen in fear, sobbing and screaming for her mother.

She shook herself and forced the memory away. “Lia of
Cumbria.”

The old man gazed at her curiously
and patted her hand. “Are ye the healer’s daughter?”

“Nay, just an apprentice. I have made several steeping bundles for you,” she said, trying
to divert the man from her past. “I will instruct your daughter how to make the medicant and tell her which herbs she needs to make more.”

The man nodded again. “I’m feeling better already.”

“Good,” Lia said and rose. She had more patients to tend to.

The sound of horses approaching caught her attention. Lia looked
to the trail and her eyes narrowed. Two men turned from the trail and toward the open area before the healer’s hut. Their horses appeared well-bred but travel-worn and exhausted. They had two more packhorses and a large mule in tow. The men did not look much better than their weary mounts. Although they dressed in the manner of the English, Lia knew instantly they were not. One man’s bright red hair and beard along with his sharp blue eyes told her he was a Scotsman. The man who rode with him had long blond hair. He did not have a beard, but his eyes were just as blue. Lia arched an eyebrow. With King Edward warring against the Scots, the men took a great risk coming to England.

The two dismounted, looking around warily. They did not appear ill or injured. Lia quickly approached. As Sueta’s apprentice, it was her job
to greet newcomers and ascertain their intentions.

“Greetings,” Lia said.

The men looked at her, startled, then looked at each other.

Lia swallowed hard
. She was an abnormally tall woman, only an inch shorter than the two men before her. Her automatic reaction as she grew so tall and gangly had been to slouch in order to hide her height. That only resulted in Sueta snapping her cane on Lia’s back with an order to stand up straight. A stinging correction, to be sure, but one that did not leave a mark.