Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (31 page)

****

Lia had struggled to get more than a couple hours of sleep, plagued with nightmares of terror and flame. The horrendous noise of the trebuchet still echoed in her ears. But just when it seemed she could no longer stand the terror, Ronan had appeared in her dreams, his strong arms holding her securely, his voice whispering soft reassurances. Her fear had faded with the touch of his lips against hers and the soft warmth of his kiss. In truth, it wasn’t terror that had awakened her, but the passion and desire she felt for a man she did not understand.

Try as she might, she could not strengthen herself against him. No matter her resolve, he punched through with a simple smile, the spark of mischief in his steel
-gray eyes, his deep laugh, his resolve to win not only this battle but to defeat his illness.

That was the crux of it, she suddenly realized
. She had witnessed his hatred of the English and what they had done to him. She had experienced and understood it. But he had defeated it, at least in regard to her, seeing her for who she was and what she was trying to accomplish. She had also witnessed his terror, the moments after his fits, as his awareness returned but he was still unable to move, uncertain of his surroundings, unknowing if this time was to be different and he would remain a prisoner of his own body, unable to ever move again.

Yet as his control returned, Ronan
turned to her for solace, just as she did with him in the face of her own terror. Lia sighed heavily and scrubbed away the tears that had gathered on her lashes. How was it a foundling English healer and a tormented Scottish laird could find such common ground? Her resolve to resist him was as nebulous as her hope she would one day find love and acceptance, her hope to regain what had been stolen from her—a family and love.

A soft knock sounded on her door.

Lia sighed again. Probably a servant wanting to know why she had not yet been seen in the keep. “Enter.”

To
her surprise, Ronan opened the door. “Are ye well, lass?” He crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed, taking her hand.

“I am.”

“I was concerned when I awoke and learned ye have not been about the keep yet this day. ‘The church bells should ring for Vespers soon.”

She bli
nked at him, startled. “Vespers? Forgive me, I did not realize it was so late.”

He reached up and stroked his fi
ngers through her hair. “Nay. Dinna fash yerself.”

She tore her gaze from his beautiful eyes and stared at the floor. “Is there only one outcome
to this siege?”

“One?” he asked softly.

“The castle destroyed, most dead, those who survive becoming prisoners of the English… and if they find me… I will hang as a traitor to the crown.” A huge tear welled in her eye and spilled down her cheek.

Ronan caught it on his finger. “Nay, lass,” he said, his fingers tightening on hers.
“I willna let them touch ye.”

Her fingers tightened on his hand.

Ronan drew a deep breath. “By placing an army at our walls, we are forced tae close the gates. They effectively trap us within the castle, forcing us tae rely on our stores of food and the castle well. Technically, they dinna have tae do anything but simply wait for us tae run out of food. Then we will be forced tae open the gates. But soldiers dinna do well with nothing tae do. The longer it takes for us tae open our gates, the greater the risk of desertion. Also, it affects the entire war movement. Other armies canna effectively move unless this location comes under control. So they bring siege engines tae help things along. The men remain out of bow range while the trebuchet throws its missiles tae damage our defenses and injure our soldiers, thereby weakening us much more quickly. The siege tower will slowly approach, protecting the men inside from our archers. It will allow them tae gain the top of the ramparts.”

“It sounds like we have no chance.”

“Nay,” he said, his lips tugging upward. “’Tisna quite so dire. One of the reasons I am working tae make the English believe in the Demon Laird is because every soldier who flees in terror not only weakens the forces against us, they affect the mindset of those who remain. Men who are fearful dinna fight with courage and strength. If I can weaken their forces enough, we can send men and horses through the sally and counterattack, breaking the siege and forcing the enemy tae withdraw.” He paused and smiled. “And if I can destroy War Wolf, that will be even better, as it will affect Longshanks’s effort tae wage war against us for months tae come. Trebuchets are expensive and take a long time tae build. Plus, Longshanks will be enraged that le March lost such a valuable piece of equipment.”

Her eyes widened. “You will fight?”

He blinked at her, surprised. “Of course, lass, I must lead my men. I canna leave it entirely tae Aidan.”

Fear cut through her. “Nay, Ronan, you cannot.”

“Lia,” he said gently. “I ken there is a risk I may have another attack—”

“Nay, I do not mean that
, although it is a risk. I worry more over your head injury.”

“My head injury is healed.”

“Ronan, that old injury increases the risk to you. Even a light blow to the head could easily kill you.”

He paused, his eyes wide. “Are ye sure, lassie?”

“Aye.”

He thought for a moment
, then shook his head. “So the same could happen if I had another attack, fall tae the floor, and strike my head.”

“True, but honestly the chances of that happening are
slim.”

“Still, if given the choice, I’d rather die in battle.”

She swallowed hard and gripped his hand. “I’d rather you not die at all.”

His gray eyes sparked with an intriguing fire. He pulled her fingers to his lips and softly kissed them. “For ye, lassie, anything.”

****

Two evenings later, Ronan sat in his solar, Lia’s words troubling him more than he was willing
to admit. Having an attack while in battle had been his greatest worry. But the fact he might be killed even with the slightest blow to the head disturbed him greatly.

A knock sounded at his door.

“Enter.”

Aidan opened the door, grinning broadly. “Your work as the Demon Laird is reaping benefits. The sentries have reported a loss of another fifty men last night.”

Ronan grinned at him and glanced out the loophole. The sun was rapidly setting. It would not be long before it was time for the Demon Laird to make another appearance. Ronan kept his appearances similar in nature but never repeated them exactly.

“I spoke with Lia
,” Aidan said.

“How is she?” H
e had not yet had the chance to speak with her today.

“
She turns her attention completely tae her medicants and bandages in case we come tae battle. Her fear has seemed tae calmed a bit.”

“Brother, she also told me something quite vexing,” Ronan said and repeated Lia’s concerns over his head injury.

Aidan’s face lost a bit of color. “Then ye canna fight, Ronan.”

“I must, Aidan, ye ken that.”

“But one who is overly concerned with protecting a specific part of the body canna react naturally. Ye will be at a severe disadvantage.”

“
I have asked the armorer tae increase the padding in my helm, but ye have it aright, Aidan.” He paused and shrugged. “I have already decided I will make every effort tae simply direct the battle, not run headlong into it as I once did. But if battle does come for me, I willna quail from it.”

His brother nodded. “Ian said they are over
the halfway mark with the tunnel.”

“Excellent, perhaps I will get a chance
tae burn that damned machine.” Ronan paused and thought for a moment. “Did ye order the assembly of our own trebuchet?”

Aidan’s expression eased
immediately. “Aye, although the men were quite confused at first.”

Ronan nodded and smiled. “Unlike infantry, the siege tower will move quite slowly. We will have a chance of hitting it and destroying it.”

“And a good chance of damaging the approach, causing the tower tae bog.”

Ronan looked again
to the loophole. It was now fully dark. “Excellent, brother,” he said and rose. “I shall get something tae eat, and later tonight, we shall see a return of the Demon Laird.”

Ronan appeared abruptly on the top crenellations of the barbican, much to the dismay of the enemy troops. He heard their shouts of alarm resound louder than before. He remained only a moment before disappearing and sprinting from the barbican to the east tower. Ronan lunged through the trapdoor, but this time he did not surprise Robert in the least. The man completely ignored him.

Ronan leapt
to the top of the crenellations but his weakened right leg flexed oddly, his foot did not find purchase and slid out from under him. His heart slammed against his ribs in terror as he realized he would not be able to maintain his balance and would go over the edge.

Suddenly, a hand seized his arm and spun him around. His cloak billowed out behind him
, but Ronan still could not find his balance. A second hand grabbed his tunic. The small brooch holding his cloak closed broke, and the garment slid from his shoulders, hanging in the air for an instant.

Robert had grabbed him
and then lunged backward, falling on his back next to the trapdoor and pulling Ronan with him. Ronan slammed into the wood, struggling to suck in a breath. Shouts cried louder through the enemy troops as his cloak fluttered gently to the ground.

“Stay down,” Robert growled. “Get into the tower
—they willna see ye.”

Ronan nodded, flipping open the trapdoor. “Thank ye, Robert,” he said softly. “Ye saved my life.”

Robert grinned at him. “Yer cloak blocked their view. They’ll think ye can fly now.”

A chuckle bubbled within him as he entered the tower and glanced through a
loophole. Those troops directly across from where his cloak had landed at the base of the wall stared at it as if expecting it to come to life and move on its own. He couldn’t resist the laugh that escaped him, echoing through the tower, deep and strong.

Their faces paled, realizing the Demon Laird yet lived but had somehow disappeared before their very eyes. Several soldiers threw down their weapons and ran, followed by another handful, then even more.

Ronan’s laughter grew.

****

The next day, in the late afternoon, Lachlan knocked on Ronan’s door.

“Enter.”

Lachlan stepped in. “MacGrigor, Seamus is below stairs wanting tae see ye.”

“Thank ye,
Lachlan. I shall be down in a moment.”

Lachlan
nodded then closed the door. Ronan wrapped his belt around his waist and returned his dagger to its scabbard beside his belt pouch. He eyed his claymore but decided against it. Instead, he opted for the bastard sword. Much more effective and easier to use in close quarter fighting. If the worst happened, he would find himself running through the tunnel, and the claymore would slow him down too much.

He wrapped his brat around his shoulders and affixed another brooch to it.
He tied his hair back and quickly descended the stairs.

Seamus awaited him in the great hall. He drank from a small flask as he chatted with
Lachlan.

“Seamus, good news I hope?”

“Aye. Ian sent me tae fetch ye. We have only tae dig the hole that will be the tunnel’s entrance.”

“Good, let’s go.”

“MacGrigor?” Lachlan asked and shuffled his feet as he stared down at them.

“Aye, lad?”

“May I go with ye? I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Ronan grinned at him and inclined his head. “Come on
, then.”

Lachlan
gave him a brilliant smile of his own. “Thank ye, MacGrigor.”

“Just send one of the lads
tae look for Aidan. He needs tae see this too.”

****

The sun was setting by the time Ronan reached the void and lowered himself down. Ian awaited him at the archway, puffing on his pipe impatiently. Ronan noticed the support beams they had placed and nodded in appreciation. The enemy would have to destroy the curtain wall entirely to even threaten dislodging them.

Ian picked up a lantern and led him deeper into the tunnel.
It was much wider than Ronan had expected. He still had to duck his head to avoid braining himself on the rocks above him, but it was wide enough that he could easily bring a handful of men with him if he wanted to. Ronan grinned to himself; this was getting better and better.

“There ye be,
laddie,” Ian said and held up the lantern. “That’s where we angle up a wee mite, and that will be yer entrance.”

“Excellent,” Ronan said. “Ian
, ye’ve done far more than I expected.”