Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (39 page)

“There be the
healer,” an unfamiliar voice said as a man stepped next to her.

She started and looked
up. “Do you need something?” She recognized one of the lairds, MacFarlane, if she remembered correctly.

“I need
tae speak with ye. A matter of healing,” he said and smiled. He paused and looked at the sheet of vellum with her cypher. “What be this?”

She blushed, unwilling to have him believe her uneducated. “Scribbles,” she muttered.

“I see some letters but they make no sense.”

“As I said,” she replied, her voice growing tighter, “scribbles.”

“Very well,” he said, dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand.

Her ire pricked.
Lia studied the man a moment. He was aging but still a picture of health. But she reminded herself this man was Ronan’s ally, at one time his father’s friend. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“I heard that it was ye who discovered the truth of the blighted grain.”

Her smile vanished and she swallowed hard, remembering Aidan’s worries that MacFarlane knew the grain was blighted. “I did,” she said softly. The hairs on the back of her neck stood upright.

“It would take someone quite knowledgeable
tae come tae that conclusion rather than believe it a plague as ye initially thought.”

How did he know so much?
“I am sorry, MacFarlane, I do not understand.”

He nodded and stepped closer, his smile vanishing.

Lia swallowed hard, suddenly feeling threatened, but she stiffened her spine and told herself it was her imagination. She looked to her right and her gaze automatically found Ronan.

He stood before the closed door of his makeshift solar with MacLaren
and spoke intently with the other laird. If his hand gestures were any indication, he was relating their plans for repairs to the damage the castle had suffered during the siege. Then her gaze focused not on her husband to be, but on the man standing right behind him.

MacFarlane’s retainer.

She scowled as a warning shiver skittered down her spine. What was wrong with her? She tried to subtly step away from MacFarlane, but the pavilion was filled not only with her herbs but various barrels and boxes from the keep that they had needed to move out while working on repairs.

Next to her was the crater War Wolf had caused.
Workers had removed some of the sharp debris and partially refilled the hole, but the parley had stopped all of that, so it was incomplete and still worrisome.

Lia again sought to move away but realized that between the boxes and the
half-filled hole, she was trapped.

“Aidan and his birds are
verra good at what they do,” MacFarlane’s voice whispered right next to her.

If her knee had not been so unstable, she would have leapt sideways. Instead
, she held her ground, but her skin crawled. She forced herself to look at him, but MacFarlane’s gaze was focused on Ronan.

“I
thought I kenned them all,” MacFarlane continued. “But apparently there were more than I reckoned.” He looked at her and scowled.

She didn’t know what to do or say. Lia
wanted to call out to Ronan and looked to him a second time. Imagination or not, she would feel much better with him at her side. She took a breath to call out to him, but MacFarlane’s hand latched on her arm.

“None of that, lassie,” he snapped, anger igniting his green eyes. “Ye and I have a private matter
tae discuss.”

“Then w
e shall discuss it properly in the presence of my betrothed,” she snapped and jerked her arm from his grasp. Unfortunately, the action unbalanced her and her knee buckled. She tried to catch herself on her cane but suddenly realized she was on the verge of falling into the hole. Fear cut a swath through her. The fall wouldn’t kill her, but the sharp debris could injure her badly.

“Ronan!” she c
ried.

Ronan pulled himself from the conversation with the other laird
and looked to her. His eyes widened and he leapt over the wooden railing that ran alongside the wooden path to the door of the temporary solar and sprinted across the bailey. “Lia!”

“
Ho there, lassie,” MacFarlane said and gently caught her arm. His demeanor had completely changed, now one of concern and worry. He stopped her fall and steadied her. In an instant, Ronan was at her side.

“Thank ye, MacFarlane,” Ronan said as his arms wrapped around her.

Lia swallowed hard, thankful Ronan had reached her, but embarrassment rose within her.

“For a moment,” Ronan whispered softly in her ear. “Ye teetered on the edge of that hole just like the lassie did on the stairs.”

She shivered, trying to force the vision of the girl’s blood-soaked face out of her mind’s eye.

“MacGrigor?” MacFarlane asked.

“Thank ye again, MacFarlane,” Ronan said. “I fear my betrothed pushes herself too hard and her injured leg becomes unstable.”

“Injured leg?” MacFarlane asked.

“Aye,” Ronan said and nodded toward his keep. “She was in my solar when the War Wolf struck it.”

MacFarlane looked to the keep, his eyes wide, and whistled softly. “MacGrigor, ye be lucky she is alive.”

“Aye,” Ronan said softly and pulled her tighter.

Lia sighed
, only wanting to bury her face against his chest. Instead, she looked again at MacFarlane, but the threat she had sensed earlier was no longer evident. What was wrong with her? This man was a dear friend of Ronan’s. She suddenly felt terribly foolish.

“MacGrigor,” a strange voice said from behind him.

Lia looked up, startled. Behind Ronan stood MacFarlane’s retainer, a giant of a man, almost as tall and broad-shouldered as Ronan. He stood as close to him as a shadow.

“Aye?” Ronan asked. If the man bothered him, he did not evidence his concern.

“Perhaps the lassie should sit a spell,” he gestured to the chair Lia had vacated.

Ronan nodded and gently helped Lia to it. She sat and Ronan crouched next to her. MacFarlane and his retainer stepped back a respectable distance.

“Are ye all right?” Ronan asked, taking her hand in his.

“Aye, Ronan, thank you.”

“Perhaps ye should return tae the solar and rest a bit.”

She smiled at him. With Ronan holding her hand it seemed that all was right with the world again. She dismissed h
er worries as only her weary imagination, and she had to admit she was weary. As she gazed upon Ronan, she knew exactly why, and her lips tugged up even more.

“I
always worry when a female smiles like that.”

She remembered his words from long ago
and laughed softly. “I was just thinking that you are right. I probably should rest since I have not been getting much sleep.”

H
e chortled, his gray eyes sparkling merrily, but she was stunned to see him duck his head ever so slightly as his cheeks turned darker.

“Ronan MacGrigor, are you blushing?”
She struggled to keep her voice low lest MacFarlane overhear them.

His shoulders shook as he laughed harder. “Not I, lassie.”

“Liar.”

His full, rich laugh escaped and he winked at her
.

She leaned forward and caressed his cheek.
“I will be fine, Ronan.” She nodded toward the herbs she had pressed. “Those will be done shortly. When they are finished, then I will rest.”

“Aye,” he said and pulled her fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. “Just be cautious
, my bonny lass.”

“I will.”

He rose and stepped away. Once again, MacFarlane’s retainer stepped into position behind him. She frowned as she watched him. It was almost as if he was a guard. With Ronan moving away from her, her doubts came roaring back. She chastised herself for being so suspicious.

“I had a question for the lassie regarding healing,” MacFarlane said
as he fell into step with Ronan. “I will ask it of her later.”

Despite her reassurances to herself
, Lia shivered and vowed he would not find her alone again.

****

We must present the Demon Laird properly.

Lia’s voice whispered in his thoughts as Ronan gained the
forward crenellations of the barbican. Below him, le March, with his personal guard, approached on horseback.

Ronan stood, the cowl of his hood pulled low, the length of his cloak billow
ing in the wind. He folded his arms over his chest, watching le March advance.

Despite his shared laughter with her,
Lia’s words had unsettled Ronan. She had never regarded him as the Demon Laird and she had fought so hard to keep his clan from doing the same—including himself. That she could so suddenly change her stance… he didn’t understand what she had been trying to tell him afore and desperately wished he could take more time to speak to her about it. He didn’t like this uneasiness within him. He couldn’t truly define it.

Now le March was only twenty feet from his gates and Ronan needed to focus. He tried to dismiss his worries
; they would only distract him, and he couldn’t afford that right now.

Moments before entering the barbican, le March looked up and their gazes locked.
The memory of his laughter, his mocking voice, whispered through Ronan’s thoughts. The stench of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils. The black rage within Ronan surged so violently he saw only red for a moment. But he refused to look away. His vision cleared, but the hatred seething within the pit of his belly did not ease. It only grew worse. There was a demon residing within him and it had grown stronger. Right now, Ronan battled the overwhelming desire to leap from the crenellations and kill le March with his bare hands. Was that what Lia had been trying to tell him? Had she been trying to warn him?

As le March passed under him and entered th
e barbican, Ronan noted that he appeared rather pallid. He would soon come face to face with his own creation.

Ronan stepped off the crenellations and
moved toward the other side of the wall walk. He would use his skills to return to the bailey and be in position to greet le March for the parlay long before he cleared the barbican, and that would rattle the bastard even more. Ronan grinned viciously to himself. But as he crossed the wall walk, his gaze fell on the pavilion where Lia was.

She was
speaking with MacFarlane again. He hesitated only a moment, remembering MacFarlane had said he had a question regarding healing for her. A minor thing that should not concern Ronan. But his gaze focused on Lia’s face. Her features seemed unusually pale and her expression tight. Her body literally bowed with tension, and she leaned heavily on her cane. This conversation appeared far more intense than a discussion over medicants. His scowl deepened as he vaulted over the side of the wall walk. Using small depressions and carved decorations in the mortar and stone, just as he had when he was a lad, he scrambled down.

His feet hit the dirt in the bailey and his gaze returned to Lia, his worry growing. What was going on? Fionnlaoch instantly stepped into
the position of guard at Ronan’s back. For a moment, Ronan thought about returning to Lia’s side, damn le March and his arrival. Then Lia’s gaze found him… actually, she focused on Fionnlaoch behind him. Ronan’s scowl deepened. He couldn’t explain the sudden apprehension that surged within him. Then her gaze locked on his for the barest instant, and Ronan’s heart recoiled. This time he saw it clearly, her hazel eyes liquid with unshed tears.

Terror.

Shouts echoed. Le March was nearly through the barbican. If Ronan did not move now, he would ruin his chance. Ronan had to keep the pacing and emotions of the parlay on his terms. But as he ripped his gaze from Lia’s, and heard le March’s laughter in the darkest part of his heart, he suddenly felt as if his soul once again faced the precipice. Lia had pulled him back from it once, but now she was no longer there. For some reason she was terrified of the Demon Laird. Why? What the bloody hell was going on?

****

Despite Lia’s promises to herself that MacFarlane would not find her alone again, he succeeded the moment Ronan gained the top of the wall walk where he remained watching le March’s approach.

“At least this time we
willna be interrupted,” MacFarlane said as he stepped up behind her.

She swallowed hard, summoned her courage
, and faced him. “You said you had a question regarding healing?”

“Truth be told
, I was going tae tell ye why le March be coming here.”

She hesitated and frowned. “Why?”

“He is tae negotiate for the English healer he planted as a spy.”

Lia felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”

“He will claim tae have sent ye, and ye willna deny the claim.”

Fury sparked within her. She straightened her shoulde
rs and glared at him. “I most certainly will deny it. It’s not true.” Lia suddenly realized she had been so focused on squashing the rumors of the Demon Laird she had no idea that there were rumors about her being a Sassenach spy. But she remembered how Ronan had initially jumped to conclusions about her, and he had voiced those fears in the great hall for anyone to hear. She wanted to kick herself for not grasping that rumors about her might abound afterward. Of course le March would capitalize on them.