Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (43 page)

“Lia, quickly, get on.”

Her heart rattling in her throat, Lia hesitated. “Nay…” Her two weeks of riding did not give her enough experience to control a war stallion.

“Be at ease,” he whispered as he pulled her closer. “Just get away from the fighting. As soon as I send these curs
tae hell, I will take ye home.”

“Home?”

He gazed down at her, his gray eyes reflecting the color of the moon. He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Home, where ye will stand by my side as my wife. Ne’er will I doubt ye again. I love ye more than ye will ever ken.” He lowered his head and kissed her softly.

Lia wanted nothing more than
to lose herself in his kiss, but too quickly, he pulled away.

“Please, lass, just get away from the fighting. I canna bear if anything happened
tae ye.”

She nodded and Ronan helped her into the saddle and handed her the reins.

The horse squealed and lunged.

“Fury,” he snapped. “Behave.”

The stallion stopped and snorted, pawing the ground.

“Ronan,” she called as he turned
to leave.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Aye?”

“Come back to me.”

Again she saw his bright grin. “I vow it, lassie.” He drew his claymore and sprinted back
to the fighting.

The stallion lunged, trying
to follow Ronan.

Lia squeaked in alarm, clinging
to the saddlebow. She jerked the reins and the horse snapped its head up, lifting its forelegs off the ground. Lia nearly screamed in panic, trying to remember everything Connell had taught her. She hauled on the right rein and the horse spun around, nearly unseating her. Abruptly, she realized the animal, unlike the one she had ridden north, was extremely sensitive to rein and leg. He would have to be in order for Ronan to control him in the midst of battle. The horse danced sideways, snorting and tossing its head. She felt its powerful muscles bunch underneath her and was terrified it would start bucking.

“Ho there!” she barked, suddenly remembering Ronan’s command.

The horse stood stock-still. It raised its head and pricked its ears, watching the fighting. It snorted loudly then promptly lowered its head and began to paw at the ground again. She realized the animal was trained for this. It wanted to follow Ronan.

“I know,”
she said nervously patting its neck. “I don’t like being stuck here either.”

The horse started walking again
, but this time Lia kept her cues gentle and managed to turn him in an easy circle. He stopped, stared at the fighting, and snorted once more. He started walking again, but this time Lia did not have to turn him, he maintained the same track.

“Is this your version of pacing in worry?”

The horse tossed its head as if nodding in answer to her question. Lia couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped her.

Now that the horse seemed content
to walk and turn the same circle rather than fight her, Lia turned her attention to the battle.

MacFarlane
was two men down, and Clan MacGrigor capitalized on the advantage. The combatants had moved a little farther afield, giving Ronan a bit of a walk. Her gaze found Aidan and she gasped in fear as MacFarlane’s retainer charged him. Even though his attacker was mounted, Aidan leapt off of his horse. Nay! What was he doing? Surely he would be slain. But with speed that boggled the mind, Aidan dove out of the way of the charging horse and rolled. The man MacFarlane had called Fionnlaoch galloped past Aidan, cursed, and hauled on the reins, pulling his horse to a sliding stop.

****

Aidan leapt to his feet and sprinted after Fionnlaoch, fury pounding through his being. As Fionnlaoch tried to turn his horse, Aidan grabbed the man and hauled him out of the saddle. Fionnlaoch hit the ground hard and Aidan’s boot landed on his jaw. The kick snapped the man’s head back, but he managed to roll away.

Aidan tried to pursue his advantage
, but Fionnlaoch leapt to his feet, drawing his vicious dagger—the same one he had threatened to plunge into Ronan’s back.

Instead of recoiling, Aidan grinned viciously
. Fionnlaoch lunged and Aidan leapt backward, the blade slashing across, missing his chest by a hairsbreadth. Fionnlaoch roared, trying an overhand strike. Aidan merely stepped to the side, and the errant strike overbalanced his attacker. The man staggered, falling to his knees.

As quick as lightning, Aidan was on him. He smashed his knee into
Fionnlaoch’s nose, blood flew and Aidan knew he had broken it. The man’s head snapped back again and he tried to bring his dagger on guard, but Aidan grabbed his wrist. He turned Fionnlaoch’s arm in an impossible angle, so his own blade was pointed at his chest. With a roar, Aidan shoved the dagger straight through the man’s heart.

Aidan backed away
as Fionnlaoch coughed and choked, blood streaming from his mouth. Aidan curled his lip. “Hell awaits ye, maggot,” he snarled.

The man collapsed face
-first into the dirt.

****

Lia wanted to cheer. Aidan had not only defeated MacFarlane’s retainer but he did so without drawing his own weapon. Aidan whistled sharply and the horse he had abandoned galloped toward him. The animal did not break stride as Aidan vaulted back into the saddle.

“MacGrigor!” he roared, lifting his fist in the air.

“MacGrigor!” Ronan and the others answered.

Lia thought
MacFarlane might withdraw his men, but he spotted Ronan striding toward him and his face became a mask of rage. He spurred his horse forward.

Lia wanted
to scream, her heart in her throat. She had seen Ronan’s practice with the claymore. His fighting style was so very different than the one she had just witnessed Aidan perform. Ronan saw the laird charging toward him. He set his feet and brought his claymore on guard.

Lia’s thoughts scrambled
until she remembered Ronan’s words. The Scottish claymore was designed for a man on foot to defend against a mounted attacker. MacFarlane was playing to Ronan’s strengths.

But that didn’t stop the terror raging within her as
MacFarlane closed the distance. He lifted his bastard sword and bellowed his battle cry.

The Demon Laird answered.

Ronan took one step to the side, his movement balanced and controlled. With his own bellow, he launched the claymore outward, using his great reach and that of the weapon’s to his advantage. The claymore batted the bastard sword out of its path. Its weight descended and Ronan threw his massive power into the strike. The claymore cleaved through armor and smashed into MacFarlane’s chest. Blood erupted as MacFarlane toppled from his horse.

The Demon Laird strode
to the prone man and he lifted his claymore a second time.

Ronan’s horse squealed and vaulted sideways. Lia turned her attention
to him, but suddenly she felt as if she slammed into an unseen wall. The force of it knocked her from the stallion’s back, and she hit the ground hard.

She couldn’t suck air into her lungs and agony radiated in her right side. She looked at herself and horror clawed at her mind when she saw an arrow protruding from her body. She choked on the blood in her mouth. Her vision blurred
, but she looked to the castle and saw archers on the walls. She had no idea she had been within bowshot. Men mounted on horses streamed from the gates. She looked for Ronan and found him.

His back to her, h
e hefted MacFarlane’s head and held it for all to see. “MacGrigor!” he thundered.

Her hand reached for him, even though he was so very far away. “Ronan,” she gasped, but her voice was nothing more than a tiny whisper. Her hand dropped
to the ground and her consciousness mercifully abandoned her.

Ronan held his grisly trophy aloft and grinned as the remaining men ran in terror before the Demon Laird.

“MacGrigor!” his men bellowed in response, raising their swords in victory.

The scream of his stallion sent a chill of dread through Ronan. He spun around and saw the animal rearing, pawing the air, its saddle empty.

What—?

Then his gaze found Lia lying on the ground, an arrow embedded in her body. She was so very still.

“Nay,” he whispered, dropping
MacFarlane’s head. His feet started toward her. One step, two. “Nay!” His feet moved faster, three steps, four. “Nay! Lia!” he screamed. He hit full stride and closed the distance in a heartbeat.

He slid
to his knees beside her. She still breathed, thank the Lord, but he stared at the arrow and the blood. “Nay, Lia! Please, Christ Almighty, nay.” For a moment, he was afraid to touch her, but his shaking hand reached for her. He caressed her face, smoothing the hair from her brow. “Lia, my sweet, bonny lass,” he whispered.

Aidan stopped beside him and his men gathered
, Connell and the others dismounting. “Ronan, the baron sends men from the castle. We need tae leave now!” He saw Lia. “Oh, Sweet Jesu.”

Ronan wanted
to scream his agony. He wanted to hold Lia and beg the Lord to keep her with him. Then Lia’s voice whispered through his thoughts.

Be calm. Think. Your mind is your greatest weapon.

He had to remove the arrow. “Aidan, I need yer help.”

“Ronan, the baron
’s men are coming.”

“Aidan, now! Or she will die.” He carefully turned Lia on her side. The arrow barb had gone through. Thank God it was not embedded.

Aidan leapt from his horse and knelt beside Lia. “What do ye want me tae do?”

“I’ll hold the shaft
; I need ye tae snap it.” Ronan gripped the arrow close to Lia’s body, her blood soaking his hand.

Aidan’s hand closed on the shaft. “Ready?”

“Aye.”

He snapped it easily and Ronan withdrew the remainder.

“Connell, ye have yer flask?”

“Aye,” Connell said
and handed it to Ronan, but his expression conveyed his confusion.

Ronan tore Lia’s dress
to give him more room to work, and he removed as much of the cloth from the wound as he could. He poured the whiskey onto the wound. Lia’s muscles clenched and she groaned. He looked up, hoping she would awaken, but she didn’t. He did the same to the exit wound on her back, and then began ripping strips from his tunic.

“Ronan, the baron’s men
are closing fast.”

“Help me sit her up, I have
tae bind the wound.” He soaked the strips he had torn in whiskey as well.

“Ronan—”

“Help me!”

Aidan did so and Ronan bound Lia’s wound as tightly as he dared.

“Five hundred paces,” Connell said, looking over his shoulder. He drew his sword.

“Get
tae yer mounts,” Ronan said and rose, lifting Lia in his arms. “Aidan, I just need yer help.”

“Aye, brother,” he said
, taking Lia from Ronan.

“Four hundred paces,” Connell said as he swung up on his horse.

Ronan grabbed the reins of his horse. The animal calmed and shoved his head into Ronan’s chest as if to apologize. “The fault does not lie with ye,” Ronan muttered as he vaulted into the saddle. “But I fear I must ask a boon of ye.” He reached out and Aidan placed Lia into his arms. “I must ask ye tae run harder and faster than ever before.”

“
Two hundred paces!” Connell barked.

“Go!” Ronan snarled and drove his spurs into the stallion’s side.

The animal squealed, shifted its weight to his haunches, and lunged forward with a strength that snapped Ronan back and forced him to grab the animal’s mane.

****

Ronan had never been more proud, nor as grateful to a mount, as he was of his war stallion. The animal, even burdened with two, had threatened to outpace the mounts surrounding him. Fury slid to a stop in Ronan’s keep and screamed his challenge, as if calling every able body to assist their laird. Ronan dismounted and looked at the horse.

“Thank you
, my friend.”

The stallion nickered softly as a page grabbed his reins.

“Cool him down and give him extra oats,” Ronan said, cradling his precious burden close. “He’s earned them.”

The page’s gaze fell on Lia in Ronan’s arms. “Nay,” he whispered. “Not
milady.”

“What is this?” a voice screeched from the bailey. “What have you done
to my charge?”

Ronan’s head snapped around and he saw an old woman, as old as the hills, mov
ing forward, leaning heavily on her staff. She lifted her gaze and Ronan saw tears in her green eyes. “Lia, what happened to you?”

Ronan could
not explain how he knew, but he did. “Sueta.”

Sueta shuffled toward him. She stopped, staring at Lia in his arms. Her gnarled hand reached out and traced gently over Lia’s brow. “My dear child,” she whi
spered. “What has become of you?”