Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (6 page)

****

They traveled throughout the day, not stopping to eat but instead chewing on dried meat as they rode. Lia realized this was another reason why her teeth hurt. The meat was as tough as the leather that made up her saddle, but she gnawed on it without complaint.

They entered a small Scottish village
, and Lia was surprised to see people out and about on the streets and children playing.

“Longshanks’
s war hasna reached here yet,” Connell said softly.

“But you said you fought.”

“Allied with other lairds, a few miles east of here, in the Lowlands.”

As they passed through the village
, she heard hushed whispers from a group of people standing before a small tavern. They stared at her and her escort warily.

“Ye see,” a voice whispered harshly
, “I told ye they were sent tae fetch a healer.”

“
The MacGrigor be cursed.”

“
He made a deal with the devil tae escape the English.”

“Be silent,” another said, crossing himself
, “lest ye call the Demon Laird’s attention here. Old man Liam died in the night; it is said the curse caused him tae fall ill.”

Demon Laird?
Lia wondered, her gut coiling. This was the second time she had heard the name. She chided herself. She should not believe in such superstitious nonsense. She glanced at Connell and Robert.

They looked at each other a long moment
and said nothing, but Lia clearly saw the concern in their expressions.

S
he could not stop the dread that rose within her. What truly awaited her in MacGrigor’s keep?

****

Ronan staggered from his bed and caught himself on the bedpost before he toppled over. Sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down his face. He had to get out of here. His solar had become nothing more than another prison. But he did not dare call on the servants for assistance. They were terrified of him. His heart twisted in pain and he slumped against the bedpost. What did it matter? All of his fighting to survive, and for what? The terror of his people? How could they fear him so terribly after all he had done to prove that he could lead the clan as well as his father had?

He squeezed his eyes closed, bitter resentment rising within him.

Nay!
his heart cried. His people did not deserve his anger. Their reaction was completely natural. It was the English who had done this to him; it was the English who deserved his hatred. By God, he would live. He would survive this and would not rest until they paid in blood.

He staggered
to his chest and managed to haul on his trews. Not bothering with a tunic, he grabbed his cloak and threw it over his shoulders. Lurching to the door, he stepped out, grateful it was night and he could escape his solar for a brief time without anyone the wiser.

****

They crested a rise and Connell stopped his mount. Despite the late afternoon, the mist still hung thick in the air. Summer in the highlands, they had told her. Lia inhaled deeply. Such a pleasant scent, the heather around her. Smoke from hearth fires was also heavy. A beautiful village, its buildings made of wattle and daub, lay before her. She could tell it was a prosperous community, untouched yet by the war. But the streets were surprisingly empty and the market quiet. The few who did remain on the street hurried about their business with their heads down, stealing only furtive glances at her as Connell and Robert led her through the streets.

“There we be, lassie,” Connell said and pointed at a massive stone keep that
appeared before them in the distance.

She swallowed hard, wondering why trepidation rose so powerfully within her.
             

They rode down the main street of the village. One woman stepped out of a building and stopped short when she saw them. Lia surmised by her clothing that she was a servant
, but the weave of the cloth she wore was of fine make. Yet Lia’s eyes narrowed. The woman’s apron was stained with dirt and blood. It took only an instant for Lia to realize the woman tended to the sick.

The woman appeared
to take a breath to call out to them but seemed to think better of it and bit it back.

Lia was about
to ask Connell to stop when he barked a sharp order and startled her.

“Ho
, there!”

Only then did Lia realize the castle
was preparing to close the gates for the night. Already? The sun had not yet set and church bells had not rung for Compline.

The guard
on the battlement called Connell’s name and waved. Two more, standing beside the closing gates, struggled to stop their swing, bidding greeting to both Connell and Robert. The two men urged their horses into a trot. Lia followed, no longer needing a lead for her own horse. They rode through the gates and Lia stared up at the giant keep. She had never seen a castle this closely before.

The
gates closed behind her as she dismounted. Connell offered his arm and Lia summoned her courage. He gave her the lead walking up the narrow stairs into the keep. Upon entering, she looked around and shivered, waiting for Connell and Robert to join her.

“Are
all castles this dark?” she asked, her voice a bare whisper.

Connell looked around, a worried frown
marring his brow. “Nay,” he said, his voice matching hers. “’Twas not like this when we left.”

“It’s cold,” she murmured, shivering.

“It can get a wee bit dark and drafty,” Robert said. “But usually in winter, and it never be like this in summer.”

A single torch guttered in a wall stanchion
on her right. On her left, barely visible was a stairwell disappearing into the blackness. A chill breath of air lifted the hairs on her arm and the silence that greeted her pricked the gooseflesh crawling down her spine. Her own breathing rattled in her ears, and her heartbeat thundered against her ribs. Behind her, the door to the keep boomed shut and she turned slightly to her left, dismayed to see her only means of escape blocked by a heavy oak door.

“Saints be merciful,” Robert muttered. “
What has happened here?”

“I
dinna ken,” Connell said. “Perhaps we should find Aidan.”

“We should take the lassie directly
tae the MacGrigor.”

“Nay, something is
verra wrong here.”

“At least
the wench didna steal all of the gold that my brother sent with ye,” a deep voice whispered behind her.

Lia’s heart
threatened to stop. She jumped and spun then blinked. In the dark stairwell, a giant of a man seemed to materialize out of the blackness, heavily cloaked, his cowl pulled low. He stepped forward into the dim light of the torch, but she could not see his face.

“
MacGrigor?” Robert asked in shock. “Ye… ye are recovered? We feared ye would not survive long enough for us tae fetch the healer.”

“Ye fool,”
MacGrigor snarled. “How dare ye bring an Englishwoman here?”

“But she is a healer.”

Lia swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “Aye,” she said, praying her voice didn’t shake. “I heard you had need of one.”

He took a second step forward
, the torchlight falling on his face. Lia’s heart hesitated again but for an entirely different reason. She was a tall woman, but she felt as if she had to crane her neck to look up at him. Steel-gray eyes gazed at her, smoldering in fury. His long black hair framed his face perfectly under the cowl of his cloak. He had a broad forehead and high, prominent cheekbones. His jaw was strong and proud, although his nose appeared to have been recently broken. His lips were full and sensuous but pressed in a hard line. Underneath the volumes of fabric of his cloak, his massive shoulders and chest filled her vision.

Lia drew a deep breath,
a tremor passing through her.

“As ye can see,” he whispered, his voice soft
but deadly in its power, “I dinna need a healer any longer.”

She studied him closely, noting his broken nose was not the only recent injury he had received. Small white patches of newly healed flesh marred his perfect face. They would probably fade
to unnoticeable scars, but Lia’s eyes narrowed, seeing darker lines of not quite healed wounds around his throat. They continued downward until they disappeared under his tunic. He leaned heavily on a cane. The clansmen had been right. The English had tortured their laird. No wonder he didn’t want her in his home.

“I understand,” she said, her voice firm with conviction. “But know this
. In the matters of healing there is no nationality, no rich or poor, no noble or serf; I help everyone as I am able.”

MacGrigor
studied her a moment, as if trying to divine the truthfulness of her words. “I dinna want ye in my home.”

“
MacGrigor—” Connell tried.

“Be silent!” he snapped, his eyes never leaving Lia. “
Ye will remain only one night. Men will take ye back in the morning.”

Her stomach clenched and tears pushed forward in her eyes
, but she refused to shed them. She had nowhere to go.

“
MacGrigor, nay,” Robert said. “Ye canna do that tae the lass.”

Lia blinked at him in shock
and noticed MacGrigor doing the same thing.

“Have
ye been so long absent ye have forgotten who I am?” MacGrigor growled.

“Nay,” Robert said
, ducking his head. “The lassie canna return. If the English realize she came here, she will be hanged.”

MacGrigor’s brow furrowed. “Have they banished ye?” he snapped.

Lia
’s anger pricked. Did he judge her so harshly simply because she was English? But she clamped her jaw closed. She’d not justify the comment with a response.

MacGrigor
arched an eyebrow at her. He looked at her a long moment, his eyes narrowing. Then his expression changed subtly. His gaze took on a distant stare, as if those steel-gray eyes could see right through her. He glowered, and for an instant, she thought he peered into her soul, trying to determine her true purpose. The muscles in his face tightened and his mouth pressed into a harder line, tugging downward at the corners, giving him a vicious expression. He did not move; he did not blink.

A whisper of fear cut through her.
She took an involuntary step backward.

His pupils dilated alarmingly.

Lia stared at him, something stirring in her memory. She had seen a similar expression before.

MacGrigor
blinked rapidly and his eyes returned to normal. For a long moment, he did not move. Abruptly, he shook his head as if trying to clear it then rubbed his eyes and swayed.

Lia automatically stepped forward and gripped his shoulder. “Easy,” she whispered.

He recoiled violently. “Dinna touch me, Sassenach!”

Lia should have been terrified of him
, but she wasn’t. She focused on his actions completely, correlating what she had just witnessed to what she had learned under Sueta’s tutelage.

“You are wrong,” she said softly. “You
have great need of a healer.”

He curled his lip at her. “Ye will leave in the morning.”

He turned on his heel and disappeared back up the stairs.

Ronan returned to his solar, slamming the door shut behind him, and staggered into a chair. He barely caught himself, his vision blurring. His body shook uncontrollably and pain roared within him. He dropped his cane and struggled to adjust himself in the chair before he toppled from it. His breath rattled and he fought to get his limbs to obey him.

God
’s wounds! Why had Aidan brought a Sassenach here?

Ronan still battled
to catch his breath. He had to regain control of himself. He had been mortified he had suffered another blackout and the Sassenach had witnessed it.

You have great need of a healer.

He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter.

In the dark corners of his mind, he heard le March’s laughter echo. Ronan squeezed his eyes closed
, suddenly feeling as if his sanity hung by a thread. He forced his thoughts away from the nightmare, but they only turned back to the Sassenach.

She was surprisingly tall with rich, deep auburn hair that fell about her shoulders in thick waves. It was an absolute shame that
such a beautiful lass with sparkling hazel eyes was English.

Ronan caught his thoughts and growled a curse. Surely his sanity had cracked.
She was gangly and much too tall, coming to the bottom of his chin. Her shoulders were too broad and her arms too strong. But even as the thought hit him, he knew why. No doubt she had to be strong to carry the burden of the sick and wounded.

A knock sounded on his door.