Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (7 page)

“Who is it?” he snarled, squeezing his eyes closed. His fingers rubbed his temples.
Nay, please do not allow the headache tae start again. Please.

Aidan opened the door, stepped inside
, and closed it firmly behind him. “What in the hell did ye do?”

“What did I do?” Ronan asked, his rage flaring so hot he saw r
ed for a moment. “How could ye allow a Sassenach tae set foot in our home?”

“She is a healer.”

“She is English,” Ronan lurched to his feet. He took a step toward the wine bottle on the table and staggered.

Aidan lunged
to his side and caught Ronan’s arm before he fell. “Easy, Ronan,” he said, his anger fading. “Sit, I will get the wine.”

Ronan was suddenly too weary
to argue. He sat and rested his head in his hand, trying to ignore how badly it shook. “She leaves on the morrow.”

“Ronan—”

He glared at Aidan as his brother handed him the cup.

Aidan clenched his teeth and drew a deep breath. “All right, I
dinna want ye vexed by this. I will send her away in the morning.”

Ronan nodded, only slightly mollified.

Aidan refused to look at him while he poured his own cup of wine and sat at the table. “I have some good news.”

Ronan studied him for a moment. He knew when his brother was trying to cheer him, but he decided to go along with it.
“I can certainly use some.”

“The crops are doing well this year.
After this approaching harvest, we shouldna have tae purchase grain.”

Ronan felt himself relaxing a bit. “
Last year’s harvest is barely enough tae keep those in the castle fed. This is good news. Ye’d think I was buyin’ the king’s own grain for what the MacLaren charged for it.”

“Aye
, but harvests were short all through the land last year. We were lucky tae purchase it at all.” Aidan took another drink from his cup but still refused to look at his brother.

“What is it ye arena
tellin’ me?” Ronan growled.

“My birds…
I dinna like the songs they are singing.”

Ronan stiffened, his anger over the
Sassenach immediately fading and a new worry surging forward. Aidan had turned his childhood talent at eavesdropping into an art and had also developed an uncanny knack for identifying people with gifts similar to his own. Aidan’s birds were individuals in other clans who reported happenings and rumors to him, and Ronan made certain they were paid well.

“
What songs be they?”

“Rumblings from Clan
Campbell.”

Ronan
clenched his fists.

“It seems the MacGrigor land the Bruce
’s father gave Campbell years ago be not enough. Now he wants all of it.”

Although
very young at the time, Ronan clearly remembered his da’s fury at what Robert Bruce had done. Black rage settled in the pit of Ronan’s belly, seething with coiled power.

“Ronan, I am he
sitant tae tell ye. Laird Campbell has also heard the rumors of the Demon Laird. I worry he may think now is the time tae increase his holdings by once again stealing ours.”

Ronan’s fist slammed into the table. “Do ye ken his plan?”

“Brother—”

“Do ye ken his plan?”

“Nay, Ronan, ’tis only a chorus of a song we’ve heard before.”

Ronan locked Aidan in his gaze. “Ye tell me the moment ye hear a verse.”

Aidan looked at him a long moment, swallowed hard, and nodded.

****

Lia huddled under a thin wool blanket on an even thinner straw pallet, shivering violently. She supposed she should be grateful MacGrigor hadn’t ordered her thrown into the dungeon for the night. She was exhausted. She knew it would be a miracle if she was able to stand in the morning after sleeping on the cold stone floor. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to find sleep, but it eluded her, and tears trickled down her cheeks. Why had this happened?

Lia understood why
MacGrigor didn’t want her in his home after what the English had done to him. Resentment grew within her. He didn’t know her but judged her simply because of her heritage, a heritage she wasn’t even sure she possessed. What right did he claim to do that? She did not judge him because he was a Scotsman. She caught her thoughts and forced down her irritation. He had suffered terribly and his distrust of the English was to be expected. Instead of proving him right, determination grew within her to prove him wrong. But how could she since he would force her to leave? What was she to do? At dawn, she would be sent back to England with nowhere to go. She bit back a sob, not wishing to acknowledge the fear coiling within her.

Once again
, she would be lost and alone on the streets.

Instead
, she focused her thoughts on MacGrigor and what she had witnessed this night. No wonder they called him the Demon Laird. She had treated many people with the falling-down sickness, especially after church exorcisms had failed. She couldn’t be certain MacGrigor had this illness, not until she could observe him, but something in her heart told her she wasn’t wrong. It was a shame, really. The fact that MacGrigor had not only freed himself from his brutal captors but had at least partially recovered in the time it took his men to find her and bring her to Scotland said much for his strength of soul.

He was also one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen in her life. That thought startled her
, but she couldn’t rid her mind’s eye of his rugged features and intense gray eyes. Even with the faint scars he bore, he was extraordinary… and tall… she had grown so accustomed to looking most men dead in the eye that she found it unusual to have to look up at one.

If only he didn’t stare at her as if she were nothing more than a
piece of offal needing to be scraped from his boot. Lia scoffed at herself. What was she doing? She was a gangly woman whose shoulders were too wide and whose arms were too bulky from moving sick and wounded… and she was English, no less. No wonder MacGrigor didn’t want her in his home.

****

It seemed like only moments later when a maid shook her awake. “Milady,” she whispered harshly.

Lia blinked open her eyes. When had she fallen asleep? “What is it?”

The young woman looked at her, her eyes wide with fear. “It… it is said ye ken the healing arts.”

Lia sat up, rubbing her eyes and shaking terribly with cold. “Aye,” she said and her vision finally focused. The young woman looked familiar. Then Lia placed her. “I saw you on the street
when I arrived. Your apron had blood on it.”

The woman nodded and picked up a cup. “Mulled wine. Ye are chilled
tae the bone.”

“Thank you,” Lia said as she wrapped her fingers around it and gratefull
y drank the warm liquid.

“Please, there are people in the village.
We need yer help.”

Lia swallowed hard
, knowing the MacGrigor did not wish her to remain. “What’s wrong?”

The woman
looked around as if terrified someone would hear her, then she crossed herself. “’Tis the Demon Laird’s curse,” she whispered. “Two more died last night. Pray, milady, we need ye.”

Again the mention of a curse? What in the holy mother’s name was going on? “Where are they?”

“Come with me, please.”

Lia drained her cup
, her muscles protesting every movement, then she rose and followed the maid.

“What is your name?” Lia asked.

“Alba. Quickly, milady, please.”

“Lia, please. I am only a healer, not nobility.”

Alba looked at her, startled, then gave her a timid smile. “As ye wish.” She led Lia to a room well away from the kitchen. Lia entered and stopped short. The small room had ten people in it and was filled to capacity. Young and old, and judging by the look of their clothing, serf, farmer, and merchant. Some lay huddled on thin pallets on the floor, others sat on benches or against the walls. Their faces were pallid; many clutched at their stomachs, moaning in pain.

Lia stood in shock for a moment. “They’re all from the village?”

“Aye, they heard ye were here. There are more, but they are too weak or too frightened tae come tae ye.”

“More?”

Alba nodded, tears in her eyes. “Marta and I, we do our best, but I ken so little of healing.”

Lia finally pulled her wits about her. “The
chests I brought. I need someone to fetch them.”

“As ye will, milady.” Alba looked
to two older boys; they sprinted off.

Lia watched them go and a puzzled frown creased her brow. “Are you a servant in the castle, Alba?”

“Aye. But I help Marta when she has need of me.”

“Who in
the castle is ill?”

“No one, milady.”

The two boys returned with Lia’s chests.

“Careful,” Lia said stepping forward. “Alba, I need a table for these.”

“Of course.” She quickly began to clear one off, and the boys placed the chests on it.

“Thank you. All right, Alba, tell the cook
to put a large pot of water on to boil, and we need the cleanest cloths we can find. I don’t care what they are, but they must be clean.”

“Aye,” Alba hurried away
and Lia quickly rolled the sleeves of her chemise up and bound them with ties to keep them out of the way.

She turned
to her first patient, a young lad of about ten, fit and strong. He had blond hair, and his blue eyes were dull with pain. “What is your name?” Lia asked, smiling reassuringly.

“William. Connell
is my da.”

“
Connell?” she asked, now seeing the resemblance. “He is the one who fetched me.”

William gave her a weak smile, sweat rolling down his face.

Lia felt his forehead and cringed against his high fever. “Your stomach hurts?”

“Aye, I fear I canna keep any food down.”

“How long?”

“Two days.”

“Even soup?”

“Even water
willna stay in my gut, milady.”

“Have you told your father?”

The boy shook his head. “I havena seen him yet. His duties at the castle keep him away much of the time.”

Lia looked back at the two boys who had retrieved her chests. “Fetch Connell, please. I wish
to speak with him.”

One lad nodded
, but before he darted away, Lia stopped him. “Wait, do you have friends who are not ill?’

“Aye,” the boy said.

“Mayhap they would be willing to help fetch and carry? I fear with this many people I will be running you boys ragged.”

“
They are clansmen,” the boy said. “If they arena kin tae a MacGrigor, then they be married or allied tae one. I will bring my friends. They will help.”

“Thank you.”

While Lia waited for Connell, she moved on to the next patient. He was an older man but still very much in his prime, and just like William, he had a high fever, aching stomach, and could not keep food down. The more Lia spoke to people, the more worried she became. There were only two who complained of different ailments; the rest were all the same.

Connell appeared in the door, looking around the room in concern with Robert only a step behind. He spotted William and immediately went
to his side, crouching before him.

“William? What is wrong?”

“Forgive me, Da. Mum said she didna wish tae worry ye.”

Lia stepped up next
to him. “Your mother, is she sick too?”

“Aye,” William replied grima
cing. “But she be too afraid tae come tae the castle.”

“What be this, lass?” Connell asked her as he looked around the room, his eyes wide. “Some sort of plague?”

“I do not yet know,” Lia replied. “But Alba said there are many more in the village who are sick. With William being your son, I thought you should know.”

“Thank ye
, lassie. My wife bides her time at her small shop in the village, selling wool and dyed threads. My duties here at the castle keep me away far too much. I will fetch her here.”

Lia bit her lip
. Had Connell so quickly forgotten the MacGrigor’s order?

As Connell strode off, his worry plain on his face, Robert fell in step beside him. “Connell, I spoke with Aidan this morn.” They disappeared through the door
, and Lia could no longer hear his words.

She needed
to fetch her journal and begin making notes on the people she helped. With so many already here, and knowing more would be coming, if she didn’t start now, she’d never keep them all straight.

She turned
to her medicant chests and nearly ran into a massive form standing behind her. She squeaked and jumped backward, fearing MacGrigor would order her to leave forthwith. But the giant man standing before her was not MacGrigor, even though he looked remarkably like him. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. No injuries, no heavy cowl covering his face. In fact, he was a couple of inches shorter than MacGrigor, his eyes a deeper blue, and his long, dark hair a shade lighter, tied with a strip of leather at the back of his head. But his body was just as strong and his features almost as handsome.