Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (28 page)

The serving maid he had terrified only a moment ago screamed. “Demon! The devil has him!”

Aidan’s head snapped around. “Nay!” he roared. “Be silent, wench!”

One of his kinsmen stepped forward and pulled the screaming woman from the great hall.

With a gasp, Ronan suddenly went limp, breathing raggedly, but at least he was still breathing. “Get him tae the solar now,” Aidan growled. “MacFarlane?”

The man had stood back during the event, his eyes wide with terror. “Aye?”

Aidan pulled him out of earshot of the others. “We need your help. The clans allied with us were quite concerned when they learned my brother had been captured. I need ye tae spread the word we have recovered him. He is alive and will once again lead MacGrigor.”

MacFarlane’s gaze slid to the litter as the men carried Ronan upstairs. “What happened, young MacGrigor?”

“Nothing,” Aidan growled. “His wounds are grievous, but he will recover.”

“He be at death’s door,” MacFarlane snapped.

Aidan bit back a curse. “Are ye blind? Ye didna see what he did? He freed himself. He willna die. He has too much fight in him. Tell the other clans.”

MacFarlane said nothing, staring at the now empty stairwell.

Aidan gritted his teeth. “On my da’s soul, do it for him if not for my brother.”

MacFarlane’s gaze returned to Aidan. He swallowed hard then nodded. “Aye, for yer da then, God rest his soul. It would kill him tae see his son in such a state.”

“My brother will live,” Aidan growled. “Tell the others.”

“Aye.” MacFarlane turned and left the great hall, calling for his horse.

HHH

Two days had passed and Aidan heard the serving maid’s scream all the way into the great hall. Cursing himself, he sprinted for the stairs. He should have known better than to leave her alone with his brother. Hadn’t the last two attacks taught him anything? He exploded through the door but was stunned to see his brother was not in the midst of an attack. Instead, Ronan was conscious, but hurting, and anguish lined his face. He reached toward the serving girl, who cowered in the corner.

“Nay,” he whispered hoarsely. “I willna harm ye, lass.”

The girl spotted Aidan and he noted her hands shook. “I was tryin’ tae tend tae him, but he suddenly roused and grabbed my hand. He wouldna release me. Please, dinna let him hurt me.”

Ronan flinched at her words.

“Nay,” Aidan snapped, “ye ken yer laird. He willna hurt ye . . . ever.”

Ronan looked at him and his eyes widened. The muscles in his face tightened. Aidan lunged to his side, but before he could order the servant from the room, Ronan’s eyes rolled back in his head and his muscles began to spasm.

The girl screamed in terror and ran from the room. Her cries of the demon echoed through the keep.

“Damnation! Be silent!” Aidan bellowed but she was already gone.

Aidan pinned his brother’s arms. Ronan’s injuries were too great; the uncontrollable spasms would only cause more harm.

Marta, the old healer, entered and moved to help. The froth again formed on Ronan’s lips and he gagged and choked.

Terror pounded within him; he feared that this attack would be the one to end his brother’s life. His muscles corded under his skin and Aidan battled his brother’s great strength to keep him from hurting himself worse.

As abruptly as the attack began, it ended, and Ronan slumped into his bed, his breathing ragged. Aidan knew he would not return to consciousness for some time. Slowly he released him and stepped back, shaking.

“Young MacGrigor,” Marta said, wringing her hands with worry. “I fear yer brother be beyond my simple skills.”

“What mean ye?” Aidan snapped. His gaze traveled to Ronan, now so still on his bed.

“The crack on his skull . . . the wounds from whip and iron . . . so much damage.” She turned her head to look at her laird. “I dinna ken how he has survived it at all.”

Aidan ground his teeth in sheer frustration. In the past two days, the servants had witnessed two other attacks, and just like the maiden a moment ago, they had run screaming in terror of the Demon Laird.

Rumor ran rampant through the keep. The MacGrigor had made a deal with the devil to escape the English. Now the devil demanded his due.

Aidan could honestly understand the servants’ fear. “His head wound,” he said softly. “It must be the cause of this.”

“Pray pardon?”

“He was conscious when I first entered.”

“Conscious?” Marta asked in shock.

“Aye, the lass was terrified of him.” He paused and looked at Marta. “Her fear distressed him greatly.”

Marta continued to wring her hands. Her expression relaxed as she gazed at Ronan. “He has always been a good man, gentle and caring.” She paused, a fond smile coming to her lips. “Ye two were hellions as lads.”

Aidan felt the pull of a smile. “Aye, that we were, Marta. But ye dinna see it. It is that fire within that sustains him now. Yet I worry that the fear of his own people will break him where the English werena able.”

“We must keep the servants from him. They fear what they dinna understand.”

Aidan nodded. “But what can we do? My brother has fought too hard tae give up now. I willna give up on him. Surely there is something.”

The old woman fidgeted nervously. “There is another healer who may have the knowledge tae help . . . but she is in the land of the Sassenach.”

“She is English?” Aidan asked horrified. “Damnation, they are the ones responsible for this.”

“Ye dinna understand. This woman is legendary for her healing skills, and she turns no one away. She does not recognize nations or wealth. Those who come tae her for help are only suffering people in the need of aid. Those who can pay her in gold. Those who canna give her gifts—clothing, food, baubles, or even trade work. But she is old . . . older than even I. I dinna ken if ye can convince her tae come . . . the MacGrigor be too weak tae go tae her. But I fear she is his only chance.”

“Where is she?”

“Not far on the other side of the border. A ride of a fortnight tae reach her.”

“Ye speak of a month for her tae come here. Damnation, Marta, I dinna ken if he will survive a sennight.”

“Ye said yerself he has fought too hard. We canna give up on him.”

Aidan cursed softly and gazed down at his brother. Although many would kill to be laird of Clan MacGrigor, Aidan was not one of them. He had no desire to be laird. Ronan’s skills and talents made him perfect for that duty.

Ronan had fought so hard to survive what the English had done to him, to survive and escape on his own. If he had the chance to live, Aidan had to give it to him. Ronan deserved that much.

“I will send Robert and Connell on the morn,” he said softly. He crouched and took his brother’s hand. “I will find the help ye need. Just hold on until then, brother.”

T
hank ye, child,” the old man said as Lia handed him a cup.

She smiled. “I don’t guarantee the taste, but the medicants should ease the pain enough for you to move. Of course, the hot springs will help too.”

The man, his joints swollen with age, could barely move because of the pain. His bones popped like dry tinder when he walked, and he had forced himself to endure a long and agonizing journey to find the healer whose reputation bordered on that of a miracle worker—Sueta, the old woman who had years ago taken Lia under her wing.

He downed the tea in one swallow, grimaced, and then gave her a toothless smile. “Not bad.”

“Wait for a bit, then you should be able to walk to the springs.”

“Thank ye again.” He paused and frowned. “What is your name, child?”

“Lia.”

“Lia of . . . ?”

Pain seized her heart as a terrifying memory flashed through her mind. Fire raged around her, terrible thundering noises threatened to deafen her. The stone walls shivered and collapsed. She had stood, frozen in fear, sobbing and screaming for her mother.

She shook herself and forced the memory away. “Lia of Cumbria.”

The old man gazed at her curiously and patted her hand. “Are ye the healer’s daughter?”

“Nay, just an apprentice. I have made several steeping bundles for you,” she said, trying to divert the man from her past. “I will instruct your daughter how to make the medicant and tell her which herbs she needs to make more.”

The man nodded again. “I’m feeling better already.”

“Good,” Lia said and rose. She had more patients to tend to.

The sound of horses approaching caught her attention. Lia looked to the trail and her eyes narrowed. Two men turned from the trail and toward the open area before the healer’s hut. Their horses appeared well-bred but travel-worn and exhausted. They had two more packhorses and a large mule in tow. The men did not look much better than their weary mounts. Although they dressed in the manner of the English, Lia knew instantly they were not. One man’s bright red hair and beard along with his sharp blue eyes told her he was a Scotsman. The man who rode with him had long blond hair. He did not have a beard, but his eyes were just as blue. Lia arched an eyebrow. With King Edward warring against the Scots, the men took a great risk coming to England.

The two dismounted, looking around warily. They did not appear ill or injured. Lia quickly approached. As Sueta’s apprentice, it was her job to greet newcomers and ascertain their intentions.

“Greetings,” Lia said.

The men looked at her, startled, then looked at each other.

Lia swallowed hard. She was an abnormally tall woman, only an inch shorter than the two men before her. Her automatic reaction as she grew so tall and gangly had been to slouch in order to hide her height. That only resulted in Sueta snapping her cane on Lia’s back with an order to stand up straight. A stinging correction, to be sure, but one that did not leave a mark.

“We seek the healer,” the blond man said. Although he spoke softly, Lia did not miss his Scottish burr.

“She is busy,” Lia said. Sueta was in her small hut working on more medicants. “As you can see, we have a number of people here seeking her aid.”

“Aye, but we have need of her skills.”

Lia frowned. “You both appear to be hale. What is your purpose here?”

“Our . . . laird . . . has been gravely injured.”

“Laird?” Lia asked in alarm. “In Scotland?”

“Aye. He is the MacGrigor. He be too weak tae travel here.”

Lia shook her head. “I am sorry, but the healer is old. She has too many people here who need her. She cannot make such a journey.”

The blond man’s face grew pained. “Lassie, please, at least allow the healer tae hear our plea.”

Lia studied them a long moment, recognizing the desperation in their expressions. She had seen it too many times from others in similar circumstances who came seeking Sueta’s aid. She sighed heavily.

“I am truly sorry, but the healer is an old woman. She would not be able to survive such a journey.”

The red-haired man shook his head, his blue eyes piercing. “It is said the healer cares not for nations, that any in need be equal in her eyes.”

“Aye,” Lia said, nodding. She also knew exactly where the conversation was heading. “The fact he is a Scotsman be not the reason why she cannot go to him. I tell you truly, she is too old to make such a journey.”

“Lia, come with me,” a voice said.

Lia jumped and spun, shocked to see Sueta standing behind her, her body bowed, leaning heavily on her staff. The old woman’s long gray hair hung around her face and shoulders like the branches of a weeping willow. Her wrinkled skin looked like leather, but her green eyes were still bright and unclouded. Her stern countenance never seemed to ease. “I would have a word with you,” she said.

The two men stared at the healer and once again looked at each other, their faces paling at the same time. Now perhaps they truly realized Lia had not exaggerated.

“Milady, please,” the blond man said, stepping forward. “Hear us out.”

“You two, wait outside the door.”

Lia’s heart hesitated and her spine stiffened as she followed Sueta into the hut. What was she planning?

The Scotsmen stopped before the door, and Lia firmly closed it behind her. A whisper of fear coiled through her when she saw her own medicant chests standing open before Sueta. The old woman muttered to herself as she sorted through all the jars and various linen bags. She removed items from her own table and put them into the chests.

“W-what are you doing, Mistress?” Lia asked.

Sueta grunted. “You will go with them.”

The blood drained from Lia’s face. “Nay, Mistress.”

The old woman stopped sorting and frowned at her, her wrinkled brow cratering into deep furrows. “’Tis time, Lia, I grow old. I have taught you everything I know.”

“You . . . you are sending me away?”

Sueta gazed at her a long moment, her expression gentling. “This time has been long in coming. You can’t continue to hide here with me, girl. It is time for you to find yourself, to find your own future.”

“But my future is here, as a healer.”

“As a healer, aye,” Sueta said nodding. “And you are becoming a fine one. But your future does not reside in England. It resides in Scotland. ’Tis time for you to take the first step of your journey.”

Lia’s heart pounded wildly. Sueta and her tiny hut were the only safety she had known since that terrible day of fire. “Please don’t send me away.”

“Lia, you hide yourself away here as if you were a leper. You have grown into a beautiful young woman. You have strength within you. It is time you discovered the facts of not only your heritage but of what you can become.”

“My . . . my heritage?” Lia stared at the old woman. Many times she had asked Sueta about her family, but the old woman had claimed she did not know.

“The truth does not reside in England, child, but in Scotland.”

“Scotland? How do you know?”

Sueta smiled and patted her arm.

“Do you know this laird?”

“I’ve heard tales of the clan a time or two. The clan has been persecuted in the past by both their own people and by the English. The young laird that governs them now is said to be a good man, a fair man, and one with a passion for life. That be what keeps him alive now.”

“How do you know this?”

Sueta laughed softly. “How long have you been my apprentice, Lia? You still do not realize how much information I gain as a healer. People from all over the country gather here. You need only to listen and learn.”

Lia ducked her head, her face burning with embarrassment. She had not listened to the stories much; she really didn’t care. She had a home here. The outside world seemed so far away, or so she had thought.

A chill possessed the core of her being as a little voice whispered in her heart. A part of her had always known this day would come, and a part of her had always feared it. The thought of leaving the only home she had ever known filled her with dread.

“Please, Mistress, do not send me away.”

“Lia,” Sueta snapped then drew a deep breath, struggling to rein in her temper. The old woman once again sorted through items on the table. She picked up several sheets of vellum which Lia had bound together with string—the journal of healing Sueta insisted that she keep. She tucked it safely into one of the chests. “You have your whole life ahead of you while mine dims.” She paused, gazing at Lia. “You need to do this, girl. You need to go to this laird lest he lose his life and his soul.”

“But why me?”

Sueta paused, looking at her a long moment. “You are young and strong. As you said, I am old. I will only slow them down. This laird fights for his life. You dare not take too long.”

Lia stared at the floor, fighting back her tears. “Is . . . is this the only way?”

“Remember when I first found you? I once traveled the land helping people who could not come to me. It wasn’t until my age made it too difficult that I came here. You can do the same, Lia. Think of the people you can help. Go to Scotland.” Sueta handed her a pack with her meager belongings. “I’ve stowed some food for the trail for you. You can do this, Lia. Remember all I have taught you, and you will save many lives.”

“I pray you are right, Mistress.” Still fighting back tears, Lia hugged the old woman.

Surprisingly Sueta laughed. “There, there child. Do not fret so. It will be all right, you will see.” She released her and guided her out the door. “You two,” Sueta snapped at the Scotsmen. “Do you have a mount for the girl?”

The two Scotsmen blinked at Lia.

“Aye, Mistress,” the blond man said.

“Take the medicant chests. Do you have a mule? They must be secured properly. I will personally lop off your heads if you break anything.”

“Aye, Mistress,” the blond man said again. He entered the hut and picked up one of the chests.

“Hold,” Sueta barked sternly. “This girl has been my apprentice since she was a small child. Now I give her into your care. I would have your word that you will allow no ill to befall her, that you will defend her with your lives.”

The two men looked at each other in confusion. Finally, the blond Scot turned to Sueta. “Aye, Mistress, ye have our word.”

“Good, for you dare not abandon her. Once she leaves with you, she will never be able to return here.”

Lia gasped and stared at Sueta in shock.

“Mistress, why fault the lass for our need?” the red-haired man asked.

“Are you both daft fools? This is not my choice,” Sueta growled. “If the lass tends to your laird, she cannot return to English soil. If the crown hears of what she has done, she will hang as a traitor.”

Lia swallowed hard, a new terror rising within her. She almost bolted from the room. How could she put her life on the line for someone she did not know? But she looked at Sueta and saw the determined glint in her eyes. The old woman had just described how she used to travel the land. No doubt she had faced similar situations. If Sueta could do it, so could Lia.

“I would have your word as Scotsmen that you will not forsake her.”

“On our honor and the honor of Clan MacGrigor, we will watch over the lassie. We willna forsake her.”

“Good.”

The red-haired man stared at Lia a long moment. “Let us be off, then. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Lia fought to keep her tears at bay, but she could not deny the fear raging within her.

HHH

Terror clawed through Ronan’s mind. Laughter resounded, mocking him; le March’s voice whispered through his thoughts.

“Now you will pay!”

Ronan snarled in fury, fighting with everything in him. A fist smashed into his jaw, sending him to the floor. He tasted blood. Agony almost stole his awareness. He tried to open his eyes; his vision blurred but he thought he caught a glimpse of a room that was not his prison . . . his own solar.

He battled to awaken from the nightmare, but the pain ripped at his mind and tore at his soul. Le March’s laughter rang over and over again.

“You will never be free.”

“Nay!” Ronan roared. He pulled himself up, battling to clear his vision. Where was he? Blessed saints, he had escaped, hadn’t he? Nay! It couldn’t have been a hallucination.

“You are my prisoner!”

“Nay!” Ronan cried. He lurched forward, slamming into the wooden floor. Fear wrapped around his thoughts. Again the vision of his prison blurred before him. But for an instant, it cleared, and he saw a young woman, cowering from him in terror.

Desperate for hope, he reached for her. The sound of his chains rattled sharply. “Help me,” his voice grated hoarsely in his own ears.

The woman screamed. “The demon!” she sprinted through the door and abruptly vanished.

“Nay!” Ronan cried. “Dinna leave me!”

But she was gone, leaving Ronan alone, imprisoned.

Only death awaited him here.

Le March’s maniacal laughter did not stop. “I own you now. You will never be free.”

Ronan raged in fury and terror. It could not be true.
Lies! All lies!
He tried to haul himself up, to prove he was no longer a prisoner, but his body refused to obey him. He could only lie on the floor, in agony and unable to move. No one would help him.

He was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Ronan bellowed his anguish, and consciousness mercifully abandoned him.

HHH

Lia clung to the saddlebow in fear, certain she would fall at any moment.

“Relax, lassie,” the blond Scot said, giving her a gentle smile.

They had been on the trail two days and already it felt like an eternity. Lia had never ridden a horse before. “You’re Connell, right?”

“Aye,” he said and his smile grew. “The other is my friend, Robert.” He eyed her another moment. “If ye relax, it will make it easier for ye tae balance.”

She started to relax, but at that moment the horse chose to toss its head violently. She squeaked and clung to the saddlebow again.

“’Tis all right, lass,” Connell said. At least he had a rope tied to the horse’s bit and secured to his saddle.