Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (29 page)

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride a horse,” Lia said softly. “But these aren’t the circumstances I was imagining.”

“I understand,” Connell said.

Lia tried to divert her thoughts from her aching body and fear of falling. Why had Sueta said Lia could only find her path in Scotland? Did that mean she knew something of her past? She had always insisted she didn’t. She had only found Lia after the night of fire, wandering lost in the smoking rubble of broken stone and smashed wood, crying for her mother.

Lia shivered and shoved the memory away before it awoke more . . . unpleasant ones.

“Tell me about your home, about your laird.”

Connell’s expression changed to one of sadness. “The MacGrigor, he is a good man, lassie. I have been proud tae fight with him, tae defend our homes against the English.”

“I must admit I don’t pay attention to politics or wars. Only that when one starts, Sueta and I are busier than ever.”

“Aye,” Connell said. “We . . . as in Robert and I, grew up with the MacGrigor brothers. Ronan and his brother, Aidan, were mischievous, full of life and laughter.” He hesitated, a fond but sad smile on his lips. “It seemed we were all in endless trouble. But the MacGrigor’s da was a fine man, a fine laird, tae hear my own da tell it. The MacGrigor be just as honorable. Our clan has been prosperous under his leadership.”

“And with the war?”

“The MacGrigor has tried tae keep us out of it for the most part. He says when kings argue, ’tis the common man who ends up doing the bleeding. But there have been times when he’s had no choice. We rallied under his banner. He and his brother . . . ne’er have I seen two men work as one before.”

“Really? It seems in all the tales I’ve heard, the younger is always jealous of the elder.”

“Aye, ye have it aright, but not with these two. Aidan has no desire tae be laird. Too much responsibility. He is more than happy tae allow his brother that.”

“They work well together, then.”

“Aye. ’Twas his brother who sent us for ye.”

“So what happened?”

“We battled the English. The MacGrigor, he understands strategy as few men do. He kens our strengths and our weaknesses as well as that of the enemy. There is a baron in service tae an earl who MacGrigor has defeated more than once, le March. He and other English have taken tae calling the MacGrigor the Scottish Demon. They hate him because he is such a difficult foe. The MacGrigor leads our cavalry and his brother the infantry. They work together like none I have ever seen. They dinna need tae speak tae each other. They just know what tae do.”

“That is surprising.”

“Aye, the two brothers were on opposite ends of the field. The MacGrigor brought the cavalry tae flank the English. No one kens exactly what happened during the thick of the fighting, but we later found the MacGrigor’s horse slain on the field. We think he might have been injured when the beast collapsed. That is the only way the English would have been able tae take him without a fight.”

“The English captured him?”

“Aye. Aidan immediately started searching for him, hoping tae ransom him back from the English. It took three days for us tae hear word of where they held him.”

Lia swallowed hard, fearing she knew exactly what happened. “His wounds . . . they were not from the battle.”

“Nay, lassie,” Connell replied, his voice thick. “They tortured him.” He paused and shivered. “Never in my life have I seen such abuse. But there is one thing ye need tae understand.”

“What is that?”

“After three days, they didna break him. He freed himself, lassie. He freed himself and crawled a quarter mile on his belly tae escape. That’s when Aidan found him. The MacGrigor refused tae die. That’s what gives us hope; that’s why his brother sent us tae fetch ye.”

Lia swallowed hard. That the laird survived all he had said much for his strength of soul. She only prayed he would have the strength to continue fighting until she arrived.

HHH

Voices screamed in his thoughts, ripping at his sanity. The whip sang and cracked, laying open the flesh on his back. Ronan battled his chains, but fighting was useless. It only brought more pain.

Hot irons seared his back; the stench of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils. He howled against the agony.

“I own you,” le March’s voice whispered. “Your soul is mine.”

It is a fever dream!
his thoughts cried.
It is nothing more than a fever dream. I must awaken! I must!

Ronan battled to pry open his eyes, but when he did, horror clawed at him. All he saw was his prison before him. Nay, this was not possible. He was free.

“You will never be free!”

Suddenly, he was in the black mud, in the deep crack in the earth, pulling his way out, fighting for freedom.

Born from the depths of hell, its muck still clung to him. A stain of evil on his soul that would always remain.

“Nay!” Ronan cried.

He levered upward, his eyes rolling wildly, battling to breathe, pain radiating through the deepest part of his being. He was in his bed in his solar.

Alone.

Ronan staggered from his bed, the floor undulating beneath his feet. He reached out and caught the bedpost. He had to get control of himself. He was free. He was safe at home. But as his vision blurred again, he feared it all a hallucination, that he would again awaken in his prison.

His entire body shook. A high-pitched whine sounded in his ears. A strange euphoria settled over him.
Nay! Not again, please God, not again!

He pitched face-first onto the floor as the attack took him full force.

HHH

They had crossed the border days ago and traveled deeper into Scotland before finally stopping to camp for the night. According to Connell, they had two more days of travel before they reached Castle MacGrigor. Lia longed to see an end to the journey, but she could not deny her nerves coiled tighter the closer they approached. What would happen if their laird had died before she could reach him? Or even worse, what if he was so far gone she could not save him?

She shoved her worries aside and concentrated on dinner. The Scotsmen were quite adept at cooking on the trail, but she found the fare a bit bland. Another thing she had learned under Sueta’s tutelage was cooking, and the people she met as a healer had only added to that knowledge. At least Robert and Connell seemed to appreciate her cooking, and it was something she could do so she didn’t feel like such a burden to them.

The men worked to finish setting up camp. As the sun disappeared behind the western horizon, Lia spooned the thick stew into bowls.

“Ah, thank ye, lassie,” Connell said as he sat on a log near the campfire and took the bowl from her. “Since ye took over the cooking, the food is finally fit for a weary man tae regain his strength.”

Lia felt her lips tug upward.

“Aye,” Robert said as he too sat and took a bowl from her. “Much better than the swill Connell was tryin’ tae poison us with.”

“Hey now,” Connell said in warning. “Poisoning yer food can be arranged.”

“Shut yer trap,” Robert snapped. “The poor lassie be weary and doesna need tae hear yer weak threats.”

“Weak? The lassie only needs tae look at ye tae see who is truly weak.”

Lia sat with her own bowl in hand, laughing at the insults they tossed back and forth. At least the ride north had not been boring with these two constantly providing entertainment.

Lia had just taken two bites of her dinner when a sound behind her sent a bolt of terror through her and froze her in place. For an instant, she thought she might have imagined the noise until she looked to Connell, who was staring at something behind her. He slowly sat his bowl on the ground and drew a viciously long dagger.

“Pray, lassie,” he whispered between clenched teeth, “dinna move.”

She swallowed hard and looked to Robert but only caught a glimpse of his back as he disappeared into the trees surrounding the small clearing of their camp.

Lia squeezed her eyes closed, fighting the urge to bolt toward Connell.

She heard another sound behind her, but before she could utter the scream that lodged in her throat, Connell lunged forward and seized her arm. He yanked her to him and Lia only glimpsed a dark blur. She heard a muffled grunt and turned to see Robert tackle a man from behind. Connell shoved her behind him and Lia focused on the man sprawled on the ground in the place where she had been sitting. His head was covered in blood and his clothing was ripped to shreds.

“Nay!” the man cried, holding up his hands, also scraped and bloody. “Mercy! I beg of ye!”

For an instant, Lia was certain Robert meant to kill the man. “Wait!”

But Robert only grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. “What mean ye, attackin’ the lassie like that?”

“I didna attack her,” the man blubbered. “I only sought her help.”

“Her help?” Connell asked, his dagger still in hand, his other arm stretched backward, keeping her behind him.

“All ken ye bring a healer. I beg of ye, I was attacked!”

“Attacked?” Robert asked in confusion.

“The Demon Laird! He stalks the trails at night attackin’ those who canna find haven after dark.”

“The what?” Robert asked, his face paling.

“The Demon Laird! He attacked me. I ran, tryin’ tae reach safety, but he found me on the trail. I saw yer campfire. I beg yer help.”

Connell cursed softly and returned his dagger.

“Lassie?”

“I will help him.” She pointed to a log, bidding her heart to stop pounding so hard. She had work to do. “Sit and I will check your wounds.”

Robert nearly tossed him in the direction of the log.

“Robert,” Connell said.

“Aye,” he replied. Before Connell could say anything more, Robert again vanished into the trees.

“Pray forgive me,” the man said as Lia crouched to examine him. “I live in the village not far from the castle. The tales of the Demon Laird stalking the land at night have grown mightily. I didna believe them, but I was caught outside at sunset... I . . . I believe them now.”

“How do ye ken it was the Demon Laird and not a common cutthroat?” Connell asked.

“His hounds.”

Connell’s face lost color and he stared at the man in disbelief. “Hounds?”

“The Demon Laird’s hounds tracked me as I tried tae get back tae the village.”

Robert abruptly reappeared from the forest. “I saw blood on some rocks. Ye fell?”

“Aye,” the man said nodding vigorously. “The Demon Laird’s bloody hellhounds chased me. I fell down a slope in a rocky ravine. I saw yer campfire and ran tae ye. Fortunately, the hounds didna pursue.”

Lia finished examining him and rose. The wounds only supported part of the man’s tall tale. She stepped to her medicants and packs, withdrawing clean bandages. Connell and Robert stepped with her.

“I found where he fell,” Robert said tightly. “And spotted the tracks of dogs.”

“Dogs or wolves?” Connell asked.

“Dogs, most likely feral. By the look of the track, they werena large enough tae be wolves.”

“Shadows probably spooked him,” Lia said. “His wounds were most likely caused from falling on the rocks, not by any attack.”

Connell breathed a sigh of relief. “It worries me the tales the common folk have devised in our absence.”

“Aye,” Robert said. “The MacGrigor was once loved by all. That they could turn on him so quickly is troublesome indeed.”

“Look at it this way,” Lia murmured, “at least you know your laird is still alive.”

HHH

The voices were silent now, but Ronan’s heart still slammed against his ribs. He couldn’t remember anything of the attack except that he had a sense he had struggled to breathe and had nearly choked. His throat hurt. But he was grateful for the silence. He blinked open his eyes, struggling to pull his blurred vision together. He was on the floor again, but this time he knew it was the floor of his own solar.

His vision partially focused on his hand outstretched before him. He had to get up and get himself back into bed. His body ached against the hard wood. But as he told his body to move, it refused.

His heart pounded harder and fear snaked through him.
Nay, no reason tae panic.
His blackouts as a child had been similar. He had always struggled to get his body to obey him afterward. He gulped another deep breath into his lungs and tried again.

Terror rocked through him. Never had it lasted this long. He stared at his own fingers. If he could just move one. But they wouldn’t even twitch. Nay! Was this the result? That he would not be a prisoner of the English but instead be trapped in his own body?

The door opened. “Holy hell,” Aidan muttered. “I leave ye tae tend tae clan business for just a moment and look what happens tae ye.”

Ronan still could not move. He could not turn his head to look at his brother.

“Ronan?” Aidan said, his voice growing more alarmed.

Ronan struggled to move. Nay! It would not be like this. Aidan stepped into view. Ronan’s eyes rolled wildly in his head. His heart pounded in terror. All he had fought for, all he had battled against, and he was trapped just as effectively as he would have been in that cell.

Aidan reached for him. “Ronan, what’s wrong?”

“Nay!” his voice croaked in his own ears and suddenly his hand balled into a fist.

Aidan leapt backward, startled.

Relief washed over Ronan as his body obeyed his commands again. “I’ll be all right,” he said hoarsely, but his words sounded slurred.

Aidan stepped forward and carefully pulled him up.

Ronan closed his eyes, leaning heavily against his brother. It would not be today that he became trapped in his own flesh . . . but what about tomorrow?

HHH

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.