Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (33 page)

“You would have preferred the English slay him?”

“Nay, dinna misunderstand. Our laird be a good man, just as good as his da, but his escape and now this plague. It be not natural.”

“’Tis the work of the devil,” Seamus muttered.

Lia sighed heavily. “Gentlemen,” she scolded, “this plague is odd, but I have seen nothing yet to give me reason to think it is from the devil.”

“Ye hear that, laddie,” Ian said and winked. “She called us gentlemen.”

Seamus laughed heartily then clutched at his gut. “Pray, lassie, my belly be no’ happy with me laughing yet.”

Ian’s humor faded as he looked again at Lia. “Ye are a goodhearted lass, but ye canna explain this plague. How is it only the villagers have been stricken? Those in the keep be protected from it, even though the sick fill the great hall. How is it so many at once and with such vile consequences? And how is it that it only struck after our laird returned tae us?”

“Aye,” Seamus said nodding. “’Tis a shame, our laird worked hard. He was such a hellion in his youth, many doubted his ability tae lead us when his da passed. But the laddie stepped into the role and grew into a new man before our eyes. I didna think he could do it, but he did, and he earned my respect in the process.”

“Ye even lost a wager tae me over it, if I recall correctly.”

“Aye.”

“Ian, Seamus,” Lia said firmly, “I understand your fear and worry over this plague. But you just stated your laird’s hard work has earned your respect.”

“Aye, lassie.”

“And your trust?”

Ian thought for a long moment but finally nodded. “Ye are wise beyond yer years,” he murmured. “It be that trust that is tested now.”

“I understand, Ian,” she said and gripped his hand. “Don’t let go of that trust just yet. I will find the truth of this plague, I promise you. And when I do, I firmly believe you’ll see your faith in your laird was well placed.”

Ian looked for a long time at Seamus, who slowly nodded. His gaze returned to Lia. “Verra well, lassie. I will place my faith in ye and my laird. Now, Seamus, ye up for a game or no’?”

“Aye, Ian.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Lia said and rose. “But please, keep your voices down, and no wagering.”

“Ah, lassie, where be the fun in that?”

“No wagering.”

Ian sighed heavily. “As ye wish.”

“Thank you.” She rose and turned back to the table.

“Lia,” Connell called softly.

She turned her head, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow dart from the high table to the alcove. She started slightly and did not move, but her attention suddenly focused on the edge of her vision.

“Lia?” Connell called again.

No movement. Nothing. Damnation! It must be all of this talk of the Demon Laird and the devil. She supposed this proved she was just as human as the next person. She had to stop listening to it and keep her wits about her.

“Lia?”

This time she forced herself to turn away from the high table and cross the room. She would not look over her shoulder, she told herself firmly.

She approached Connell, but her gaze fell on William’s pallid face and her alarm grew. Beads of sweat gathered on the boy’s skin.

“I dinna ken, lass, but I fear his fever goes higher,” Connell said.

She knelt before him and touched the boy’s brow. “His fever spikes; get him back on his pallet.”

Connell started to move but William moaned in protest and clung to him even tighter. Connell looked up at her, his gaze pleading.

“Very well, I do not wish to upset him. Leave him be, as long as he is comfortable. I will fetch his medicant.”

“But ye just gave it to him only an hour ago.”

“And I will give him another. I must get his fever under control.”

Connell nodded.

Lia hurried back to the table and grabbed the cup she had made only a short time ago for William. Then her gaze fell on her sheets of vellum. Frustration rose within her. Nay, this could not be! She looked around the table and on the floor and did not see the sheet she had most recently made notes on.

“How can I find the answers to this plague if I can’t even find my notes?” she snarled under her breath. She wanted to curse, but she bit back the desire and took the medicant to William.

HHH

Ronan leaned against the stone wall of the alcove he hid in, bidding his heart to slow. The Sassenach had almost discovered him. He didn’t want to admit that his heart pounded because of a different reason. He had heard every word she exchanged with Seamus and Ian. He had heard—but understood nothing. It made no sense. If she was an English spy, why would she defend him? She should be subverting his people, turning them against him. Instead, she countered their fears with logic—logic not superstition. She did not fall to snap judgments like so many others. Was it possible? Was she truly what she voiced? A healer who did not care for nationality, rank, or status?

I heal everyone as I am able,
she had said that first night.

His gaze fell on Connell and William, and he prayed the boy would survive. Connell had lost so much. But the interaction between Connell and the Sassenach fascinated Ronan. She acted as if she truly cared.

She had no idea he watched her from the shadows. Suspicion, aye, but he had seen her eyes widen in fear, her fingers as they tightened on the folds of her skirts, the pulse thundering in the vein of her throat. She was not a bard performing for him.

Ronan stiffened as she approached the high table. He clearly saw her frustration at losing another sheet of vellum. But her words . . . she bemoaned that she could not find the truth of the plague. He stared down at the vellum clutched in his fingers and guilt grew within him. What if she was simply a healer? What if his actions worked against her and prohibited her from discovering the truth? What if he was the one adding to the agony of his people?

He had to get this vellum to Aidan. Surely together they could break the cypher and determine if the Sassenach was true. He hesitated, his gaze locking on her form as she approached, taking in her pallid face. Tears welled in her eyes. Her hand shook as she placed the now empty cup on the table. She staggered slightly and caught herself on the pillar that formed part of the alcove he hid within.

Damnation, he had not meant for her to get so close.

“Please, God,” she whispered, her voice tremulous. “Please let William survive this. He’s just a boy. Connell was so kind to me. He should not suffer this.” She leaned heavily against the stone next to Ronan’s shoulder. He could smell the fragrance she wore.

His heart lurched again but for a different reason. He recognized the scent. Heather. She was not nobility; she did not have exotic oils from faraway places. Instead, she did what most lassies of her age and breeding did, used a pressed oil of heather. Ronan could not stop himself as he inhaled deeply. On her, the scent was enchanting.

She squeaked in alarm and vaulted sideways. “Who’s there?”

“Milady?” Connell and Lachlan said at the same time. Connell gently placed William on his pallet and Lachlan stepped from his sentry point against the wall. Two braw lads followed his step.

“I know you’re there,” the Sassenach snapped. “Come out this moment.”

Ronan’s heart raced. He knew he would be discovered in an instant. But his first thought was that he not terrify his own people. Instead of trying to slip away, he drew a deep breath into his lungs and moved only partially from the alcove, remaining in shadow.

“Be at ease, Sassenach” he said, but even he noticed how his voice rumbled through the hall. “’Tis only the MacGrigor.”

His heart raced even harder when he heard the distinctive snick of a dagger leaving its scabbard. Ronan looked up and saw Connell striding forward, weapon in hand.

“Lassie, what vexes ye?”

Ronan then looked to his left. Lachlan also held a blade along with his young friends. Ronan’s gaze traveled even farther, and he saw Seamus and Ian help each other to their feet. They were unsteady, ready to topple any moment, but they would stand for the Sassenach before him.

She stared at him a moment, her face growing pale, but she swallowed hard and her shoulders straightened. To Ronan’s shock, she spun, exposing her back to him.

HHH

“Connell, hold!” she said and held up her hand. Dear God she was a fool. For the barest instant, she expected to feel a dagger plunge into her back. But one heartbeat passed, a second, and she found the breath returning to her lungs.

The Demon Laird stood behind her, but those in the hall could not see him clearly. To them, he was a part of the shadows.

They were only reacting to her fear. It was that fear she needed to control. Even though his voice had echoed around her like an ominous thunderstorm, they had not heard it.

“Lassie,” Connell said, his eyes narrowing, “pray, dinna move.”

She recognized the words from when the villager stumbled over them on the trail. Connell’s gaze examined the darkness behind her but did not focus. She marveled at the fact he did not see the giant looming behind her.

Her thoughts scrambled. This was the closest MacGrigor had ever gotten to her since she met him that first night. She worried if she announced his presence, he would vanish again.

“Connell,” she said gently. “Peace, I’m just jumping at shadows, it seems.”

“Lassie?” His gaze searched hers for a moment then returned to scrutinize the blackness behind her. “Are ye certain?”

“I am.”

“Very well, but ye need only call my name.”

“I thank you, Connell. See to William, please.”

“Aye.” He shot a glare at Lachlan and then at Ian and Seamus—all of them retreated. Connell nodded once then slammed his dagger back into its sheath.

She turned back around. “MacGrigor?” she whispered.

Silence.

The giant form had vanished. She searched the shadows but did not see him. Her shoulders slumped. Her one chance to reach him had been forfeited.

“I am still here,” a deep voice rumbled through the darkness.

She sucked in her breath and snapped her head up but forced herself to keep her feet firmly planted.

“Ye control my people better than I.” His voice sounded strangely tight and forced.

“Control them?” Her voice rose and she forced herself to calm. “Nay, I only help them.”

“Ye brought this plague with ye,” he snapped.

“Ask Connell or Robert if they agree with that.”

“Nay, Connell is devoted to ye.”

“Let me guess, I’ve ensorcelled him somehow.”

The voice remained silent for a long moment. Lia struggled to rein in her emotions before she truly lost him; she was weary and had not slept in three days.

“I was going to say that is an extraordinary feat,” the voice said. “Connell does not give his faith easily.”

“Will you please step from the shadows?”

“Will my own men run me through?”

Lia’s hand covered her face and she rubbed her eyes. She didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with this right now.

“I try your patience,” the voice said, suddenly next to her.

Lia nearly vaulted sideways, but then she realized she didn’t have the energy. She simply looked up at him and her breath fled her lungs.

The striking rogue stood before her, his massive body only inches from hers. His steel-gray eyes locked on hers. Saints be merciful, he was beautiful. A part of her was angry that he’d toy with her like this, but she found her lips curving upward.

“Your mother must have had the patience of Job.”

For the barest instant, she saw his gray eyes spark and a ghost of a smile on his lips. But in a blink it was gone, and she saw only aloof calm in its wake. Yet her heart rejoiced. There was a sense of humor under the façade.

Then she understood. That’s all it was, a façade, a way to protect himself from the pain he had suffered. She had seen something similar in others she had treated but not to this degree. Finding the man under the armor would be like prying a crab from its shell. But she knew she could do it, she just needed the right tools. She grinned up at him as she realized he was not something to fear . . . he was a challenge.

“I always worry when a female smiles like that.”

Her grin grew.

“Holy hell, Aidan, what have ye gotten me into?” he muttered.

She heard the rustle of vellum and looked down. Her eyes widened as she spotted the sheet clutched in his fingers.

“My notes,” she cried and snatched them away. Then she looked up, realization dawning. “I did not lose these. You took them. Why?”

MacGrigor’s body bowed and his fists clenched. He took a breath as if to rebuke her, but then he lowered his head. “Ye write in cypher. I thought the English sent ye to spy on us.”

She blinked at him once, twice. Then humiliation rose within her as she realized why he thought she wrote in cypher. In a sense, that’s exactly what it was, but it was one only she and Sueta knew. “I can’t read,” she whispered, her face burning in embarrassment, and turned away from him.

“What?” he growled.

She pretended as if she had not heard him and returned the vellum to her small stack.

“If ye canna read,” he snarled, “what is all this?” His hand shot out and he sent the precious pages of her journal flying across the table and onto the floor.

“Nay!” Lia cried, lunging after them.

“What are they?” he snarled, catching her arm.

“Lia!” Connell barked.

MacGrigor’s head snapped around and he glared at Connell, who stood with his hand on his dagger.

“MacGrigor?” he asked in shock. “What mean ye?”

MacGrigor’s gaze turned flat. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps ye’ve been turning them against me all along.”

Only then did Lia realize that every able man in the great hall had risen in defense of her until they saw that the man they faced was their own laird.

“Please,” she said softly, focusing on Connell, knowing the others would follow his lead. “Please, ’tis only a misunderstanding.” But as she spoke, she looked at MacGrigor’s hand locked on her arm.

“MacGrigor, release her,” Connell said in a tone she had never heard from him.