Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (35 page)

“Milady? What’s wrong?” Alba asked.

“No time for it now, Alba, where are the grain stores in the village?”

“I will show you.”

“Lassie,” Aidan said. “I dinna understand.”

Lia didn’t have time to explain. She had to see the grain stores before she would know if she was right. But with the way her heart was shouting at her, she couldn’t be wrong.

“Why are none in the castle ill?” she said to Aidan as she moved toward the door. “A castle has its own food stores, separate from the village.”

Aidan’s eyes widened and the blood drained from his face. “There was a harvest shortfall last year. Every crop suffered. We had enough of a harvest for the castle only. We had to purchase grain for the village. We’ve only recently begun to tap into those stores.”

Lia flew out the door of the keep with Alba right behind her.

Lia and Alba sprinted down the road. The air was cold and the mist was only beginning to burn off. Lia ran as fast as her legs would carry her. So few people walked the streets. She had attributed the scarcity of people to their fear of the Demon Laird. But now she realized that was only part of the problem, the fact was so many were dying—too terrified to seek her aid in the castle.

She heard a harsh breath behind her and glanced over her shoulder. Aidan and Connell were only a pace behind.

“People died simply because of their high fevers,” Lia said as she ran. “I never saw the entire manifestation of the illness.”

“There are many in the castle recovering,” Aidan said.

“Those in the great hall who could keep food down are eating from the castle stores,” Lia said and ran even faster.

Aidan and Connell passed her and slid to a stop before the barn. Aidan unlocked it and lifted the latch, and they swung open the huge doors.

The barn was three-quarters full of sacks of grain.

“Rye,” Lia said, trying to catch her breath. “It most often strikes rye but can infect any grain.”

Connell drew his dagger and sliced open a bag. Golden grain poured out of it, but Lia spotted the black spores darkening the yellow seeds. She grabbed Connell’s arm and pulled him back.

“Don’t breathe the dust.”

“It’s in the rye,” he growled.

Aidan also split open a bag. “And the barley.”

“And the wheat,” a voice said from behind them.

Lia turned around. The MacGrigor stood before them, his dagger also in hand, a split bag next to him.

She pulled Connell with her, but her gaze remained locked on MacGrigor. How had he followed them? Then she noted his entire body shook, sweat covered him, and he could barely put any weight on his injured leg. He had run after them? She gazed at him in shock. No wonder he had escaped his captors. But as she looked at him, she realized she did not like the gray color of his normally tanned skin.

“It’s called St. Anthony’s Fire, or Holy Fire, because of the high fever,” Lia said. “Your clanspeople aren’t dying due to a plague. They’re being poisoned with blighted grain.” She shivered and folded her arms over her chest. It was so much colder in the Highlands and she was exhausted.

“Ronan,” Aidan said, “this is one reason why the harvest was so short last year. MacFarlane told me the blight struck many fields. Most farmers burned their crops, ours included.”

MacGrigor’s gaze swept over the bags of grain in the barn but paused longer over the open ones and the black spores. “MacLaren,” he snarled. “He kenned the grain was blighted, he kenned and sold it to me anyway. I’ll have his bloody bollocks for this.”

A handful of healthy people began to gather around the barn, but they took one look at the MacGrigor and took a collective step back. He was wearing that damnable cloak once more, and the rage evidenced on his face would give anyone pause.

“MacGrigor,” she said, plucking at the fabric, “you are frightening people again.”

He looked down at her in confusion but then nodded. He freed the broach and removed the garment. He hesitated and again looked at her. “Ye are chilled,” he said and settled it over her shoulders.

She blinked up at him, stunned. “T-thank you.”

He nodded and stepped away.

The people who had seen his actions stared at her, awestruck.

She looked down at the garment. A part of her wanted to toss the thing in a fire and watch it burn. But the wool was thick and soft and wonderfully warm. She gazed at the fine weave, noting it was similar to Connell’s plaid, but the colors were darker and definitely muted, as if it was purposefully created to blend into shadow. Then it dawned on her: this was MacGrigor’s plaid. He did not don this cloak to become the Demon Laird; he wore this on a daily basis.

“Aidan,” the MacGrigor said, pulling Lia’s attention from the cloak. “We must tell everyone: anything made from this grain—flour, bread, even whiskey—they must throw it all out.”

“Aye, but these be our entire stores for winter.”

“We have the funds to purchase more. I care no’ if we have to go as far south as Edinburgh, this willna stand.”

“Flour,” Lia whispered and her eyes widened.

“What mean ye, Sassenach?” MacGrigor asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

“The millstones,” she said.

The brothers’ faces lost color at the same moment. “I will check them,” Aidan said. “But I fear it is too late. They are already contaminated.”

“But if they were,” Lia said. “Wouldn’t those in the castle be sick?”

“Nay,” MacGrigor said as his brother darted off. “I had a small mill built in the bailey last year. It be only big enough to support the castle.” He paused staring at the ground. “We should have at least one large millstone for the village set in reserve in case one cracks. If I remember correctly, the mill in the castle yard has two small ones in reserve. Connell, check with the millwright at the castle, see if we indeed have a secondary set of millstones. We can build another small mill to work for us until we can get the larger stones in the village replaced.”

“Aye, MacGrigor,” Connell said and hurried away.

MacGrigor shook his head and rubbed his temples.

“Are you all right?” Lia asked.

“Aye,” he said softly and looked at her. “I fear some foods will be quite scarce from here until harvest. The castle stores are only enough for the people who work and live there. I am going to have to tap into the siege stores to feed everyone. With Longshanks’s war, if we do come under attack and have to bar the gates . . . ” He hesitated and shook his head.

Lia bowed her head, suddenly understanding. “And with Longshanks’s war, you may indeed have to go all the way to Edinburgh to purchase grain, and even then you may not find it.”

“Aye, ye have it aright.”

“MacGrigor, I am so sorry,” she said, her eyes abruptly burning with tears.

“For what, Sassenach? Ye said ye would find the answer to this plague and ye did.”

“I should have recognized the symptoms sooner. I should have realized, but I didn’t see—”

“The entire manifestation of the illness. I heard yer words earlier. Why do ye think I kenned to follow ye?”

She started to speak then stopped and frowned at him. “Were you hiding in the shadows again?”

He gave her a sideways glance and the corners of his lips tugged upward ever so slightly.

“You rogue!”

His lips tugged upward even more, and for an instant, she saw a spark of mirth in his gray eyes. “At least I didna steal any more of your vellum.” He stepped forward, limping badly on his right leg. “Robert,” he called.

Robert had apparently trailed after them as well. In fact, Lia noticed many more people coming from the castle and gathering in the road before the barn.

“Aye, MacGrigor?”

“Check each bag, but I fear all of this grain is poisoned,” MacGrigor said, gesturing to the barn. “If a sack has even a hint of the blight, burn it.”

“At once, MacGrigor.”

“Don’t breathe the dust,” Lia called after him as he too darted off.

He shot a grin at her over his shoulder and waved.

“Lachlan,” MacGrigor said.

“Aye?”

“We’ll open the stores in the castle that we’re keepin’ for siege. Tell Cook.”

“Aye, MacGrigor.”

“Angus?”

Another man stepped forward, eyeing MacGrigor nervously. Lia had seen him in the keep helping with the sick but had not yet had the chance to speak to the man.

“Fetch the stone masons and send them to the quarry. We need at least one, probably two large millstones, and I ken it will be cheaper and faster for the men to quarry them than it would be for us to purchase them elsewhere and haul them here.”

“Aye, MacGrigor.”

Lia watched the MacGrigor closely. Now that he had taken his cloak off, more people seemed willing to approach him. Timidly at first, but with growing confidence as he listened to each and addressed them as if nothing were wrong. At least she thought this was so; she had no way of knowing what was normal with him and what was not. She witnessed his ability to organize and delegate, and she had to admit he was impressive to watch.

But the more she watched him, the more her concern grew. He favored his right leg terribly. He shouldn’t be on it at all, she quickly realized, but he should at least have a cane. No doubt he had left it behind when following them into the village. But several times she saw him put weight on his leg unexpectedly and nearly topple over. He would catch himself and set his jaw, then seem to draw on reserves of determination she had never witnessed in a man. He would straighten his spine and square his shoulders and return to the business at hand without missing a beat.

In the bright daylight, the white patches that marred his skin became more obvious along with the method in which they had been inflicted. The dark lines around his neck and throat appeared to be even sharper when contrasted with his tanned flesh. She saw the bandages covering his back and chest easily under his light tunic. But what worried her the most was the fact that she saw his face turn from gray to pallid.

Lia gritted her teeth. No one else seemed to notice the change, or if they did they were too frightened to say anything. She looked around but Aidan had not yet returned from checking the millstones. Connell had no doubt returned to William in the keep after speaking with the millwright. MacGrigor hated her, but Lia feared if he collapsed in front of everyone, it would only compound the rumors. She remembered her words to him the first night, that he desperately needed a healer. He had no idea how true they were and would undoubtedly push himself until he dropped. He was still not recovered from his ordeal, and Lia was willing to bet there was more to heal than just his physical wounds.

Fortunately, his attention seemed focused on the matter at hand. Lia slowly worked her way closer without his notice. The more he pushed himself, the more he had to concentrate and not worry where a Sassenach healer might be standing.

Her worries came true as he finished speaking with someone, turned, and staggered. He caught himself against a post, but that wasn’t enough to stop his fall. Lia darted forward, grabbed his free arm and hauled it over her shoulders, stopping his collapse. He looked down at her, the planes of his face hardening, but Lia quickly realized that even if he wanted to pull away, he couldn’t. His steel-gray eyes were glazed. And Lia didn’t think the grim set of his jaw was due entirely to her.

“I think that’s enough for one day.” She angled toward the castle and started to walk.

MacGrigor leaned heavily against her and she grew more concerned. He squeezed his eyes closed, and she wasn’t sure if he was in pain or dizzy. She reached up and touched his face with her hand and sucked in her breath. “MacGrigor, you are fevered.”

“Aye,” he said softly.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

He opened his eyes and gazed down at her, but this time she did not see hatred. Only exhaustion and pain. “Ye found the truth of this plague. I had to see it for myself.” He paused and once again the corners of his lips twitched. “I had a devil of a time keeping pace with ye.”

She bit back a laugh and shook her head. “Well you did, and we need to get you to bed.”

Lia struggled to keep MacGrigor on his feet. As they approached the castle, she feared he would not make it another step. He kept his eyes closed and leaned heavily against her. If he collapsed, she would have a beastly time getting him inside. The servants were terrified of him and she had no idea where Aidan was. As she approached the gates, her gaze scanned the bailey, stopping on one man.

“Connell!”

He looked up, startled, then his eyes widened and he sprinted toward them. “Lassie, what happened?”

“He overextended himself. He’s fevered, Connell. We’ve got to get him above stairs.”

“Aye,” he said, taking MacGrigor’s free arm.

Lia breathed a sigh of relief as Connell was able to take most of MacGrigor’s weight.

They got him upstairs and while Connell settled him in bed, Lia hurried to her medicants and gathered what she needed. She returned to the solar and saw Connell watching the MacGrigor worriedly.

“He isna coherent.”

“That does not surprise me. I’m amazed he accomplished all that he did.”

“His fever . . . he didna eat any of the blighted grain somehow?”

Lia gazed at Connell in sudden understanding. “Nay, Connell, ’tis probably one of his wounds festering, and he is too stubborn to admit it.”

“I was rather harsh with him earlier . . . he is my friend, but I didna mind my place.”

And you’re afraid you’re going to lose him too.
“You said what needed to be said, Connell. Please don’t worry. Look at it this way, he won’t be able to protest over a Sassenach tending to him.”

“Do ye need me to stay?”

“Nay. He’s too weak to put up any resistance. I know you’re worried about William. Go check on him.”

“Verra well, if ye are certain ye dinna need me.”

“But you should have someone find Aidan and let him know. Thank you for your help, Connell.”

“Of course, lass.” He stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Lia returned to MacGrigor’s bedside. He pried open one eye, and Lia almost laughed at how he still managed to glare at her.