Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (36 page)

“I’m going to give you some willow bark to help bring your fever down.”

“Nay,” he said, but his voice lacked strength.

She sighed and sat in the chair next to the bed. “MacGrigor,” she murmured gently and reached for him. He turned his head away, but that did not stop her. Her fingers touched his thick black hair and stroked through the soft locks.

“Please, let me help you.”

He didn’t move, but he closed his eyes a brief moment. Lia continued to gently stroke his hair. He turned and looked at her again, catching her hand and pressing it against his cheek. His fever seemed to grow worse with each passing moment.

“MacGrigor, please. It’s only willow bark. Please, let me help you.” She wished it didn’t sound like she was begging.

He released her hand and nodded once then closed his eyes again. Lia put some water on to boil. She needed to check his wounds to see how badly they festered, but she supposed she should be grateful he was at least letting her tend to him. While she waited, she took a rag and dampened it in cool water, gently placing it against his brow.

He sighed softly.

“Aye,” she said, blotting his face. “This will make you feel better.”

The water finally started to boil and she rose to tend to it. She poured some into a cup and added a steeping bundle of willow bark. She knew it would have to be strong, and that meant allowing it to sit for some time. Well, there was no help for it.

MacGrigor muttered softly and she turned around. His eyes were closed and he turned his head from side to side. His fever was high enough that it did not surprise her he might fade in and out of a fever dream. He had pushed himself too hard today.

“Nay,” he murmured, still tossing his head from side to side.

Lia frowned down at him. The lines in his face had grown more pronounced, the shadows under his eyes darker. With most of the torture victims she had treated, their greatest struggle was defeating their own memories.

“Easy, MacGrigor,” she whispered, again reaching out to gently stroke her fingers through his hair. A soft word, a gentle touch, often went a long way in reassuring them they no longer suffered. “You are home. You are safe.”

“Help me,” the words came out as a tiny gasp . . . a prayer.

Lia swallowed hard, sudden tears pushing at her eyes. “I am here, Ronan, I will help you.”

His head stopped moving so violently.

She leaned forward, her fingers never ceasing their soft caress. “You are safe, Ronan, you are at home.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I know the voice in your head, the voice of your captor. It plays on your fears, it says you are still a prisoner. It lied then, Ronan, just like it’s lying to you now.”

He sucked in his breath and grew unusually still.

“You are home, you are safe.”

Finally, he relaxed in the bed and stopped muttering. She withdrew her hand when she was reasonably certain he at last rested comfortably.

“Good,” she said and started to rise. She needed to check his willow bark.

“Nay!” he said so sharply he startled her. He latched onto her hand. She looked back at him. His eyes were open, staring at her with a wild fear. “Help me.”

“I will, Ronan,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I just need to get your medicant.”

“Nay!” He sucked in a ragged breath. “They all run.”

“Run? Who?”

“Please . . . I am . . . alone.”

Suddenly, she understood. Aidan and Marta were the only ones who would sit with him. The servants were terrified and had run screaming from his room several times. He had suffered through so much. He needed someone to help ground him in the delirium of his fever dreams. To help him determine what was real and what was hallucination.

Both of her hands covered his as he clung to her. “Nay, Ronan, I will not run. I just need to fetch your medicant. Lie back and rest.”

His steel-gray eyes still wide, he blinked once, twice, then lay back onto the bed. Lia once again stroked his hair, humming softly. His eyes appeared to grow heavy until they finally closed. Still humming, Lia rose and returned to the table, finishing his medicant. It did not take long, and soon she sat next to him. It didn’t take much to get him to sit up and drink it. Fortunately, willow bark had a relatively pleasant taste. He finished the draught and she finally settled him.

She sat at his bedside, holding his hand in hers, her free hand blotting his fevered brow with the cool cloth. She continued to hum softly, and a bit later, she was certain he slept, but she did not move, her humming never stopped. It would take time, but he would soon learn that one thing she would not do was run.

R
onan awoke slowly, the nightmare fading, but he braced himself, his heart hammering against his ribs. For a moment, he was terrified to open his eyes, terrified that he would indeed see the walls of his prison and his time at home a hallucination.

The soft sound of a woman humming reached him and he hesitated. The sound was familiar somehow, but it took a moment for him to place it. A lullaby, he realized. His mum used to sing it to him when he was a wee lad. He had not heard it in . . . God . . . he could not remember how long it had been.

He pried opened his eyes and sighed in relief as the walls of his solar took form around him. But then his gaze stopped on Aidan and he blinked. What was he doing here? Only now did he notice the humming had faded into nothingness. Ronan blinked in confusion and struggled to sit up.

“Hold on there,” Aidan said and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What . . . what happened?”

“Ye overextended yerself two days ago, and it brought a return of the fever.”

“Two days?”

“Aye. If it hadna been for the lassie, ye might have ended up much worse.”

“Lassie?”

Aidan sighed heavily. “Lia . . . the healer? She said ye finally gave her leave to tend to ye.”

He rubbed his eyes, trying to sort through his jumbled memories. “She is the only one who willna run,” Ronan said softly. “Sometimes, I canna tell reality from hallucination.”

“Aye. The lassie said that’s to be expected, brother.”

“Where is she?”

“She wanted to stay with ye, but so many others need her, Ronan. Now that we ken the grain was blighted, she can take the proper steps, but she said ’tis a nasty illness. She now tends to those in the village as well. Her work has just begun.”

“Aye,” Ronan said, pushing himself up. “I should help.”

“Nay,” Aidan said. “The lassie has given orders ye must rest.”

“But—”

“Nay,” Aidan snapped, cutting him off. “She will be up to check on ye shortly. I’d advise ye to let her tend yer bandages. If ye still be fevered, the lassie fears yer wounds be festering.”

HHH

The next night, in spite of himself, Ronan escaped his solar as soon as the occupants of the castle bedded down. But this time he left his cloak behind. He swallowed hard and descended the stairs, certain he was daft in the head. While he was more confident about not terrorizing anyone with his presence, he still worried over it. But, God forbid, what if he had another attack? He shivered and forced the thought from his mind. As he stepped to the base of the stairs and looked upon the great hall, he had to admit he felt better after the Sassenach had tended to him, but he still had not allowed her to change his bandages. He would do it on his own, later.

Because of that, he had only seen her for a few minutes since he had spoken to Aidan. The poor thing appeared as if she ran herself ragged, with dark circles under her eyes and her jaw set too tightly. He discovered his distrust of her easing just a bit. She had also scolded him for pushing himself so hard but seemed to understand his choice. Inwardly he cringed, she would scold him again for getting out of bed. But he couldn’t stay in his solar any longer. He couldn’t shake the sensation he had simply traded one prison for another.

His gaze fell on the Sassenach and his step hesitated. She worked frantically over a young lad with Connell beside her, watching, his terror plain on his face.

Worry gripped Ronan’s soul.
Almighty, have mercy, not William. Please not William!

“Nay,” he heard her snarl under her breath. “I will not let you die.”

Her words turned his worry into alarm and he lengthened his stride.

“Milady,” Alba said, gently gripping the Sassenach’s arm.

“He was healing!” the Sassenach snapped. She held the boy’s shoulders. “William! You cannot give up now.”

William was unconscious, his body shuddering with convulsions.

Ronan’s heart leapt to his throat and he quickened his pace.

“William, nay!” Connell called to the boy, holding his hand. “Fight, laddie, ye must fight!”

The convulsion faded. Ronan was close enough to hear William’s breath rattling. It was a distinctive sound, and Ronan recognized its meaning.
Sweet Jesu, nay!

“Nay!” the Sassenach’s cry turned into an agonized moan.

William breathed his last just as Ronan reached them.

“You were healing! Please! Do not die!” the Sassenach cried.

Ronan’s gut twisted, and try as he might, he could no longer find the hatred in his heart for the healer as she grieved over the death of the lad.

“Nay, William!” Connell bellowed. He looked up and locked Ronan in his gaze as tears streamed down his face.

Ronan knelt next to the healer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. With his free hand, he reached out to Connell and gripped his arm. “Connell, I—” His voice cracked and his vision blurred. He blinked to clear it.

Connell looked to William again. “Nay, laddie,” he whispered.

“William, please!” the healer cried once more, shaking his shoulders.

Without thought, Ronan’s arms encircled her and he pulled her away from the body.

Her moan turned into an agonized sob. “He was healing,” she gasped. She tried to jerk away from him and back to William. “I won’t let him die!”

“Nay,” Ronan whispered. He gently tucked her head against his throat, holding her securely. “He’s gone.”

“Ye did all ye could, lass,” Connell whispered as he covered the lad with a blanket, his hand shaking.

Alba stared at Ronan, her eyes wide, but she said nothing.

“Connell,” the healer said. “I . . . I . . . forgive me . . . ”

Connell stood, a shudder passing through him.

Ronan had never seen such grief as he saw in the man’s eyes at that moment.

“Nay, lassie,” Connell whispered. “Ye fought so hard tae save him. His sorrow over his mum was too much.” For a moment, Connell appeared as if he would say more, but he turned and abruptly strode away.

Ronan tried to pull the healer with him, but she only fought harder, forcing Ronan to hold tightly to her. He carefully dragged her back, giving Alba a pointed look.

Alba nodded and motioned to Lachlan to remove the body. He and another lad began to move, their faces pale. Although Lachlan and his companions were a few years older than the lad, Ronan had often seen William trailing after them as younglings are want to do. While some of the lads rebuked William for it, Lachlan had reached a maturity the others did not have. Many times Ronan had watched Lachlan step into the role similar to an older brother since Connell was away so much.

Ronan guided the healer across the room and stepped into one of the alcoves behind the high table where he had first shadowed her. He noted the healer had set up a pallet for herself. It appeared woefully unused. The fight fled from her and she leaned against him, sobbing. Ronan clenched his teeth against the unexpected emotion that rose within him. Her tears hot against his skin, she cried so hard she could barely breathe.

“Nay, Lia,” he whispered. “Please dinna cry.” He gently soothed her, his hand stroking her silky hair. He marveled at the softness of her skin. Her height allowed him to hold her comfortably in his arms. He settled his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes, listening to the sobs of grief that he could not allay.

No doubt her exhaustion made her emotions much harder to defeat. He murmured soft reassurances, keeping his voice low and soothing. Slowly, he eased her down to her pallet but sat with her, his arms never relaxing their grip on her. Her sobs gradually faded to hiccupping gasps, but he did not let go. Her entire body shook violently, as if she was chilled to the very core of her being. Her gasps for air grew softer and less panicked. Ever so slowly she relaxed in his arms. Ronan knew he should release her, but he found he did not want to give her up. Her exhaustion finally took its toll, and she fell asleep in his arms.

Gently, he lowered her onto her pallet and covered her with the blanket. He wiped the tears from her cheeks, but she did not stir. He cursed himself for allowing her to work herself into such a state. He should have stepped forward earlier to help. He should have done more.

He should have never born such hatred toward a lass who did not deserve it.

HHH

Lia awoke because her stomach rumbled loudly. She blinked open her eyes and sat up in confusion. She was on her pallet? How—?

The blurred memory forced its way forward. Fighting to save William . . . but she had lost the boy. Her eyes filled with tears and she choked back a sob.

“Hey now,” a soft voice murmured.

Startled, she looked up.

MacGrigor stood at the opening of the alcove, leaning his shoulder against the archway.

Through her agony and grief, she remembered his strong arms around her, pulling her away from the dead boy. His voice whispered soft reassurances. Surely she had dreamed the whole thing.

“Lass, ye need tae eat,” he said and stepped forward. “I brought ye some broth.”

Only then did she realize he carried a bowl in his hand.

Her shock grew and she could only stare at him.

He knelt beside her and handed her the bowl. She took it, but her hands shook so terribly she almost spilled it. MacGrigor sighed and covered her hands with his, steadying the bowl and helping her bring it to her lips.

“Ye still need tae rest.”

“How . . . how long?”

“Ye slept a full night and day, but I fear ’tis not enough.”

“Nay,” she whispered, aghast. “MacGrigor, the sick—”

He held up his hand. “Lia, ye’ve called me Ronan before, dinna stop now.”

Her jaw went slack at his words. Suddenly, she realized he no longer gazed at her with hatred in his steel gray-eyes but with kindness and compassion. She rubbed her own eyes, certain she was imagining things.

“Many of the sick are doing well now that ye discovered the blighted grain,” he said softly. “Ye made enough medicants that between myself, Alba, and Marta, we managed just fine. In fact, Seamus and Ian have regained their feet and are also helping.”

She continued to stare at him with her mouth hanging open. Then she realized Ronan also had dark circles under his eyes. “You’ve been working this entire time?”

He nodded. “I should no’ have let ye push yerself so hard, lass.”

“Ronan,” she protested. “You are still healing; you should not push yourself so hard either. I don’t want your fever to return.”

His lips tugged upward giving him a wry expression. “I fear no’ only do ye need tae eat, but we need ye tae make more medicants. Unfortunately, that I canna do on my own. But after, I promise tae rest if ye promise the same.”

She marveled at the change she saw in him and slowly nodded. She finished her broth and Ronan extended his hand, helping her to her feet. She wavered unsteadily for a moment but drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Thank you, Ronan.”

He rewarded her with a smile that stole her breath and made her weak in the knees.

As Lia left her little alcove, she was stunned to see just how few sick remained in the hall.

Ronan caught her gaze. “Ye have worked miracles, lass. There were many we couldna help but many more who are recovering.”

Was that it? Was that the reason for the change she witnessed within him? Did he finally recognize that she spoke the truth that all who needed healing were equal in her eyes? Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true since the devilishly handsome man before her grew by leaps and bounds in her estimation.

She blushed at her own thoughts and quickly turned her attention to making more medicants as Ronan had requested. He remained at her side as she worked, helping as he was able, handing her items and watching her intently. Occasionally, he would ask a question, but she began to grow concerned when she realized his face was rather pale.

“Ronan, are you sure you’re all right?”

He nodded, but his jaw was clenched too tightly for her liking.

Lia wasn’t sure why, but a warning shiver skittered down her spine. She dropped the mortar and pestle onto the table.

“Come with me,” she whispered and grabbed his arm.

“Lass?” he asked, but he slurred the word as if he were drunk.

She tugged his arm over her shoulders and walked rapidly for the stairs.

Ronan moved with her, but his step was suddenly unsteady. She did not wish to rush him, but her anxiety jumped tenfold. They had just reached the base of the stairs when a sudden and terrifying change came over him. The planes of his face hardened brutally as his muscles grew rigid. His mouth twisted into a scowl and his eyes widened. Lia recognized the expression as the same as the night she first arrived. She cursed softly when Ronan ground to a halt, his muscles locked.

She sucked in her breath and watched him closely. She feared the servants in the great hall would be able to see him, but she did not dare look away from him.

Her worst fears came true as his eyes rolled back in his head. Although she mocked herself for being too tall and too strong, she was suddenly grateful for those very traits as the fit took Ronan full force. His muscles convulsed and he pitched forward. She managed to place her body in between him and the steps. She wasn’t able to stop his fall, but she was able to control it, and she eased him down so he did not strike his head on the stairs.

His limbs twisted violently upon themselves. She knew better than to try to restrain him. Instead she simply concentrated on keeping him from hurting himself or inadvertently striking her. He choked as froth formed on his lips. Lia carefully turned him on his side so he would not gag.

Alba screamed and Lia looked up to see her and two other servants staring at their laird in horror.

“The demon!” Alba cried.

“Alba, cease!” Lia snarled, for the first time infuriated with the girl. “This is not demonic. Fetch his brother, quickly.”

Terrified, Alba and the two servants sprinted away and out of the keep. Lia had no idea where Aidan was. She only hoped he was in the general direction Alba and the others had run.