Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (44 page)

She looked up at him and smiled. “Glad I could help.”

His laughter renewed.

They sat for a bit, talking pleasantly. Lia had managed to unobtrusively reach over and rub the knotted muscles in his neck.

Gradually, Ronan lowered his head and closed his eyes. He dozed off several times, jerking his head up at the last instant. But Lia watched him try to focus his vision and knew he was unable to.

Aidan watched him curiously for a moment, then looked to Lia. “I should go; there are a few birds I need tae speak tae today.”

Lia nodded and waited until he closed the door as he left. “Ronan?”

His chin nearly descended to his chest, and he jerked his head up yet again. “Aye?” His eyes closed almost immediately.

“You need to sleep, the more you resist it, the worse your nightmares will become.”

“How do ye ken this, lass?”

“You are not alone in this, Ronan. In fact, the nightmares are a normal part of the healing process.”

He shivered and moved closer to her. “Even if I sleep, I canna rest. I awaken from the dreams and feel even more exhausted than before.”

Lia thought for a moment. “Why don’t I make a sleeping draught for you? It will allow you to sleep deeply without nightmares. It is not something I can give to you every night, but it will allow you to rest and regain yourself. You will be better able to deal with the nightmares when they do come.”

He slowly pried open his eyes and stared at the floor. “Right now, one night without the dreams sounds like a gift.”

She nodded. “I will prepare it for you. It will take me a few minutes.”

“I will be here, lassie.”

Lia stood but Ronan took her hand and pulled her fingers to his lips. “If ye would sleep with me, I would have no need for a draught.”

Her heart lurched then dropped to the floor. Surely he was jesting. Why would he want an illiterate, gangly Sassenach healer to sleep with him?

But he gazed at her steadily, a roguish gleam in his steel-gray eyes. His lowered black lashes gave him a seductively hooded look. Lia suddenly found her heart had jumped from the floor and now hammered wildly against her ribs.

Still holding her hand in his, he rose until he towered over her, and she had to lift her chin to look up at him. He caught her jaw with his free hand and traced over her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Lia couldn’t breathe, but neither could she move.

He searched her gaze for a moment, then lowered his head with agonizing slowness. His lips brushed hers, feather light, a soft skim that carried with it a promise. He hesitated, as if giving her a chance to pull away from him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She only just stopped the breathy moan curling up the back of her throat.

He lowered his head a second time, and his kiss left nothing to be denied. His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her tight against the hard wall of his body. His mouth slanted over hers; his tongue traced over her lips. She opened her mouth, wanting him to kiss her as he had done before, to turn her senses upside down and make her forget her own name. As Ronan deepened his kiss, pursuing her with determination yet a wonderful gentleness, she placed her hands on his chest and slid them upward until her arms wrapped around his neck.

She felt a tremor pass through him and his kiss increased, demanding more of a physical response from her. His hands traveled over her back to her sides where the journeyed up, tracing lightly over the swell of her breasts. Lia realized if he didn’t stop, she would lose herself to him; she wouldn’t be able to refuse him and had no desire to.

But the primal intensity of his kiss lasted only a moment, then he gentled and cupped her face in his hands. Slowly, he lifted his head, but his lips teasingly brushed hers as he spoke.

“Please, lass, stay with me; let me hold you close while I sleep.”

Confusion cut through her. Wait. What was he saying? Then she came to her senses. He only wanted her to stay with him so he would not be alone, just as she had stayed with him several times before. Her face burned and she was certain she was bright red. Leave it to her to read too much into it. Of course he didn’t want a Sassenach healer, he just didn’t want to be alone.

She seized her rioting emotions and brought them under vicious control. She stepped back from him, but he acted as if he was reluctant to release her. “Lia?”

“I will prepare your sleeping draught,” she muttered, unable to meet his gaze.

“Lia? What is it? What’s wrong?”

She pushed herself back from him and quickly walked to the door. Leaving it open, she darted into the hall and headed for the small room Ronan allowed her to use as her own. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to shed them. She reached her room and opened her medicant chests. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her nerves and sorted through the various items she would need.

HHH

Ronan shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Damnation, what had he done? He swayed as he rubbed his eyes and realized he had better sit down before he toppled over. He couldn’t think straight and no doubt had said something wrong. But for the life of him, he couldn’t get his fogged brain to understand.

He leaned his head back in his chair and closed his eyes, praying Lia would return with the sleeping draught, and quickly.

It was surprising how fast reality blurred, and for a moment, he felt as if he floated. He still fought sleep with all of his might, but his body refused to obey. As he tried to rouse himself from the point between wakefulness and dreaming, he felt his control slipping.

Le March’s laughter echoed softly through the room. Ronan snapped his head up, blinking his eyes furiously, but everything canted at a strange angle, and the walls of his prison blurred before him.

“Nay,” he snarled and somehow managed to rise to his feet.

But the strange vision did not ease its hold on him. Le March’s laughter echoed again, louder and closer. Ronan fought to take a step forward but couldn’t move. He felt the manacles heavy on his wrists and was unable to move his arms.

“Nay!” he snarled again.

Le March stepped through the door, his face on the left side a mass of scar tissue where Ronan had hit him with the burning torch.

“You are mine,” he sneered. “You will never be free.”

“Nay!”

Le March lifted his hand, the small dagger he always carried gleaming dully in the strange light. “You thought you had defeated me?”

Pain ripped through Ronan’s left cheek, reopening the newly healed wound. Ronan bellowed and struggled against the chains binding him to the wall.

Le March picked up a hot iron, the end of it glowing orange. Ronan battled not to turn his head away as his captor waved the iron under his nose. “Your scars will never heal.”

Pain and agony ripped through the core of his being. He bellowed his fury, the stench of his own burnt flesh once more filling his nostrils. Le March hit him for a second time with the iron, opening another scar, one that had just closed. He roared again and his entire body shifted; instinctively, he tried to defend himself.

Ronan heard a soft snap as the manacle came free of the chain. He could move! He lunged forward with the power of a madman, snapping the other manacle from its chain.

“I will kill ye,” Ronan snarled and latched his hands around the man’s neck.

“Ronan, peace. You are safe, you are home.”

Somehow Lia’s voice managed to cut through the fog. He blinked rapidly. He wanted nothing more than to snap le March’s neck. He could feel his flesh under his hand.

“Ronan, come back to me.”

Realizing what he was about to do, Ronan froze. He had his fingers around Lia’s throat and was going to choke the life out of her.

“Nay!” he said and recoiled from her, staggering backward.

“Peace, Ronan, I’m right here. Tell me what happened.”

“Nay!” he bellowed again. He still couldn’t see straight. “I willna harm ye,” he said softly as he battled to regain his wits.

“Harm me?”

“I had my fingers about yer neck, ready tae strangle ye.”

“What are you talking about? Ronan, you never touched me.”

His vision tried to pull itself together. He didn’t understand. “But I felt . . . I felt . . . ”

“It doesn’t matter, Ronan. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

He staggered again, spotting the large cup Lia had set on his table containing his sleeping draught.

Ronan caught himself against the table, grabbed the cup, and downed it in one swallow. It worked better than MacGrigor whiskey, going straight to his head.

“Quickly,” Lia said, gripping his arm firmly. “Let’s get you into bed while we still can.”

“Aye,” he said and flopped on his back onto the bed.

HHH

Lia removed his boots so he would be more comfortable then helped him with his belt and tunic. She was about to ask him if he wanted her to leave the room so he could remove his trews, but his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes, remaining unmoving. She sighed softly and sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers once again stroking through his hair as she hummed.

The harsh lines on Ronan’s face eased as he relaxed. His words to her earlier troubled her, as well as the fact his waking dream had been so vivid that he did not know reality from hallucination. He had thought he had his hands wrapped around her throat, when in truth, he hadn’t touched her. What was he seeing? What had he experienced that terrified him so greatly? If only he would talk to her about it; she was certain the nightmares and memories would ease their hold on him. She knew it would be painful for him to give voice to the horrors he had suffered, but they needed to find a solution to this and quickly, or it would simply grow worse.

She sighed again, realizing his physical wounds were completely healed except for the scars, and those were fading quickly. Plus, she was confident she had perfected his medicant for his fits, perhaps some small adjustments still remained, but nothing major. Except for the healing that needed to take place in his heart and mind, he was well on his way to recovery.

What would happen to her when he no longer needed her?

She swallowed hard, not wishing to acknowledge the fear within her. But she realized she had no choice. That time was approaching fast and she needed a plan. Where would she go?

At least with her healing skills she had a way to make her living. Sueta had traveled to various locations helping people who were too ill to come to her. She only stopped traveling when her age made it too uncomfortable. That’s when she found the hot springs and set up her healer’s hut. Lia decided she would do that too, travel the land and help those who couldn’t come to her . . . just as she had done with Ronan. Perhaps he would even agree to some sort of final payment that involved a cart and a horse.

It was a good plan except for one problem.

Her gaze fell on his face now relaxed in sleep. She liked it here, with the clan, and she felt she had earned her place here. But she had to admit one simple truth. She didn’t want to leave Ronan.

“Lassie,” his voice, harsh and grating, made her jump.

To her surprise, his eyes were open and he gazed at her intently. The draught should have knocked him senseless by now.

“I dinna like the expression on yer face. What troubles ye?”

“Nothing to worry over, Ronan,” she said and smiled, continuing to stroke his hair.

He shocked her again by sitting up just a bit so he could wrap his arm around her waist and pull her closer.

“Stay with me, please,” he murmured.

She remembered her promise to him—that she would not run. She nodded but pulled away enough to untie the laces of her dress and pull it over her head. Wearing only her chemise, she returned to the bed. Once again Ronan pulled her tight against him so her back was to him and his body wrapped around hers. He pulled the blankets up, and she extinguished the small candle at his bedside. As she settled, she felt him lean closer until he had buried his face in the wealth of her long hair. He pressed his lips to the skin on her neck, sending sharp tingles racing down her spine.

“Mea dulcis puella pulchra,”
he murmured.

“What—”

“Latin . . . my sweet, bonny lass,” he whispered the translation into her hair and relaxed against her.

She swallowed hard, and a few minutes later heard his soft snore and felt him finally uncoil.

HHH

Now
this is
the way tae awaken in the morning,
Ronan decided as he realized Lia was in his bed, her body conforming to his. No nightmares, no horrific memories, no confusion as to where he was. His arms tightened around her and he pulled her closer.

“Ronan,” she asked sleepily, “are you awake?”

“Aye,” he murmured and buried his face in her hair until he could nuzzle her neck. He wanted nothing more than to take advantage of her at this moment. Surely making love to her would heal the bleeding wounds on his soul.

He caught his thoughts and abruptly wanted to kick himself. How could she ever desire him? Although the scars were fading on his body, they were still there, still abhorrent. How could she suffer his touch without recoiling?

She moved, and despite his doubts, Ronan’s arms tightened around her. He did not wish to give her up. But she only turned in his arms so she could face him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “But I feel as if I can go right back tae sleep.”

“Then you probably should.”

“I should,” he admitted, but in spite of himself, he found his fingers tracing over the soft skin of her face and through the locks of her wonderful auburn hair.

“Do you want to break your fast?”

“I am hungry,” he admitted then moved so he could nip at her ear. “But not for food.”

“Ronan!” she protested playfully and flinched. “That tickles.”

A low chuckle rumbled through him. Finding all of her ticklish spots would be a delightful adventure.

She cupped his face in her hands and gently forced him to back away. “Behave yourself.”

“Where be the fun in that?”

She smiled up at him and Ronan’s gaze focused on her lips. He started to lower his head, but suddenly she jumped out of bed. He blinked, surprised, then felt his face burn and he ducked his head.