Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (33 page)

Despite what he had suffered, despite all he had been forced to overcome, they were
returning to it. His kinsmen welcomed the return of the laird they knew and loved. Even with an enemy camped outside their walls, they were happy to drink and sing with him. They no longer feared the Demon Laird, but laughed at the great jest Ronan played on the English.

As soon as the song finished, Lia rose and stepped beside Ronan. “It grows late, I must be to bed.”

“Aye, lassie,” he said and caught her hand, kissing her fingers softly.

The men started with their hoots again
, but Ronan waved them off. They grumbled but fell silent.

Lia reluctantly withdrew her hand and walked to the stairs.

“Well, laddie,” she heard Ian say. “When be the wedding?”

“After I send these whoresons back
tae Longshanks with their tails ’tween their legs. That is… if she’ll have me.”

Lia’s heart lurched and thudded painfully in her chest. Dear God, could it be true? Nay, he must have been drunker than she thought. Her fingers clutching her skirts, she hurried upstairs
, terrified she would hear him deny the words he had just uttered.

The sound of a trebuchet launching awoke Ronan at dawn, only a couple of hours after he had fallen asleep. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, wondering for a moment if the sound he had heard was actually caused by the pounding in his skull. One heartbeat passed, followed by a second. Then he heard the shattering sound of rock striking the solid stone of the west tower on the curtain wall. He flew out of bed and stared through the loophole. War Wolf had been slightly off on its range.

T
he tower had suffered only a small amount of damage, thankfully. But he knew it wouldn’t take the English long to correct that mistake. A siege engine that large could bring down a huge section of curtain wall with one blow. As soon as the English corrected their aim, the tower didn’t stand a chance. He saw his brother on the walls, shouting orders to the men as they readied their crossbows, preparing for the moment the ground troops attacked.

His gaze traveled over the enemy troops and his eyes widened. He didn’t need a sentry to tally the numbers lost to desertion. Le March’s army was less than half its original number.

He noted the siege tower, while not completely burned, had been rendered useless unless le March could make extensive repairs, and the battering ram near it was nothing more than ash and a black log less than half its previous size.

Ronan understood why le March chose to attack. If he did not
turn the tide of this battle, he would not have an army left. He counted on the massive trebuchet to destroy the defenses so totally they wouldn’t need a siege tower or battering ram. But to Ronan, it seemed le March’s attack was hasty and ill prepared.

War Wolf
launched its deadly load a second time, the sound unmistakable.

“Lia,” he murmured and quickly hauled on his trews. Not bothering with his tunic
or boots, he sprinted for the door and threw it open. He reached the middle of the stairs before the massive boulder slammed into the tower. But he could tell from the sound that they still had not corrected their aim. The tower still stood. The keep shivered slightly, dust falling from the giant support beams overhead. His gaze searched the great hall and he spotted Lia, frozen near the high table, her face a ghastly shade of gray.

“Lia!” he called and ran
to her.

She didn’t move, her hazel eyes wide but staring at nothing.

He slowed his approach and gently touched her shoulder. “Lia?”

Slowly, she
looked up at him.

“Sweet Jesu,” he whispered and hauled her into his arms, holding her tightly. He tucked her face against his neck. Dear God, he had never felt anyone shake so hard. “’Tis all right, lass,” he murmured.

She released a ragged breath and her arms wrapped around him. “Ronan,” she whispered. Her body felt as if it slowly uncoiled.

“I want ye above stairs,” he murmured.

She pulled away, enough to look up at him again. A tear welled in her eye and trickled down her cheek.

The door to the keep smacked open, causing both of them to start.

“Milady,” Lachlan called, helping a clansman who limped badly, blood streaming from a cut on his head, into the hall. “There were men in the tower,” Lachlan continued as he assisted the man forward. “Three of them were wounded when the trebuchet struck it.”

Ronan felt Lia’s spine stiffen and her shoulders straighten as she pulled away from
him. “How bad?”

“Minor as far as I can tell it,”
Lachlan said as he glanced over his shoulders at his friends helping the other two.

Ronan snagged Lia’s arm. “Nay,” he said
, stopping her as she stepped forward. “I want ye in the solar, now.”

“Ronan,” she said, blinking at him in surprise. “I cannot. The wounded—”

“Are minor. They can wait, Lia.”

“Ronan—”

“Nay,” he said, more sharply than he intended. Yet he marveled at her for a moment. She was so frightened, tears continued to drip down her face, but she would not allow her fear to stop her when there were wounded to be helped. Had the situation not been so dire, Ronan would have smiled. “My solar is the safest room in the keep,” he said firmly, keeping his voice low. “Ye will await me there.”

She took a breath to argue with him
, but Ronan would have none of it. “Lachlan,” he snapped, turning for the stairs and gently but firmly taking Lia with him. “Ye and Marta can see tae the wounded for now.”

Lachlan
looked at him in surprise but nodded. “Aye, MacGrigor.”

Ronan did not break stride as he hit the stairs and wrapped his arm around Lia’s shoulders, not giving her the choice.

He entered his solar and closed the door, guiding her to sit on the bed. He cupped her face in his hands and gently tugged until she looked up at him. “Stay here, Lia.”

“Ronan—”

“Please,” he said, his voice losing its hard edge. “I need ye safe.”

She blinked at him, another tear
sliding down her cheek.

“
As I said, my solar is the safest room in the keep. I must go below stairs and help my brother.”

“But I thought you wanted them
to see you only at night.”

His lips lifted and his fingers gently dried the tears from her cheeks. “The
MacGrigor brothers have long terrorized the English on the battlefield, lass. Now seeing Aidan and the Demon Laird join forces will destroy what little morale they have left.” He rose and quickly dressed, donning his armor.

Ronan hesitated, again looking at Lia sitting on his bed. He stepped to her and his fingers caressed the soft silk of her cheek. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, kiss
ing her with everything within him. His tongue swept across hers and his blood ignited. For Lia, he would face the hordes of hell and come away victorious.

He reluctantly ended the kiss and stared down at her, longing to say the words
, but they froze in his throat and he could not utter them. He traced his fingers over her cheek one last time and forced himself to step away from her. He left his solar, closing the door behind him.

In the bailey,
Ronan was grateful to see his own trebuchet assembled. He was even more grateful to see that Connell managed it. Ronan approached. “Have ye fired yet?”

“Nay,
MacGrigor,” Connell replied, staring at the damaged but still standing tower. It seemed the English continued to struggle to correct their aim.

“Connell,” he growled. “I need
the War Wolf damaged. One blow from that damned machine can take out a quarter of our defense.”

Connell’s face paled. “
MacGrigor, ye ken we canna match the range of the War Wolf.”

“We can!” he snapped. “We hold the high ground. The motte
the castle is built on gives ye an advantage. Use it!”

Connell hesitated, his brow creased in thought. “
Clay casks of flaming pitch?”

Ronan grinned at him. “Now ye have it aright. Increase the counterweight if you must.”

“But we dare not crack the throwing arm.”

“She’ll hold together,” Ronan said firmly.

“Aye, MacGrigor,” Connell said.

Despite the distance the War Wolf was from the castle, Ronan clearly heard the sound of its massive wheel turning
to reset the counterweight for another shot. Surely they had found their range by now. He sprinted to the barbican. He would stand with his brother and with his clan even if he had to face the fires of hell to do it.

Just as the heavily cloaked Demon Laird reached the top of the barbican, his own trebuchet launched
the flaming casks of pitch over the walls. Ronan drew his claymore and held it over his head. “MacGrigor!” he roared. The clay casks made a strange whistling sound as they passed over his head and then descended.

His clan answered his battle cry as the casks
smashed to the ground, spilling flaming pitch over men and equipment. But to Ronan’s fury, they did not strike the War Wolf.

Yet with his appearance on the walls, in the middle of the day, more enemy sol
diers cried out in fear and ran from the fighting. Nothing the nobles did could control them. They would prefer to die at the hand of a mortal rather than face the specter of the Demon Laird.

Orders rippled through the enemy ranks, hastily shouted
, and what Ronan understood chilled his soul. The War Wolf changed its target.

“Connell!” he barked. “Adjust six paces right, increase weight ten stone.”

“Aye, MacGrigor!”

The benefit of having a smaller engine meant that it did not take as much time
to reset the counterweight. Long before the War Wolf was set to get off another shot, Ronan’s trebuchet launched again.

The flaming casks sailed over the walls, again striking men and equipment, splashing fire. More troops ran in terror. But they were still a good twenty yards from their goal.

“Connell! Direction is good, increase weight another ten stone.”

“Aye!”

He heard a roar from the enemy and saw the troops lifting ladders. They meant to charge his keep? The fools!

“Archers ready!” Aidan snapped.

Ronan’s lips lifted.

The enemy charged his walls.

“Fire!” Aidan bellowed.

A sheet of arrows from the ramparts and loopholes stopped the enemy in their tracks.

Ronan could not help the laugh that bubbled within him. “Le March! Ye are not Longshanks, and it shows!” he roared.

****

Lia sat on Ronan’s bed, shaking, but it was not due to her fear of the trebuchet or her memory. Instead, it was due to Ronan’s kiss. Her heart raced and she gulped a deep breath into her lungs. But as the sounds of battle grew louder, her fear crept its way back into her heart.

Stay here…
I need ye safe.

She swallowed hard. She couldn’t
—there were wounded below stairs who needed her. She couldn’t stay here with nothing to do, wallowing in her own fear. She had to pull her wits together. She would not let herself fall prey to this.

Lia rose, her hands fisting into her skirts, but she lifted her chin, summoned her courage
, and took a step for the door.

Then
she heard the snap and the sound of a massive counterweight descending, the groan of lumber under great duress, and the hiss of a sling as it arced through the air.

For an instant
, terror froze her in place. A sudden, terrible memory broke free and drove her to the floor, next to the bed, just as the south wall of the solar imploded.

****

Ronan heard War Wolf launch and looked up from the battlements, his gaze searching the sky. A boulder appeared, tiny at first, but it rapidly grew in size. Ronan scowled as he realized it would miss the tower and curtain wall entirely. Then his eyes widened—they were firing into the bailey, no doubt trying to hit his own trebuchet. But as it passed over the wall and descended, horror cut through him. They had once again missed their intended target. It would instead hit his keep.

“Nay!” he cried, sprinting from the walls. The rock dropped, targeting his solar and what Ronan held most dear. It slammed into the floor above, collapsing the roof o
f the keep and leaving a gaping hole.

“Lia!” he roared
, running with all of his might, his heart in his throat. He hesitated only a moment as he approached Connell.

Stone had showered down around the troops manning the trebuchet
, but no one appeared injured.

“Connell,” he barked, grabbing the man by the shoulders.

Connell, covered in white dust, coughed and choked. “Aye?” he asked hoarsely.