Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (40 page)

“Now, lassie,
dinna be so hasty.” He inclined his head toward Ronan as he stood on the barbican. “Ye are the MacGrigor’s betrothed. Ye realize yer actions will have a direct impact on him.”

“I understand that,” she said. “But these rumors you’ve heard, they’re not true.”

MacFarlane paused and looked at her, surprised, then he started laughing.

“What?” she asked, growing more frustrated.

“I dinna speak of rumors, but of fact. Le March enters the barbican now. When the MacGrigor asks his purpose here, le March will claim ye as his spy.” His smile vanished and he stepped closer to her, his manner threatening again.

Lia swallowed hard
, vowing not to retreat.

“If ye truly love him, I ken ye would want no harm
tae befall him.” MacFarlane nodded in Ronan’s direction.

Lia looked at him as
he scrambled down the wall. His feet hit the ground and his gaze found hers, but there was something in his expression she had never seen before. Then her gaze landed on MacFarlane’s retainer, who had once again returned to shadow Ronan.

The retainer looked not to Ronan but at her, his expression grim. A cold whisper of fear shivered up her spine as the retainer’s hand fell to rest casually on the hilt of a viciously long dagger strapped to his belt. He looked at her pointedly for a long moment
before his gaze returned to Ronan’s back—abruptly Lia caught his meaning: his target was only inches away.

The whisper of fear became a cold knot of terror that clamped around her heart. Nay! She was misreading the signs. She had to be.

“What mean you?” she asked, her thoughts scrambling. “You are Ronan’s ally, once a good friend of his father’s.”

“The MacGrigor is not his father,” MacFarlane snapped, his eyes flat with hatred. “Listen tae my words, lassie and listen well. I see ye have taken note of the man I placed at MacGrigor’s back. In truth, he awaits my order. If ye deny le March’s words this day, my man will drive that dagger through the MacGrigor’s back. Yer betrothed will be dead instantly, never knowing what happened or who killed him.”

Lia’s heart lurched in terror. Her thoughts raced
, and for a moment, she couldn’t catch a single one. Nay! This couldn’t be happening.

“I will not betray him,” she
retorted.

“Then he will die.”

Nay!
her heart screamed. She looked again to Ronan, but he had already moved away to take his position in the bailey to greet le March. He paid her no heed.

Oh
, Blessed Mary, there had to be a way! There had to be a way for her to stop this.

B
ut as she looked upon Ronan, his gaze focused on his enemy entering his gates, she understood with perfect clarity why le March had asked for a parlay. His treachery and deceit would rip Ronan’s heart out, and if she did not obey their commands, they would kill him.

Nay!
She battled to control her fear so she could think.

Le March stopped his horse in the middle of the bailey and dismounted.

Lia looked again at Ronan. He was still focused solely on le March. It was MacFarlane’s retainer who once again caught and held her gaze, again looking meaningfully at Ronan’s back. Where was Aidan? How was it he did not stand at Ronan’s side, guarding him? Ronan trusted no one else.

But she realized her questions were
futile. Aidan was not there. She was the only one standing between Ronan and a dagger through his heart.

“I…
I can’t do this to him,” she whispered, tears burning her eyes. “I won’t do this to him.”

“Then he shall die.” He looked to his man and took a breath.

“Nay!” Her cry came out as a strangled sob, barely audible. She latched onto MacFarlane’s arm. “Nay!”

He clamped his jaw shut and looked to her again. “Do we have an accord?”

Nay!
She looked again at Ronan and all the love she felt for him surged forward, growing in strength with each heartbeat, in equal pace with her terror. She had lost everything on that terrible day of fire, she had been so alone. She could not bear to lose Ronan too. As it was, she would be the one to destroy his heart, but at least he would be alive.

It was a terrible trade, but what choice did she have?

“Do we have an accord?”

Her terror grew into fury.
She rounded on MacFarlane and her hand came up without command. She slapped him hard enough that she turned his head and drew blood from his lip.

He lifted his head
and the rage burning in his eyes made her take an involuntary step back, but to her shock, he started laughing.

Lia’s gaze returned to Ronan. What could she do? Le March and Ronan still eyed each other suspiciously. She only had moments to figure out a solution. MacFarlane’s retainer
was still hovering behind Ronan like the angel of death, unseen, unnoticed, and terrifying.

She spotted her journal on the table
and remembered that she and James were supposed to continue their work on it today. Sorrow and guilt clawed at her gut. Nay! She could not do this. She loved Ronan and she knew this would break his heart. How could she have a hand in that and live with herself?

She looked up at MacFarlane. The arrogance in his gaze made her want to slap him again.

Tears gathered in her eyes and she fought not to sob. Her gaze returned to her journal. There had to be a way. How could she tell him? How—

Scribbles.

Her cypher!

Damnation,
le March and MacFarlane were so determined to prove her a spy, but she wasn’t. They did not know her cypher. James was learning her method of writing just as quickly as she learned his. He would understand her scribbles and would hopefully tell Ronan. She hastily grabbed a quill and inkwell and started writing.

MacFarlane watched her and scowled. “What are ye
doin’?”

“Scribbles,” she said again, praying he would dismiss
the cypher just as he had earlier.

She happened to look up, right as Robert walked by the pavilion
, approaching the parlay. She had intended to write more and the ink wasn’t dry yet, but there was no help for it. This was the only opportunity she would get.

“Robert,” she called
softly.

“Caution, lass,” MacFarlane growled, his body growing more coiled as Robert approached.

She glared at MacFarlane, daring him to stop her. She was treading a fine line, and her heart raced in terror.

Robert entered the pavilion
and smiled. “Aye, lassie, can I help ye with anything?”

She
shoved her journal into Robert’s hands. “Deliver this to James,” she said, praying she could keep her tears in check.

For a moment, Robert looked at her journal in confusion. Then he lifted his gaze, studying her intently. “Of course,
” he said, taking it from her.

MacFarlane
remained silent, continuing to watch her.

She pointed to
the herbs spread out on the table. “My medicant chests are still in Ronan’s living quarters. They need to be delivered to James as well.”

Robert looked at her oddly
, growing even more confused, and she prayed he would not start asking questions.

“Please, Robert,” she whispered. “This is very important.”

Robert smiled at her. “Of course, lassie.”

She prayed
James would look at her journal. But what if he didn’t? What if they hated her so terribly for her betrayal they would never look at her journal again? A hot tear slid down her cheek and she hastily wiped it away.

“Lia,” Robert asked softly, “are ye sure ye
be all right?”

“I am,” she replied and gave him a smile that she did not feel. “Just see to it James gets these items forthwith.”

“I will, lassie.”

“Thank you.”

“Clan MacGrigor honors the peace accord of the parlay,” Ronan growled, jerking her attention back to him. His expression was a mask of rage. “State yer business and be off with ye.”

Le March’s gaze swept over the crowd that had gathered, stopping on Lia. He smiled
, but Lia saw only deceit and calculation in his gaze.

Ronan’s scowl deepened. “State
yer business.”

Le March stood before his horse
; he was at least a span shorter than Ronan and did not have the build of a warrior. “I have come to reclaim my property.”

“Property?” Ronan asked.

He gestured toward Lia. “The English healer. She is my property. The spy I planted.”

Ronan tore his gaze from le March, his jaw slack and his face pale, to orient on Lia. Then
his expression changed; he arched an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. “Try again,” he said, his lips tugging upward.

But as Lia watched him, she knew the moment
when a whisper of doubt passed through him.

“Come
here, wench,” le March snapped and extended his hand.

Lia again focused on MacFarlane’s man right behind Ronan
, and she took a hesitant step forward. If she did not obey, they would kill him.

Ronan’s humor vanished.
“Nay, Lia, dinna move,” Ronan growled.

“Oh
, that’s right,” le March said, his voice mocking. “You fell in love with her; you’re going to marry her.” He shook his head, his smile turning wolfish. Ronan’s face lost a bit more color. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Lia stood quaking, her hands fisted into her skirts.
Oh God, this is too much for him. What if he has another attack?
She was abruptly glad she had made his medicant stronger today but now worried if she had made it strong enough.

“Wench!” le March barked again.

Lia took another step.

“Nay,” Ronan snapped. But his gaze returned to her and she knew his thoughts as clearly as if he had shouted them.
Why are ye obeying him?

Lia stopped and hung her head. God, what was she doing? Her thoughts raced again. She had to stop this.

“I’ll offer you good money in exchange for my property,” le March said.

“She is no one’s property,” Ronan snarled.

“MacGrigor,” le March muttered. His voice softened to a mocking whisper and a twisted, feral spark seemed to reflect in his dark eyes. “She is mine. I own her.”

Lia swallowed hard.
She saw a distinct tremor pass through Ronan.

“Wench, I said come here.”

Again Lia moved.

Ronan took a breath, appearing as if he was going to object again but then snapped his jaw shut. His face lost even more color.
Lia’s heart sank. Her shoulders slumped and she stepped forward.

“Lia,” Ronan murmured, his anger fading and disbelief taking its place. “Look me in the eye and speak the truth.”

She remembered his words being the same when he had asked her about the hemlock. But this time she could not meet his gaze, for if she did, she would tell him the truth and he would die. She squeezed her eyes closed for a brief moment, tears burning. Nay! She could not cry. If MacFarlane saw her tears, he might use them as an excuse to order Ronan slain.

Ronan stared at her,
disbelief melting slowly into anguish. The pain of betrayal she saw in his steel-gray eyes drove a dagger through her heart. Her tears burned hotter and she wanted to scream.
Lies! All lies! I would never hurt you.
But all she could truly focus on was MacFarlane’s man standing behind him, his hand remaining on the hilt of his dagger.

“Nay,” Ronan whispered hoarsely
, shaking his head. “Tell me, Lia. Tell me this is not true.”

The words rose
to her lips, but she dared not speak them. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

With her silence, his face
turned gray, the beautiful spark faded in his eyes. She knew at that moment she had destroyed his heart. “Nay,” he said again. “Ye said ye loved me.”

I do love you, Ronan! Please! Merciful
saints, I cannot bear this!

Despite her resolve, her control cracked
; she took a breath and opened her mouth.

Le March
seized her arm and hauled her to his side.

Lia cried out in pain,
dropping her cane and nearly falling because of her damaged knee.

The ring of steel resounded, everyone in the bailey drawing weapons. Ronan had a large dagger in his hand
, but the anguish she saw in his eyes did not fade. Her gaze locked on MacFarlane’s man behind him. He had his dagger out too, pointed at Ronan’s back.

Nay! Don’t kill him!
I did what you said. Please don’t kill him!

With her silence, the pain in Ronan’s eyes hardened into hatred and fury. “Take the
Sassenach
,” he snarled. He slammed his dagger back into its sheath.