Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (31 page)

His lips tugged upward in a gentle smile. “I am Aidan, the MacGrigor’s younger brother. It was I who sent Connell and Robert for ye, fearing for my brother’s life.” He took her hand and bowed over it.

His actions stunned her so much that she simply gaped at him.

He straightened, his smile growing. “I am very different from my brother.”

“I . . . I see that.”

Unfortunately, his smile vanished. “Robert told me what happened last night. Please, lass, ye must forgive my brother. He suffered through a terrible ordeal.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Nay. Call me Aidan, please.”

“Aidan, I know your brother wants me to leave this morn but . . . ” She gestured to those in the tiny room.

“Aye. Your skills will be sorely taxed this day. And worry not, I will not allow my brother tae send ye away. Ye sacrificed everything tae come here and help him. I willna allow him tae throw ye into the street.”

“That would be most appreciated.”

He winked at her. “If, after today, my brother does not see reason, I’ll make him see it.”

She swallowed hard, wondering if she dared hope.

“Now, lassie, tell me everything ye need. I will see tae it that no one dares defy ye in the matters of healing.”

She looked around the room trying to determine where to begin, but before she could speak, Aidan stepped forward and frowned.

“This willna do. Ye need more room, lassie.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “But all we have is the great hall.”

Lia lifted her hands helplessly.

“I will see tae it,” Aidan said and turned on his heel.

A moment later, the young lad she had sent for Connell reappeared with five more sturdy lads in tow. She smiled at them in relief. “Thank you for helping.”

“Ye be welcome, milady,” the first boy said. “What can we do?”

“What is your name?”

“Lachlan.” He gave her a timid smile, but it quickly vanished. “Milady, I fear word of yer willingness tae help is spreading like wildfire through the village. The people are defeating their fear of the Demon Laird tae come see ye.”

“How many?”

“Eight were approaching the bailey when I entered and four more a few lengths behind.”

Lia felt the blood drain from her face and she swallowed hard. “Bedding and pallets,” she said, but her voice lacked strength.

“Milady?”

“Boys, fetch anything and everything that can be used as a blanket or bedding. MacGrigor the younger gave me leave to use the great hall. I shall tend to the sick there.” She paused, thinking a moment. “The castle washer-women, are they well?”

“Aye, milady,” Lachlan said.

“Then, Lachlan, please convey my apologies to them in advance, for I need everything we can get our hands on to bed these people down, and I need it to be clean.”

“At once, milady,” Lachlan replied. He spoke briefly to the other boys, and all five scattered in different directions, sprinting through the castle.

Lia straightened her shoulders as she finally stepped into familiar territory and looked around the room. If there was one thing she knew she could do, it was save lives.

HHH

The soft sound of a woman crying in pain caught Ronan’s attention. He had just hauled himself out of bed, shaking off his nightmares, and pulled on his clothes. Pain battered him with every move, but the voice made him forget his hurt. He looked around, trying to determine where it was coming from. He limped to the archer loophole that overlooked the bailey and peered down.

Connell carried a young woman in his arms. She clutched at his tunic and buried her face against his chest, sobbing. Robert hovered worriedly behind him. It took only a moment for Ronan to realize that the woman was Connell’s wife. What the devil was going on?

As Connell bought his wife into the keep, Ronan’s attention returned to the bailey. What he saw twisted his gut. Connell’s wife wasn’t the only one ill. Many rested against the walls of the bailey and keep, unable to find the strength to go another step. So many begged for help, in obvious distress, and Ronan recognized each and every one. They were all from the village—his people—and they were suffering. Why? What was the cause of this? The soft sounds tore at his heart. He should be down there helping them, managing his keep in a time of crisis instead of leaving it to his brother.

But he hesitated. The serving maid, Alba, had been the most recent one to run screaming from his room. The terror he had seen in her eyes was a hot barb against his heart. So many now feared the Demon Laird. That was why he walked the halls only at night, unable to remain a prisoner in his own solar. He could not tolerate remaining trapped in one room for so long, not after what the English had done to him.

He paced before the loophole, his heart at war with his common sense. He should be down there, he needed to be down there. But if he suffered another attack . . . it was only by God’s good grace that his people hadn’t voiced their fears to the Church. He had worked hard assuming the duties of laird after his father passed. He had earned the loyalty of his people through blood and sweat, through shared tears and laughter. But Ronan knew the terror the common people possessed, that he had bartered his soul to the devil in order to free himself. A memory forced itself upon his vision, he had clawed his way to freedom from the black earth, covered in muck and slime. The stench still filled his nostrils. He shook the vision away, his heart racing. Aidan had told him of what happened during these new attacks, how he foamed at the mouth like some diseased animal.

That this was demonic was the farthest thing from the truth. Yet as he fought to deny it, he felt the hatred growing within him. It was a black, foreign thing. It had never been in Ronan’s nature to hate. But there it was, festering in his soul, growing in power with each day, forcing him to acknowledge its existence. It terrified him that he could not control it, he could not rid himself of it. Perhaps he truly was a demon now, for surely only a demon could harbor such darkness.

The nobles of allied clans, they too doubted his ability to remain as laird. Ronan shivered. Although he knew he had not made such a terrible pact, he wondered if the English had somehow managed to curse him. He had known blackouts in his childhood, but they had subsided to rare occurrences as an adult. Since his torture, the blackouts now came more frequently. He thought over the details his brother had given him of the attacks that had followed. This was something completely new, but they didn’t always happen after a blackout, just as one had not followed when he suffered a blackout when the Sassenach had arrived.

Damnation, he had been mortified that she had witnessed the event.

You are wrong. You have great need of a healer.

The Sassenach had not recoiled in terror, instead, she had stepped forward and touched his shoulder when she should have run screaming. He swallowed hard and tried to force down the strange emotions rising within him. He could not afford to have anyone see him like that again.

Ronan shook his head, suddenly discovering that he struggled to catch his breath. The sounds of crying from the bailey grew louder, as haunting as the terrifying memories of his nightmares. To bloody hell with it, he had to escape his solar. He needed to be down there helping his people. He grabbed his cloak and donned it then yanked the door open.

He took two steps down the stairs, leaning heavily on his cane while his injured leg protested. He heard a noise and only then realized his mistake.

A young maid ascended the stairs—not Alba but a lass he recognized who delivered bedding to the washer-women every morning. She carried a full basket of linens and she hummed softly as she walked. Ronan froze. With his lame leg, he could not move fast enough to return to his solar before she spotted him. He swallowed hard as she looked up.

Her gaze locked on his. Her eyes widened and her face drained of color. He saw the tremor pass through her.

He took a breath to speak, but her eyes widened even more. She screamed and her foot slid backward involuntarily.

“Nay, lassie,” he whispered. His own eyes widened as he realized if she shifted her weight any more she would topple backward down the stairs. She dropped the basket and her entire body contorted as she teetered.

“Nay!” Ronan lunged forward to grab her, to stop her fall.

But she flinched violently away from him and fell. Her head slammed into one of the wooden stairs and she tumbled like a broken doll down the flight. She came to a stop on the stone floor of his keep and remained unmoving.

Horror coiled through Ronan as he stared at the blood on her face. “Nay, lassie.” But he suddenly could not move, shock rooting him in place.

Other servants ran toward her. “Fetch the healer!” one cried. He looked up the stairs and saw Ronan. His face turned a ghastly shade of gray. “Nay,” he whispered. “How could ye?”

More servants gathered. The horror and fear Ronan saw in their expressions was more than he could bear. He turned and quickly limped back up the stairs.

HHH

Lia heard the girl’s screams and bolted from the tiny sick room and into the great hall. As she rounded the corner, the girl’s cries fell silent, but she heard others calling for the healer. She fisted her skirts and lengthened her stride. She saw the girl lying still at the base of the stairs, blood covering her face. Oh sweet Mary, what had happened? She slid to a stop beside her, noting the other servants gazed not at the girl but at something upon the stairs.

Lia looked up in time to see the dark swirl of a cloak disappear into the shadows.

“What happened?” Lia asked, trying to push the other servants away so she could check the girl.

“The Demon Laird,” one whispered. “He attacked her.”

Lia stopped and stared at him. “Attacked her?”

“I heard her screaming and ran tae help. I saw him atop the stairs. He didn’t move, he didn’t do anything tae help her.”

Lia returned her attention back to her patient. She still breathed, but the wound on her skull was grievous. Lia had serious doubts if she would survive it. “Take her into the great hall and put her on a pallet, but carefully.”

“Aye, milady,” the man said.

Lia rose, her gaze returning to the dark stairwell. Was it possible? Did this young laird just try to kill an innocent maid? Or had the girl been so startled by him that she inadvertently fell? Lia drew a deep breath into her lungs and hurried after the others.

HHH

Ronan sat at the table in his solar staring at his wine cup. He tried to dismiss the images from his mind but failed. The terror in the lass’s eyes, the blood soaking her hair and face. He squeezed his eyes closed and a single tear traced down his cheek. Fury cut through him, burning away his sorrow. He bolted to his feet, and with a roar, flung his wine cup across the room. The ceramic mug shattered against the wall.

He stared at it, fighting to breathe, clenching and unclenching his fists. But the soft sounds of his people crying in pain still whispered through the loophole, taunting and tormenting him. He gritted his teeth against the beast that had been unleashed within him. He wanted to scream for it to stop, to cover his ears until their cries no longer resounded in his skull.

A feminine voice rose over the cacophony in his head and heart and gave him pause. He scowled and stepped to the loophole. Ronan saw a tall woman moving among the sick, efficiently directing servants and able-bodied people to help. She wore a plain woolen dress with a full apron covering the front. She had tied her long auburn hair back, but it glowed a rich, burnished bronze in the sunlight.

A different rage shot through him. What was
she
still doing here? The Sassenach should have been escorted from his keep at first light. Furious that his orders had been ignored, Ronan stepped toward the door. He would bellow for Aidan, and the servants, fearing the wrath of the Demon Laird, would find his brother forthwith. As Ronan’s hand fell on the latch, a knock sounded, and he ripped it open.

Aidan stood before him, scowling. “I ken that look on yer face.”

“Get rid of her.”

“Nay,” Aidan snapped and stepped into the room. He shouldered Ronan aside and closed the door firmly behind him. “We need her.”

“I dinna want her in my home!”

“Ronan,” Aiden growled. “Sit down and be silent, ye sorry cur.”

Ronan spat a curse and did not move. “I am still laird here.”

Aidan studied him a long moment, drew a deep breath into his lungs, and sighed softly, his temper fading. “Ronan, be at ease, I dinna wish ye tae suffer another attack.”

His body relaxed slightly. Aidan was right. Whenever he became enraged it seemed that his attacks struck more suddenly and more powerfully.

Aidan stepped back and moved to the bottle at the table. Pouring two cups of wine, he motioned for his brother to sit. Then his gaze fell on the smashed cup on the floor.

“What happened this morn?”

Ronan flinched and took the cup his brother offered. “I didna attack the lass.”

Aidan sat with him. “I ne’er thought ye did.”

“Ye are the only one.” He paused and gestured to the loophole. “I saw the villagers. I was coming below stairs tae help, damn their fear of the Demon Laird tae hell.”

Aidan took a drink and studied his brother a long moment. “She saw ye and panicked.”

“Aye.”

“That’s why she fell.”

“Aye.”

“Ronan, the fault doesna lie with ye.”

“It doesna?” He paused and shook his head. “I kenned better, I kenned I shouldna leave the solar. At least no’ during the day.”

Again Aidan fell silent, studying him. “Ronan, as tae the healer, I ken ye dinna want her here, but we need her.”

“She is a Sassenach,” Ronan growled. His intense rage faded to simmering frustration.

“She is a healer,” Aidan countered. He paused and drew a deep breath. “She doesna ken what this is yet, but it seems tae be some sort of plague.”

“How do ye ken she isna trying tae kill every Scot she touches? How do ye ken she didna bring this plague with her?”

“Because I’ve watched her, Ronan. I’ve seen how she treats our people. I’ve seen her caring and compassion.”