Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (15 page)

The convulsion faded. Ro
nan 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 sh
ould have never born such hatred toward a lass who did not deserve it.

****

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, pu
lling 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 al
l 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 droppe
d 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.”

T
errified, 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.

****

Panic raged within him as his awareness slowly returned, but Ronan could not move. For a span of a few heartbeats, he was a prisoner once again, a prisoner in his own body. Confusion and fear muddied his thinking. Was he still in the hands of the English? Was the time at home only a hallucination brought upon him by the torture he suffered?

Gentle fingers caressed his face and stroked through his hair
, helping to calm him. He heard a soft voice whispering reassurances, soothing his torment. His blurred vision slowly pulled itself together, and he focused on a beautiful face. Her hazel eyes filled with tears, but she smiled at him.

Ronan blinked rapidly but still could not move. Lia’s fingers
continued their wonderful journey over his skin and through his hair.

“Peace, Ronan,” she murmured
, her voice soft and gentle. “You are safe.”

He stared at her. How could a Sass
enach healer show him such compassion?

“You are home. You are safe
.”

For a moment
, he closed his eyes, savoring the comfort she offered. Her voice sounded in a gentle cadence, low and soothing, her fingers never stopped stroking through his hair.

“Be at peace, Ronan. This will pass.”

He swallowed hard, battling to regain control of his body.

“Nay. Do not fight so hard. It will pass on its own.” Her voice never wavered. He felt his body relaxing under her touch
, and with that, his control returned.

****

“Now ye ken the Demon Laird,” Ronan whispered, his limbs finally obeying him.

Lia gathered him in her arms as he struggled
to sit up. She pulled him close and he buried his face against her throat, struggling to catch his breath. She felt his heart slamming against his ribs and held him tightly.

“Nay,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “You have an illness…this is not possession.”

He breathed a ragged sigh. His arms wrapped around her firmly, but she felt the weakness within him.

“We need
to get you upstairs. I know you need to sleep.”

“How do ye ken this, lass?” Already his voice sounded terribly weary.
“I didna eat any blighted grain.”