Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (19 page)

“You are weary,” she said, pushing his hair over his shoulder so she could rub the foul
-smelling oil onto his skin.

“Aye. Sometimes I wonder if my stamina will ever return.”

“It will,” she said and pressed a mug into his hand. “Willow bark,” she said.

He drank it down
; at least the willow bark was pleasant to the taste.

“Now your leg.”

“My leg?” he said, surprised. It was sore but he had not broken it as he originally feared.

“It pains you.”

“And probably always will.”

She shook her head harshly and knelt beside the stool. “
It is too newly healed for you to be on it so much.” She gently gripped his foot and examined his ankle. “There is too much swelling here, Ronan. If you do not stay off of it for a time more, then it will always pain you.”

He sighed softly. “I canna
abide being cooped up in one room for so long, lass.”

“I know, but when you sit you need
to prop it up. That will help keep the swelling at bay. When it pains you, take linens doused in cold water and cover it.” She paused and studied it again. “At least it was not broken, but it is terribly bruised.”

“Aye, when my mount collapsed, its body pinned
me tae the ground.”

She looked up at him and Ronan again marveled at the compassion he sensed within her. She reached up and gently traced her fingers through a lock of his hair, pushing it away from his face.  His skin tingled with her touch
, and his heart lurched and began to race.

“Worry not, Ronan, you will heal.”

He caught her hand in his own and gently pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Lass, I must again beg yer forgiveness for being so awful toward ye.”

“Ronan—”

“Despite my actions, ye have demonstrated only kindness and compassion,” he continued. “But ye also gave me the greatest medicant of all.”

“What is that?” she asked in confusion.

“Hope.”

****

Ronan’s eyes flew open, his heart slamming against his ribs. Le March’s laughter echoed in his ears, but it faded as his vision focused. A shaft of sunlight streamed through the loophole of his own solar. Sunrise. He released a pent-up breath, his entire body quivering. Sweat dampened his hair and rolled down his face, but slowly, his body uncoiled. As the remnants of the nightmare faded, Ronan’s thoughts locked on one memory, the only thing he truly had as a weapon against the horror. Lia’s voice whispering softly, her fingers lightly tracing over his skin and through his hair.

You are home, Ronan. You are safe.

Finally, he was able to draw a deep breath, and his heart ceased its hammering. He sat up slowly, fighting back dizziness. He still felt infernally weak. But he had to admit the poultices Lia had applied to his wounds had done wonders for the pain. He inhaled and curled his lip. Unfortunately, he reeked of rotten fish.

Ronan crawled out of bed and pulled on his trews.
He was forced to grab for the bedpost as dizziness assailed him again. He squeezed his eyes closed and gulped in a breath. It would pass. It always did.

Slowly blinking open his eyes and trying
to focus again, he rubbed his jaw, feeling the rough stubble. He needed a shave. Ronan held out his hand, watching it critically as it trembled. He wondered if a manservant would be courageous enough to assist him. Aidan would, but he would probably take Ronan’s face off in the process.

He heard a
sound at the door and looked at it, scowling. The latch rattled slightly and with it came the soft noise of scratching.

Ronan’s mouth went dry.
It wasn’t a draft. What if it was someone seeking to rid the clan of the Demon Laird in the early morning hours? He reached out with a long arm and snagged the large dagger he kept at his bedside. Removing it from its sheath, he dropped the leather and stepped to the door. Silently placing his hand on the latch, he drew a deep breath and ripped the door open, prepared to meet the assassin’s blade with his own.

N
o one was there.

He blinked, the blood roaring through his veins
, but no one stepped from the shadows or tried to attack him. He sucked in one deep breath then a second.

Meow.

Ronan blinked again and looked down.

Before the door sat the cat
that prowled the castle to help keep the mice and rats under control.

She gazed up at him with golden eyes.
Meow.

He suddenly realized how ridiculous he must appear. A full grown man, a feared warrior, the Demon Laird
, stood ready to do battle with a cat that was smaller than the dagger he held.

“Shoo!”

The cat leapt away at the sound of his voice and ran down the stairs as fast as she could.

“Oh!” Lia
cried from the stairs.

Ronan stepped forward. “Lia?”

“Bloody cat! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Lia?”

A moment later, she appeared in the stairwell, her arms full of bandages and clean bedding.

“Are ye all right?”

“Aye,” she replied. “But I vow that cat nearly made me break my neck.”

****

Lia ascended the last step, trying not to stare at the giant warrior hulking in the doorway only half-dressed, his long black hair a wild mane about his shoulders. Then she spied the large dagger he gripped and stopped short.

“
What—?”

Abruptly
, Lia understood why the cat had fled down the stairs, nearly tripping her. She caught a whiff of the fish oil. Just as quickly, she remembered Ronan’s words last night. Lia fought valiantly not to smile, to keep her laugh contained. But then Ronan glanced at the dagger in his hand and looked at her, his expression so abashed that a giggle escaped her. She was losing her battle against the grin that threatened.

Ronan’s
cheeks darkened.

Was he blushing? His expression made her battle that much harder.

He gazed at her, his steel-gray eyes intense. His lips twitched and suddenly, he too was fighting down a smile.

A second giggle escaped Lia. If she didn’t turn away, she would lose the war with herself entirely.

A chuckle rumbled through him and Ronan’s control cracked. A broad grin creased his face and his deep laugh sounded. Lia gave in and leaned back against the wall, laughing so hard tears came to her eyes.

Ronan again looked at the dagger he held. Still chuckling, he shrugged. “Unlike me, it had fangs…
and claws.”

“And it nearly killed me.”

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “’Tis quite a ferocious beast.”

Lia’s laughter renewed
, but she did not miss how Ronan’s smile seemed to light the room, nor did she miss how much more handsome he appeared at that very moment.

The healer in her also recognized just how important it was
to hear him laughing right now.

After Lia changed his bandages, Ronan cautiously tugged on his tunic and boots and accompanied her below stairs. He was loath to use his cane, but Lia gave him an arched look, and he knew better than to argue. They entered the great hall and Ronan was glad to see the number of sick villagers significantly reduced. There were only about a dozen in the great hall, but Lia sighed softly.

“Something amiss?” Ronan asked.

“I dare not let you out of my sight right now,” Lia said softly. “But I fear if you stay with me while I tend to the ill, both in the castle and in the village, you will overextend yourself.”

To
Ronan, that sounded like a challenge. He opened his mouth but again caught the arched look she shot him and snapped his jaw shut. He gazed at the ill remaining in the hall. Marta, Alba, and even Seamus and Ian continued to help, as well as Lachlan and his friends.

“When I helped ye,” he said softly
, an idea pushing its way forward, “verra few things changed.”

“Aye,” Lia replied. “Most are improving
, but it is gradual.”

“Their medicants stay the same.”

“For the most part.”

“Then ye simply need more help.”

“Pray pardon?”

Ronan grinned at her. “Lass, Aidan told me that ye turn no one away. If they canna pay ye sometimes trade work for payment.”

“Aye,” she said, puzzled.

He nodded toward Seamus and
Ian. “Many hands make light work. Those who have recovered can help tend tae those who remain ill. Ye only need tae check them daily and mix their medicants. Others can do the work, and if something untoward happens, they can send for ye.”

“But organizing such a thing would be just as much work.”

Ronan chuckled softly and winked. “Lass, have a little faith.” He moved to his chair at the high table and invited Lia to sit beside him. “Marta, Ian, Shamus, and Lachlan,” he called and motioned them to approach. Marta looked up at him in surprise but then grinned broadly and was the first to approach. The others looked at each other nervously at first, then looked back to Ronan.

Seamus studied Ronan the longest. Ronan prayed appearing in the great hall in the day
light and not wearing his cloak would help embolden them. But Seamus looked to the ground, suddenly crestfallen, and Ronan’s heart crashed.

Seamus drew a deep breath into his lungs, fished in his belt pouch
, and withdrew a coin, handing it to Ian. Ian cackled gleefully and slapped Seamus on the back.

Ronan blinked
and a chuckle rumbled through him. “So, ye lost another wager?”

“Aye, MacGrigor,” Seamus said, his face turning ruddy.

Lia giggled next to him and Ronan’s chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh.

“I keep
hopin’ he will learn not tae wager against ye,” Ian said, grinning broadly. “But until then, I shall be all too happy tae take his coin.”

Ronan shook his head, his humor fading
. “Our healer needs yer help.”

“Of course, MacGrigor,” Seamus said. “What can we do?”

“It seems I have an illness,” he said softly.

Marta nodded. “
Yer brother mentioned something about that.”

Ronan also noted that Alba stopped what she was doing and approached a bit closer so she
could listen without being obtrusive. Ronan wanted to encourage her but feared he’d frighten the lass if he focused his attention on her.

“But she canna devote the time
tae both the sick and tae me.”

“The lass has worked miracles. There are many recovered. They can help.”

“Exactly, Ian. Can ye fetch them, instruct them tae do as ye have done? Show them how tae help with those who are still sick in the castle and the village. Our healer will still check them, morning and evening. She will still prepare their medicants. If ye need her, ye only have tae send Lachlan for her.”

The four looked at each other and nodded vigorously. “Aye,” Marta said. “We can do this, MacGrigor.”

He paused when he saw Lia staring at him wide-eyed. “Lassie?”

“It was always I who did that for Sueta.”

“But now ye are here and Sueta is not.”

Lia studied him a long moment and Ronan hoped she realized his goal. She gave him a timid smile and nodded.

Ronan grinned at her then turned back to the others. “Fetch the others. The healer will instruct ye. Lachlan?”

“Aye, MacGrigor?”

“Have a wagon prepared. The lass needs tae visit those who are ill in the village and I am tae accompany her, but she will have my head if I dinna stay off this leg.”

“At once, MacGrigor.”

The others dispersed and Ronan’s gaze fell once again on Alba. He drew a deep breath into his lungs and sent a brief prayer heavenward. “Alba,” he said softly.

The lass turned sharply, her eyes wide with fear. She took an involuntary step backward then froze.

“Peace,” he said gently. “How is your cousin, James?”

She swallowed hard then blinked rapidly, as if she could not believe the question. “H-he is doing well, MacGrigor. He is returning
tae his studies with the priest but gradually.”

“Excellent. Would ye please send word
tae him? I hope he will speak with the healer regarding an important matter, but only if he be willing.”

“As you wish, MacGrigor,” Alba said and hurried off.

“That was very good,” Lia said. “Small things like that will help Alba regain her trust in you.”

“Thank ye, lassie, but that
no’ be why I did it.”

“What are you planning?”

He grinned and winked at her. “Ye will see.”

****

Once again, Lia witnessed Ronan’s impressive organizational skills firsthand. She had become so accustomed to organizing the sick and wounded for Sueta that it never occurred to her to do it for herself. But as Ronan observed, asked questions of her, and developed a plan, she realized his abilities far outmatched hers. He had a divide and conquer sort of mentality that broke down situations into their most basic elements and made them so much easier to deal with. Ultimately, any decision over the organization he left to her. He would make suggestions and offer ideas, but he allowed her the final say.