“A bit,” she said, her hand going to rest on her queasy stomach.
Warrick slipped his hand beneath the blanket and worked his way past her cloak to ease her hand off her stomach so he could caress the rounded mound. “How often does the bairn leave you feeling poorly?”
“A few times in the morning and sometimes later in the day.” She bit back the sigh that almost rushed out, his touch gentle, soothing, and, to her surprise, she found her stomach calming.
“Knowing this, you walked from your keep to MacCara keep?”
Adara found herself smiling softly at his surprised rather than accusing tone. “He likes when I walk, not churning my stomach as much.” This time she did not hold back the tender sigh that slipped out and, without thought, she rested her head against his chest.
Warrick felt her settle comfortably against him, her body no longer tense, rigid in his arms, and it took only a few moments for her eyes to flutter closed. He stared down at her nestled there, where she belonged and where she would stay. That she was his wife and would remain so was never in question. That he had found himself feeling something for her on their wedding night was not something he had expected, though it was something he questioned after failing to dismiss it as irrational.
From all he had learned, he believed the child his. He might have questioned it if he had not seen her virgin blood on the bedding the next morning before he had taken his leave of the room. He had not expected that. Men often took liberties with some of their servants, many willing, some not, a practice he found abhorring. There was no need, ever, for a man to force himself on a woman. It only proved he was no man at all.
He had not been looking for a virgin to wed just someone who would meet his need. That Adara had been a virgin pleased him more than he had expected. But then she had pleased him more than he had ever imagined she would.
Her fright had brought out a tenderness in him that he believed had long died, not something he could say he had experienced with any woman. He would like to experience what he had felt on his wedding night again and that was a dangerous thought.
He could not, would not, allow himself to wander off course. He had a mission to accomplish and he would see it done.
Warrick startled, feeling the flutter beneath his hand and stilled, waiting to feel it again and when it came, his breath caught. That his child moved inside Adara left him overwhelmed with the sense that they both belonged to him, were a part of him, and he would do anything to keep them safe.
Adara woke just before they entered the village and was glad she did. She was worried how the clan would react to Warrick and his army of men, donned in deathly shrouds, descending upon them. The clan had been good to her and had graciously accepted her as part of them without question and with Craven having been left leader of the clan all had been well and peaceful.
That, however, was about to change.
The clan members working the fields on either side of the path to the village hurried off in fright to warn the others. A bell began to toll and by the time Warrick led his warriors into the village, the loud tolling had turned to a whimper and people were clustered in groups, children clinging to their parents and wives pressed close to their husbands. The clan displayed not a single weapon. With Adara on the horse, in Warrick’s arms, perhaps they believed no harm was meant to them. Or did they wisely realize it was useless to raise a weapon against the mighty Demon Lord and his warriors?
Warrick brought his stallion to a stop in front of the keep and turned the animal around to look out over the village. “Listen well,” he called out, his voicing booming throughout the village. “Adara is my wife and I am now Lord of the Clan MacVarish. You will pledge your allegiance to me or you are free to leave. There will be rules to follow and those who do not follow them will be made to suffer. I expect obedience from all. In return, you will not starve, you will always have shelter, and you will be protected. Deceive me, betray me, and you will die.” He pointed to Roark who had brought his horse up alongside him. “This is Roark. He speaks for me. You will obey his every word. Tomorrow I will walk through the village and will hear any problems or concerns you have. After that you will address all concerns to Roark and he will see I am made aware of them.”
A brave soul called out, “How can we be sure he will speak for us?”
Warrick’s eyes went straight to the man, who attempted to shrink among the crowd. “You will learn that Roark is an honest man and far more patient than me. You would be wise to remember that.” He paused a moment letting his words sink in. “Roark and some of my warriors will walk among the village and make themselves known to you. You would do well to speak with them.”
That he expected absolute obedience from the clan should not surprise her, for he demanded the same from her as his wife. It seemed he expected it from everyone.
After Warrick dismounted, he reached up and, with his hands at her waist, lifted her off the horse. “You will eat and then you will rest.”
It was not a request and Adara nodded.
He stepped away from her, walking a distance away with Roark and keeping his voice low so that no one would hear him. Warriors stepped forward to take the horses and lead them away, while a few warriors waited, their hoods now off their heads, their eyes intent on their surroundings, and not a single smile on any of their faces.
Adara startled when she felt a strong hand close around her arm. She did not need to look to see it was Warrick, but she did. He propelled her forward toward the keep, his intent glare focused straight ahead. She thought she caught the slightest wrinkle to his brow as if something troubled his thoughts, but it had vanished so fast she did not know if she had truly seen it at all.
She kept her eyes on his face to see if she could catch it again, an unwise move, since her foot caught on something and she stumbled.
She was up in his arms so fast her breath caught in a faint gasp.
“You need to watch your step,” he scolded as he continued walking.
“You need to walk slower.” She bit at her lower lip, wishing she had done so before the words had slipped out. What was wrong with her to reprimand him like that?
Warrick stopped abruptly. “Watch your tongue with me, Adara. You would not want to lose it.”
He would not cut her tongue out, would he? She lowered her head, repentant and fearful. Was he truly that cruel? Memories of his dungeon flashed in her head, the horrifying screams, the stomach-turning odors, the senseless cruelty, and she had her answer.
She was wed to a monster—a demon—and there was no escape.
More memories assaulted her, though this time they were of her wedding night. How could a monster show tenderness, make her feel as if he cared, then turn cold and uncaring?
Who was this strange man she married? No answer came this time. If she wanted one, she would have to search for it.
He lowered her to her feet once inside the Great Hall and she felt a sudden relief at being home. MacVarish keep was small in comparison to MacCara keep, though to Adara it was too large. Seeing it now, however, with Warrick standing in the middle of the Great Hall, the room seemed to shrink in his presence.
The few trestle tables seemed meek in size and the dais that had seemed to overpower the room when she had first seen it, now appeared small and inadequate with Warrick there. Even the fireplace, large enough for her to step into, seemed to have shrunk in size. Nothing in the room seemed adequate enough for the Demon Lord.
Two servants hovered together in a corner, wringing their hands, their eyes wide as they waited.
Warrick ordered them forward with the snap of his hand.
The two nearly tripped over each other in their effort to hurry and obey.
He nodded toward the hearth. “That fire is not sufficient to chase the chill from this room. See to it that the flames are kept fed at all times. Bring us food and drink.”
Both women bobbed their heads and one hurried to the hearth to feed the flames with several
logs while the other rushed out of the room.
Adara did not expect Warrick to join her and she certainly did not expect him to sit at a table near the hearth. She assumed he would take his rightly seat at the dais. She realized why when he spoke.
“You will be warm here.”
He was concerned for her? She nodded, not knowing how else to respond.
Drink was brought out immediately, the servant setting a pitcher of ale and one of cider on the table. The young woman’s hand shook as she filled a tankard with ale for Warrick and one with cider for Adara. She hurried off as soon as the task was done.
Food followed quickly, though Adara scrunched her face at the smell of the salted herring and pushed the dish away, turning her head as she did.
Warrick picked the dish up, handing it to the servant, and ordered, “Take it away.” He looked to Adara. “You do not care for salted herring.”
“The bairn dislikes fish,” she said, scrunching her nose in distaste.
“You liked it once?”
“I did. I cooked and ate what I caught whenever the chance presented itself, since I never could count on whether I would eat on any given day.”
The portrait that scene painted in his mind stirred his ire while it also had him admiring her fortitude. Life had been cruel to her, to most actually, but those who fought back survived. Adara had fought back.
Roark entered the Great Hall, though he did not approach the table. He stood waiting.
Warrick stood. “I have matters to see to. Eat and rest.”
Adara watched Warrick leave the room, glad when the door closed and she finally had time alone. Something she worried she would not have much of now that her husband was here. She was about to drop the piece of cheese in her hand, having lost her appetite but thought better of it. She had eaten little and while she no longer felt hungry, the bairn might feel otherwise. She forced herself to eat the small chunk. It reminded her of the countless times she had nearly starved and the winters she feared she would freeze to death. And the endless times she felt a slap to her face, a kick to her leg, a twist to her arm. At least with Warrick she would not go hungry or cold or find herself sleeping with the animals in the barn. She would have food and shelter and a husband to keep her safe. She had to remember to hold her tongue, if she wanted to keep it. What she had to do was be an obedient wife. That also meant she would have to share a bed with him.
A yawn let her know that the journey here had tired her or perhaps it was her heavy thoughts that brought fatigue on her.
“Are you feeling unwell, my lady?”
Adara jumped startled by the unexpected voice, but smiled when she saw Langdon. He had arrived at MacVarish village not long after her. He always had a kind word or a smile for her and had always spoken with her whenever he saw her even if she had not participated in the conversation. He would carry it all on his own.
“Fatigued from the journey, Langdon,” she said.
“You should rest, my lady.”
“A good suggestion, Langdon.” And one she had intended to do.
“My heartfelt wishes on your wedding, my lady,” he said with a bob of his head.
“Thank you, Langdon.” Adara often thought he needed a good washing, though he never had an odor about him. His heavily gray hair hung loose around his face and always appeared as if it needed washing, matted at times, and grime was a favorite companion of his. But then he was a hard worker, even though he was stooped and slow with age, he did his share. He had become good friends with Burchard the kitchen gardener and often helped him, both men close in age.
“And how are you, Langdon?” she asked, though by the look of his dirt-covered hands and garments, she would say he had been busy helping Burchard in the garden and his response confirmed it.
“I am well, my lady, busy helping Burchard. “Stay well, my lady,” he said and with a bob of his head took his leave.
Adara smiled. She liked the old man. In an odd way, he had filled a void her uncle’s death had left. She often came upon him during her late night walks through the village after her uncle had died. He would talk with her, sometimes talking much, other times saying few words. She supposed it had been his company that brought her some solace.
She ate a bit more, then climbed the stairs to the small bedchamber she had chosen for herself. A single bed, a small side table, a chest near the door, and a fireplace to keep her warm was all she needed and more than she had ever had.
She folded her cloak to lay on the chest, slipped her tunic off, folding it and placing it on top of her cloak, fed another log to the flames, then stretched out on the bed.
No soon as she did, her thoughts drifted back to her wedding night. She had been terrified, still reeling from having wed the Demon Lord. The two women who had helped ready her to receive her husband had whispered prayers as they scrubbed her.
Adara had not been sure if they had been meant to help her or to protect the women from the Demon Lord’s wife.
They had hurried out of the room as soon as they had finished and she had waited there alone for the man she did not know, who would make her his wife. She had never felt so trapped, but then she had yet to experience Warrick’s dungeon.
Even though she had remained fearful, she had been relieved when Warrick finally entered the room, the waiting having been unbearable. He had said nothing to her. He went to the table where food and drink had been placed and filled two goblets with wine. He had taken one and walked over to Adara to hand her the other.
“It will help make it easier,” he had said.
Adara had not argued, she drank some and though she did not favor the taste, she continued to drink it. She had noticed his hair had been damp and his garments appeared clean. He had washed and she had thought him thoughtful for doing so. Not something you would expect from a man known as the Demon Lord.
He had downed his wine and placed the empty goblet on the table, then turned and stripped off his garments to stand naked in front of her. She saw him clearly, as if he were standing there in front of her now, his body hard, his muscles taut. There was no softness to him, no kindness in his dark eyes, and even though he was across the room, she took a step back.
Adara’s eyes had grown too heavy with sleep to remain open and they drifted closed, leaving the image of Warrick to fade from her mind, her wedding night once again left to memory.
The light mist made it difficult for Adara to recognize the forest. Was she lost? How had she gotten here? It was not at all familiar to her. Her hand hurried to her stomach when she felt the bairn’s hard kick and she looked down, shocked to see herself so heavy with child. How had she grown so large, so fast?
She turned completely around, hoping to spot something familiar, hoping to find her way home. The light mist was thickening much too fast as she anxiously searched for a familiar sign. She saw it then, a stream where she had once fished, but that was nowhere near MacVarish land. How did she get here and how would she get home?
The sudden sounds of footfalls startled her. They were heavy and pounding the earth, running, getting closer.
“Run!” a female voice warned. “Run!”
Adara did not wait, she started running and kept running through the fog, not seeing where she was going, not knowing where she was going, only knowing she had to run, had to get away.
The earth rattled beneath her feet as the footfalls drew closer and closer. No matter how fast she ran, she could not put distance between them.
Whoever chased her would catch her. Then what?
“Run!” the voice urged again. “Run to Warrick!”
Warrick. Her husband. He would keep her safe and their bairn safe.
The footfalls were near upon her and as a hand came down on her shoulder, she screamed, “Warrick!”
Warrick no soon as sat at the table near the hearth with Roark, then food and drink was brought to them.
“My wife?’ he asked the servant who filled their tankards.
�
��Resting in her room, my lord.”
“Her room?” he asked his tone sharp.
The young servant began to tremble and an older servant walked over and placed a comforting hand on the young lass’ shoulder.
“The lord and lady’s bedchamber is being made ready. Lady Adara rests in her room two floors up.” With a bob of her head, she walked away and the young servant placed the pitcher on the table and scurried off.
Warrick barely turned his head to Roark when his name echoed through the keep in a terrifying scream.
Chapter 9
Warrick took the steps three at a time, Roark following close behind him, his blood running cold at the sound of his name being screamed repeatedly. He threw the door to the room open with such force that it broke off its top hinge.
Like a fist to the gut, relief hit Warrick when he saw his wife twisting and fighting the blanket that had entrapped her. Still, she was not only trapped in the blanket, but the dream as well and he hurried to free her of both. It was not easy, since her struggles increased as he attempted to unravel the blanket.
“I am here, Adara. You are safe,” he urged as Roark hurried to help him.
It took a few moments to free her and all the time, Warrick continued to ensure her that she was safe.
“Hear me, wife, you are safe. I will let no harm come to you. You are safe.”
Adara’s eyes sprang open when released from the entwined blanket and seeing her husband leaning over her, she threw her arms around his neck and his name fell from her lips in a thankful whisper.
Warrick scooped her up in his arms and sat on the bed, holding her as tightly as she clung to him. “All is well. You have nothing to fear.”
Adara’s chest heaved, her breathing rapid, as if she had been running far too long, but then she had been. She pressed her face against her husband’s chest, listening to his heart thunder. He had been running as well, running to her… to save her.
Highlander The Demon Lord Page 7