Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  “MacGrigor,” she said, plucking at the fabric, “you are frightening people again.”

  He looked down at her in confusion but then nodded. He freed the broach and removed the garment. He hesitated and again looked at her. “Ye are chilled,” he said and settled it over her shoulders.

  She blinked up at him, stunned. “T-thank you.”

  He nodded and stepped away.

  The people who had seen his actions stared at her, awestruck.

  She looked down at the garment. A part of her wanted to toss the thing in a fire and watch it burn. But the wool was thick and soft and wonderfully warm. She gazed at the fine weave, noting it was similar to Connell’s plaid, but the colors were darker and definitely muted, as if it was purposefully created to blend into shadow. Then it dawned on her: this was MacGrigor’s plaid. He did not don this cloak to become the Demon Laird; he wore this on a daily basis.

  “Aidan,” the MacGrigor said, pulling Lia’s attention from the cloak. “We must tell everyone: anything made from this grain—flour, bread, even whiskey—they must throw it all out.”

  “Aye, but these be our entire stores for winter.”

  “We have the funds to purchase more. I care no’ if we have to go as far south as Edinburgh, this willna stand.”

  “Flour,” Lia whispered and her eyes widened.

  “What mean ye, Sassenach?” MacGrigor asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

  “The millstones,” she said.

  The brothers’ faces lost color at the same moment. “I will check them,” Aidan said. “But I fear it is too late. They are already contaminated.”

  “But if they were,” Lia said. “Wouldn’t those in the castle be sick?”

  “Nay,” MacGrigor said as his brother darted off. “I had a small mill built in the bailey last year. It be only big enough to support the castle.” He paused staring at the ground. “We should have at least one large millstone for the village set in reserve in case one cracks. If I remember correctly, the mill in the castle yard has two small ones in reserve. Connell, check with the millwright at the castle, see if we indeed have a secondary set of millstones. We can build another small mill to work for us until we can get the larger stones in the village replaced.”

  “Aye, MacGrigor,” Connell said and hurried away.

  MacGrigor shook his head and rubbed his temples.

  “Are you all right?” Lia asked.

  “Aye,” he said softly and looked at her. “I fear some foods will be quite scarce from here until harvest. The castle stores are only enough for the people who work and live there. I am going to have to tap into the siege stores to feed everyone. With Longshanks’s war, if we do come under attack and have to bar the gates . . . ” He hesitated and shook his head.

  Lia bowed her head, suddenly understanding. “And with Longshanks’s war, you may indeed have to go all the way to Edinburgh to purchase grain, and even then you may not find it.”

  “Aye, ye have it aright.”

  “MacGrigor, I am so sorry,” she said, her eyes abruptly burning with tears.

  “For what, Sassenach? Ye said ye would find the answer to this plague and ye did.”

  “I should have recognized the symptoms sooner. I should have realized, but I didn’t see—”

  “The entire manifestation of the illness. I heard yer words earlier. Why do ye think I kenned to follow ye?”

  She started to speak then stopped and frowned at him. “Were you hiding in the shadows again?”

  He gave her a sideways glance and the corners of his lips tugged upward ever so slightly.

  “You rogue!”

  His lips tugged upward even more, and for an instant, she saw a spark of mirth in his gray eyes. “At least I didna steal any more of your vellum.” He stepped forward, limping badly on his right leg. “Robert,” he called.

  Robert had apparently trailed after them as well. In fact, Lia noticed many more people coming from the castle and gathering in the road before the barn.

  “Aye, MacGrigor?”

  “Check each bag, but I fear all of this grain be poisoned,” MacGrigor said, gesturing to the barn. “If a sack has even a hint of the blight, burn it.”

  “At once, MacGrigor.”

  “Don’t breathe the dust,” Lia called after him as he too darted off.

  He shot a grin at her over his shoulder and waved.

  “Lachlan,” MacGrigor said.

  “Aye?”

  “We’ll open the stores in the castle that we’re keepin’ for siege. Tell Cook.”

  “Aye, MacGrigor.”

  “Angus?”

  Another man stepped forward, eyeing MacGrigor nervously. Lia had seen him in the keep helping with the sick but had not yet had the chance to speak to the man.

  “Fetch the stone masons and send them to the quarry. We need at least one, probably two large millstones, and I ken it will be cheaper and faster for the men to quarry them than it would be for us to purchase them elsewhere and haul them here.”

  “Aye, MacGrigor.”

  Lia watched the MacGrigor closely. Now that he had taken his cloak off, more people seemed willing to approach him. Timidly at first, but with growing confidence as he listened to each and addressed them as if nothing were wrong. At least she thought this was so; she had no way of knowing what was normal with him and what was not. She witnessed his ability to organize and delegate, and she had to admit he was impressive to watch.

  But the more she watched him, the more her concern grew. He favored his right leg terribly. He shouldn’t be on it at all, she quickly realized, but he should at least have a cane. No doubt he had left it behind when following them into the village. But several times she saw him put weight on his leg unexpectedly and nearly topple over. He would catch himself and set his jaw, then seem to draw on reserves of determination she had never witnessed in a man. He would straighten his spine and square his shoulders and return to the business at hand without missing a beat.

  In the bright daylight, the white patches that marred his skin became more obvious along with the method in which they had been inflicted. The dark lines around his neck and throat appeared to be even sharper when contrasted with his tanned flesh. She saw the bandages covering his back and chest easily under his light tunic. But what worried her the most was the fact that she saw his face turn from gray to pallid.

  Lia gritted her teeth. No one else seemed to notice the change, or if they did they were too frightened to say anything. She looked around but Aidan had not yet returned from checking the millstones. Connell had no doubt returned to William in the keep after speaking with the millwright. MacGrigor hated her, but Lia feared if he collapsed in front of everyone, it would only compound the rumors. She remembered her words to him the first night, that he desperately needed a healer. He had no idea how true they were and would undoubtedly push himself until he dropped. He was still not recovered from his ordeal, and Lia was willing to bet there was more to heal than just his physical wounds.

  Fortunately, his attention seemed focused on the matter at hand. Lia slowly worked her way closer without his notice. The more he pushed himself, the more he had to concentrate and not worry where a Sassenach healer might be standing.

  Her worries came true as he finished speaking with someone, turned, and staggered. He caught himself against a post, but that wasn’t enough to stop his fall. Lia darted forward, grabbed his free arm and hauled it over her shoulders, stopping his collapse. He looked down at her, the planes of his face hardening, but Lia quickly realized that even if he wanted to pull away, he couldn’t. His steel-gray eyes were glazed. And Lia didn’t think the grim set of his jaw was due entirely to her.

  “I think that’s enough for one day.” She angled toward the castle and started to walk.

  MacGrigor leaned heavily against her and she grew more concerned. He squeezed his eyes closed, and she wasn’t sure if he was in pain or dizzy. She reached up and touched his face with her hand and sucked in her brea
th. “MacGrigor, you are fevered.”

  “Aye,” he said softly.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  He opened his eyes and gazed down at her, but this time she did not see hatred. Only exhaustion and pain. “Ye found the truth of this plague. I had to see it for myself.” He paused and once again the corners of his lips twitched. “I had a devil of a time keeping pace with ye.”

  She bit back a laugh and shook her head. “Well you did, and we need to get you to bed.”

  Lia struggled to keep MacGrigor on his feet. As they approached the castle, she feared he would not make it another step. He kept his eyes closed and leaned heavily against her. If he collapsed, she would have a beastly time getting him inside. The servants were terrified of him and she had no idea where Aidan was. As she approached the gates, her gaze scanned the bailey, stopping on one man.

  “Connell!”

  He looked up, startled, then his eyes widened and he sprinted toward them. “Lassie, what happened?”

  “He overextended himself. He’s fevered, Connell. We’ve got to get him above stairs.”

  “Aye,” he said, taking MacGrigor’s free arm.

  Lia breathed a sigh of relief as Connell was able to take most of MacGrigor’s weight.

  They got him upstairs and while Connell settled him in bed, Lia hurried to her medicants and gathered what she needed. She returned to the solar and saw Connell watching the MacGrigor worriedly.

  “He isna coherent.”

  “That does not surprise me. I’m amazed he accomplished all that he did.”

  “His fever . . . he didna eat any of the blighted grain somehow?”

  Lia gazed at Connell in sudden understanding. “Nay, Connell, ’tis probably one of his wounds festering, and he is too stubborn to admit it.”

  “I was rather harsh with him earlier . . . he is my friend, but I didna mind my place.”

  And you’re afraid you’re going to lose him too. “You said what needed to be said, Connell. Please don’t worry. Look at it this way, he won’t be able to protest over a Sassenach tending to him.”

  “Do ye need me tae stay?”

  “Nay. He’s too weak to put up any resistance. I know you’re worried about William. Go check on him.”

  “Verra well, if ye are certain ye dinna need me.”

  “But you should have someone find Aidan and let him know. Thank you for your help.”

  “Of course, lass.” He stepped out, closing the door behind him.

  Lia returned to MacGrigor’s bedside. He pried open one eye, and Lia almost laughed at how he still managed to glare at her.

  “I’m going to give you some willow bark to help bring your fever down.”

  “Nay,” he said, but his voice lacked strength.

  She sighed and sat in the chair next to the bed. “MacGrigor,” she murmured gently and reached for him. He turned his head away, but that did not stop her. Her fingers touched his thick black hair and stroked through the soft locks.

  “Please, let me help you.”

  He didn’t move, but he closed his eyes a brief moment. Lia continued to gently stroke his hair. He turned and looked at her again, catching her hand and pressing it against his cheek. His fever seemed to grow worse with each passing moment.

  “MacGrigor, please. It’s only willow bark. Please, let me help you.” She wished it didn’t sound like she was begging.

  He released her hand and nodded once then closed his eyes again. Lia put some water on to boil. She needed to check his wounds to see how badly they festered, but she supposed she should be grateful he was at least letting her tend to him. While she waited, she took a rag and dampened it in cool water, gently placing it against his brow.

  He sighed softly.

  “Aye,” she said, blotting his face. “This will make you feel better.”

  The water finally started to boil and she rose to tend to it. She poured some into a cup and added a steeping bundle of willow bark. She knew it would have to be strong, and that meant allowing it to sit for some time. Well, there was no help for it.

  MacGrigor muttered softly and she turned around. His eyes were closed and he turned his head from side to side. His fever was high enough that it did not surprise her he might fade in and out of a fever dream. He had pushed himself too hard today.

  “Nay,” he murmured, still tossing his head from side to side.

  Lia frowned down at him. The lines in his face had grown more pronounced, the shadows under his eyes darker. With most of the torture victims she had treated, their greatest struggle was defeating their own memories.

  “Easy, MacGrigor,” she whispered, again reaching out to gently stroke her fingers through his hair. A soft word, a gentle touch, often went a long way in reassuring them they no longer suffered. “You are home. You are safe.”

  “Help me,” the words came out as a tiny gasp . . . a prayer.

  Lia swallowed hard, sudden tears pushing at her eyes. “I am here, Ronan, I will help you.”

  His head stopped moving so violently.

  She leaned forward, her fingers never ceasing their soft caress. “You are safe, Ronan, you are at home.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I know the voice in your head, the voice of your captor. It plays on your fears, it says you are still a prisoner. It lied then, Ronan, just like it’s lying to you now.”

  He sucked in his breath and grew unusually still.

  “You are home, you are safe.”

  Finally, he relaxed in the bed and stopped muttering. She withdrew her hand when she was reasonably certain he at last rested comfortably.

  “Good,” she said and started to rise. She needed to check his willow bark.

  “Nay!” he said so sharply he startled her. He latched onto her hand. She looked back at him. His eyes were open, staring at her with a wild fear. “Help me.”

  “I will, Ronan,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I just need to get your medicant.”

  “Nay!” He sucked in a ragged breath. “They all run.”

  “Run? Who?”

  “Please . . . I am . . . alone.”

  Suddenly, she understood. Aidan and Marta were the only ones who would sit with him. The servants were terrified and had run screaming from his room several times. He had suffered through so much. He needed someone to help ground him in the delirium of his fever dreams. To help him determine what was real and what was hallucination.

  Both of her hands covered his as he clung to her. “Nay, Ronan, I will not run. I just need to fetch your medicant. Lie back and rest.”

  His steel-gray eyes still wide, he blinked once, twice, then lay back onto the bed. Lia once again stroked his hair, humming softly. His eyes appeared to grow heavy until they finally closed. Still humming, Lia rose and returned to the table, finishing his medicant. It did not take long, and soon she sat next to him. It didn’t take much to get him to sit up and drink it. Fortunately, willow bark had a relatively pleasant taste. He finished the draught and she finally settled him.

  She sat at his bedside, holding his hand in hers, her free hand blotting his fevered brow with the cool cloth. She continued to hum softly, and a bit later, she was certain he slept, but she did not move, her humming never stopped. It would take time, but he would soon learn that one thing she would not do was run.

  Chapter Six

  Ronan awoke slowly, the nightmare fading, but he braced himself, his heart hammering against his ribs. For a moment, he was terrified to open his eyes, terrified that he would indeed see the walls of his prison and his time at home a hallucination.

  The soft sound of a woman humming reached him and he hesitated. The sound was familiar somehow, but it took a moment for him to place it. A lullaby, he realized. His mum used to sing it to him when he was a wee lad. He had not heard it in . . . God . . . he could not remember how long it had been.

  He pried opened his eyes and sighed in relief as the walls of his solar took form around him. But then his gaze stopped on Aidan and h
e blinked. What was he doing here? Only now did he notice the humming had faded into nothingness. Ronan blinked in confusion and struggled to sit up.

  “Hold on there,” Aidan said and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “What . . . what happened?”

  “Ye overextended yerself two days ago, and it brought a return of the fever.”

  “Two days?”

  “Aye. If it hadna been for the lassie, ye might have ended up much worse.”

  “Lassie?”

  Aidan sighed heavily. “Lia . . . the healer? She said ye finally gave her leave to tend to ye.”

  He rubbed his eyes, trying to sort through his jumbled memories. “She is the only one who willna run,” Ronan said softly. “Sometimes, I canna tell reality from hallucination.”

  “Aye. The lassie said that’s to be expected, brother.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She wanted to stay with ye, but so many others need her, Ronan. Now that we ken the grain was blighted, she can take the proper steps, but she said ’tis a nasty illness. She now tends to those in the village as well. Her work has just begun.”

  “Aye,” Ronan said, pushing himself up. “I should help.”

  “Nay,” Aidan said. “The lassie has given orders ye must rest.”

  “But—”

  “Nay,” Aidan snapped, cutting him off. “She will be up to check on ye shortly. I’d advise ye to let her tend yer bandages. If ye still be fevered, the lassie fears yer wounds be festering.”

  The next night, in spite of himself, Ronan escaped his solar as soon as the occupants of the castle bedded down. But this time he left his cloak behind. He swallowed hard and descended the stairs, certain he was daft in the head. While he was more confident about not terrorizing anyone with his presence, he still worried over it. But, God forbid, what if he had another attack? He shivered and forced the thought from his mind. As he stepped to the base of the stairs and looked upon the great hall, he had to admit he felt better after the Sassenach had tended to him, but he still had not allowed her to change his bandages. He would do it on his own, later.