Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  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.

  No 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.

  Chapter Eight

  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 daylight 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, Mac
Grigor.”

  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.

  Marta, Seamus, and Ian had returned to the great hall with plenty of people willing to help. Lia moved through the sick and instructed those who would assist on a variety of things to watch for, how to give them their medicants, and make sure they were comfortable and that their fevers did not go too high. As she worked, she heard Ronan’s deep laugh rumble through the hall.

  He continued to sit at the high table, but she was glad to note he had propped his leg up on an extra chair. Aidan now sat next to him, both holding mugs. The villagers approached Ronan hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence as his laugh sounded more often and his smile appeared more frequently.

  Lachlan returned to the hall and strode quickly toward her. “Milady, the wagon is ready and waiting for ye.”

  “Thank you, Lachlan. It will be but a moment. Would you run upstairs and fetch my journal from the solar? I need to document what we are doing here and prepare more medicants before I go to the village.”

  “Of course, milady.” He hurried upstairs.

  Lia returned to the high table to mix the medicants they needed, out of the way of Ronan and Aidan.

  “How goes it?” Ronan asked.

  “Very well, thank you. Your ideas will make things so much easier.”

  He nodded, smiling at her.

  Lachlan quickly returned with her journal. Lia untied it but looked at the single remaining sheet of unmarked vellum in dismay.

  “What’s wrong, lass?” Ronan asked.

  She held up the last sheet. “I fear this has been rather hard on my supply.”

  “Lachlan,” Ronan prompted.

  “At once, MacGrigor.” Again the young man hurried off.

  Lia looked at Ronan in confusion.

  “The least I can do is replace a few simple sheets of vellum, especially after all the trouble I gave ye over them.”

  Within moments, Lachlan returned with a stack of vellum. “Is this enough, milady?”

  “More than enough, thank you Lachlan.”

  Lia quickly scribbled more notes and noticed both Ronan and Aidan watching her curiously. The blush rose in her cheeks, but she fought to ignore them and finish the task at hand. Once her notes were completed, she left the sheets to dry and turned her attentions toward mixing her medicants. She was surprised when Ronan stood and joined her. Just like before, he handed the various herbs to her as she requested them.

  “Ronan, you realize you don’t have to do this.”

  “But I do, lassie. I find yer work intriguing and wish tae learn more.”

  She couldn’t argue with that, especially after she had told him knowledge was the best way to defeat the fear of the Demon Laird. Seeing their laird working so diligently with the healer would demonstrate to the people that he too searched for answers to his illness.

  While she worked, another young man, one she had never seen before, entered the keep and barked a greeting to Aidan. Ronan also waved a greeting. Aidan rose and strode toward him, and the two disappeared above stairs.

  “One of Aidan’s birds,” Ronan said softly.

  “Do you need to go above stairs?”

  “Nay, Aidan will tell me when he is ready.”

  She nodded and looked at the cups she had prepared. “I’ve done all I can here. Are you ready to go to the village?”

  “Aye, lassie. Marta, if you would be so kind.”

  Marta joined them with a handful of able-bodied villagers in tow. “These people will help with those who are ill in the village,” she said.

  “Excellent.”

  Ronan led them from the keep, descending the steep, narrow stairs to the bailey with surprising ease considering his lame leg. Lia couldn’t help but marvel at him. He seemed to be able to adapt to situations when he put his mind to it. She was even more surprised when he took her to the bench of the wagon and helped her climb in. Marta and the others crawled into the back, and Ronan stepped around the horses to where the drover stood. He nodded to the man, who stepped back, and using his cane, Ronan levered himself into the drover’s seat and took the reins.

  “Thank ye, Rory,” he said. “I have it from here.”

  “As ye will, MacGrigor,” the man said.

  “Get up,” he barked to the horses and shook the reins. They started forward at a walk, and Ronan deftly guided them through the very active bailey. They passed under the barbican and through the gates. Ronan urged the horses into a trot and the wagon proceeded smoothly down the dirt road. He shot Lia a sideways glance and saw her looking at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You are just full of surprises.”

  He chuckled. “Connell was right,” he said softly. “I’ve done my share of work alongside my clanspeople. It is something I look forward tae returning tae.”

  And no doubt his people wanted to see him return to it. The more things appeared normal to them, the less they would fear Ronan and the Demon Laird.

  It only took them moments to reach the building that housed the ill in the village. It was really too close to have gone to the trouble of tethering horses to a wagon, but it was also too far for Ronan to walk right now. Lia had spoken the truth—she didn’t want him out of her sight just yet. She knew the moment she did he would probably have another fit, and she needed to witness how and when they occurred.

  “Lass,” he said looking at the door. “These be the people too terrified of the Demon Laird tae come tae the castle. They were even terrified of ye because ye came tae tend tae me. Are ye certain I shouldn’t wait for ye here?”

  He had a point, but she shook her head. “You thought the same that first night about those in the great hall, but they surprised you.”

  “Aye.”

  “I don’t want you to overextend yourself, but I think doing exactly what you did that first night will help the people here.”

  Marta led the people willing to help through the door. Ronan easily lowered himself from the wagon, careful not to put any weight on his injured leg, and came around to assist Lia. He offered her his free arm and escorted her through the door.

  The moment he entered, a voice cried out in alarm, followed by a second. Echoes of “Demon Laird” grew in strength.

  Ronan ducked his head, his shoulders slumping. He started to turn away, but Lia latched on to his arm and refused to release him.

  “Nay,” she said firmly. “You will not run.”

  He looked down a
t her arm, firmly entwined around his, then slowly lifted his gaze. The pain she saw in his eyes nearly broke her heart. She turned to rebuke them. Didn’t they realize how much their fear hurt his heart? But before she could speak, Marta stepped forward.

  “Silence, ye fools,” she snapped. “The next person who speaks against our laird will find themselves on the street. He is here tae help ye. Despite his grievous wounds, he rises in defense of ye, just as the laird we have always kenned. If I hear one word spoken out of turn, ye shall have tae deal with me.”

  Lia looked back to Ronan, her lips twitching at Marta’s ferocity.

  Ronan shook his head, also fighting down a smile. Lia was very glad to see the spark return to his eyes.

  As before in the great hall, Ronan helped distribute medicants. Lia also listened to his ideas for organization to once again ease her workload and free up her time. She was also glad to note no one again voiced their fear over the Demon Laird. Apparently, they feared Marta’s wrath more. Lia made her notes and as they prepared to leave, found herself confident that Ronan’s ideas would work.

  He approached the table she sat at and returned the last cup. “Is there anything else, lassie?” he asked.

  She looked up and smiled but immediately noted his features seemed too pale for her liking. “I believe that’s everything. Marta and the others will stay here. You and I can return to the castle.”

  He nodded and offered his arm once again.

  Lia rose and accepted it, carrying her journal with her, but she watched Ronan closely. “Are you growing weary?”

  “Nay, I will be fine.” He escorted her through the door to the wagon.

  “Ronan,” she said when they were out of earshot of the others, “remember your words earlier? How you said you understood why people weren’t completely honest with Sueta and I, but that it only made our work more difficult?”

  “Aye,” he said but refused to look at her.

  “I need you to be completely honest with me if I am to help you.”

  He looked at her and again, and she saw his internal struggle plain on his face.

  “I know it takes great strength to admit one’s weakness, when doing things you would do without a second thought suddenly become a challenge like none other. But I cannot help you unless you tell me the truth.”