by Ruth Kaufman
“As ye wish, lassie. I shall send for James tae meet with us upon the morrow.”
The next morning, Lia joined Ronan and Aidan in the solar once again so they could break their fast together. Yet the moment her gaze fell on Ronan, she was more concerned over him than she had been yesterday. The circles under his eyes had grown so dark they almost looked like bruises. The lines on his face were etched deeper than she had ever seen them, aging him at least ten years in the span of a day. His steel-gray eyes were bleak, lacking their normal spark. Even his smile seemed terribly forced.
As Aidan took the tray from her, she hurried to Ronan, stroking his black hair away from his face and not liking what she saw in the least.
“Ronan, what is wrong? And do not dare tell me nothing.”
He gazed up at her, and for an instant, Lia felt as if he was unraveling before her eyes. “Oh nay,” she whispered, finally realizing. She had seen it before in the other torture victims she had treated. “Are you having nightmares?”
He blinked at her, startled, but his jaw tightened and he didn’t reply.
Her heart went out to him. “You dread going to sleep.”
A soft knock sounded on the open door and jerked Ronan’s attention from her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw James standing there, just as Ronan had promised.
Instead of being overjoyed and delighted at the prospect of learning how to read and write, how to transcribe her journal so it could be useful to others, not just herself, a cold knot of fear settled in the pit of her belly. Ronan apparently struggled to speak in front of his brother, who he trusted completely; there was no way he would say anything with James looking on.
“Well met, James,” Ronan said and rose, extending his hand.
James grinned up at him and gripped Ronan’s forearm in a firm greeting.
“I am verra glad tae see ye so well recovered.”
“Back tae my old self, thanks tae the lassie . . . and tae ye.”
“Excellent.” Ronan faced her. “Lia, would ye be so kind as tae show him the journal sheet ye showed me yesterday?”
She nodded, her heart jumping to her throat. James seemed to be a kind young man, but no doubt he would think her witless once he saw her scribbling. She opened her journal and handed the sheet to Ronan then set the journal in front of them on the table.
Aidan served the food, and for a moment, everyone ate in silence. Except for James. He focused solely on her journal sheet. His eyes grew wider the longer he looked at it.
“Are ye seeing the same letter groupings as I did?” Ronan asked.
“Latin, French, and Common?” James asked.
Ronan nodded.
“I have never seen them in such a fashion, and tae combine them with illuminations in this manner?” He looked at Lia in such shock she wondered if she had grown a second head. “Milady, ye remember all of this, consistently?”
“Aye,” she replied.
“What do ye do for a new word ye might have no’ yet encountered?”
She shrugged, her cheeks turning bright red. “It seems many words are based in a similar fashion.”
“What do ye mean?”
She sighed, trying to find a way to explain it. She pulled a more recent sheet from her journal. “Here, like this. The illness you had from the blighted grain, it is called Holy Fire because of the high fever. This here,” she said and pointed to a specific symbol, “this means fever. I altered this slightly so to me it means Holy Fire, not Holy Fever. But it’s almost the same thing. She then pointed to another symbol, but this one had a drawing of a man, his hands folded before him as if in prayer. “The other name for the illness is St. Anthony’s Fire. So again, I adapted Holy Fire and added the saint.”
“Do ye have any other saints, or is it just the one representation?”
“I have several others. Not far from us was a chapel; the priest was a kindly man but a bit frail. But nevertheless, he did not mind answering the questions of a simpleton girl.”
“Lia,” Ronan growled unexpectedly. He quickly lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “Ye arena a simpleton, and if ye refer tae yerself as such again, I will take you over my knee.”
She looked up at him, certain he jested with her, but he was as serious as she had ever seen him. She blinked, startled, then returned her attention to the question at hand.
“The chapel had paintings of various saints. I simply asked the priest who each saint was, he would show me the painting, and I would draw a reasonable likeness in my notes.”
James still stared at her wide-eyed and she ducked her head. She felt Ronan grip her shoulder as if in encouragement.
Finally, James tore his gaze from her and he cautiously leafed through more sheets of her journal. Then he focused on Ronan. “MacGrigor, do ye realize what’s she’s done?”
Ronan arched an eyebrow. “Invented a written language all on her own that’s not only consistent but accurate and adaptable?” He paused and winked at Lia. “The thought had occurred tae me.”
“Aye,” James said and started to speak again, but Ronan held up his hand and stopped him.
“James, peace, I dinna wish the lassie vexed. She wishes tae learn tae read and write, and this knowledge,” he tapped her journal, “this is too valuable tae risk losing. As ye translate it into Common, perhaps we can make multiple copies and keep one in the library at the church.”
James nodded. “I will be happy tae teach her. Lia, if ye be willing, we can start after ye break yer fast tomorrow. I’ll be honest, I will need some time tae catch up with ye and all ye have done here.”
Lia looked at Ronan uncertainly. He smiled and nodded once.
“Very well,” Lia said. “Tomorrow, after we break our fast.”
James rose and bowed to them. “Until then.” He quickly strode from the room, and Lia only then noticed that he hadn’t touched a bite of his food.
Both Ronan and Aidan laughed softly. “I dinna think I’ve ever seen him so rattled,” Ronan said, trying to hold back his laughter, but a few chuckles escaped him.
“Aye, brother,” Aidan said. “Bless ye, Lia, I think ye scared the fire out of him.”
Ronan choked, lowering his head, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
“What did I do?” She was getting a bit frustrated but had to admit she enjoyed seeing him laugh.
Ronan lifted his head, his eyes shining with mirth. “He just realized a seven-year-old girl who barely kenned her letters outpaced him in learning, and she did it all on her own.”
Lia continued to watch him, unconvinced.
Ronan laughed again and pulled her tight against his chest, kissing the top of her head. “Ah, thank ye my bonny lass, I needed a bit of laughter.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “Glad I could help.”
His laughter renewed.
They sat for a bit, talking pleasantly. Lia had managed to unobtrusively reach over and rub the knotted muscles in his neck.
Gradually, Ronan lowered his head and closed his eyes. He dozed off several times, jerking his head up at the last instant. But Lia watched him try to focus his vision and knew he was unable to.
Aidan watched him curiously for a moment, then looked to Lia. “I should go; there are a few birds I need tae speak tae today.”
Lia nodded and waited until he closed the door as he left. “Ronan?”
His chin nearly descended to his chest, and he jerked his head up yet again. “Aye?” His eyes closed almost immediately.
“You need to sleep, the more you resist it, the worse your nightmares will become.”
“How do ye ken this, lass?”
“You are not alone in this. In fact, the nightmares are a normal part of the healing process.”
He shivered and moved closer to her. “Even if I sleep, I canna rest. I awaken from the dreams and feel even more exhausted than before.”
Lia thought for a moment. “Why don’t I make a sleeping draught for you? It will allow you to sleep
deeply without nightmares. It is not something I can give to you every night, but it will allow you to rest and regain yourself. You will be better able to deal with the nightmares when they do come.”
He slowly pried open his eyes and stared at the floor. “Right now, one night without the dreams sounds like a gift.”
She nodded. “I will prepare it for you. It will take me a few minutes.”
“I will be here, lassie.”
Lia stood but Ronan took her hand and pulled her fingers to his lips. “If ye would sleep with me, I would have no need for a draught.”
Her heart lurched then dropped to the floor. Surely he was jesting. Why would he want an illiterate, gangly Sassenach healer to sleep with him?
But he gazed at her steadily, a roguish gleam in his steel-gray eyes. His lowered black lashes gave him a seductively hooded look. Lia suddenly found her heart had jumped from the floor and now hammered wildly against her ribs.
Still holding her hand in his, he rose until he towered over her, and she had to lift her chin to look up at him. He caught her jaw with his free hand and traced over her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Lia couldn’t breathe, but neither could she move.
He searched her gaze for a moment, then lowered his head with agonizing slowness. His lips brushed hers, feather light, a soft skim that carried with it a promise. He hesitated, as if giving her a chance to pull away from him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She only just stopped the breathy moan curling up the back of her throat.
He lowered his head a second time, and his kiss left nothing to be denied. His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her tight against the hard wall of his body. His mouth slanted over hers; his tongue traced over her lips. She opened her mouth, wanting him to kiss her as he had done before, to turn her senses upside down and make her forget her own name. As Ronan deepened his kiss, pursuing her with determination yet a wonderful gentleness, she placed her hands on his chest and slid them upward until her arms wrapped around his neck.
She felt a tremor pass through him and his kiss increased, demanding more of a physical response from her. His hands traveled over her back to her sides where the journeyed up, tracing lightly over the swell of her breasts. Lia realized if he didn’t stop, she would lose herself to him; she wouldn’t be able to refuse him and had no desire to.
But the primal intensity of his kiss lasted only a moment, then he gentled and cupped her face in his hands. Slowly, he lifted his head, but his lips teasingly brushed hers as he spoke.
“Please, lass, stay with me; let me hold you close while I sleep.”
Confusion cut through her. Wait. What was he saying? Then she came to her senses. He only wanted her to stay with him so he would not be alone, just as she had stayed with him several times before. Her face burned and she was certain she was bright red. Leave it to her to read too much into it. Of course he didn’t want a Sassenach healer, he just didn’t want to be alone.
She seized her rioting emotions and brought them under vicious control. She stepped back from him, but he acted as if he was reluctant to release her. “Lia?”
“I will prepare your sleeping draught,” she muttered, unable to meet his gaze.
“Lia? What is it? What’s wrong?”
She pushed herself back from him and quickly walked to the door. Leaving it open, she darted into the hall and headed for the small room Ronan allowed her to use as her own. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to shed them. She reached her room and opened her medicant chests. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her nerves and sorted through the various items she would need.
Ronan shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Damnation, what had he done? He swayed as he rubbed his eyes and realized he had better sit down before he toppled over. He couldn’t think straight and no doubt had said something wrong. But for the life of him, he couldn’t get his fogged brain to understand.
He leaned his head back in his chair and closed his eyes, praying Lia would return with the sleeping draught, and quickly.
It was surprising how fast reality blurred, and for a moment, he felt as if he floated. He still fought sleep with all of his might, but his body refused to obey. As he tried to rouse himself from the point between wakefulness and dreaming, he felt his control slipping.
Le March’s laughter echoed softly through the room. Ronan snapped his head up, blinking his eyes furiously, but everything canted at a strange angle, and the walls of his prison blurred before him.
“Nay,” he snarled and somehow managed to rise to his feet.
But the strange vision did not ease its hold on him. Le March’s laughter echoed again, louder and closer. Ronan fought to take a step forward but couldn’t move. He felt the manacles heavy on his wrists and was unable to move his arms.
“Nay!” he snarled again.
Le March stepped through the door, his face on the left side a mass of scar tissue where Ronan had hit him with the burning torch.
“You are mine,” he sneered. “You will never be free.”
“Nay!”
Le March lifted his hand, the small dagger he always carried gleaming dully in the strange light. “You thought you had defeated me?”
Pain ripped through Ronan’s left cheek, reopening the newly healed wound. Ronan bellowed and struggled against the chains binding him to the wall.
Le March picked up a hot iron, the end of it glowing orange. Ronan battled not to turn his head away as his captor waved the iron under his nose. “Your scars will never heal.”
Pain and agony ripped through the core of his being. He bellowed his fury, the stench of his own burnt flesh once more filling his nostrils. Le March hit him for a second time with the iron, opening another scar, one that had just closed. He roared again and his entire body shifted; instinctively, he tried to defend himself.
Ronan heard a soft snap as the manacle came free of the chain. He could move! He lunged forward with the power of a madman, snapping the other manacle from its chain.
“I will kill ye,” Ronan snarled and latched his hands around the man’s neck.
“Ronan, peace. You are safe, you are home.”
Somehow Lia’s voice managed to cut through the fog. He blinked rapidly. He wanted nothing more than to snap le March’s neck. He could feel his flesh under his hand.
“Ronan, come back to me.”
Realizing what he was about to do, Ronan froze. He had his fingers around Lia’s throat and was going to choke the life out of her.
“Nay!” he said and recoiled from her, staggering backward.
“Peace, Ronan, I’m right here. Tell me what happened.”
“Nay!” he bellowed again. He still couldn’t see straight. “I willna harm ye,” he said softly as he battled to regain his wits.
“Harm me?”
“I had my fingers about yer neck, ready tae strangle ye.”
“What are you talking about? Ronan, you never touched me.”
His vision tried to pull itself together. He didn’t understand. “But I felt . . . I felt . . . ”
“It doesn’t matter. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”
He staggered again, spotting the large cup Lia had set on his table containing his sleeping draught.
Ronan caught himself against the table, grabbed the cup, and downed it in one swallow. It worked better than MacGrigor whiskey, going straight to his head.
“Quickly,” Lia said, gripping his arm firmly. “Let’s get you into bed while we still can.”
“Aye,” he said and flopped on his back onto the bed.
Lia removed his boots so he would be more comfortable then helped him with his belt and tunic. She was about to ask him if he wanted her to leave the room so he could remove his trews, but his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes, remaining unmoving. She sighed softly and sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers once again stroking through his hair as she hummed.
The harsh lines on Ronan’s face eased as he relaxed. His words to her earlier tr
oubled her, as well as the fact his waking dream had been so vivid that he did not know reality from hallucination. He had thought he had his hands wrapped around her throat, when in truth, he hadn’t touched her. What was he seeing? What had he experienced that terrified him so greatly? If only he would talk to her about it; she was certain the nightmares and memories would ease their hold on him. She knew it would be painful for him to give voice to the horrors he had suffered, but they needed to find a solution to this and quickly, or it would simply grow worse.
She sighed again, realizing his physical wounds were completely healed except for the scars, and those were fading quickly. Plus, she was confident she had perfected his medicant for his fits, perhaps some small adjustments still remained, but nothing major. Except for the healing that needed to take place in his heart and mind, he was well on his way to recovery.
What would happen to her when he no longer needed her?
She swallowed hard, not wishing to acknowledge the fear within her. But she realized she had no choice. That time was approaching fast and she needed a plan. Where would she go?
At least with her healing skills she had a way to make her living. Sueta had traveled to various locations helping people who were too ill to come to her. She only stopped traveling when her age made it too uncomfortable. That’s when she found the hot springs and set up her healer’s hut. Lia decided she would do that too, travel the land and help those who couldn’t come to her . . . just as she had done with Ronan. Perhaps he would even agree to some sort of final payment that involved a cart and a horse.
It was a good plan except for one problem.
Her gaze fell on his face now relaxed in sleep. She liked it here, with the clan, and she felt she had earned her place here. But she had to admit one simple truth. She didn’t want to leave Ronan.
“Lassie,” his voice, harsh and grating, made her jump.
To her surprise, his eyes were open and he gazed at her intently. The draught should have knocked him senseless by now.
“I dinna like the expression on yer face. What troubles ye?”