by Ruth Kaufman
Her eyes widened. “You will fight?”
He blinked at her, surprised. “Of course, lass, I must lead my men. I canna leave it entirely tae Aidan.”
Fear cut through her. “Nay, Ronan, you cannot.”
“Lia,” he said gently. “I ken there is a risk I may have another attack—”
“Nay, I do not mean that, although it is a risk. I worry more over your head injury.”
“My head injury is healed.”
“Ronan, that old injury increases the risk to you. Even a light blow to the head could easily kill you.”
He paused, his eyes wide. “Are ye sure, lassie?”
“Aye.”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “So the same could happen if I had another attack, fall tae the floor, and strike my head.”
“True, but honestly the chances of that happening are slim.”
“Still, if given the choice, I’d rather die in battle.”
She swallowed hard and gripped his hand. “I’d rather you not die at all.”
His gray eyes sparked with an intriguing fire. He pulled her fingers to his lips and softly kissed them. “For ye, lassie, anything.”
Two evenings later, Ronan sat in his solar, Lia’s words troubling him more than he was willing to admit. Having an attack while in battle had been his greatest worry. But the fact he might be killed even with the slightest blow to the head disturbed him greatly.
A knock sounded at his door.
“Enter.”
Aidan opened the door, grinning broadly. “Your work as the Demon Laird is reaping benefits. The sentries have reported a loss of another fifty men last night.”
Ronan grinned at him and glanced out the loophole. The sun was rapidly setting. It would not be long before it was time for the Demon Laird to make another appearance. Ronan kept his appearances similar in nature but never repeated them exactly.
“I spoke with Lia,” Aidan said.
“How is she?” He had not yet had the chance to speak with her today.
“She turns her attention completely tae her medicants and bandages in case we come tae battle. Her fear has seemed tae calmed a bit.”
“Brother, she also told me something quite vexing,” Ronan said and repeated Lia’s concerns over his head injury.
Aidan’s face lost a bit of color. “Then ye canna fight.”
“I must, Aidan, ye ken that.”
“But one who is overly concerned with protecting a specific part of the body canna react naturally. Ye will be at a severe disadvantage.”
“I have asked the armorer tae increase the padding in my helm, but ye have it aright, Aidan.” He paused and shrugged. “I have already decided I will make every effort tae simply direct the battle, not run headlong into it as I once did. But if battle does come for me, I willna quail from it.”
His brother nodded. “Ian said they are over the halfway mark with the tunnel.”
“Excellent, perhaps I will get a chance tae burn that damned machine.” Ronan paused and thought for a moment. “Did ye order the assembly of our own trebuchet?”
Aidan’s expression eased immediately. “Aye, although the men were quite confused at first.”
Ronan nodded and smiled. “Unlike infantry, the siege tower will move quite slowly. We will have a chance of hitting it and destroying it.”
“And a good chance of damaging the approach, causing the tower tae bog.”
Ronan looked again to the loophole. It was now fully dark. “Excellent, brother,” he said and rose. “I shall get something tae eat, and later tonight, we shall see a return of the Demon Laird.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ronan appeared abruptly on the top crenellations of the barbican, much to the dismay of the enemy troops. He heard their shouts of alarm resound louder than before. He remained only a moment before disappearing and sprinting from the barbican to the east tower. Ronan lunged through the trapdoor, but this time he did not surprise Robert in the least. The man completely ignored him.
Ronan leapt to the top of the crenellations but his weakened right leg flexed oddly, his foot did not find purchase and slid out from under him. His heart slammed against his ribs in terror as he realized he would not be able to maintain his balance and would go over the edge.
Suddenly, a hand seized his arm and spun him around. His cloak billowed out behind him, but Ronan still could not find his balance. A second hand grabbed his tunic. The small brooch holding his cloak closed broke, and the garment slid from his shoulders, hanging in the air for an instant.
Robert had grabbed him and then lunged backward, falling on his back next to the trapdoor and pulling Ronan with him. Ronan slammed into the wood, struggling to suck in a breath. Shouts cried louder through the enemy troops as his cloak fluttered gently to the ground.
“Stay down,” Robert growled. “Get into the tower—they willna see ye.”
Ronan nodded, flipping open the trapdoor. “Thank ye, Robert,” he said softly. “Ye saved my life.”
Robert grinned at him. “Yer cloak blocked their view. They’ll think ye can fly now.”
A chuckle bubbled within him as he entered the tower and glanced through a loophole. Those troops directly across from where his cloak had landed at the base of the wall stared at it as if expecting it to come to life and move on its own. He couldn’t resist the laugh that escaped him, echoing through the tower, deep and strong.
Their faces paled, realizing the Demon Laird yet lived but had somehow disappeared before their very eyes. Several soldiers threw down their weapons and ran, followed by another handful, then even more.
Ronan’s laughter grew.
The next day, in the late afternoon, Lachlan knocked on Ronan’s door.
“Enter.”
Lachlan stepped in. “MacGrigor, Seamus is below stairs wanting tae see ye.”
“Thank ye, Lachlan. I shall be down in a moment.”
Lachlan nodded then closed the door. Ronan wrapped his belt around his waist and returned his dagger to its scabbard beside his belt pouch. He eyed his claymore but decided against it. Instead, he opted for the bastard sword. Much more effective and easier to use in close quarter fighting. If the worst happened, he would find himself running through the tunnel, and the claymore would slow him down too much.
He wrapped his brat around his shoulders and affixed another brooch to it. He tied his hair back and quickly descended the stairs.
Seamus awaited him in the great hall. He drank from a small flask as he chatted with Lachlan.
“Seamus, good news I hope?”
“Aye. Ian sent me tae fetch ye. We have only tae dig the hole that will be the tunnel’s entrance.”
“Good, let’s go.”
“MacGrigor?” Lachlan asked and shuffled his feet as he stared down at them.
“Aye, lad?”
“May I go with ye? I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Ronan grinned at him and inclined his head. “Come on, then.”
Lachlan gave him a brilliant smile of his own. “Thank ye, MacGrigor.”
“Just send one of the lads tae look for Aidan. He needs tae see this too.”
The sun was setting by the time Ronan reached the void and lowered himself down. Ian awaited him at the archway, puffing on his pipe impatiently. Ronan noticed the support beams they had placed and nodded in appreciation. The enemy would have to destroy the curtain wall entirely to even threaten dislodging them.
Ian picked up a lantern and led him deeper into the tunnel. It was much wider than Ronan had expected. He still had to duck his head to avoid braining himself on the rocks above him, but it was wide enough that he could easily bring a handful of men with him if he wanted to. Ronan grinned to himself; this was getting better and better.
“There ye be, laddie,” Ian said and held up the lantern. “That’s where we angle up a wee mite, and that will be yer entrance.”
“Excellent,” Ronan said. “Ian, ye’ve done far more than I e
xpected.”
The man’s green eyes sparkled with mirth. “Thank ye, MacGrigor.”
“We should wait until dark tae actually break through. I dinna ken how close we are tae the camp sentries.”
“Trust me, laddie, I’ve put ye right where ye need tae be.”
“Of that I have no doubt. It will be dark soon.”
“Aye. In the meantime, I have something tae show ye.”
“Of course.”
Ian led him back down the tunnel a bit but stopped about halfway and again lifted his lantern. “Ye see the crack in the rock here?”
“Aye.”
“’Tis wide enough for a man tae squeeze through.” He paused and eyed Ronan. “Although ye may have a bit of trouble. But the rock is solid. If I can widen this a bit, this natural fissure should give us a path for a second tunnel, one that cuts under the enemy, and unless I miss my guess, we will have another opening on the other side of the camp.”
Ronan laughed softly. “Ye ken my thoughts well.”
“Give me a wee bit o’ time and I can create tunnels that will turn this into a labyrinth. Even if the enemy stumbles across the entrance, they willna be able tae find their way through.”
“Time is no’ on our side, but it willna hurt for ye tae attempt it.”
Ian nodded and shot him a gap-toothed grin.
“Ronan?” Aidan’s voice called softly.
“Down here.”
Ian lifted the lantern so Aidan could see them. Aidan made his way down the tunnel, gazing at the walls in appreciation. “Well done, Ian.”
“I’m glad ye like it, young MacGrigor.”
“As soon as the sun sets,” Ronan said, “we will create the entrance tae the tunnel. Aidan, I need ye tae handpick five men, those who can move silently and use the shadows as well as ye or I. Padded leather armor only, no chain mail. They must be good at close quarter fighting and no’ fear the Demon Laird.”
“I ken just the men ye need, but add me tae their number.”
Ronan wished he could, but he shook his head. “Nay, for I need ye on the battlements.”
“On the battlements?”
“Yer build be close tae mine; if my plan works, we’ll send the spineless curs running.”
Aidan studied his brother a moment then grinned. “Aye, brother, I will gather the men.”
The night was black as Ronan and Ian’s sappers broke through the earth. There was no moon yet, and Ronan was grateful for it. A thick cloud cover hung in the sky, and a strange, wispy fog formed in the trees, stretching tendrils across the clearing, like the Earth Mother’s bony fingers. It was as if she had set the stage for him this night. Ronan hoped his plan would not disappoint.
He pulled his dark cloak tight around him and lowered the cowl to obscure most of his face. The men Aidan had picked also wore similar cloaks, but Ronan stood a full head and shoulders over them. When he chose to reveal himself, there would be no doubt the Demon Laird had come calling.
Ronan cautiously poked his head through the hole and looked around. Ian had not missed the mark, he had put Ronan in the back of the enemy camp, near the siege engines, but not so close that he risked discovery. Ronan popped through and the five men followed, forming a loose circle around him, down on one knee, watching for any sign from the enemy. They had fashioned something of a trapdoor, and working from the outside, Ronan helped set it in place. Once they determined it was in good working order, Ronan opened it and peered into the hole at Lachlan. The lad had a short sword strapped to his belt; behind him stood Ian and his sappers, armed with shovels and pickaxes.
“Ye ken what tae do,” Ronan whispered. “On what word do ye open the door?”
“A whistle and the word thunder,” Lachlan said, his eyes barely visible in the dim light.
“Aye, laddie. I doubt they will find this opening, but be prepared for anything.”
“Aye.” He paused and Ronan saw a flash of white teeth as he grinned. “Put the fear of the Demon Laird into them, MacGrigor.”
“I plan on it.” Ronan closed the trapdoor and covered it with bits of dirt they had loosened upon breaking through and chunks of weeds and grass. He sat back and surveyed his handiwork. Good enough for a night such as this one, he decided.
Keeping to a low crouch, he moved closer to the men he had brought with him. He tapped two on their shoulders, they looked at him, and he pointed them at their target. They nodded and silently melted into the darkness. Ronan repeated the action with the other two. The fifth would remain with him, guarding his back.
Unfortunately, the War Wolf was deep in the middle of the enemy. Ronan doubted he could reach it without raising an alarm. But he spotted a battering ram close by. The other men he had sent after the construction of the siege tower. He looked to the man with him. “Ye ready, Eoghan?”
“Aye,” the man said grinning. “Let’s give these bastards a fright they willna soon forget.”
Ronan nodded, returning the man’s smile. They stalked silently toward the battering ram. Ronan’s pulse thundered through his veins, but he moved with great care until he was in position, right behind the battering ram. He withdrew a torch from the folds of his cloak and looked around. No one was aware of them; even the sentries standing guard seemed terribly bored. One was dozing off against the pike he held planted firmly on the ground.
Ronan pulled his fire-striker from his belt pouch and lit the torch. He hesitated as it grew in strength. Igniting the battering ram would not only be a signal to the men he had brought with him but to those in the keep as well.
The torch reached full strength and Ronan silently held it to the battering ram. The dry wood ignited almost immediately. As those flames grew in strength, he jumped up and sprinted to the other side, also igniting the wood there. Within moments, the fire grew brighter.
Startled shouts resounded and he looked to his left as parts of the half-assembled siege tower also caught flame. Ronan took a running leap and landed atop the burning battering ram. He would have a few moments before the flames became dangerous to him. His cloak stirring in the hot air generated by the flames on a windless night only helped add to the effect he wished to achieve. He stood silently as the glow from the fire grew in strength around him.
Shouts of “Demon Laird” increased among the enemy troops, just like the tongues of fire around him. Ronan caught a flare of light from the castle walls and glanced in that direction.
Torches appeared on the ramparts, and in the middle of them, dressed exactly as he was, stood Aidan atop the crenellations. Ronan felt his smile grow. Damnation, in the weak light of the torches, Aidan did look exactly like Ronan.
The enemy soldiers cried out in alarm. Aye, Ronan thought, the Demon Laird can be in two places at once. The shouts turned into shrieks of terror as Ronan continued to stand on the burning battering ram. The heat and smoke grew in strength around him, but he didn’t have to move quite yet.
Le March appeared, barking orders, trying to control his panicking troops. Black hatred shot through Ronan and he clenched his fists. But as le March lifted his gaze to meet Ronan’s, he spotted the second Demon Laird on the crenellations, and his face paled, making the burn scars Ronan had given him all the more prominent.
Le March was an educated man. Was he superstitious? Ronan did not know. But seeing the Demon Laird before him and another on the castle battlements gave him pause. Ronan found the instant of fear he saw in le March’s eyes quite satisfying.
“MacGrigor!” Ronan roared, lifting his torch.
From the castle, men answered his battle cry. “MacGrigor!” They banged their weapons against their shields, anything that would make noise, raising a cacophony.
Ronan leapt from his perch atop the battering ram, threw his torch into the flames, and vanished into the night. Moving like wraiths through the mist, he and his men returned to the door of the tunnel. No one had tried to follow them, which was exactly what Ronan had hoped for. Men were disserting and le March, along with his gen
erals, battled to control them and stop the flood, but their fear was complete and they ran from the field in large numbers.
Ronan whistled. “Thunder,” he whispered, and Lachlan opened the trapdoor. Ronan allowed his men to pass first while he looked back up at the castle. His grin grew; the torches still burned along the wall walks, but Aidan was nowhere to be seen.
With a soft chuckle, Ronan followed his men into the tunnel, doing his best to grab dirt and weeds to cover it as he closed it. He seriously doubted after that display that anyone would come searching for him. Nay, perhaps after tonight, even some of the nobles would get a taste of fear and run from the Demon Laird as well.
Ronan threw the bolt on the trapdoor, and Ian stepped forward with a lock. He secured the door then handed Ronan the key.
“I couldna resist sticking my head out for a moment. Now that was a strategy yer da would have appreciated. Ye and yer brother surely had the bastards pissin’ their trews.”
Ronan grinned and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Come, Ian, ye and yer men. Let’s lift a mug tae this—ye’ve earned it.”
“Aye, laddie,” Ian said clamping his pipe between his teeth. He lifted the lantern and led the way back down the tunnel.
Aidan greeted him almost immediately after Ronan left the tunnel. “Damnation, Ronan, it worked! They’re fleeing in droves.”
“I canna wait for the sentries tae tally the numbers.”
“Aye, brother.”
They trooped into the keep laughing and jesting. Ronan’s gaze fell on Lia awaiting him in the great hall. Her face was still too pale for his liking, but she smiled at him. He strode to her, intent on giving her a kiss, but as he lowered his head, she pressed her fingers to his lips and stopped him.
“What?” he growled, not liking that anything stood between him and his goal.