by Ruth Kaufman
“Aye?” he murmured.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, and Ronan feared she had returned to her fever dream. But she opened them again, and Ronan was surprised to see them fill with tears.
“Are ye in pain, lass?”
“I’m . . . I’m frightened.”
His gut curled into a sickening knot. “Nay, Lia, please dinna be afraid. I am here. I willna leave ye.”
A large tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to die.”
Oh, Sweet Mary, nay! Ronan’s heart screamed. I canna lose her!
Her tears began to fall in earnest. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Nay, Lia—” His voice cracked. He moved from the chair to the edge of the bed and carefully pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, her head resting against his chest. Her arm wrapped around his waist and she clung to him, but the strength he had once admired was gone.
He pressed his lips to her brow and cringed against the fire he felt burning within her.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Ronan closed his eyes, fighting his own tears. Nay! He couldn’t fall to this. He couldn’t give in to his fear . . . and neither could she.
“My sweet, bonny lass,” he murmured. “Listen tae me, and listen well. Ye are strong, ye will defeat this.” She took a breath to speak. “Nay,” he said quickly stopping her. “Just listen. I’ve seen the strength of yer soul. When ye arrived and I greeted ye with nothing but hatred, ye didna quail from me. Ye didna recoil from the Demon Laird, but instead stepped toward danger and reached out tae me. When I threatened tae cast ye into the streets, ye didna cower, but bravely fought tae save lives of people ye didna ken. And when the Demon Laird stood before ye, ye defied me and told me in no uncertain terms that I was acting a fool.” He paused and drew a deep, shaking breath. “Ye reached into the darkness and found my soul, broken and bleeding, and without fear, ye healed me, lass. Do ye no’ understand? It was the courage and strength I saw within ye that returned the hope the English had stolen from me . . . hope for the future, hope tae defeat this illness, hope tae find love. And I did . . . I found all of that in ye.”
She looked up at him, tears still brimming in her eyes.
He lightly caressed the soft silk of her cheek. “That be the strength I need ye tae draw on now.”
She settled her head against his chest again, her arm tighter around his waist.
“I ken ye love me,” he whispered into her hair. “I ken ye willna leave me.” He suddenly realized he believed his own words with all of his heart—he had no choice. In a short span of months, his life had completely changed; he could not bear the thought of facing a dawn without her.
A short time later, Lia fell asleep in his arms. Ronan knew he needed to get out and grab a breath of air if even for only a moment. He had removed his cloak at her request but now resolved he would not wear it again while Lia still lived. The Demon Laird would only walk the land after she died. He gently returned her to his bed and rose. His heart sent terrified prayers to the heavens, praying the Almighty would have mercy not on the Demon Laird but on Lia. He knew that after what he had done, he deserved nothing, but Lia should not have to pay the price for his sins.
He stepped around the bed and noticed the curtains around it remained closed to give Lia warmth and privacy. Only the curtains at the bedside where he sat remained open. He turned to the door and stopped abruptly, seeing it open and Sueta standing there.
Ronan swallowed hard, knowing Sueta blamed him for Lia’s state, but she could not blame him any more than he faulted himself. She did not step aside but instead looked up at him. Ronan braced himself for another tirade.
“I heard your words,” Sueta said softly. She lifted her hand and Ronan fought not to recoil from the blow he knew was coming. But Sueta only gripped his arm. “I have misjudged you. Forgive me.” She released him and stepped aside.
Ronan’s heart thundered against his ribs and he took a step past her.
“She will survive this,” Sueta said. “You will see.”
“I pray that is sooth,” he murmured and quickly left the room.
Three days later, Lia’s fever still raged and Ronan was at wit’s end. But his words to her had been truer than he had realized as he witnessed firsthand Lia’s battle for her life. She fought with everything she had, refusing to give in to the pain and fear.
Ronan refused to leave her side, forcing Aidan to once again step into the role of laird. But Aidan did so readily and without complaint.
Sueta worked herself ragged to develop medicants for Lia. Although she had not spoken to him directly since overhearing his words to Lia, he found himself worrying about the old woman. Mainly because he knew what it would do to Lia if Sueta fell ill.
Ronan thought it a good sign that through most of her battle, Lia remained coherent and able to discuss the mixing medicants with Sueta and even him. She slipped into the fever dreams rarely, but when she did, she relived the terror of her childhood. All Ronan could do was hold her close and try to reassure her, all the while certain his heart would break. But he also made certain to maintain his own medicants. Marta had been right, this weighed heavily on him and he did not need another attack. He would not put Lia through that worry and pain.
On the morning of the fifth day, Ronan sat at the table carefully measuring the hemlock into his cup and marveled at the fact he was willingly dosing himself with a poison. But its benefit was not to be denied. There had to be some sort of life lesson in this irony, he thought, but his muddled mind would not allow him to comprehend it.
He stared at the cup, trying to summon the courage to drink it. The door opened and he looked up, startled, as Sueta stepped through. She eyed him a moment, then joined him at the table. She placed Lia’s journal before him.
“Now I understand.”
He gazed at her curiously.
“I sent Lia here not because I could not travel, but to find her own path in life. She did that and she found you.” She paused and nodded at the cup Ronan gripped. “Drink that. It is even worse when it grows cold.”
He sighed heavily and downed it, shivering.
Sueta’s lips twitched as she watched him.
Ronan felt his own do the same and he shrugged helplessly.
Sueta chuckled softly and sat back in her chair, tapping the journal’s leather covering. “I knew Lia would make a fine healer; she is sharp of mind. When she was small, she used to drive me daft with her endless questioning.”
Ronan couldn’t help the grin that escaped him. He rose and poured himself a fresh cup of wine and a second for Sueta.
She nodded her thanks as he placed it in front of her before he returned to his chair.
“I fear I did the same when I began helping her treat those who were ill with St. Anthony’s Fire.”
“It was your questions that caused her to ask new ones of herself.”
Ronan scowled. “My questions, what mean ye?”
“I taught her all I knew, the accepted ways of doing things. But our knowledge only grows when we ask questions and strive to find the answers. Yet there comes a time when we must step back from what is known and ask new questions. Your questions were new and different. Lia appreciated that because it made her ask her own questions as well.” Sueta paused and studied him a long moment. “What made you use whiskey on her wound and the bandages?”
Ronan’s frown deepened. “It was all I had. Lia has always stressed cleanliness and ridding wounds of foreign matter before bandaging.”
“Did you know she was considering using the whiskey to clean wounds instead of water?”
“Nay,” he said, surprised. “As I said, it was all I had. The enemy was bearing down on us. I had tae move fast.”
“Your actions saved her life.”
“Saved her—then why is she at death’s door?”
“The fever should have gone high enough to kill her two days ago. It did not.”
Lia groaned softly and Ronan rushed to her side. He took her hand, his heart pounding in fear, but he paused. Holy hell, she looked like a half-drowned kitten. Her hair was damp with sweat, as was her entire body.
“Lia?” he called, trying to keep the fear from his voice. “Lassie, can ye hear me?” He touched her face, the bruises seemed to be fading. As his fingers traveled over her skin, he noted it seemed much cooler than before. Scarcely daring to hope, he called her name again.
She opened her eyes and blinked furiously, then she focused on him and smiled. “My fever breaks,” she whispered, her hand reached for him.
Ronan’s heart soared and he took her hand in his. She squeezed his fingers with much more strength than before. “Aye, my bonny lass,” he said and pulled her fingers to his lips, his heart sending grateful praise to the heavens.
Lia closed her eyes and quickly fell back asleep, but Ronan knew she truly slept this time and was not caught in a fever dream. His smile grew as he gazed down at her. “I ken ye had the strength.” He kissed her fingers again and returned her hand to the bed.
He looked at Sueta, who grinned broadly at him. “Your actions saved her life, MacGrigor.”
“I must tell the others she will recover.” Striding rapidly for the door, he stepped through and closed it behind him.
“Aidan!” he roared, charging down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He reached the common area and saw Aidan approaching, his face pale.
“Ronan?” he asked fearfully. “What’s wrong?”
“Her fever breaks!” He clapped his hands on Aidan’s shoulders. “She will survive this.”
Aidan closed his eyes for a brief moment, his shoulders relaxing as the tension drained from him. “Praise the saints.”
Around him, Ronan heard voices murmur. He glanced over his shoulder, a frown furrowing his brow. Servants had gathered, standing back, but he heard them repeat his words with growing strength. He saw Marta and Alba cry in delight and hug each other. Suddenly, it was as if Ronan’s joy became a tangible thing, roaring through the room like wildfire as people celebrated his news. Indeed, Lia had earned her place in the hearts of every man, woman, and child in this blessed castle. He clouted Aidan on the back, and his deep laugh echoed through the room once again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I feel as weak as a kitten,” Lia grumbled as she sat in the bed, propped up with pillows.
Ronan chuckled and handed her a cup. “Aye,” he said. “And I thought ye looked like a drowned one when yer fever broke.”
She grinned and drank the medicant, cringing against the taste. Handing the cup back to him, she gave him an arched look. “Revenge?”
His deep laugh rumbled through him. “I should say aye, but ye were the one who instructed me how tae make it. Ye have only yerself tae blame.”
Lia laughed as well but winced as it pulled at her injured side. She caught his hand and tugged him to sit beside her. He acceded and slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against him. She sighed in contentment.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I am an overprotective fool. I only want tae hold ye close.”
“I can live with that.” After a long moment, she burrowed closer. “Where is Sueta?”
“She is below stairs with Marta, helping tend tae the business of healing while ye recover. It seems as if there is always a cough, sniffle, or minor injury tae tend tae.”
“Aye. I am glad she is here. Although I understand she was a bit hard on you.”
“’Tis nothing I didna deserve.”
She took a breath to argue, but Ronan’s arm tightened around her.
“Hush, lassie, we’ve made our peace. She said she would stay until after our wedding.”
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” he called.
Aidan stepped in, grinning brightly when he saw Lia. “Lassie, ’tis good tae see ye recovering so well.”
“Thank you, Aidan.”
“Have ye spoken with yer bird in Cumbria yet?” Ronan asked.
“I sent word tae him, but ’tis a vast area, and even Sueta canna remember the exact location.”
“Cumbria?” Lia asked in confusion.
“I promised ye,” Ronan said softly, “that I would find the truth of yer heritage.”
She looked at him in surprise and glanced at his brother. “Aidan, would you excuse us for a moment, please?”
“Aye, lassie, but I need tae steal him when ye be done.”
“I’ll be out in a moment, brother.”
Aidan closed the door.
“What’s wrong?” Ronan asked, his arm tightening around her.
“There’s no need for you bother yourself over this.”
“I made ye a promise. I intend tae keep it.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “All that matters to me is you, that we’re together.”
He smiled, his heart warming, but his smile faded a bit as he looked at her. “Lass, I feel a need tae find these answers.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “When ye were in a fever dream, that childhood terror ye suffered returned. Lia, there were times ye near broke my heart.”
Her eyes widened. “Ronan, I am so sorry, I did not mean—”
“Peace,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Dinna fash yerself. But I do this so ye may ken yer past. Ye were the one who made me realize learning the truth defeats fear, otherwise my kinsmen would still fear the Demon Laird, they would still fear me. With Aidan and his birds, it should be a small matter tae learn the truth, and perhaps it will bring an end tae yer own fear.”
She looked up at him, her eyes growing liquid. “But what if it’s not what you expect? What if there is something bad?”
His lips lifted even more. “Lia there is only one thing that truly matters tae me.” He lowered his head, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. “Vous êtes si belle pour moi,” he whispered.
She smiled up at him, tears of happiness in her eyes. “And you will always be beautiful to me.” She settled her head against his shoulder, her arm tight around his waist.
“Are ye growing weary?”
“The medicant I drank is making me drowsy. I will probably nap like that kitten we just talked about.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I should see what Aidan wants before he wears a path in the floor. I’ll be back shortly.” He rose and left the room.
Ronan found Aidan below stairs doing exactly that, pacing. The below stairs of Ronan’s makeshift solar was empty, but his concern rose when Aidan threw the bolt on the door and sat at the table with him. Aidan dragged his hand through his long hair repeatedly and refused to meet his gaze.
“What is it?” Ronan growled, his good mood quickly fading.
“First, I need tae tell ye that learning about Lia’s heritage might be more difficult than we thought.”
“How so?”
“I be having trouble contacting my birds in the area.”
Ronan frowned. “The war be on the other side of Scotland for the most part.”
“Aye, but it could be trouble other than the war. I will have Gordy check, but we also need his attention elsewhere right now.”
“Aye,” Ronan said and thought for a moment. “Focus his, and yer attention, where ye be needed. Learning Lia’s heritage can wait for a spell.”
Aidan nodded. “But I promise ye, I’ll look into it as soon as we are able.”
He studied Aidan intently. “All in good time, but ye didna call me down here just tae tell me that. What vexes ye, brother?”
“This plot against ye and Lia concerned me. The English went tae great lengths tae lay ye low.”
“They almost succeeded.”
“Aye, but I was worried there was more tae it than we were seeing.” He paused and finally looked Ronan in the eye. “And I was right. We always thought le March wanted tae kill ye, but that wasna his goal.”
“What?”
“His purpose wa
s to destroy ye and have ye live with that pain. That is the sole reason why he went tae such lengths tae make ye believe Lia was a spy. He still wants tae torture ye, even though ye are no longer his captive.”
Aidan’s words goaded the black hatred residing permanently in his soul, and that was the last thing Ronan wanted. “Cease,” he growled. “If we keep picking at this wound, it will ne’er heal.”
“Does that mean ye will allow le March tae continue his scheming?”
“What are ye saying, brother?” Ronan asked, quickly losing patience.
“We ken Longshanks wasna happy with le March for losin’ the War Wolf.”
“Aye. MacFarlane told me as much, but I dinna ken how much weight tae place on his words now.”
“He spoke truly when he said le March is no longer in control of the prison. The baron no longer resides there but in a fortified tower house not far away. He awaits his replacement. After his arrival, he will return tae England.”
“And forever slip beyond my reach,” Ronan growled. He hesitated; he had spoken truth when he warned Aidan to stop picking at the wound. As he thought of le March’s elaborate plot, what he had done to Lia, and what had almost happened, Ronan suddenly realized he could not look to his future with that sort of threat hanging over his head.
He and Lia were to be married, and Ronan eagerly anticipated being a husband, and hopefully, a father. But as he thought of Lia gifting him with a wee bairn, he knew. Ronan could not live looking over his shoulder, wondering where the menace would come from, wondering if le March would decide to launch a new plot against him or his family today, tomorrow . . . years from now. Nay, Ronan could not abide it.
Once again, Ronan teetered on the precipice . . . justice or vengeance? This time he understood it was up to him to pull himself back. He paused, thinking furiously, then his head came up. “Aidan, I have an idea.”
Aidan studied him a moment. “I ken that look.”
“Aye. Come quickly, we have much tae do.”