Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (14 page)

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 breath. “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
to 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, Connell.”

“
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.

R
onan 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 he 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.

Because of that, h
e had only seen her for a few minutes since he had spoken to Aidan. The poor thing appeared as if she ran herself ragged, with dark circles under her eyes and her jaw set too tightly. He discovered his distrust of her easing just a bit. She had also scolded him for pushing himself so hard but seemed to understand his choice. Inwardly he cringed, she would scold him again for getting out of bed. But he couldn’t stay in his solar any longer. He couldn’t shake the sensation he had simply traded one prison for another.

His gaze fell on the Sass
enach and his step hesitated. She worked frantically over a young lad with Connell beside her, watching, his terror plain on his face.

Worry
gripped Ronan’s soul.
Almighty, have mercy, not William. Please not William!

“Nay,” he heard her snarl under her breath. “I will not let you die.”

Her words turned his worry into alarm and he lengthened his stride.

“Milady,”
Alba said, gently gripping the Sassenach’s arm.

“He was healing!” the Sass
enach snapped. She held the boy’s shoulders. “William! You cannot give up now.”

William was unconscious, his body shuddering with convulsions.

Ronan’s heart leapt to his throat and he quickened his pace.

“William, nay!” Connell called
to the boy, holding his hand. “Fight, laddie, ye must fight!”