Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) (22 page)

Lia gave him a sharp look. Connell hung his head
, but Ronan knew his friend well. Connell acceded to his pull and rose, unsteady on his feet.

“He’s been here too long,” Lia said.

Ronan looked over his shoulder, glad to see Lachlan had trailed after them. Beside him stood Robert. He waved them both over. Lachlan trotted up to them, looking at Connell in concern.

“I tried
tae get him tae leave,” Robert said softly. “He refused, drew steel on me, and threatened tae run me through if I didna leave him alone.”

“He’s grieving, Robert,” Lia said gently. “Be patient with him.”

“Get him back tae the keep,” Ronan said.

“I will tend
to him,” Lia said. “Do not allow him to go anywhere, but get him cleaned up and get some hot food into him.”

“Aye,”
Lachlan said.

Connell shot another look at the graves over his shoulder, but Lia moved so that she stood between his line of sight and the crosses.

“Too many have lost their lives, Connell,” she said softly but firmly. “I’ll not abide another soul.”

He looked at Lia, then his gaze slid
to Ronan.

Ronan nodded and Connell turned away from the graves. As Ronan and Lia followed him back
to the keep, Ronan noted he did not look back again.

****

Ronan made it up the stairs and into the keep through sheer willpower alone. He hesitated, watching Lachlan and Robert led Connell away, wanting to follow and make certain his friend would be all right.

Lia caught his arm. “
To the solar with you,” she said firmly and tugged.

Ronan looked down at her
and took a breath to argue.

“Now,”
she said between clenched teeth.

His eyes widened
; he had not heard her quite so ferocious before. Instead of continuing to tug on his arm, she walked to the stairs then hesitated when he did not follow. She turned around and shot him a glare that would have melted stone.

Your mother must have had the patience of Job
,
she had said. Ronan felt his lips tug upward. Too bad he didn’t have the energy. He would have shown her exactly just why his mother had indeed possessed the patience of Job. His smile grew. Lia would soon learn, he decided.

“Now,” she growled again, her fury radiating in her hazel eyes. She tore her gaze from his. “Alba, I need hot water
to the solar,” she snapped.

Alba stared at Lia wide-eyed. “Of course, milady.” She looked up at Ronan as she walked past him as if she too wondered where this wildcat had come from.

“I dinna ken,” Ronan whispered to her. “But I suddenly fear the healer more than ye fear me.”

Alba
coughed and Ronan realized she had bitten back a laugh. He winked at her and limped toward the stairs, obediently following Lia.

Upon making sure
he was indeed following her, Lia hurried up the stairs and into the solar. By the time Ronan arrived, Lia had her herbs and potions out, sorting through them with unusual speed. “Lassie?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.

“Where is that water?” she muttered
, not pausing to look at him.

Ronan scowled and realized this was much more than irritation with him. He leaned forward and caught her arm. “Lia, peace.”

She stopped, her anger fading away to be replaced with worry.

“What is wrong?”

“The last time you overextended yourself,” she paused and drew a deep breath into her lungs, “let’s just say I do not want to revisit that.”

“I
dinna either, lass, but I do not feel as badly as I did on that day.”

“Good, but I do not wish
to take chances.”

He nodded and released her. Lia returned
to her medicants, but her pace was calmer and not as harried as before. He noted she pulled out her normal mortar and pestle. After that, she withdrew a second one out of a bag, made of gray stone. He frowned. He had never seen her use two before.

Lia, with an exasperated sigh, faced the door yet again. “So help me if I have
to go—”

A knock sounded before she could finish her threat. Ronan rose but hesitated before
opening the door. This time he traced his fingers through her beautiful auburn hair. “Peace, lassie,” he said softly.

Lia looked up, her hazel eyes liquid. She bit her lip
, and in that instant, the desire to kiss her roared through him. Ronan was certain he would go mad. Never had he felt such a thing so unexpectedly or so powerfully. He started to lower his head in spite of himself when the knock sounded again. With a soft sigh, he pulled away and opened the door.

Alba once again held a pot of hot water. “MacGrigor,” she said. At least this time she did not appear
to be a terrified little mouse wanting to bolt.

“Thank ye, Alba,” he said and took the pot from her. “But why don’t ye stay here
, and I’ll go below stairs?”

“I heard that!” Lia snapped.

Alba grinned and Ronan returned it, closing the door. He noted Lia glaring at him again.

“Forgive me,” he said and handed the pot
to Lia. “But at least Alba smiled.”

Lia’s expression eased as she took the pot from him.
“Please put the bar in the hearth fire to heat so I can make some mulled wine.”

Ronan
nodded and did so then returned to his chair, spinning his cane absently as he watched her work. She still moved with an urgency he did not like, but again it was calmer than before. After watching her so often, he knew her routine, and he also knew the minute she deviated from it.

She opened a large corked vial and carefully measured what appeared
to be dry herbs into the stone mortar—but only a tiny amount. She then added a bit of hot water, and using the pestle, mashed the herbs into a thin gruel-like paste. From there, she added more water until the gruel became something akin to the consistency of broth. Setting it aside, she mixed other herbs into her regular mortar but did not add water. Finally, she poured a cup of wine, mixed the dry herbs into it, and stirred. After that, she carefully added the strange brew she had made, using a separate utensil to stir again. She fetched the hot iron and dunked it into the wine. The liquid hissed and spat, boiling for an instant. She withdrew the bar and sat the cup before him.

“Give it a moment and it will be cool enough
to drink.”

“What is this
, lassie?”

“Something that will help lessen the frequency and severity of your fits.”

He blinked at her. “I thought—”

“This is not a cure, Ronan,” she said quickly. “You will drink this every day, and unfortunately, I fear there is little I can do
to improve the taste.”

He stared at the cup and scowled.

“Remember how I said this would be a process?”

“Aye.”

“This is part of it. At first, it may not seem that the medicant helps at all, but as I adjust various ingredients, you should eventually see improvement.”

His gaze fell on the extra mortar. “And what be these ingredients, lass?”

She stared at the floor and swallowed hard.

His pulse jumped and the suspicion he thought defeated rose unexpectedly. “Lia
, look me in the eye and speak the truth.”

Slowly, she lifted her gaze
, but he did not like how she wrung her hands. “Many do not realize this ingredient is commonly used to treat this illness and a few others.”

His mouth went dry and he rose, towering over her. “Lia, what is it?”

She did not look away from him, nor did she blink. He had to commend her for that. She drew a deep breath into her lungs and said, “Hemlock.”

Ronan’s heart dropped
to his boots and his hands trembled.

Poison? Ye be
trying tae poison me?
He only just stopped himself from seizing the cup and launching it across the room. Then he only just stopped himself from seizing her by the throat and squeezing the life out of her.

But she held his gaze with a courage that surprised him, although he saw the pulse jump in her throat.

“So, ye be a spy after all,” he growled.

She rolled her eyes at him. “
Then I am a terrible one. Why would I tell you what I put in your cup if I intended to poison you? I could have told you it was simply valerian root and you wouldn’t have known the difference.”

He stared at her a long moment. Damnation, she had a point.

Ronan picked up the cup and sniffed it, curling his lip. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered. “It stinks.”

“And I told you the truth there too. There is little I can do for the taste.”

As he gazed upon her, a sensation he had never felt before rose within him. He not only admired the bonny lass before him, he wanted to believe her. He looked again at the cup he held. She should have never told him what it contained, but she had, and now she held his gaze unflinchingly.

Had the English actually sent her as a spy?

He reached up and gently cupped her face with his free hand. She didn’t shy away from him; she didn’t start. He saw no sign of deceit in her beautiful hazel eyes.

But did he trust her that much? Even if she was not a spy or
an assassin, one mistake on her part could kill him.

There was one way
to learn her true intent.

Instea
d of drinking, he placed the medicant on the table and cupped her face in both of his hands. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.

She
made a startled sound but did not try to pull away from him. His lips slid softly over hers and he toyed with her mouth. She tasted of sunshine and sweet heather. He had surprised her, and she had been unprepared for his kiss, but she did not resist him. His tongue lightly traced over her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth. His heart raced as he deepened his kiss and pulled her tight against him. She tentatively mimicked his actions, and in that moment, he knew. Her response to him was so innocently honest that he knew she could not be a spy. She was simply a young lass who had never been kissed.

Gently, Ronan ended the kiss and lifted his head. He gazed down at her, memorizing every detail of her bonny face, her lips reddened from his kiss. She blinked open her eyes as if coming
to her senses.

She was no spy
, for the English would have sent a woman who could seduce him with her feminine wiles, not one who had never been courted. They would have chosen one whose lies would be serpent smooth, not a lass who boldly told him the truth then stood before him unflinchingly. They would have selected someone to kill his people and turn the rest against him instead of one who fought to save lives and defeat their fears. They would not have sent a healer, but an assassin who would have murdered him within a day of entering his keep.

H
e traced his fingers through her hair and picked up the cup and winked at her before he brought it to his lips and downed it.

****

Ronan shivered and gagged. “Dear God, lassie, I almost rather ye poisoned me.”

“That can be arranged,” she muttered
, her thoughts still reeling from his kiss.

“Pray pardon?” he asked as he returned
to his chair.

Lia’s thoughts scrambled
to keep up, but it was practically impossible after he had turned her wits upside down with his kiss. Her heart still raced and butterflies still rioted in her stomach.

She sat in the cha
ir across from him, fighting to gather herself.

Ronan gently
covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers. “Forgive me, lass, for my doubt.”

“I don’t blame you
, Ronan. You’re not the first to believe the worst, and the taste of that concoction doesn’t help.”

“Aye. And
ye be certain I will have tae drink it every day?”

She shrugged and lifted her hands helplessly.

He shivered again. “As long as it works.”

“As I said, it may not seem
to work at first. I will continue to observe and adjust. Of course, the dose of hemlock was exceptionally light for someone of your size. But that is also why I need you to be honest with me. How you feel will tell me how to adjust the amount.”

He looked at her a long moment
. His expression changed subtly and a muscle ticked in his jaw. His features paled ever so slightly.

Lia’s heart jumped in her chest and her fingers tightened on his. “Ronan?”

His
eyes widened and grew unfocused.

“Ronan?” her voice rose in alarm.
He’s having another one!
What have I done?
But she soon silenced the voice of her doubt. She had expected this, which was why she had moved so quickly in making his medicant.