Highlander The Demon Lord

by Donna Fletcher

  When no movement was seen, Warrick gave a nod to Roark.

  Roark quickly grabbed a woman from the crowd and Craven rushed to her aid only to be met by two of Warrick’s warriors, their swords at his neck before he could reach for his own, forcing him to halt his steps.

  “Stop!” the frantic cry called out.

  “Show yourself,” Warrick ordered and he watched as the crowd parted to reveal Adara.

  She stopped for a moment, gathering courage before forcing her feet to move, to step forward and approach the spot where Roark stood. With every step she took, her heart pounded mightily, until she thought it would burst from her chest.

  Warrick nodded and Craven and the woman were released.

  Warrick ignored the nasty scowl Craven turned on him as Espy hurried to her husband’s side, his attention on the petite woman who walked with the hesitancy and dreadful fear of someone approaching execution.

  He did not wait for her to reach him. His long, powerful strides had him down the steps and walking toward her in the mere blink of an eye.

  It took all the strength Adara had not to turn and run from him bearing down on her far too rapidly, but then she could never let another suffer because of her. She lowered her head, fighting the fear that roiled her stomach and weakened her limbs, bringing her to a stop.

  The tips of his boots skimmed the hem of her garment, he stopped so close in front of her and when he remained silent for what seemed like forever, she forced herself to raise her head and look at him. He towered over her, her head reaching somewhere between his shoulder and his elbow. His angry glare was enough to send gooseflesh rushing over her and churn her already roiling stomach.

  The thought had her pulling her cloak more tightly around her, the green wool garment her only shield against him.

  His hand reached out so fast that Adara had no time to react. He captured her arm and propelled her toward the keep steps, his rapid strides not easy to match.

  “A private room,” Warrick demanded as he approached Craven.

  It was Espy who stepped forward, blocking his path and bringing the mighty warrior to an abrupt halt, her husband coming up behind her with a shake of his head over his wife’s foolish action.

  “You will not harm her,” Espy commanded, her chin going up and her hands fisting at her sides as if she was prepared to fight him.

  “What I do with her is none of your concern,” Warrick warned, his brow creasing between his eyes as it narrowed and deepened his scowl.

  Craven stepped in front of his wife, and knowing Warrick well enough to judge this was not a time to escalate his anger, kept his voice calm when he asked, “Has Adara wronged you in some way?”

  “Again, not your concern.”

  “Her safety—”

  “Lies with me,” Warrick said. “Now show me to a private room.”

  Craven nodded and took his wife’s hand and as he led the way he whispered to her, “For once listen to me, wife, and hold your tongue.”

  Espy squeezed his hand, letting him know she would do as he said, sensing this was not a time to defy her husband, and certainly not a time to make things worse for Adara.

  Craven went to close the door after Warrick and Adara entered his solar when Warrick’s sharp words stopped him.

  “No one is to listen outside the door or disturb us.”

  His strong command reminded Adara of the sound of the metal lock closing on the dark, small cell in his dungeon she had once occupied. She was a prisoner once again and it felt even more so now since he had yet to release his grip on her arm.

  He turned his eyes on her as soon as he closed the door. “How dare you leave me.”

  Adara jumped at his sharp tone and instinctively tried to step away from him, but he held her firm.

  Warrick yanked at her arm, bringing her close. “You will not get away from me this time.”

  Fear kept her silent.

  “I am warning you, run from me again and you will suffer for it.”

  She nodded, fear continuing to hold her tongue hostage.

  “You have much to answer for,” he said, bringing his face down close to hers.

  His dark eyes brought back the warning she had heard time and again.

  He has no soul. Do not look into his hellish black eyes or you will lose yours.

  “You will do as I say, obey me without hesitation, from this day on, Adara. Do you understand?”

  A wave of nausea hit her so fast and hard that a small gasp escaped her lips.

  Warrick watched all color leave her face until she seemed more a ghost than alive.

  Adara thought for sure she would heave there and then and was glad she had not yet eaten, but when all around her began to fade away, she realized a faint was coming upon her. And she welcomed it.

  As soon as Warrick felt her body go limp, he snatched her up in his arms. He knew fear when he saw it in another, having put fear in many a man and woman. He had not meant to frighten her to the point of fainting, but it would serve a purpose. She would obey him.

  He let out a yell, knowing Espy was another woman who did not know her place and would not have paid heed to his order. “Espy!”

  The door flew open and Espy rushed in, Craven right behind her.

  “What did you do to her?” Espy accused.

  “Watch your tongue with me, woman,” Warrick warned his own tongue sharp and demanding.

  Espy wisely and quickly offered an apology, feeling her husband about to step forward and defend her. “Forgive me, my lord. I worry over Adara. She has been feeling poorly.”

  “She paled and collapsed,” Warrick said.

  “She needs rest.”

  “Show me to a bedchamber,” Warrick ordered.

  Espy did not hesitate, she turned and hurried out of the room.

  Adara felt as if she was floating as her eyes began to flutter open and it took her a moment to realize that she was being carried up a flight of stairs. All came back to her in a flash and the name she had feared to speak fell from her lips in a whisper, “Warrick.”

  “You are mine. Do not forget it.”

  She said nothing, having no choice, never having had a choice.

  The curving, stone staircase took them to the third floor where a single bedchamber awaited. A fire crackled and popped in a good-sized fireplace and the bed with its thick four posts and fresh bedding as well as numerous lighted candles placed throughout the room made it obvious that this bedchamber had been prepared for him.

  Espy hurried to pull back the blanket on the bed and quick to tell Warrick, “I will see that all is well with Adara.”

  Warrick placed Adara on the bed and turned to Espy, a warning in his strong command. “I expect to receive word from you soon.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Espy said with a bob of her head.

  Craven gave his wife’s hand a squeeze. “We will wait in the Great Hall.”

  Warrick gave a glance at Adara. She was beautiful, though she appeared thinner then when last he had seen her and she had been slim then. Still it did not mar her beauty, if anything it defined it. He wondered what happened to her long hair, the blonde color with a faint touch of red was shorter than when he had last seen her.

  His dungeon? She was the other woman he had come to speak to. She had been in his dungeon. How had she gotten there? How much had she suffered there? Anger sparked in him. Someone would pay for this and pay dearly.

  Warrick stepped away and without a word left the room, Craven closing the door behind them.

  “You will tell me everything you know about her,” Warrick ordered.

  “I have not known Adara long. She is quiet and speaks little to me.”

  “Tell me more,” Warrick said as they descended the stairs.

  “You can open your eyes, he is gone,” Espy said, sitting on the bed beside Adara.

  Adara sighed and let her eyes drift open slowly, having come fully awake when they had entered the room, but not wanting to face what awaited h

er.

  “Warrick arrived unexpectedly or else I would have warned you,” Espy said and a frown caught at her mouth. “You know Warrick? How? He was not in residence when you were prisoner in his dungeon.”

  Adara’s voice failed her once again. This time out of habit more than fear.

  “Did you wrong him?” Espy shook her head. That could not be possible. Adara was far too fearful to cause harm to anyone.

  Adara found it difficult to speak up, to explain, to defend herself. All her ten plus eight years, if she believed what she was told of her age, she had been made to hold her tongue and obey or suffer for it. She had learned at a young age that the quieter she remained, the less harm came to her, and so she had spoken up little through the years. She had retreated into the shadows as much as she could, keeping out of sight, keeping away from hands that swung at her for no reason.

  Espy was the first one to ever show her any kindness, any caring, any help. She had loved hearing the stories of Espy’s family and home when she had treated her wounds in the dungeon. She had said little to Espy, but it had never stopped Espy from talking to her, sharing her life, and for the first time Adara got to see that life did not have to be so empty, so lonely, so unloving.

  “Tell me, Adara, I will do all I can to keep you safe,” Espy said softly, her hand taking hold of Adara’s slim one.

  Adara clung to Espy’s hand, knowing this time there was nothing Espy could do to help her. “I caused Warrick no harm.”

  Espy released a long held sigh. “I did not believe you did. But tell me, how do you know him?

  Adara could not bring herself to tell her, though she would find out soon enough. She placed her hand on her stomach that had begun to churn once again.

  “Have you eaten yet this morning?” Espy asked, reaching for a cloth that sat on the small table not far from the bed.

  Adara had just enough time to sit up and grab the cloth before she retched.

  Espy was quick to help her, fetching a ladle of water for her to sip since Adara had nothing in her stomach, her heaving causing more strain and discomfort than anything.

  When it finally passed, Adara sat braced against the pillows, her face paler than before.

  Espy wiped at Adara’s face with a clean, damp cloth. “You will not be able to hide this much longer. I am surprised you hid it from me as long as you did.”

  Adara said nothing. What could she say?

  “Craven will need to be told and he will demand to know what you will not tell me. Who got you with child, Adara?”

  Chapter 3

  “Adara is the sole heir to the neighboring Clan MacVarish. She did not know she was Owen MacVarish’s niece, her mum and da having taken her far up into the Highlands when she was just a tiny bairn. When they died, she was passed around to various people until her identity was discovered. The nephew, Penley was his name, of a family Adara once lived with hatched a plan to try and claim the Clan MacVarish as his. His one problem was Adara, the true heir to Clan MacVarish. He had to find her and make sure no one else ever did.” Craven paused, his first wife’s unwilling part in it and her murder a memory he would never forget and one he did not wish to speak of. “I believe Penley paid someone to get rid of Adara and that was probably how she wound up at your dungeon.”

  Warrick gripped the metal tankard in his hand so hard that his knuckles turned white. It infuriated him to know that the woman he had laboriously searched for had been right under his nose and suffering unspeakable torture.

  “And that was how your wife came to rescue her.” Warrick raised his hand, seeing Craven ready to defend Espy. “I am not condemning Espy. She is a brave woman, though foolish at times. She should have come to me.”

  “As Espy pointed out… it would have been too late for too many. I do agree she can be foolish at times, but as she often reminds me, she is a healer and suffering and death are her enemies.”

  “And she saved Adara from death.”

  “She did that and more. I believe she has helped Adara gain some strength. Something the petite woman never knew she had. Adara spoke little when I first met her. She still does not talk as much as most women do,” Craven said with a chuckle. “But she speaks more than she once did, though she continues to remain much to herself. She trusts little, though I cannot blame her for all she has been through.” Craven paused briefly before asking, “How do you know her, Warrick?”

  “A chance meeting.”

  Craven understood Warrick’s brief response meant he would say no more on it until he was ready.

  “Has she been feeling poorly or is her faint due to her fear of me?”

  “Espy has mentioned that Adara has not been feeling well. She was due to visit Espy today and I would have dispatched a warrior to escort her here, but she arrived before I could send anyone.”

  “She came here alone?”

  Craven nodded. “Adara walked from your castle to here after Espy freed her. Today’s walk would be nothing compared to that.”

  “Which probably did not help her sour stomach,” Espy said, approaching the table where the two men sat.

  Warrick had caught sight of her entering the Great Hall, though had made no move to acknowledge her. He preferred people not to know how alert he was to his surroundings. He learned much that way. Besides, his thoughts had been on Adara and all she had been through since last he had seen her. What perils had she met along the way? How had she ever survived?

  Craven stood and offered his hand to his wife to sit.

  “That is all that troubles her?” Warrick asked after Espy took the seat beside her husband.

  “Your presence does not help. It brings back unwanted memories,” Espy said.

  “My dungeon,” Warrick said. When Espy gave a nod, he demanded more than asked, “Tell me what was done to her there—everything that was done to her.”

  Espy held nothing back. “Adara arrived at your dungeon with two broken fingers on her right hand. It had been too long since they had been broken so I could not straighten them. They have never healed right and are useless.”

  “Did she say who did this to her?” Warrick asked barely able to control the anger bubbling inside him like a cauldron about to spew over.

  Espy shook her head. “She never spoke of it. The dark, confined, and disgusting odors of your cells are torture enough, and the agonizing screams added to the horror of it all. It was obvious after being taken to the torture room twice that your jailers were taking great pleasure in making her suffer and intended to get as much pleasure from it before letting her die. Another woman faced the same fate and another I feared I was too late to help. I do not know where you got such monsters but they deserve to burn in hell.”

  “They will pray for the fires of hell by the time I get done with them.”

  Warrick’s dark eyes held such a cold emptiness that it ran a shiver through Espy.

  “Did my jailers have their way with her?”

  His voice was so frighteningly devoid of emotions, so empty, so uncaring that gooseflesh crawled along Espy’s entire body. She had seen him like this before when she was his healer and it had disturbed her just as much then as it did now.

  She slipped her arm around her husband’s, grateful she felt loved and safe with him. “No, I managed to convince the jailers and guards that the women had an incurable disease and if they coupled with them their manhood would shrivel and decay.”

  “And they believed you?”

  “The odorous scent from the salve I concocted and had the women use, kept the jailers and guards away, especially the ones with weak stomachs. They kept a wide berth around the women.”

  “You should have come to me. I trusted you.”

  Espy shook her head, tucking herself closer against her husband. “You trust no one, least of all me. You questioned everything I did and never once spoke a kind word to me.”

  “Yet you stayed,” Warrick challenged.

  “I was needed.”

  “By the prisoners it would seem.”

  “By the innocent,” Espy argued.

  “Who are you to judge who is innocent?” Warrick accused.

  “Who are you to ignore the innocent?”

  “Watch your tongue, Espy,” Warrick cautioned.

  Craven raised his voice in warning. “Do not threaten my wife.”

  Warrick stood so suddenly the bench beneath him toppled over. “Your wife keeps her freedom because of my generosity. Do not forget that.”

  Espy forced herself to take a calming breath, seeing the anger raging in his eyes. It would do no good to further ignite his temper. “Forgive me, Lord Warrick. I meant no disrespect.”

  Craven did not think for a moment that his wife meant her apology. She said it to keep peace, to stop further problems. He only worried that Warrick would realize the same.

  “I would accept your apology if I thought you meant it, Espy. But I have learned that most women say what is necessary whether they mean it or not. That you worry over your husband and clan’s safety is admirable, but I would prefer the truth from you.”

  Craven kept a stoic posture, worried over his wife’s response, but remained ready to defend her at all cost.

  Espy gave Warrick what he wanted. “The truth is that I find you a soulless man with no redeeming qualities. You care for nothing—”

  Warrick lunged toward her and Craven moved just as quickly, shielding his wife with his body.

  “You would do well to remember that, woman,” Warrick warned, his fist smashing down on the table.

  “My lord, a message,” Roark called out, entering the Great Hall.

  Warrick nodded at him, then turned to Craven. “I will speak to Adara on my return. Make sure she remains in my bedchamber waiting for me.”

  Worry had Espy speaking up. “I will have Adara taken to another room, so your bedchamber is free to make use of upon your return.”

  “Do as I commanded, Espy. Your husband may tolerate your disobedience—I will not. And I intend to make full use of my bedchamber upon my return.”

  Espy tried to push past her husband as Warrick turned to walk away, but his arm refused to let her pass him. Her voice rang out, not that it was necessary with Warrick being only a few steps away.

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