Highlander The Demon Lord

by Donna Fletcher

  Reluctance was obvious as Adara dallied in gathering herself together to go downstairs to the Great Hall. She smiled when she ran her fingers through her hair, clearing away the tangles for it to fall in natural waves. She was so pleased it was getting longer. By winter she would be able to braid it as she had once done. No longer would she be reminded of how she had been held down, her hair pulled and tugged as it was chopped short with a knife, the blonde tresses falling at her feet along with her tears.

  Her smile faded. The horrible memories would never stop haunting her. They were branded in her mind forever just like the hot pokers that had branded her skin. The scars would never go away. They would be there always reminding her of the horror.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of more important things and she placed her hand there, her smile returning. “Worry not, little one, I will see you fed and keep you safe.”

  She slipped on her cloak, not wanting to take the chance of anyone seeing the bump beneath her garments. She could easily claim a chill, a good reason for keeping her cloak on.

  With quiet steps, she left the room. If she was lucky, perhaps the evening meal was done and the Great Hall was empty. She could eat alone in the peaceful quiet.

  It was a hopeful thought that vanished quickly as she got nearer to the Great Hall and was greeted with loud talk and boisterous laughter. She almost turned and ran, but the bairn needed food.

  Strength.

  She needed strength and it would start now. She had to enter the Great Hall no matter how much it frightened her to do so. She took a deep breath and fought the dread that was rising like a mighty wave inside her, expecting any moment for it to crash down and drown her.

  “Move. Move,” she whispered, commanding her feet to obey and took quick steps into the Great Hall.

  Seeing Espy approach with a pleasant smile kept Adara from drowning in fear.

  “I was just coming to wake you and have you join us for supper.”

  Adara almost backed away from Espy when her arm reached out and wrapped around hers. The healer had come to know her well and had taken hold of her, worried she would take flight. And she had been right. That was exactly what Adara wanted to do… flee. Run all the way home and never look back. She fought the overwhelming urge and walked with Espy as she guided them both past tables filled with talk that was far too loud and laughter that echoed like giant bells in Adara’s ears.

  “You will sit next to me,” Espy whispered as she came to a stop at the long front table that looked out over numerous trestle tables overflowing with warriors. “You are safe.”

  Adara wanted to believe that. After all, Espy had kept her word when she promised she would free Adara from the dungeon. But with Warrick sitting there next to Craven, Adara feared she was far from safe. In an instant, she was proven right.

  “Adara will sit next to me,” Warrick commanded.

  Espy went to speak.

  “Do not waste your breath, Espy. It was not a request.” Warrick looked to Adara. “Come and sit, wife.”

  Adara froze, the thought of running once again filling her head, but then it had never left her. The thought sat there at the edge in warning.

  “Now, wife.”

  The strong command reminded her that she had no choice. Never a choice.

  Warrick stood as she approached and when he reached out to take her cloak from her shoulders, she took a quick step away from him. “I have a chill.” She feared he did not believe her from the strange look in his dark eyes, but then he gave a nod.

  Adara sat, her taste for food fading, but knowing she had to eat.

  Espy suddenly appeared at her side, a pitcher in her hand. “This brew will, hopefully, keep your stomach from souring again.” She filled Adara’s tankard and left the pitcher for her.

  “I am grateful,” Adara said not only for the brew but for the comforting squeeze Espy gave her arm, reminding her that she was not alone.

  “How long have you been feeling poorly?” Warrick asked, as Adara reached out and tore a small piece of bread from the chunk on the platter.

  Adara hesitated to respond, the piece of bread poised near her mouth, not sure if Espy had made mention of it to him. Her other hand purposely remained in her lap, making certain to keep her crooked fingers tucked away so that no one would stare or make rude remarks about them.

  “Has it been that long that you do not remember?” he asked with a questioning tilt of his head when no answer was forthcoming.

  She stared at him, thinking no man could have such fine features. They held the eyes captive and caused the heart to flutter. She shook head at such nonsensical thoughts. He might have fine features, but he was also known as the Demon Lord.

  “A day or so,” she said, finding her voice and stumbling over her words. She popped the small piece of bread into her mouth, giving her an excuse to say no more.

  “You will rest tonight so you will be fit to travel tomorrow.”

  Sudden loud shouts at the back of the Great Hall drew both of their attention. A man was shouting in the face of another man who remained calm, not saying a word. One was Craven’s man and the other Warrick’s. More men stood as the shouts escalated and Ryan, Craven’s most trusted and closest warrior approached the group as did Roark, the warrior Warrick depended on the most. Voices grew louder and a scuffle ensued until…

  “Enough!” Warrick’s thundering command echoed off the walls of the Great Hall, silencing everyone. With one snap of his hand, his warrior and Roark walked toward him.

  Ryan nudged Craven’s warrior to follow and kept nudging the reluctant warrior all the way to the dais.

  Warriors from both sides stood, ready for battle if need be and women backed against the walls to keep far from any potential fight.

  The surge of warriors rising to their feet froze Adara in fear. There were too many. How would she ever get away? How could she protect herself and her child?

  Warrick rose from his chair and Adara almost cringed, the size of him overpowering and consuming her like an enormous shadow swallowing her whole. Craven rose as well and the shadow spread, leaving her no way out.

  Warrick turned to Craven. “My warriors do not start fights, though they will finish them.”

  Craven looked to his man, Gifford, and had his answer. The man always started something when too far into his cups and one look confirmed what he suspected, Gifford was more than too far into his cups—he was drowning in them. Talking to Gifford would be futile.

  “Get him out of here and see that he stays out until he sobers and behaves properly,” Craven ordered Ryan.

  Gifford pointed at Warrick’s warrior. “I am going to kick his arse.”

  Before anyone could respond, Gifford threw a punch. Warrick’s warrior responded instinctively, sending Gifford to the floor with one punch that was delivered so fast it was barely noticeable.

  Craven’s warriors looked ready to pounce and he was quick to warn, “Enough. Gifford was at fault here and got what he deserved. I will not have you show disrespect to our guests as Gifford has done.”

  His men settled down without question.

  Warrick’s warrior picked Gifford up, tossed him over his shoulder, and turned to Ryan. “Where do you want him?”

  The warriors returned to their tables, talk and laughter once again erupting in the Great Hall.

  Warrick turned to sit and saw that Adara’s seat was empty. His eyes were quick to spot her tucked in the shadows in the corner as if somehow they would shield her.

  Craven grabbed his wife by the arm when she went to rush past him to Adara. “Let them be.” She looked hesitant but nodded as Warrick slowly approached Adara.

  “Adara,” Warrick said softly when he saw how she huddled in the shadows, her arms tight around her. She did not respond and as he got closer he saw that her eyes were wide with fright, a deep fright that trembled her body and had her hands locked tight to her arms that crossed her chest.

  He kept his steps slow, not wan

ting to add to her fear. He had seen such fright before, from the warriors he had taken prisoner after battle, but they had good reason to fear. Adara did not. Or did she? Had her suffering been so bad that it had branded her like a hot iron, a scar that always reminds?

  He moved closer. “I am here, Adara. There is nothing to fear. I will let no one harm you.”

  She stared at him for a few moments and he was concerned that she did not recognize him.

  Her name slipped from his lips again, this time more softly, though remaining strong. “Adara.”

  Her eyes blinked a few times, as if coming awake, and her brow wrinkled in confusion. Her eyes suddenly popped wide and she did not wait… she ran to him. She leaned against him while keeping her cloak closed tightly in front of her and buried her face against his chest.

  Warrick’s arms shot around her, hugging her tight, feeling the tremble that rippled through her. He scooped her up into his arms and walked out of the Great Hall without a word or glance to anyone. His first thought was to take her to Craven’s solar, but confinement was not what she needed. He turned down the passageway to the kitchen.

  All activity halted when Warrick entered the busy room and he made sure to tuck Adara closer against him.

  Servants stared with open mouths and disbelief as the Demon Lord made his way quickly through the kitchen and headed for the door that led outside. One servant gathered his wits and courage enough to open the door, and the Demon Lord disappeared into the night.

  The chill that the rain had brought whipped at Warrick, but he paid it no mind. He spotted a bench a short distance down from the door and he went to it and sat, keeping Adara snug in his arms. The rain had stopped, though numerous gray clouds rushed across the full moon, warning the storm was not yet over.

  He did not speak. He simply sat there holding her. The quiet, the warmth of his body, and the safety of his strong arms was what she needed, and it was what he gave her.

  Adara sighed softly, cuddling against Warrick’s gentle heat while cherishing the chilled night air that brushed her face. She was reminded of when last he held her and how by the end of the night she had wished he would never let her go. But he had. He did not truly want her. No one had ever wanted her.

  She wished things could be different… vastly different. She wished by some miracle that he was a kind soul and could someday love her. But wishing did not make things happen. She should know, having made endless wishes since she was young and none had ever come true.

  She stirred in his arms and reluctantly turned her head away from his warm, comfortable chest to look up at his face. For a moment, she thought she was in a dream and none of this was real since she saw a tender concern in his soulless, dark eyes, but then she realized it was the glint of the moon peeking out between the gray clouds that had tricked the eye. Or had it tricked her heart?

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  She was about to nod then thought better of it. “I need to rest.”

  “Still feeling poorly?”

  She nodded without hesitation and hoped he believed her, though doubted he did. Her fear had been obvious, there for him to see.

  “Rest it is then.”

  She sent a silent prayer to the heavens for that, though to him she said, “I am grateful for your kindness, my lord.”

  “Kindness is not something I possess, Adara, and while I will not burden you with talk, it will not take much for you to show me what you suffered in my dungeon.”

  Adara raised her right hand, relieved that was all he asked of her.

  Warrick shifted her in his lap so that she sat straight up, then his hand reached out to hers, his fingers tracing along her two end fingers. The small end finger was more gnarled than the other, both looking more like curved talons than fingers. They had been broken and in more than one place and had not been allowed to heal properly. It had to have been extremely painful for her, and he intended to see the person who did this to her suffer much more pain than she had.

  “Who did this to you?”

  “The guard I was sold to and who brought me to your dungeon.”

  “How did it happen?” he asked.

  “He got angry when he was given orders that I was not to be touched by any man.”

  “Tell me more,” Warrick encouraged, when she said no more.

  “I was to be auctioned to the highest bidding guard before being shared with the other guards. Another man was sent with him to make certain orders were followed.”

  “The other guard did not warn him not to touch you?”

  “He did it when no one was looking, twisting my two fingers until,” —she cringed— “I heard a snap.”

  “Did he leave you alone after that?” he asked, gently running his fingers over her two crooked ones. “Or do your fingers tell a different story since they look to have been broken more than once.”

  She cringed at the painful memory of her bones snapping. “He twisted them again a few times more before they could heal, warning if I said anything he would break more of my fingers.”

  Warrick showed no sign of anger, but it simmered inside him. He hoped the guard was not one of those who had perished in the fire the night of Adara’s escape. He wanted personally to make the man suffer for the agony he had put her through.

  “Do you recall his name?” he asked, though doubted she could ever forget it.

  “Lochbar,” she said in a whisper, as if she feared speaking his name.

  Lochbar was not one of his guards, he was compensated for collecting those indebted to Warrick. He had, however, taken it upon himself to earn extra coin. He had also convinced two of the dungeon guards to be part of his scheme. One had died in the fire and the other was being held in a cell in a section of the dungeon that had not suffered from the fire. But Lochbar had survived, having departed before the fire. It would not take long to find him and when he did… Warrick intended to administer the punishment himself.

  He wanted to know all of it, so he could make anyone else who harmed her suffer unbearably. “What was done to you once you were in the dungeon?”

  “I was not there long before my escape.”

  “You were there long enough,” he said annoyed that she avoided answering him. “Now tell me.”

  Adara preferred not to recall the horrible memories, they came unbidden far too often as it was and rarely ever did she speak about them. She had little choice but to do so now. “A hot iron was taken to me.”

  “More than once?”

  She nodded.

  “You will show me,” he demanded.

  “It would not be proper,” she said.

  He leaned his face close to hers. “Need I remind you that you are my wife and that I have seen and touched every inch of you?”

  She was surprised that a pleasant stirring settled over her, and she whispered, “That was different.”

  “Naked is naked, wife, and I will see you that way many more times. It is best you grow accustomed to it.”

  He stunned her silent. It had not been a thought in her head that he would ever want to couple with her again. She believed their marriage was nothing more than a convenience to him and he had consummated it to seal their vows. Once done she believed he had need of her no more. It had been why she had thought she had been taken to his dungeon until she had found out differently, though even then she had not been sure. What if Warrick had gladly compensated Penley for getting rid of her? What if Penley did not know and definitely did not care where Lochbar was taking her? How did she know what was the truth?

  The bairn fluttered lightly in her stomach, reminding her that he was there and his father was yet to learn of him.

  What would Warrick do when he discovered she carried his child? Would he even believe the bairn his?

  “Time to rest, wife. We leave at first light.” He stood, keeping her in his arms and carried her into the keep and up to the bedchamber.

  Adara kept silent, not knowing his intention. Did he expect her to strip naked for him? Show him her scars? Did he intend to couple with her? She continued to remain silent when he placed her on the bed.

  “Rest and get well, wife. I will see you in the morning.” He turned and went to the door, stopping to turn and look at her after opening it. “This is the last night you sleep alone. From tomorrow on you will share my bed.”

  Chapter 6

  Adara thanked the heavens for the heavy rainstorm the next day, preventing Warrick from leaving MacCara keep. It was not that she did not want to return home, she did, though not just yet. The thought of being alone with Warrick sent her fears soaring. She barely knew him and was frightened of him, not a good way for a wife to be toward her husband. Though, there were those odd times—she did not understand—when she felt a closeness to him.

  Here at MacCara keep she could avoid him, stay to herself, or spend some time with Espy when she was not busy at her healing cottage. Today she found herself alone, not that she minded. Solitude had become her friend. It hugged with comfort, kept her safe, and demanded nothing from her.

  Like now, scrunched in a seat in an alcove on the top floor of the keep, listening to the rain pound against the shutters. Adara had partially opened one shutter to breathe in the scent of earth and rain. When she was younger, she would stand outside in a rainstorm and the let the rain soak her. It was a way of feeling clean, of feeling free if only for a short while. She would often get scolded and made to wear the soaked garments while they dried, but at least she had felt clean, the dirt and grime of weeks, if not months, washed away.

  While she had been frightened half to death when the women had stripped her of her garments the night of her wedding, she had relished the scrubbing they had given her. She had never felt so clean, so fresh, and for once she had enjoyed her own scent.

  “You hide?”

  Adara almost fell off the window seat, Warrick’s silent and sudden presence startling her, but his hand was quick to grab her and keep her from tumbling. She thought how quick his hand had been to be at her side, several times, when needed. No one had ever been so fast to help her but then there had never been anyone to help her.

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