Highlander The Demon Lord

by Donna Fletcher

  “I like solitude,” she said.

  “Then take joy in it for now, for it is yours no longer.”

  She stared at him, realizing she had given little thought to how much her life would change now that her husband had found her.

  “You are my wife and will see to your duties,” he said, thinking that he found her more beautiful each time he looked upon her, then admonishing himself for thinking so. There was no room for such nonsensical thoughts. She was his wife, there to serve him, nothing more.

  “I will see to my duties, my lord,” she said with a bob of her head.

  “All of them,” he demanded, letting her know what he expected of her, though more wanted from her.

  “Whatever you say, my lord,” Adara said, avoiding his dark eyes that seemed forever cold and uncaring, though not on their wedding night. That night his eyes had been filled with passion and she had thought, wanted to believe, she had seen kindness there.

  Obedience. That was what he expected and that was what she would give him.

  “Why did you wed me?” Adara was shocked by her own audacity to ask such a question, but it had hovered on her lips for so long that it had spilled free of its own will.

  “I was in need of a wife.”

  “But I am a mere servant,” she said still not understanding.

  “Who will serve me well.”

  Serve the devil.

  That had been what one of the women who had helped prepare her for Warrick on her wedding night had whispered. You will serve the devil.

  But she did not feel it was the devil she had joined with that night. There was a kindness to her husband then that she had favored. This man standing in front her showed not an ounce of kindness, and fear churned in her.

  She remained silent, waiting for him to leave, praying that he would, so the comfort of solitude could embrace her once again.

  “Do you want me to leave, Adara?”

  She could not hide the surprise that he had somehow known her thoughts.

  “Your face tells me much. I would remember that since it will do you no good to lie to me,” he warned.

  “Why would I lie to you?”

  “Have you ever lied?’ he asked.

  “Have you?” She caught her gasp in her throat. Whatever was the matter with her, throwing his question back at him. She was quick to try to right her wrong. “Lies left my tongue when necessary.”

  “It was not that you lied that mattered to me. It was that you spoke the truth about lying that mattered,” he said. “I believe it would be difficult to find anyone who has not lied in their life and even more difficult to find someone who would admit it.” He found he was pleased by her response and few things pleased him. “As for if I lied? When I was young, like you, lies left my tongue out of necessity, but now? I speak as I wish.”

  Funny, Adara thought. He did not say he did not lie, just that he spoke as he wished, which perhaps meant he still told a lie or two.

  “Your fingers pain you?” he asked with a nod at her hand.

  Adara looked down, not realizing she had been rubbing her two crooked fingers. “When the weather is damp, and Cyra—Espy’s grandmother, a skilled healer—warned that the winter’s cold might bring me pain.”

  He approached her and she fought against the fear that warned her to shrink away from him, the breadth and strength of him alone frightening. When he went to reach for her hand, she pulled it away, pressing it against her chest.

  Warrick did not take offense, knowing fear-filled memories had caused her reaction. “My touch did not harm you last night and will do no harm to you now, wife.” He reached down and waited for her to place her hand in his.

  Adara felt foolish for reacting as she had. He had not hurt her last night when he had touched her fingers. And he had not reached and grabbed at her fingers like Lochbar had done. She slowly stretched her hand out to him.

  Warrick took her hand, gently massaging her two crooked fingers. “We will see that you have several pair of gloves to keep your hands warm this winter. I do not want you to suffer more pain.”

  It was difficult to keep his rage from showing when he touched her injured fingers. That his own wife had suffered endless horror in his dungeon infuriated him and the only solace he could find was the thoughts of the endless torture he would inflict on those who had made her suffer.

  He curled his hand around hers. “Come, it is too cold here for you. You need the warmth of a fire, and you will have the quiet and solitude of an empty bedchamber.”

  That he would leave her to herself had her taking hold of his hand and making sure her other hand kept her cloak from falling open and revealing her secret. It was ever present in her mind that she needed to tell him of their bairn, but fear kept her tongue still.

  She walked down the stairs, Warrick going before her on the narrow staircase and when they went to enter the bedchamber, the door opened and Espy jumped with a start.

  She pressed her hand to her chest. “You gave me a fright. I am finished at the healing cottage and thought you might like to share a brew with me.”

  “Adara would be pleased to, since she feels chilled,” Warrick said and released her hand. “I will see you later, wife.” With that said, he took his leave.

  Adara was used to others speaking for her, though with the last few months of speaking for herself, she found she quite preferred it. On this occasion, however, she agreed with Warrick’s response.

  “Come, we will go to my stitching room and enjoy the soothing warmth of a hot brew and a warm fire,” Espy said, slipping her arm around Adara’s. “My goodness, Warrick was right, you are chilled.”

  Adara realized then that she shivered, but she was not sure it was from a chill or the fear that was ever present in her.

  The two women settled in the sewing room, drinking hot cider and talking of many things, but avoided speaking a word about Warrick until a comfortable silence fell between them.

  Adara had not planned to say anything to Espy, but she found the need to ask. “What do you know of Warrick?”

  Espy smiled softly. “Warrick allows no one to know him. Tales are told but whether true or not, no one can say for sure. It is said the King bestowed a title on him for work other warriors feared to do. Others say he got the title his chieftain father always craved.”

  “Who is his father?”

  “Phlen MacDevlin, a far ruthless warrior than Warrick from what is told. Supposedly even the Vikings feared him.”

  “Siblings?” Adara asked.

  Espy shook her head. “No one has claimed kinship to him. I would advise you not to pay heed to wagging tongues or tall tales. Learn for yourself what kind of man your husband is.”

  “But you have seen his brutality in his dungeons.”

  “If it is true, he did not know what went on there, then believe me, he will make those responsible suffer immeasurably for it. I think what disturbed me the most about him, while I served as his healer, was his indifference. He seemed to care for nothing or no one.” She shook her head again, slowly this time, as if she could still not believe what she had seen. “And he endured pain from all types of injury without a flinch, a groan, or a complaint. I often wondered if he felt pain at all or simply had the courage to refuse to show it.”

  Adara hugged herself against a sudden chill.

  “I wish to ask you something, Adara, though it is of an intimate nature and if you do not wish to answer it, I understand,” Espy said softly, and Adara nodded. “Did Warrick treat you well when you coupled?”

  Adara felt her cheeks heat.

  “You need say nothing, but let me say that if your husband treated you well, caused you no harm, was unselfish, and made no unwanted demands on you, then there is more good to Warrick than he shows.”

  Adara took heart to Espy’s words, praying it was so.

  A knock sounded at the door and a servant entered.

  “Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but it is Tilly’s time.”
r />   “Send word I will be there shortly,” Espy said and turned to Adara. “Have you attended or helped with any births?”

  “I have attended three, though I did not help with the births. My chore was cleaning up afterwards.”

  “Then you should attend this one. It is Tilly’s first and seeing it for yourself will let you know what to expect,” Espy said.

  Adara followed Espy through the rain that had gratefully kept to a sprinkle until they reached the cottage, then the rainstorm resumed in force.

  Once in the cottage, Adara worried how she would hide her rounded stomach since she had to remove her cloak if she was to help. She was grateful when Espy provided her with a large white apron that she tied loosely around Adara.

  Tilly was moaning and rubbing her enormous stomach.

  Espy spoke soothingly and encouragingly to the woman.

  “Adara is here to assist me,” Espy said, motioning Adara out of the shadows and toward the bed.

  Tilly turned a cautious eye to Espy. “She belongs to the Demon Lord. I do not want evil touching my bairn.”

  Though the woman whispered, Adara heard her and her words hurt. Is that how people would think of her now? Evil, simply because she was wife to the Demon Lord?

  “You have seen Adara here at the Clan MacCara many times and she has shown no signs of evil.”

  “She speaks to no one when here and rarely looks at anyone. How are we to know if she is evil or not?” Tilly asked.

  Adara never gave thought to how keeping to herself had made her appear to others. She forced herself to speak. “I am sorry if I offended you but I was raised to serve others and to hold my tongue.” She did not know why Espy smiled softly at her confession, but it seemed as if her smile was one of pride for Adara and that gave her courage.

  “You served others?” Tilly asked surprised.

  “As long as I can remember,” Adara said the weight of that time still heavy upon her.

  “If you are a servant, how is it you are wed to the Demon Lord?” Tilly asked, a wince surfacing as another pain began to build.

  Adara repeated Warrick’s words when she had asked him the same. “He needed a wife and I was there.”

  “I will pray for you,” Tilly said and cringed, pressing her hand to her stomach as a long, loud groan spilled out of her.

  Had it been that simple? He had needed a wife and she had been there. She served the purpose, and so with the Demon Lord’s need… her life had changed forever.

  Adara was quick to help, feeling for the woman as she fought to birth her bairn. She wondered if she would have such strength to fight the endless pain. But then she had survived torture, never knowing when next she would suffer pain again. At least with this, she knew there was an end to the pain.

  She followed Espy’s every instruction, fetching whatever she asked for, wiping Tilly’s sweaty brow with a cool cloth and offering encouraging words just as Espy did.

  “I am grateful,” Tilly would say each time Adara wiped her brow or ran a cool, wet cloth over her face.

  Adara had never known such camaraderie between women. She had seen it on occasion but had never been truly part of it, and she relished the feeling. She found herself doing all she could to comfort the woman and help her through the pain.

  When the time came close for the bairn to be born, Adara grew excited, eager to see the bairn and eager for the pain to be over for Tilly.

  “A few more pushes, Tilly, and your bairn will be here,” Espy said and Tilly let out a scream.

  Warrick was annoyed and that annoyance had grown the longer it took to discover where his wife had disappeared to. He had not given Adara permission to leave the keep. And what was she doing helping Espy birth a bairn, though on second thought he wondered if it would be good for her to see since he intended for Adara to give him many children. By attending this birth, she would be aware of what was expected of her.

  It had taken speaking to several servants before he found out where she had gone. He was on his way there now. He would let her know that she was to seek his permission before leaving the keep, though he had no intentions of returning her there. He would let her continue to help—

  A scream ripped through the gloomy day, bringing him to an abrupt halt. The few people braving the rain paid it no heed and Warrick realized it came from the cottage where the woman was giving birth.

  Another scream had him slowing his steps to the cottage door. He knew women suffered when giving birth, but he had never heard the agonizing screams of a woman in the throes of birthing. His thoughts went immediately to Adara.

  She would suffer such brutal pain. She was small. He winced when he recalled how tight she had felt when he had slipped into her on their wedding night. Not that he had winced that night, it was more a groan of intense pleasure. How would she ever endure delivering a bairn? Could it possibly be too much for her? Was there a chance he could lose her in childbirth?

  When another scream sounded as if the woman was being torn in two, he turned and walked away from the cottage. He had no desire to see what was happening within. What he did intend to do was speak with Espy before he laid another hand on his wife.

  Adara had seen newborns after they had been delivered from their mums, but never had she participated so closely in birthing one. Never had she felt so much a part of the deliver and, seeing Tilly take her son in her arms, a wide smile on her face, and love in her eyes, she could not help but think how it would feel to hold her own newborn bairn.

  Love.

  Adara would finally know love. It had been there on Tilly’s face as soon as she had taken her son in her arms. It shined in her eyes, in her wide smile, in the way she hugged the bairn to her and gently kissed his tiny cheek. Adara would love her bairn and the bairn would love her. A sense of joy trickled through her and for the first time since learning she was with child she was happy.

  Adara finished helping tend Tilly and when all was done, the husband sitting beside the bed, admiring his newborn son with pride, Adara and Espy slipped quietly out of the cottage.

  “That was amazing,” Adara said as they walked back to the keep, the rain having stopped and dusk settling over the land. “I cannot wait to hold my bairn in my arms.”

  “Have you told Warrick?” Espy asked, keeping her voice low.

  Adara’s smile faded.

  “You need to tell him. Do not wait. He will question why you kept it from him,” Espy urged.

  Adara nodded, though fear warned her against it.

  The two women entered the Great Hall to find Warrick speaking with Roark.

  “Did I give you permission to leave the keep?” Warrick asked his wife. Espy went to respond and Warrick turned to her. “I was not speaking to you.”

  Fear for Espy had Adara speaking up. “I should have informed you that Espy asked me to attend a birth with her.”

  “You should have sought permission,” Warrick scolded.

  “Adara is your wife, not a servant,” Espy reminded unable to hold her tongue.

  “Must I forever remind you to watch your tongue? You had no such problem when you were my healer.”

  “I did not want to draw attention since I intended to free the innocent from that hideous dungeon of yours,” Espy said with a defiant tilt of her chin.

  Warrick went to step forward.

  “Warrick!” Craven called out as he entered the room. “Need I remind you. My home. My wife.”

  “Your wife needs to learn her place,” Warrick said a flare of his nostrils a sign his temper had yet to abate.

  “My wife knows her place well… right beside me,” Craven said and settled next to her, his arm going around her waist, his hand giving the slim curve a squeeze, and Espy smiled.

  Adara watched the scene with amazement. She wished she had Espy’s courage and strength to speak up to Warrick, but her limbs were trembling and her heart was pounding, and she had not even been part of the exchange between the pair. She could not imagine herself ever b
eing brave enough, or was it foolishness that took such courage, to speak as Espy did?

  There was a silent pause and Adara could see all waited on the Demon Lord.

  “I respect this is your home, but make your wife aware that she has tried my patience enough,” Warrick commanded and turned to his wife. “You will wait in our bedchamber.”

  Adara bobbed her head and without glancing at anyone hurried out of the room, anxious to be away from everyone, needing to be alone to calm the fright that raced through her.

  “I will have a word with you alone in the solar, Espy,” Warrick ordered.

  “I go with her,” Craven said.

  “I mean your wife no harm. I require her skills as a healer,” Warrick said.

  “I go with her,” Craven repeated.

  “This is a private matter,” Warrick said.

  Before her husband could object, Espy spoke up. “I will speak to Lord Warrick alone.”

  Craven was ready to forbid it, the words on his lips.

  Espy turned around to face him, his arm still firm around her waist and with a soft smile whispered, “Do not make me use my tongue on you, husband.”

  Craven grinned, his voice a whisper. “I like when you use your tongue on me, wife.”

  “I have not another thread of patience left,” Warrick bellowed and smashed his fist down on the table.

  Espy pressed her hand to her husband’s chest when she saw a spark of anger flash in his eyes. “I will see this done.”

  “I will wait outside the solar door,” Craven said and looked to Warrick. “A distance so you may have privacy, but close enough to my wife.”

  Warrick turned without a word and left the room, expecting the pair to follow, and they did.

  As soon as the solar door closed, Espy asked, “What ails you, my lord.”

  “It is not me. It is Adara,” Warrick said.

  “How so, my lord?” she asked careful with her words since she was not sure if this had anything to do with Adara carrying his child.