by Ruth Kaufman
“Head wound?” She reached out and gently slid her hand under Ronan’s head. He did not stir. After a moment her eyes widened. “Blessed Mary, ’tis a wonder it didn’t kill him.”
He nodded. “Marta removed the stitches just after you arrived, but I fear he will have a permanent dent in his skull. We believe he suffered the injury when his horse was slain out from under him.”
Lia fell silent, staring at him. She rubbed her eyes.
“Lass, this can wait. Ye need tae rest.”
She shook her head with a stubbornness that didn’t surprise him. He couldn’t help himself as his lips tugged upward. She should have been born a Scot. Although, looking at her auburn hair and sparkling hazel eyes, he would not be surprised if she had at least a bit of Scottish blood in her veins.
“The head wound changed the manifestation of the illness,” she murmured.
“Pray pardon, lass? Illness?”
“’Tis called the falling-down sickness for reasons that are obvious. These blackouts, does Ronan complain of missing time afterward?”
“Aye,” Aidan said, nodding vigorously. “He appears as if lost in thought. We can call his name and he doesna hear us. But after a moment, he returns and doesna ken what happened.”
She nodded as if expecting this. “I have treated a few other children in a similar circumstance. Some do indeed outgrow it. In a few others, I’ve seen the illness worsen and turn to active fits.”
Aidan swallowed hard. “Please, lassie, can ye help him?”
“The fact the passive fits were rare but still existed after he came of age tells me he had succeeded in managing his illness even if he didn’t realize it at the time. This gives me hope, Aidan. ’Tis only because he suffered what no man should have to endure that I believe the manifestation of the illness changed.”
He wasn’t sure if he understood her explanation in its entirety but Aidan felt a huge weight slide from his shoulders. “If he managed his illness afore, he can do it again.”
“Aye, Aidan, and I believe I may know how to help him do just that.”
“Praise be, I kenned ye be a gift from the Almighty.”
She blushed furiously and inclined her head toward his brother. “We shall leave him to be the judge of that.”
Aidan chuckled softly. “Lassie, ye too need tae rest.”
“I will be fine, Aidan. Now that I understand this, I think it important that he not be left alone at all. I promised him.”
“Lia—”
“I’m not leaving him alone.”
“Verra well,” he said softly. “At least allow me tae fetch ye some food.”
“Now that sounds like a wonderful plan. While you are below stairs, would you please fetch my journal? I need to study it in order to remember everything about the children I treated with this illness.”
“Aye, lassie.” He rose but hesitated and looked down at her. “Thank ye.”
She smiled up at him, but Aidan noted she still held Ronan’s hand in her lap, her fingers firmly entangled with his. “I just hope he can abide a Sassenach healer attending him.”
“Remember what I said, lass. If my brother doesna see reason after today, I’ll make him see it.”
She laughed and he winked at her, striding for the door. For the first time since Ronan had been captured, Aidan’s hope for his brother and the clan’s future strengthened in his heart.
Chapter Seven
For the first time since his escape, Ronan did not awaken because of a nightmare. His heart did not threaten to jump out of his ribcage, and he did not fear to open his eyes, for this time he knew he would see the walls of his solar. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to wake up . . . normally.
He looked to his left and suddenly understood why.
Lia slept in the chair next to the bed, her fingers still entwined with his. Her rich auburn hair tumbled like streams of molten bronze around her shoulders. The dawn light growing in strength through the loophole fell on her face, and Ronan’s breath caught at the heavenly vision before him. Her expression was relaxed in sleep, and Ronan realized he had never taken the time to admire the bonny lass before him. Her skin, although not pale as a noblewoman’s, was unblemished, and he remembered it being as soft as silk to the touch.
Her nose was pert and dark eyebrows arched elegantly over well-shaped eyes. She had high cheekbones, which added an artful elegance to her face and were a perfect counter to her jaw. He felt his lips tug upward as he remembered how her jaw took on such a stubborn set, especially in dealing with him. She had a strong jawline but one that remained feminine.
Ronan noted she wore only her chemise and one of his brats. The cloak was large enough to wrap around her three times. She slept in the high-backed chair with her legs curled under her, resting her head against a beveled edge of the carved decoration that ran from the arm up the sides of the back and to the top. She was so tall that Ronan knew she was going to have a beastly time moving when she woke. Her neck would probably be screaming at her for the next two days. His thoughts brought to mind when he had held her in his arms, just after William died. He had been able to comfortably rest his cheek on the top of her head. He drudged through his memory but could not recall ever meeting a woman as tall as her. It was a fresh and unique experience for him.
Ronan’s da had been a tall, powerfully built man in his prime, but two years before the age of majority, Ronan had outpaced him. Although his da had delighted in ribbing him about how gangly he was, his mum complained that he ate like a horse, and it seemed like overnight Ronan filled out.
On one rain-soaked day when they could do no work outside, the men had decided to alleviate their boredom by wrestling in the great hall—a common practice when the muck outside was over one’s ankles.
Ronan had first wrestled against Aidan. His brother gave as good as he got, and Ronan was always hard-pressed to beat him. They typically traded victories equally. The one thing Ronan could not do was beat his father.
That day, Ronan had pinned Aidan and was declared the victor. He rose, laughing, and held out his hand to help his brother to his feet. As the winner, he controlled the ring, and others would challenge him. He remembered swallowing hard when his father stepped forward. But the apprehension he always felt when wrestling against his da vanished when Ronan rose to his full height and realized he was not only taller, but now broader in shoulder and breadth of chest. His arms were thicker and his gut laid with muscle because of the tireless hours he had put in practicing with the claymore. His da opened his mouth as if to jest with him, but he snapped it shut and eyed his eldest son, his blue eyes smiling.
It was a hell of a contest. Both went after each other like two gladiators, neither giving an inch, neither willing to admit defeat. At one point, Ronan had his da in an armlock and was afraid if he exerted any more pressure, he’d break his da’s arm. It had to be excruciating, but his da refused to yield. Although Ronan would never know how he managed, his da escaped the armlock and in a lightning-fast move, locked Ronan in a hold that threatened to flip him.
Somehow, Ronan found the strength to not only resist the flip but to throw his da off balance. His da wasn’t the only one with fast reflexes. He never thought about what he was doing, he just did it. Ronan turned the tables, and in a heartbeat, he had his father on his back and pinned him. Ronan’s mind didn’t truly acknowledge what he had done until Ian declared him the winner.
He sat back, breathing hard, sweat rolling into his eyes and blinking as his da remained on the ground with his eyes closed, trying to suck in some air. Those watching erupted in cheers like nothing Ronan had ever heard before. His da started laughing and hauled himself into a sitting position.
“I’ll be buggered,” he said and gave Ronan a wink. “Ye did me proud today.”
“Proud?” Ronan asked in confusion. He thought his da would not be happy losing to him.
“Aye, this day is the one I have been waiting for since I started teaching ye how tae wres
tle. I never went easy on ye, I never gave an inch. Laddie, ye have earned the victory this day.” He held out his hand. Ronan grabbed it and they both levered themselves upward. “Let’s lift an ale tae this, Ronan.”
Ronan had been so stunned that he didn’t care about controlling the ring any longer. The people slapping him on the back and shoulders in congratulations weren’t important. The only thing that mattered was the respect and pride he saw in his da’s sparking blue eyes.
Ronan’s belly rumbled and he sighed softly. Waking without nightmares with a bonny lass at his bedside was something he wanted to savor a bit longer. He gazed at Lia a long moment, wondering if he could somehow untangle his fingers without waking her. But he remembered that she slept as lightly as a cat. If he could, he’d pick her up, place her in his bed, and let her sleep for as long as she wanted.
Now ye are bloody daft, lad. Ye slighted her and treated her with contempt ever since she arrived. She should have let ye drop in the street and kicked ye in the arse for good measure. Ye have no right tae the thoughts ye be havin’.
He sighed softly and sat up, trying to carefully withdraw his hand.
Sure enough, her fingers tightened on his and her eyes flew open. She sat up sharply and winced, her hand going to the back of her neck. “Sweet Mary,” she muttered.
“Forgive me, lassie, I was tryin’ not tae wake ye.”
She moved her head to look at him but grimaced and froze at an awkward angle. Yet, somehow she was able to smile at him. “How are you feeling?”
“Apparently, much better than ye. Ye need tae unwind yerself from that chair or ye may find yerself stuck.”
She chuckled softly but her humor quickly vanished as she moved and groaned.
Ronan looked to the loophole. “Aidan should be here momentarily tae break our fast.”
“I can go downstairs and get the food.”
He shook his head. “This is a habit of his from long past. Every morn we break our fast together and share what news we’ve heard, or if his birds have been singing.”
“Birds? I didn’t know Aidan had birds.”
Ronan winked at her. “Not the feathered kind. Aidan’s birds sing songs of information, secrets, of treachery and deceit.”
Lia rubbed her eyes. “The birds . . . they’re spies?”
He nodded. “As a lad, I had a talent for disappearing into the shadows, hiding right under someone’s nose and they didna ken I was there. Aidan had a talent for eavesdropping. He’s honed it tae an art, and I have found his skills and his birds extremely valuable.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You too have honed your skill into an art.”
He grinned. “But, lassie, I need tae get dressed and—”
“Ronan, when was the last time you changed your bandages?” she asked, eyeing one on his back.
He ducked his head. “I keep meanin’ tae do that . . . ”
She moved, wincing again, but grabbed a corner of a rumpled bandaged and gently tugged it away. She sucked in her breath. “Damnation, your wounds are festering badly in places. I need to get them cleaned and put fresh bandages on you.” She paused and felt his forehead. “And you still have a fever.”
Ronan’s stomach rumbled again, loud enough that Lia heard it, and she looked at him, startled. He shrugged. “After we break our fast, then ye may tend tae me. If Aidan doesn’t get here soon, I’ll be gnawing on the furniture like one of my hunting dogs.”
She laughed but winced again.
He sighed and reached out, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck, working the tight muscles. His eyes widened. “Ye rebuke me, but, lassie, ye’ve got some vicious knots in yer neck.”
She closed her eyes and fair melted under his hand. “What was I saying?”
Ronan shook his head, chuckling. “Do ye need anything for it? I can fetch what ye need.”
“I will get it. I need to bring up several items for you. But there is one thing you can do for me, if you don’t mind.”
“I’d be happy tae, lass.”
She turned so her back was toward him and her fingers caught his. She didn’t try to push him away, instead, she directed him to a specific point in her neck.
“Press right there with one or two fingers. You should feel a small knot right next to the bone in my neck.”
He did as she asked and his eyes widened as he felt exactly what she meant.
“Now find the one on the other side of my neck.”
“What be this, lassie?”
“It’s a spot where if you apply enough pressure, it will force the muscles in my neck to relax.”
“And they call me the Demon Laird,” he muttered. “It sounds a bit like witchery tae me.”
She laughed again. “Nay, think of it this way: When fighting with your sword, did you ever receive a stinging blow on your wrist that made your hand go numb and you dropped the weapon in spite of yourself?”
“Aye,” he said. “Several times, and it doesna have tae be much of a blow—or even draw blood.”
“That’s because there’s a spot in your wrist just like the one in my neck. I just need you to press down on those spots until I tell you to stop.”
“Are ye certain, lassie? I dinna want tae hurt ye.”
“I will tell you if you use too much strength.”
“Verra well.” He pressed his fingers against the small knots and she told him to keep increasing his strength. He took a breath to refuse, certain he would somehow cause injury, but it was as if the knots under his fingers suddenly loosened. They were still there, but now they didn’t seem so large and prominent under his fingers.
Lia released her breath and her entire body sagged. “Thank you,” she said and looked at him over her shoulder. This time she did not wince. “I feel so much better.”
He withdrew his hands, amazed that something so simple could have such a profound effect.
Lia turned her head sharply and he heard the small bones in her neck pop. She repeated the action in the other direction.
Ronan stared at her. “Ye sound like me afore I go into battle.”
She wrapped his brat tighter around her. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed this.”
“Keep it, lassie, I have a dozen of them.”
“Thank you.” She paused and looked at the door. “Now my stomach is rumbling.” She looked down at herself. “I should go change.”
He nodded. “Please return and break yer fast with me,” he said softly. “I wish tae speak more with ye regarding yer words yestereve.”
“Of course. I’ll be back shortly, and after we eat, I can tend to your bandages as well.”
“Excellent.”
Lia dressed, although she was certain her head was stuffed with wool. At least Ronan had helped rid the kink in her neck. Her thoughts focused on him and she frowned. He seemed a completely different man. He had gone from hating the Sassenach healer, believing her a spy and someone who brought this plague upon his people, to jesting with her, worried if he might inadvertently hurt her. How was this possible? How could he change so suddenly?
Lia sighed softly, wishing her thoughts would stop chasing themselves. She shouldn’t question Providence. At least Ronan was allowing her to tend to him, and she would be able to help find the answers to this Demon Laird nonsense. She shook her head, remembering Ronan’s festering wounds. No wonder he had such a strong fever. He did not realize what he toyed with. In his weakened condition, it wouldn’t take much for the festering wounds to turn the tables on him in a heartbeat.
She changed into some fresh clothes and washed her face. She still felt like she could sleep for a week. But after Ronan, there were still others who needed her both in the great hall and in the village. At least with finding the truth of the blighted grain, Lia could see an eventual end to the madness. It might take a very long time, but as long as everyone got rid of the blighted grain, there should be no more people getting sick
After she dressed, she went below stairs
and fetched what she needed for Ronan, glad to note that there were no emergencies to attend to. She found Alba and asked her to boil a pot of water and bring it to Ronan’s solar. The girl blanched but said nothing and nodded. Lia watched her disappear into the kitchen. Alba was the one who demonstrated the greatest fear over the Demon Laird. If Lia could convince her Ronan bore no threat, no doubt the other servants would follow suit. Lia’s stomach rumbled, reminding her Ronan had asked that she break her fast with him. She turned and hurried up the stairs.
Aidan opened the door before she completed her knock. He grinned and his eyes widened at the armload of supplies she carried.
“Lassie, allow me,” he said and took them from her.
“Thank you,” she said and stepped inside. Her gaze immediately fell on Ronan. He had dressed—well, partially. He wore only his trews and padded on bare feet over the rugs placed on the wood floor to help keep the chill at bay. He draped his tunic over the back of his chair, no doubt waiting to don it after Lia finished tending his bandages. Again her breath caught in her throat—even covered in bandages his physique was still impressive. Lia found herself wondering how he had achieved it.
“Well met, lass,” he said and pulled a third chair to the table. “Join us, please.”
“Thank you,” she said again and joined them at the table.
As they ate, Aidan began the conversation. “I was just telling Ronan a bit of what ye told me yestereve.”
“Aye,” Ronan said. “This illness is called the falling-down sickness?”
She nodded. “No one knows its cause. It can be difficult to identify because so many believe it is a sign of possession, as you have seen. Usually Sueta and I only saw the person after exorcisms had failed and the afflicted had suffered the condemnation of the Church. Because of that fear and hatred, many were reluctant to tell us everything.”
