by Ruth Kaufman
He was appalled and ashamed of himself for believing the worst about Lia. Every experience he’d had with her denied le March’s claims. But le March’s words had hit him where he was most vulnerable, and because Lia didn’t deny his claim, Ronan did the unthinkable and believed the words of his enemy.
Now le March had the woman Ronan loved. What would he find when he arrived? A vision forced itself upon him, Lia broken and bleeding in the same cell that had housed him. He growled a curse and asked his horse for even more speed. He would not allow her to suffer the same agony he had known. He would reach her in time. He had no choice.
Finally, they broke from the trees and descended into the Lowlands. The prison wasn’t far now. He spotted the great hulking, damaged structure. It appeared as if no attempt at repairs had been made to it after his escape. He prayed it was so, for he would be able to enter the prison the same way he got out.
They crested a rise and Ronan veered his horse sharply for a copse of trees. He pulled his blowing mount to a stop and gazed over the rolling berms he had crawled over in his desperate bid to escape. Gooseflesh pricked his skin and he shook the sensation away. Aidan and the others soon joined him.
“Wait here,” he growled as he dismounted. “The trees will keep ye hidden.”
“Ronan, let me go with ye,” Aidan said. “If le March discovers ye—”
“If le March discovers me, I will kill him.”
“Damnation, Ronan, listen tae me. Right before we left, Gordy returned. He found his evidence.”
“What is it?”
“MacFarlane betrayed us long ago. Campbell lured him into an alliance with great sums of gold. MacFarlane sold the blighted grain through MacLaren intentionally. He had hoped the sickness would weaken us sufficiently that Campbell could destroy us and take our land. But then ye were captured and that only strengthened his plot against us. Ye be walking into a trap.”
Fury shot through him, making him see red. He had been such a fool to trust MacFarlane so blindly. He stopped and shook his head. “I ken that, Aidan, but I also canna allow Lia tae suffer the agony of what happened tae me. I’ll get her out. Ye just listen for my whistle. If ye hear it, then ye come running.” He tossed the reins of his horse to Aidan.
“There’s one more thing, Ronan. I was told we should expect tae have a very special visitor—”
“I care not,” Ronan snapped. “I’ve got tae get Lia out before dawn.”
Aidan bit back his retort and nodded.
Ronan wrapped his cloak around himself and pulled the cowl low. Without another word, he vanished into the darkness.
“I hate it when he does that,” Connell said, pushing his horse next to Aidan’s. “I ken he is not the Demon Laird but when he does that . . . ” He paused and shivered.
Ronan’s soft laugh echoed through the night.
Ronan found the void he had escaped through with relative ease. Apparently, no one else had discovered it. Some dirt had fallen into it, collapsing the sides a bit, but it had not been filled in. A strange sensation whispered through him as he forced his way back into the crack in the earth. He was willingly returning to the place where his suffering had given birth to the Demon Laird. But he forced the sensation down, telling himself it was the stench. He had to get Lia out. She had not betrayed him. Instead, he had failed her. He prayed she would forgive him, although he knew he didn’t deserve it.
The muck and slime were as thick as before, the stench growing worse with each step. He fought not to gag as the bile rose in his throat. Dear God, how had he managed to get through this the first time?
He reached the end of the crack and looked up, seeing a faint glow above him. He stretched his arms up, and fortunately, his long reach allowed him to grip the edge. Sucking in a deep breath, and instantly regretting it, he hauled himself upward, biting back curses. The crack seemed even smaller than before. He managed to make it through and froze when he heard a noise. Silently, he moved into the blacker shadow of the corner. While he was anxious to free Lia, he didn’t want to turn the corner and stumble into a guard. He slowed his breathing and listened intently.
The soft sound of weeping reached him, and Ronan’s heart twisted into vicious knots. He squeezed his eyes closed. Nay, my sweet, bonny lass, dinna cry. I am here. I have not abandoned you.
“Shut up, whore!” a hard voice snapped.
Ronan froze, hatred replacing his sorrow.
Lia quieted as the guard continued his patrol. It seemed to take forever for his footsteps to fade, but slowly Lia’s sobs returned. Ronan cautiously moved enough so he could peer around the corner. No sign of any other guards. Then his gaze fell on Lia.
She was fighting her manacles, the same that had chained him. Her wrists were torn and bloody, but she was attempting to use her own blood to slide her hands through. She wept against the pain it caused her but did not stop. Unfortunately, while the manacles were too large for her slight wrists, it wasn’t enough, she couldn’t free herself.
Ronan quickly looked around again, but there was no sign of any other guards. Remaining in the shadows as much as he could, he silently crept into her cell.
Lia heard the scrape of a boot on flagstone and nearly vaulted sideways. She took a breath to scream as hands reached for her from the darkness. One covered her mouth.
“Nay, Lia,” Ronan’s deep whisper murmured in her ear. “’Tis only me.”
The moonlight from the tiny cell window high above her head fell on his cowl. As he stepped forward, it fell on his face and his agonized steel-gray eyes. For an instant, she was reminded of the night she had first met him.
“I ken the truth. James showed me yer journal.”
Relief and joy washed through her and she sagged against him. She felt his strong arms wrap around her, and she buried her face against his massive chest to muffle her sobs.
“I . . . would . . . never . . . hurt . . . you,” she said, fighting to speak. “I didn’t do anything.”
His arms tightened around her and he tried to soothe her. “My sweet lassie, I ken ye love me as much as I love ye.” He lifted her chin and lightly touched his lips to hers.
Ronan intended only a light kiss, still worried over her state. But she responded to him with an intensity that stole his breath and healed his heart at the same moment. His soul, so terribly torn asunder, was once again made whole, and joy chased away his agony.
Then his wits returned. What in the hell was he doing? He had to get her out. He ended the kiss but still struggled to catch his breath.
His gaze landed on the manacles around her bloody wrists still chaining her to the wall. “I see they never determined how I escaped.”
“What?”
He sighed. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to free her. “Lassie, these manacles, the locks arena well made. I can open them, but I fear it will hurt ye.”
She swallowed hard but nodded. “Do what you must.”
He braced her arm against the wall and held it firmly. “Forgive me,” he murmured and slammed his fist down on the manacle. She sucked in her breath sharply but her wrists were smaller than his, the manacle did not clamp down quite so tightly. With a soft click, it opened.
“I only freed myself by striking the locks repeatedly on the floor. Hurt like bloody hell after a while, but I continued until they opened.” He moved to her other arm and again brought his fist down. The second manacle opened and she staggered into his arms. “Forgive me,” he said again. “But we canna delay. Can ye walk?”
“I’ll bloody well walk out of here.”
His lips tugged upward at her returning fire.
“Come, but I’ll warn ye, the passage out is a struggle.” He wrapped his arm around her and guided her quickly from the cell.
Lia squeezed her eyes closed as Ronan hauled her out of the muddy crack in the earth. She clung to him, not wanting to release him . . . ever. Pain throbbed through her body in time to the beating of her heart, but it could not touch the joy that sang
in her soul. He knew the truth, he knew she had not betrayed him, and he risked his life to free her . . . he loved her.
“Forgive me, Lia,” his soft voice murmured in her ear. “I ken ye are spent, but we have tae keep moving.”
She nodded, sagging against him. Had it not been for his arm around her, she would have collapsed. “This . . . this is how you escaped?”
“Aye, lassie.”
He led her down the steep motte. Lia’s mind could scarcely comprehend the reality of it all. That he had been able to escape in such a way despite the wounds he had borne . . . Lord have mercy, the fire in this man’s soul was amazing. She could only embrace it into her own heart and hope hers was worthy of it.
Ascending the rise from the bottom of the motte was a struggle even with Ronan’s help. The pain in her damaged knee became too much. Lia tripped and fell, but before Ronan could help her to her feet, she felt a strange vibration.
“Ronan—”
Ronan whistled sharply through his teeth, the loud noise causing her to jump. “Move, lass, now!”
Lia lurched forward but Ronan hauled her back just as a horse slid to a stop, barely missing her. She blinked, struggling to focus her vision but could not make out the rider. Ronan drew his great claymore, keeping her behind him.
She clung to his cloak, wishing only that she could crawl inside it and hide. Horses surrounded them and Lia’s terror surged. Ronan would be hard-pressed to defeat them on his own, but doing so while trying to protect her at the same time—tears burned in her eyes. Her presence would hinder his fighting abilities, and she might even get him killed. She choked on a sob.
“There, there, lassie,” Ronan murmured, his voice unusually light. “This be no’ as dire as ye believe.”
Her vision finally cleared enough for her to see six riders surrounding them. Her gaze focused on Laird MacFarlane with his retainer next to him, and she screamed in fury. “You bastard!” She lunged forward. Ronan barely caught her and shoved her behind him again. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you for what you have done.”
MacFarlane looked at her as if she were nothing more than an annoying gnat. Then he looked at his retainer. “Are ye sure ye want her, Fionnlaoch?”
His words brought Lia up short.
“Now that gave the Sassenach pause,” MacFarlane said. “I offered tae reward Fionnlaoch for his service tae me. He, in turn, asked that he gain the woman. That’s why we’re here. We were just arriving tae negotiate with the baron when I saw ye crossin’ the berm.” He paused and looked up at the sky. “A night with a full moon be no’ a good night tae attempt this.”
A new horror cut through her. If they slew Ronan, she knew exactly what they would do to her. She much preferred death by hanging. But that only made her angrier.
“And I can think of a thousand ways to kill you before the sun rises. Would you prefer your cock falling off as you rave like a madman at the moon, or your skin turning black as you regurgitate your own entrails?”
Ronan’s head snapped around and he stared at her a moment, his eyes wide. He quickly returned his attention to the men before them, but not before she saw his bright grin.
“I admire my lassie’s creativity, but on this night, ye shall die with my blade in yer gut.”
“Bold words from a man outnumbered six tae one, MacGrigor,” MacFarlane said. “But I expected nothing less from ye.”
“I see ye still canna count.” He drew a deep breath into his lungs and brought his claymore on guard. “MacGrigor!”
Men and horses exploded over the edge of the berm, responding to Ronan’s battle cry. MacFarlane’s men were forced to scatter to face this new threat. She spotted Aidan galloping toward them, leading a riderless mount, Ronan’s warhorse.
Ronan did not engage with the enemy; instead, he pushed Lia in Aidan’s direction, keeping his sword on guard in case someone attacked them. Aidan galloped past them and dropped the reins, then he drew his sword and exhorted his mount to greater speed.
“Ho there!” Ronan barked.
The warhorse slid to a stop, its eyes rolling wildly. For a moment, Lia feared it would continue after the others, but it obeyed its training, although it danced in place as Ronan approached. Ronan seized the reins and the horse quieted. Ronan returned his claymore and extended his hand.
“Lia, quickly, get on.”
Her heart rattling in her throat, Lia hesitated. “Nay . . . ” Her two weeks of riding did not give her enough experience to control a war stallion.
“Be at ease,” he whispered as he pulled her closer. “Just get away from the fighting. As soon as I send these curs tae hell, I will take ye home.”
“Home?”
He gazed down at her, his gray eyes reflecting the color of the moon. He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Home, where ye will stand by my side as my wife. Ne’er will I doubt ye again. I love ye more than ye will ever ken.” He lowered his head and kissed her softly.
Lia wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his kiss, but too quickly, he pulled away.
“Please, lass, just get away from the fighting. I canna bear if anything happened tae ye.”
She nodded and Ronan helped her into the saddle and handed her the reins.
The horse squealed and lunged.
“Fury,” he snapped. “Behave.”
The stallion stopped and snorted, pawing the ground.
“Ronan,” she called as he turned to leave.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Aye?”
“Come back to me.”
Again she saw his bright grin. “I vow it, lassie.” He drew his claymore and sprinted back to the fighting.
The stallion lunged, trying to follow Ronan.
Lia squeaked in alarm, clinging to the saddlebow. She jerked the reins and the horse snapped its head up, lifting its forelegs off the ground. Lia nearly screamed in panic, trying to remember everything Connell had taught her. She hauled on the right rein and the horse spun around, nearly unseating her. Abruptly, she realized the animal, unlike the one she had ridden north, was extremely sensitive to rein and leg. He would have to be in order for Ronan to control him in the midst of battle. The horse danced sideways, snorting and tossing its head. She felt its powerful muscles bunch underneath her and was terrified it would start bucking.
“Ho there!” she barked, suddenly remembering Ronan’s command.
The horse stood stock-still. It raised its head and pricked its ears, watching the fighting. It snorted loudly then promptly lowered its head and began to paw at the ground again. She realized the animal was trained for this. It wanted to follow Ronan.
“I know,” she said nervously patting its neck. “I don’t like being stuck here either.”
The horse started walking again, but this time Lia kept her cues gentle and managed to turn him in an easy circle. He stopped, stared at the fighting, and snorted once more. He started walking again, but this time Lia did not have to turn him, he maintained the same track.
“Is this your version of pacing in worry?”
The horse tossed its head as if nodding in answer to her question. Lia couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped her.
Now that the horse seemed content to walk and turn the same circle rather than fight her, Lia turned her attention to the battle.
MacFarlane was two men down, and Clan MacGrigor capitalized on the advantage. The combatants had moved a little farther afield, giving Ronan a bit of a walk. Her gaze found Aidan and she gasped in fear as MacFarlane’s retainer charged him. Even though his attacker was mounted, Aidan leapt off of his horse. Nay! What was he doing? Surely he would be slain. But with speed that boggled the mind, Aidan dove out of the way of the charging horse and rolled. The man MacFarlane had called Fionnlaoch galloped past Aidan, cursed, and hauled on the reins, pulling his horse to a sliding stop.
Aidan leapt to his feet and sprinted after Fionnlaoch, fury pounding through his being. As Fionnlaoch tried to turn his horse, Aidan grabbed the man and ha
uled him out of the saddle. Fionnlaoch hit the ground hard and Aidan’s boot landed on his jaw. The kick snapped the man’s head back, but he managed to roll away.
Aidan tried to pursue his advantage, but Fionnlaoch leapt to his feet, drawing his vicious dagger—the same one he had threatened to plunge into Ronan’s back.
Instead of recoiling, Aidan grinned viciously. Fionnlaoch lunged and Aidan leapt backward, the blade slashing across, missing his chest by a hairsbreadth. Fionnlaoch roared, trying an overhand strike. Aidan merely stepped to the side, and the errant strike overbalanced his attacker. The man staggered, falling to his knees.
As quick as lightning, Aidan was on him. He smashed his knee into Fionnlaoch’s nose, blood flew and Aidan knew he had broken it. The man’s head snapped back again and he tried to bring his dagger on guard, but Aidan grabbed his wrist. He turned Fionnlaoch’s arm in an impossible angle, so his own blade was pointed at his chest. With a roar, Aidan shoved the dagger straight through the man’s heart.
Aidan backed away as Fionnlaoch coughed and choked, blood streaming from his mouth. Aidan curled his lip. “Hell awaits ye, maggot,” he snarled.
The man collapsed face-first into the dirt.
Lia wanted to cheer. Aidan had not only defeated MacFarlane’s retainer but he did so without drawing his own weapon. Aidan whistled sharply and the horse he had abandoned galloped toward him. The animal did not break stride as Aidan vaulted back into the saddle.
“MacGrigor!” he roared, lifting his fist in the air.
“MacGrigor!” Ronan and the others answered.
Lia thought MacFarlane might withdraw his men, but he spotted Ronan striding toward him and his face became a mask of rage. He spurred his horse forward.
