Read Online Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) by Kathryn Loch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Loch
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devil in order to free himself. A memory forced itself upon his vision, he had clawed his way to freedom from the black earth, covered in muck and slime. The stench still filled his nostrils. He shook the vision away, his heart racing. Aidan had told him of what happened during these new attacks, how he foamed at the mouth like some diseased animal.
That this was demonic was the farthest thing from the truth. Yet as he fought to deny it, he felt the hatred growing within him. It was a black, foreign thing. It had never been in Ronan’s nature to hate. But there it was, festering in his soul, growing in power with each day, forcing him to acknowledge its existence. It terrified him that he could not control it, he could not rid himself of it. Perhaps he truly was a demon now, for surely only a demon could harbor such darkness.
The nobles of allied clans, they too doubted his ability to remain as laird. Ronan shivered. Although he knew he had not made such a terrible pact, he wondered if the English had somehow managed to curse him. He had known blackouts in his childhood, but they had subsided to rare occurrences as an adult. Since his torture, the blackouts now came more frequently. He thought over the details his brother had given him of the attacks that had followed. This was something completely new, but they didn’t always happen after a blackout, just as one had not followed when he suffered a blackout when the Sassenach had arrived.
Damnation, he had been mortified that she had witnessed the event.
You are wrong. You have great need of a healer.
The Sassenach had not recoiled in terror, instead, she had stepped forward and touched his shoulder when she should have run screaming. He swallowed hard and tried to force down the strange emotions rising within him. He could not afford to have anyone see him like that again.
Ronan shook his head, suddenly discovering that he struggled to catch his breath. The sounds of crying from the bailey grew louder, as haunting as the terrifying memories of his nightmares. To bloody hell with it, he had to escape his solar. He needed to be down there helping his people. He grabbed his cloak and donned it then yanked the door open.
He took two steps down the stairs, leaning heavily on his cane while his injured leg protested. He heard a noise and only then realized his mistake.
A young maid ascended the stairs—not Alba but a lass he recognized who delivered bedding to the washer-women every morning. She carried a full basket of linens and she hummed softly as she walked. Ronan froze. With his lame leg, he could not move fast enough to return to his solar before she spotted him. He swallowed hard as she looked up.
Her gaze locked on his. Her eyes widened and her face drained of color. He saw the tremor pass through her.
He took a breath to speak, but her eyes widened even more. She screamed and her foot slid backward involuntarily.
“Nay, lassie,” he whispered. His own eyes widened as he realized if she shifted her weight any more she would topple backward down the stairs. She dropped the basket and her entire body contorted as she teetered.
“Nay!” Ronan lunged forward to grab her, to stop her fall.
But she flinched violently away from him and fell. Her head slammed into one of the wooden stairs and she tumbled like a broken doll down the flight. She came to a stop on the stone floor of his keep and remained unmoving.
Horror coiled through Ronan as he stared at the blood on her face. “Nay, lassie.” But he suddenly could not move, shock rooting him in place.
Other servants ran toward her. “Fetch the healer!” one cried. He looked up the stairs and saw Ronan. His face turned a ghastly shade of gray. “Nay,” he whispered. “How could ye?”
More servants gathered. The horror and fear Ronan saw in their expressions was more than he could bear. He turned and quickly limped back up the stairs.
****
Lia heard the girl’s screams and bolted from the tiny
That this was demonic was the farthest thing from the truth. Yet as he fought to deny it, he felt the hatred growing within him. It was a black, foreign thing. It had never been in Ronan’s nature to hate. But there it was, festering in his soul, growing in power with each day, forcing him to acknowledge its existence. It terrified him that he could not control it, he could not rid himself of it. Perhaps he truly was a demon now, for surely only a demon could harbor such darkness.
The nobles of allied clans, they too doubted his ability to remain as laird. Ronan shivered. Although he knew he had not made such a terrible pact, he wondered if the English had somehow managed to curse him. He had known blackouts in his childhood, but they had subsided to rare occurrences as an adult. Since his torture, the blackouts now came more frequently. He thought over the details his brother had given him of the attacks that had followed. This was something completely new, but they didn’t always happen after a blackout, just as one had not followed when he suffered a blackout when the Sassenach had arrived.
Damnation, he had been mortified that she had witnessed the event.
You are wrong. You have great need of a healer.
The Sassenach had not recoiled in terror, instead, she had stepped forward and touched his shoulder when she should have run screaming. He swallowed hard and tried to force down the strange emotions rising within him. He could not afford to have anyone see him like that again.
Ronan shook his head, suddenly discovering that he struggled to catch his breath. The sounds of crying from the bailey grew louder, as haunting as the terrifying memories of his nightmares. To bloody hell with it, he had to escape his solar. He needed to be down there helping his people. He grabbed his cloak and donned it then yanked the door open.
He took two steps down the stairs, leaning heavily on his cane while his injured leg protested. He heard a noise and only then realized his mistake.
A young maid ascended the stairs—not Alba but a lass he recognized who delivered bedding to the washer-women every morning. She carried a full basket of linens and she hummed softly as she walked. Ronan froze. With his lame leg, he could not move fast enough to return to his solar before she spotted him. He swallowed hard as she looked up.
Her gaze locked on his. Her eyes widened and her face drained of color. He saw the tremor pass through her.
He took a breath to speak, but her eyes widened even more. She screamed and her foot slid backward involuntarily.
“Nay, lassie,” he whispered. His own eyes widened as he realized if she shifted her weight any more she would topple backward down the stairs. She dropped the basket and her entire body contorted as she teetered.
“Nay!” Ronan lunged forward to grab her, to stop her fall.
But she flinched violently away from him and fell. Her head slammed into one of the wooden stairs and she tumbled like a broken doll down the flight. She came to a stop on the stone floor of his keep and remained unmoving.
Horror coiled through Ronan as he stared at the blood on her face. “Nay, lassie.” But he suddenly could not move, shock rooting him in place.
Other servants ran toward her. “Fetch the healer!” one cried. He looked up the stairs and saw Ronan. His face turned a ghastly shade of gray. “Nay,” he whispered. “How could ye?”
More servants gathered. The horror and fear Ronan saw in their expressions was more than he could bear. He turned and quickly limped back up the stairs.
****
Lia heard the girl’s screams and bolted from the tiny
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