Free Demon Laird (Legacy of the Mist Clans) by Kathryn Loch

sick room and into the great hall. As she rounded the corner, the girl’s cries fell silent, but she heard others calling for the healer. She fisted her skirts and lengthened her stride. She saw the girl lying still at the base of the stairs, blood covering her face. Oh sweet Mary, what had happened? She slid to a stop beside her, noting the other servants gazed not at the girl but at something upon the stairs.
    Lia looked up in time to see the dark swirl of a cloak disappear into the shadows.
    “What happened?” Lia asked, trying to push the other servants away so she could check the girl.
    “The Demon Lai rd,” one whispered. “He attacked her.”
    Lia stopped and stared at him. “Attacked her?”
    “I heard her screaming and ran tae help. I saw him atop the stairs. He didn’t move, he didn’t do anything tae help her.”
    Lia returned her attention back to her patient. She still breathed, but the wound on her skull was grievous. Lia had serious doubts if she would survive it. “Take her into the great hall and put her on a pallet, but carefully.”
    “Aye, milady,” the man said.
    Lia rose, her gaze returning to the dark stairwell. Was it possible? Did this young laird just try to kill an innocent maid? Or had the girl been so startled by him that she inadvertently fell? Lia drew a deep breath into her lungs and hurried after the others.
    ****
    Ronan sat at the table in his solar staring at his wine cup. He tried to dismiss the images from his mind but failed. The terror in the lass’s eyes, the blood soaking her hair and face. He squeezed his eyes closed and a single tear traced down his cheek. Fury cut through him, burning away his sorrow. He bolted to his feet, and with a roar, flung his wine cup across the room. The ceramic mug shattered against the wall.
    He stared at it, fighting to breathe, clenching and unclenching his fists. But the soft sounds of his people crying in pain still whispered through the loophole, taunting and tormenting him. He gritted his teeth against the beast that had been unleashed within him. He wanted to scream for it to stop, to cover his ears until their cries no longer resounded in his skull.
    A feminine voice rose over the cacophony in his head and heart and gave him pause. He scowled and stepped to the loophole. Ronan saw a tall woman moving among the sick, efficiently directing servants and able-bodied people to help. She wore a plain woolen dress with a full apron covering the front. She had tied her long auburn hair back, but it glowed a rich, burnished bronze in the sunlight.
    A different r age shot through him. What was she still doing here? The Sassenach should have been escorted from his keep at first light. Furious that his orders had been ignored, Ronan stepped toward the door. He would bellow for Aidan, and the servants, fearing the wrath of the Demon Laird, would find his brother forthwith. As Ronan’s hand fell on the latch, a knock sounded, and he ripped it open.
    Aidan stood before him, scowling. “I ken that look on yer face.”
    “Get rid of her.”
    “Nay,” Aidan snapped and stepped into the room. He shouldered Ronan aside and closed the door firmly behind him. “We need her.”
    “I dinna want her in my home!”
    “Ronan,” Aiden growled. “Sit down and be silent, ye sorry cur.”
    Ronan spat a curse and did not move. “I am still laird here.”
    Aidan studied him a long moment, drew a deep breath into his lungs , and sighed softly, his temper fading. “Ronan, be at ease, I dinna wish ye tae suffer another attack.”
    His body relaxed slightly. Aidan was right. Whenever he became enraged it seemed that his attacks struck more suddenly and more powerfully.
    Aidan stepped back and moved to the bottle at the table. Pouring two cups of wine, he motioned for his brother to sit. Then his gaze fell on the smashed cup on the floor.
    “ What happened this morn?”
    Ronan flinched and took the cup his brother offered. “I didna attack the