Free Devil of Kilmartin by Laurin Wittig

than having to guard it.”
    Elena noted the bitterness in his voice. “You do not believe that.”
    It was his turn to be surprised. “I do not. ’Twas my father’s doing. ’Tis still a point of debate between Ranald and myself.”
    “But you are chief, why do you not unblock it?”
    “Aye, I am chief, but ’tis a near thing. I do not do that which they do not trust. ’Tis not so important, this gate, to test that trust.”
    “ ’Tis a strange place, this. The people sullen, rude to their own. The chief questioning his own decisions instead of commanding.” She slanted a look at him. “Tales of Lucifer and lost souls. Why is it like this, Symon?”
    He stopped, facing her. “Are you not afraid of the tales about me?”
    She thought about his question. Did she fear the tales? Part of her did. She had clear evidence, in her clan’s recent battles, of his cruelty. And yet she had seen none of that. Her own experience of the last few days showed him to be arrogant, brave, pushy, but never had he sought to harm her. The tales of the Devil of Kilmartin told of a monster, killing anyone in his way, ravaging women and causing destruction wherever he went. The truth was that she had not seen him in his madness, but the sane man before her did not cause her fear.
    Symon waited, an expectant look on his face.
    “The tales tell of a horrible monster, but I have only seen a man, afflicted by calamity, but strong enough to fight it.” She thought of Dougal. “I do not think I have cause to fear you.” She smiled at him shyly. “But I will be cautious.”
    A huge smile spread across his face, transforming it intoa dazzlingly handsome countenance. Elena’s breath stuck in her throat.
    “You are an unusual person, Elena of Lamont.” He studied her face, as if he might find an answer to his pressing questions there. The smile faded. “Still, I must take much of the blame for the ills that have befallen my people. I will do what’s necessary to right things.
    “Come,” he said before she could reply, “I find that I am hungry.” He took her hand and led her toward the Hall.
    Elena let him lead her, still dazzled by that flash of what Symon must have been like, before his trials started. She truly didn’t fear him. With the likes of Dougal of Dunmore about, she was certain she was safer with this mad warrior than with the one in her own home.
    Carefully she shielded herself from the headache she could feel plaguing Symon. It took great concentration not to give in to the call of her gift to heal him. But while she was not afraid of the Devil of Kilmartin, neither would she give him anything to hold over her.
     
    S ymon heard the familiar, soothing sound of harp music spilling down from the gallery overhead as they entered the Great Hall. The tables, so empty earlier, were now crowded with people, talking, shouting, grabbing for the meager contents of the platters. Symon stood, giving Elena time to adjust to the throng. It seemed the castle became more crowded by the day as more and more of his kinsmen were run out of their homes by the English, or the Lamonts. Day by day, as his madness gripped him, the holdings of Clan Lachlan shrank, until one day all thatwould be left was this fortress and a crowd of his starving kinsmen.
    Unless the prophecy came to pass.
    He felt a twinge of conscience. He had no idea if Elena would fulfill whatever her role was. He had no idea what “mingling” might entail. That she wasn’t afraid of him pleased him greatly. Once he was rid of the madness for good . . .
    As if the thought of madness was enough to call it down, the pain in his head tripled, his stomach clenched, and a foreboding sweat trickled down his chest.
    For a moment he thought of dragging the lass back to his chamber to force her to heal him then and there, but he could not just yet. First he had to make sure she had no alternative, no way out. He had to bind her to his clan quickly, decisively, before she could