Free Devil of Kilmartin by Laurin Wittig Page A

slip away from them. She would fulfill her destiny, whatever it held. He would make sure of it.
    He shook his head to clear the pain swirling through him and started forward.
    Silence surged down the hall ahead of them like a wind-whipped wave racing ashore. Symon glanced at Elena as they made their way down the Hall. Her mouth was a tense line, and her gaze flitted over the crowd. Her hand was stiff in his.
    Symon stopped her in front of the chief’s table, turning her to face the assembled MacLachlans.
    “You will make our guest welcome in Kilmartin Castle,” he said formally, his voice strong and steady. “She is known as Elena.” He turned then to her. “Please accept the hospitality of Clan Lachlan.”
    “With thanks,” she said, a surprised look on her face.
    Her safety assured by his words, Symon led her around the empty table. They sat and servers laid trays of food before them. Symon reached for his cup and rose to his feet. A hush fell over the Hall once more.
    He looked out at the faces of his clan. Curiosity warred with apathy, and apathy seemed to be winning out.
    “My kinsmen,” he began, his voice booming through the hall. Symon raised his cup but leaned his weight against the table, praying he would not fall over before he could do what he must. “Many of you have heard Auld Morag’s prophesy.”
    A muttering filled the hall and a voice yelled out, “ ’Tis true?”
    “Aye, ’twould seem so. Auld Morag said this woman”—he nodded slowly toward Elena—“is the flame. You know well what part I play. The rest has not yet been revealed, but clearly our time is at hand.”
    Elena gasped as a cheer erupted from the gathering. Symon allowed the crowd to trade speculations for a moment, then he banged his cup against the table until they quieted once more.
    “Auld Morag foresaw her coming. The prophecy has come to pass. Elena’s presence here assures our victory over our many troubles.”
    Elena surged to her feet, knocking over her wine goblet. “Nay!”
    Symon grabbed her wrist, arresting her motion. He felt her sway, and she clutched at her stomach.
    He turned to her and said under his breath, “Aye, ’tis your destiny—unless you wish to return to your clan?”
    Elena shook her head.
    He was pleased to see anger in her eyes, a flash of fight.If she had wept, or collapsed in fear, he would not know what to do, but anger—that he was familiar with.
    “She is our honored guest,” he said once more to the crowd. He sat, releasing the lass. His stomach roiled, but he downed the spiced wine, praying it would dull the ache in his head. He would sit another moment or two, then escort Elena from the Hall and back to her chamber, where he would require her to heal him once and for all. Surely that was the way flame and madness were to mingle.
     
    E lena sat, stunned, next to a madman, desperately quelling the stomach pain that had burst within her at his touch. She shook her head at his words. Her destiny? She could do naught for this clan but cause them trouble, for Dougal would not wait long to claim her. Soon or late he would come for her. There would be no victory in that.
    Before she realized what was happening, Symon had risen, taken her hand, and was leading her out of the Hall through the small door behind the dais. He quickly closed the door and leaned against it, his eyes closed.
    “I know who and what you are, Elena-lass.”
    “You cannot.”
    “I can. You are Elena of Lamont, and you are the Lamont healer.”
    Elena shook her head, though whether she denied his words or that she had been found out, she wasn’t sure.
    “I do not understand how one so young could be the healer of the auld tales, but it does not matter. You are the healer, and I am in need of your skills. In exchange, I have extended the protection of my clan to you. You in turn willheal me and thereby deliver my clan from the curse of madness we have fallen under.”
    “I cannot,” she whispered.
    He opened