The Devil's Laird Page 2

  “Dead,” spat the guard closest to him. “She—” He pointed to the girl in Roderick’s arms “—she killed him, she did! Lady Siena is possessed. She sees things others do not.”

  “This is yer lady?” Roderick asked, dumbfounded by the way she’d been treated by her own people.

  The crowd murmured and nodded their agreement.

  “Then why do ye not protect her?”

  “Her brother said she was cursed from the day she was born.” A woman in the crowd, most likely a servant from the way she was dressed, called out, “Bad blood.”

  “There is no such thing.” Roderick frowned. He didn’t believe in curses. Glancing down, he saw nothing wrong with the girl other than she’d been abused. Her long, black hair fell away from a petite face . . . or it would be once the swelling went down. He feared for her safety if she stayed here.

  He leveled his gaze back on the men and women and waited until all eyes were directed his way. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened. “Hear me and hear me well . . . I am Laird Roderick Scott, Warlord of Kirkurd. I proclaim this castle is now mine!” He paused and waited for his words to sink in. He heard the murmur of The Devil’s Laird. A name he’d been often called.

  The rest of Fidach’s men lowered their weapons. He saw the fright in their eyes that his reputation always produced. “I’ll leave a few of my men with you. If ye canna pledge allegiance to me, then ye’er free to walk out the gate by sundown. After that, my men will show ye no mercy.”

  It only took seconds before shouts went out, “Laird Scott! Laird Scott!” echoed through the crowd.

  Roderick heard his name on everyone’s lips as they backed away to give him plenty of room. He wasn’t sure how he felt. It had been over a year since he had sworn vengeance against Fidach. Now justice had been done; yet he felt no satisfaction. Perhaps, it was because he’d not been the one to end the miserable cur’s life. He owed that deed to the girl. And that made one more reason he’d not leave her here to die.

  Roderick made his way to the stone steps of the great hall. There he instructed his men what he wanted done. From the looks of disrepair around him, there was much work ahead of them. He’d take five of his best men back with him to his holding, they would be enough to provide a safe journey, but the rest would remain here. His army would grow with the capture of Berwick, which was on the English border but now his. It would take time to shape these men into what he wanted, after all, he was known for training the best men in Scotland.

  Duncan pulled his mount up next to Roderick and asked, “What of the woman?”

  Roderick jerked his head toward his first in command, but before he could answer, an older woman, heavyset and square-jawed, with gray-streaked, brown hair rushed through the door, and down the steps of the great hall.

  “Is she alive?” The woman cried out as she scuttled over to his horse, where she placed a hand upon the girl. He got the impression the woman didn’t care if he was here to kill everyone in the castle as long as he protected the one he held. He also noticed her face showed bruises like those of her mistress.

  “Aye, but barely,” he finally said. “I take it ye know this woman?”

  She nodded but didn’t look up at him. “I am Lady Siena’s maid, sire.” The servant answered hastily, then continued, “I have been with Siena since the day she was born, and I can tell you she is not safe here.”

  “Why is that?”

  The woman placed both her hands on her ample hips. “Her good-for-nothing brother convinced everyone in the holding that Siena is possessed. It’s because of Fidach that they do not trust her.” She waved a hand in the air. “Can they not see how she has been mistreated? Her brother should have been killed long before now,” she finished, and then muttered under her breath. “We’d all have been better off.”

  He nodded toward the girl. “So Fidach did this to her?”

  “Aye.”

  Roderick took a deep breath. He wished the son of a bitch were still alive so he could beat him to a bloody pulp before killing him again. Finally, he asked, “Yer name?”

  At last, Agatha managed to look at the warrior on the great beast and she had to catch her breath. Good Lord Almighty, the man was huge with broad shoulders and his eyes were dark and cold, so that she felt like he was looking through her. He wasn’t bad to gaze upon if she could only stop shaking. “M--my name is Agatha, sire.” She curtsied, clumsily. “I beg you, protect Lady Siena and take her away with you.”

  “You and I agree on one thing . . . Fidach should have died sooner,” Roderick said with a nod. Agatha smiled, and he knew right away he liked something about her. She had an honest face and he saw kindness also. He studied her for a moment, then commanded, “Go and pack for yer lady and yourself. You will be returnin’ with us.”

  Once Agatha had scurried off to do his bidding, Roderick told Duncan, “Give me something to wrap around the lass’s arm, or she’ll be dead by the time we camp tonight.”

  Duncan produced a long strip of clean cloth to wrap the woman’s arm. He agreed. The cut was a nasty wound indeed, so he poured whisky over it, then wrapped the cloth around her arm. Duncan wondered at the odd behavior of his leader. Why hadn’t Roderick handed the girl to one of his men, so his hands would be free? It was almost like he was protecting her. The woman was definitely in bad shape, and Duncan couldn’t call her pretty with her swollen eye and a fat lip, but it was the first time in a long while that Roderick had shown any interest in a woman. Nonetheless, Duncan would not question his leader. He knew of Roderick’s temper. He wasn’t one to be crossed.

  Roderick turned his horse, so he was facing the crowd. He waited as one by one the people approached him and pledged their allegiance to him. When all had finished, Duncan reported that five soldiers had left the castle.

  “That is their choice,” Roderick said. “Bring three horses from the stables around here.”

  “Three?”

  “Is it not what I said?” Roderick asked with a frown. He wasn’t used to explaining his actions, but to get Duncan moving he added, “Lady Siena and her lady’s maid plus an extra horse for their belongs. They will be accompanying us back to our holding.”

  He saw Duncan raise his brow to question bringing the lasses with them; however, he knew better and once again held his tongue. Roderick couldn’t explain why he’d chosen to take this woman with him, other than he wanted to protect her, which made no sense at all.

  He picked five of his most stalwart men to ride with him, and a short time later they were ready to leave. He instructed Gareth and Maclean to strap the bags, which Agatha had packed onto the extra horse. After giving final instructions to Gordon for securing the castle, Roderick and his men began their journey back to Black Dawn.

  “Fergus take the lead,” Roderick commanded as they crossed the drawbridge.

  The weather was brisk, but their speed was good as they traveled across the rolling countryside. He didn’t much like riding out in the open and would feel better once they passed over the Cheviot Hills up to higher ground. They had ridden only a few hours, when Duncan rode up beside Roderick. “Are ye certain the lass is alive?” Duncan asked.

  Roderick glanced down at the warm body held next to his chest. “Aye.”

  “What are ye going to do with her?”

  “Truth be told. I’ve not given it much thought. I couldna leave her behind for fear of her safety, and…” he paused. “Then there is the small fact she did kill our enemy for me. Even though, I’d rather have killed him myself.” He sighed with regret that he hadn’t been the one to end Fidach’s life. “I owe the lass somethin’. I’ve no doubt that she’ll fit into our household.”

  “But she is a lady,” Duncan protested.

  “Aye. Though at the moment she looks no better than a servant.”

  Duncan nodded. “Do ye want me to take her for a while and give yer arm a rest?”

  Roderick glanced at the battered woman nestled in his arms. “Nay. The sun is
going down. We’ll camp for tonight and give the horses a rest. She’ll be waking soon.”

  “Gareth!” Roderick called, then waited for him to join them. “Find a suitable place to make camp.”

  Without warning, the slip of a girl in Roderick’s arms bolted straight up, bumping his chin. He had to tighten his hold to keep her from falling. The sudden shifting on Hercules’s back, startled the horse, and he reared. Roderick tightened his knees to keep them both seated.

  “By all that is holy! Hold still before we both fall to our deaths!”

  Chapter 2

  The woman squirmed and struck him several times until he wrapped his arms tighter around her, pinning her arms against her sides. His patience had worn thin. “Och, get still or I swear, lass, I’ll toss ye on the ground myself.”

  Roderick realized that the woman had no idea who he was, so he took a calming breath. “I’ll no hurt ye, lass. I’m not one of yer brother’s men. Stop fightin’ me.” Roderick saw uncertainty in one wild, blue eye as the other was swollen. “I’m the one who pulled ye from the hangman’s noose.” Patience wasn’t something he possessed in great quantities and this slip of a girl was trying his patience greatly.

  “For Christ’s sake, lass. If I had wanted to harm ye, I’d have left ye to dangle from the end of a rope,” he said, frustrated. “And I’m beginnin’ to doubt the mercy I’ve shown ye.” This woman was going to be more trouble than she was worth, he’d wager. “I’ll loosen my grip if ye will hold still.”

  He glared down at her and in a stern voice said, “I’ll have yer promise now.”

  Agatha rode up beside them and laid a weathered hand gently on Siena’s arm. “Milady, he is helping us. It will be all right.”

  “He is blue! He’s the devil.”

  “Nay. He has on warpaint and that is the reason he is blue, milady,” Agatha explained.

  At long last the girl relaxed at the sight of her maid, then croaked, “Some water, please.”

  “In a minute,” Roderick told her.

  Warily, Siena watched the warrior who held her, wondering how she’d gotten in this position when she should have been dangling at the end of a rope.

  She remembered seeing a man on a black horse coming through the crowd just before the stool had been shoved out from beneath her feet. She thought it had been the Devil come to claim her, then she recalled her breath leaving her body, and she shuddered at the memory. By the grace of God, she’d been spared. Yet she felt her neck and found it tender to the touch. Apparently, this man had saved her. Now that everything was over, she felt his strong arms around her, and found it comforting. She had no idea why she should feel this way when men had always been trouble in her past.

  The intimidating warrior was huge, and his dark eyes were penetrating. She couldn’t help feeling as though he was trying to see deep inside her when he looked at her, but at the moment he wasn’t paying her any attention. “Water,” she rasped again. Her throat was so parched it felt like it was on fire.

  At last, the man nodded and nudged his mount over to a clearing in the middle of oak trees. The dead leaves on the ground would provide a good cushion for their tired bodies when they slept.

  The sun was lowering, giving a dusky glow the clearing. Only then did Siena notice that there were five other men with them, and they were dismounting too. Who were these strangers? And why had this man saved her? Thankfully, she didn’t recognize any of them. Of course, it was hard to get past their blue painted faces. They would scare the hell out of anyone.

  However, her brother’s solders were no better than he was, and she was grateful, but she didn’t yet trust any of them. They appeared to be Scots. They wore red with green and black pinstriped plaids. The tartan pattern consisted of crisscrossed horizontal colors that came to the top of their knees. The rest of their legs were covered in doe-skinned boots. Everyone knew the Scots had no love for the English, so she wasn’t sure she was any better off. She’d learned a long time ago not to trust anyone no matter if they were English or Scot.

  A warrior with long, blond hair approached and shoved a soft-skinned pouch up toward her. With trembling hands, she took the pouch and lifted it to her dry lips. The cool water felt like refreshing nectar on her dry throat. “Thank you,” she said as she handed the brown, leather pouch back to the man on the ground.

  She turned and looked at the warrior who held her and asked, “Who are you?”

  “I’m Laird Roderick Scott, Warlord of Kirkurd.”

  She knew the name, but her head hurt too much to think, and her right arm throbbed mercilessly. Perhaps later she could think straight. “I am Lady Siena of Berwick. I know I’m merely a captive, and I’m sure you’re very busy, but my arm really hurts.” She held it up and the throbbing increased. “I see a bandage. Has it been stitched?”

  “Nay.” Roderick didn’t bother to look at her, his attention seemed drawn to his men as he added, “We’ll be caring for yer arm once we make camp and get settled, lass. We need to make sure we are safe first.”

  Another soldier just as big as the first approached Roderick and held his arms up to help her down, she hesitated until she heard Roderick say, “We will camp here tonight.” He pushed her toward the other man.

  Siena felt like a sack of wool being passed around. She didn’t fight this time, but allowed herself to be lifted down, not that she had much choice. The moment her feet touched the ground, her legs buckled. She grabbed the warrior’s arms to keep from falling. “I--I’m so sorry. My legs have gone numb.”

  Roderick dismounted. Immediately, he wrapped an arm around her waist. She was surprised how gentle he could be for someone so large. “Ah, wull, ye can lean on me while my men prepare bedding for you.”

  Siena was thankful for his assistance. She hurt all over, and her legs tingled with what felt like a thousand needles sticking into them. She flexed her feet not caring one bit for this helpless feeling. Slowly, the stinging stopped, and she felt the blood returning to her legs so that she was able to support herself, however, the laird still had his arm around her for support.

  Siena quickly glanced around. The campsite was ideal as it had a cliff behind them with tall oak trees around the clearing providing them with good protection. The cold air whipped around the cliff, causing her to shiver. She wished she had her woolen cloak.

  “I—I’m grateful, sir, but still a little confused,” Siena said looking up at Roderick. She almost gasped at his dark eyes. Surely, they were not black, but they definitely didn’t show any emotion. “How did you come to be at Berwick?”

  “I came to kill yer brother, lass,” he said with very little expression. Maybe his eyes were black after all and cold. “But I found ye had saved me the trouble, so I took you instead.”

  “But I am worth nothing.”

  “I didna take ye for ransom. You did me a favor and the verra least I could do was bring ye to safety. I’m pretty sure ye were not safe at yer home.”

  “My brother was a true bastard,” she said with a shrug, her cheeks turning pink for boldly speaking her thoughts.

  Roderick gave a bark of laughter. “Of that you and I agree. Did yer brother give ye that black eye?”

  She nodded. She liked the sound of his laughter. Laughter wasn’t something she’d heard often in her lifetime.

  “I promise ye somethin’ like that willna happen to you again.” He motioned toward two red plaids, woolen blankets spread across the ground. “There is yer bedding. Has the tingling stopped? Can ye walk now?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ah wull, we will go and wash off the warpaint while you both get settled.”

  Agatha moved over to where they stood. “You are shivering. We’re lucky Laird Scott and his men arrived when they did. He saved you from being hanged; a minute later and you would have died.”

  Siena followed Agatha to the pallet of blankets where they both sat down. A campfire had been built in the center of the clearing with the beds arranged all around the fire. Al
ready she could feel the much-needed warmth from the fire. Agatha had brought a couple of wicker baskets and placed them beside her.

  “I am so glad that my brother didn’t kill you,” Siena said with a sigh. “He told me you were dead.”

  “Your brother only knocked me down. I wasn’t worth killing to his mind.” Agatha shrugged. “Begging your pardon, milady, we are better off without him.”

  “I’m sure we are,” Siena agreed. She opened the basket next to her, but she only saw food. “You didn’t happen to bring my cloak, did you?”

  “I did.” Agatha reached into a soft sack and pulled out the purple cloak. “A bit wrinkled, but I’m sure it will shake out once you have it on.”

  “I don’t care about the wrinkles. I want the warmth.” Siena gratefully wrapped the cloak around her, and then glanced around at the dense forest. “Where are we going?”

  “To Laird Scott’s holding. Like he said, you wouldn’t have been safe at Berwick, so I begged him to take us with him, or should I say myself because I was sure he was taking you.” Agatha laughed. “You know, milady, he hasn’t let go of you until we arrived here at the clearing and you started hitting him.”

  “I do recall him saying he was going to toss me to the ground.” Siena smiled. “I’m glad he didn’t. I’m not sure I could take many more bruises today.” Her dark eyebrows slanted in a frown. “You know, I’ve never felt at home in Berwick. Do you suppose the Laird’s castle will be any better? Will we be accepted?”

  “Laird Scott seems smart, milady, and strong. His people will accept us. I’m thinking of it as a new beginning.”

  “His name sounds familiar but, at the moment, I cannot place his holding. Are we not his prisoners? It would seem so since my brother was his enemy.”

  “I—I’m not sure, milady,” Agatha said. She reached into one of the baskets and produced a couple of blankets, which she set to the side. “Lord Roderick hasn’t treated us as such. I’m sure he’ll take care of us. I know he appears fierce, but I don’t sense the same cruelty like your brother had buried deep in him.”