Under the Highlander's Spell Page 18

  Neddie had returned as soon as she discovered that her husband and son survived without any injures and offered her help.

  She turned to Neddie. “Can your husband and son help get this man into a cottage where he can rest?”

  Neddie nodded, and Zia gave her instructions, telling her what needed to be done for the injured man she’d been working on.

  As Neddie moved off with him, Zia cleaned her hands in a bucket of water that had been filled and refilled throughout the battle by the young children. She grabbed her healing basket, which was seriously depleted, and followed Artair and Cavan. She was concerned about several other wounded men, but their situation didn’t sound nearly as dire as what she’d been told about James.

  She hoped that Artair’s description of the wound was exaggerated, but seeing it, she quickly knew that it hadn’t been. She didn’t know if she could be able to save his arm, or more important, save James.

  James appeared to have the same thought. “I’m done, I’m done!” he yelled to the men around him. “Kill me now and get it over!”

  Zia dropped down beside him on the ground. “How dare you survive a battle only to surrender to a wound.”

  “I’ve lost my arm.”

  “Not yet you haven’t,” she said, and looked to Artair. “Find me a clean enough place to work on him.”

  It didn’t take long to have James settled on a sturdy table in a cottage. Neddie arrived to let her know that the warrior she had worked on now slept comfortably and was grateful to her, and she offered further help if needed.

  Zia gratefully accepted her offer.

  She could see those who had looked at the wound didn’t believe she could save James’s arm, but no one said as much. They let her go about her work without interruption.

  She took several chances she normally wouldn’t, but her grandmother had often told her that if it looked like there was no chance at all, to take all the chances you could.

  She gave James a concoction that healers rarely used, since it wasn’t safe. It would either make him sleep deeply for hours or kill him. But she had little choice. With the work she had to do on his arm, he could never have tolerated the pain, and she needed him very still; the potion guaranteed both, and alleviated his misery over losing his arm, which she knew could still happen.

  As she worked on James, she was aware that Artair came and went from the cottage. He was not the only one. There were also women who came to ask advice about injuries they weren’t sure how to handle.

  Meanwhile, a fresh group of warriors arrived from the keep, while those warriors who could, returned home. Another group was sent out after the remaining marauders, to make certain they didn’t terrorize other villages.

  Addie arrived when Zia was nearly finished.

  “When the news arrived at the keep, I thought you could use some help and more healing supplies and a change of clothes,” she said, holding up two baskets.

  “You’re an angel,” Zia said with relief.

  “No, m’lady, you are,” Neddie said with a tear in her eye.

  “I’m a healer,” Zia said, as if it explained everything, then returned to stitching James’s arm.

  It wasn’t until hours later, well past nightfall, with James safely tucked in bed and Addie arguing with Zia that she must sleep, that Artair entered the cottage.

  Zia was prepared to argue her point that James needed her nearby if there was a problem with the wound.

  “Your wife is not reasonable,” Addie said to her son.

  “That she isn’t, Mother,” Artair said.

  “James may need me,” Zia insisted.

  “There is no more you can do for him except get some rest and be refreshed when he does need you,” Artair said, walking over to where she stood by the table.

  “But—”

  “You can do no more, Zia,” he reiterated.

  “There’s always more—”

  “Not this time,” Artair said. “You have spent hours on him. What will be will be.”

  Zia felt tears threaten her eyes, felt her limbs go numb, felt her overworked body giving out, and when he opened his arms, she gratefully fell into them.

  He scooped her up, and she dropped her head to his shoulder. “I don’t want him to die.”

  “That isn’t up to you. You must think of yourself and the others who need you. Mother will look after James and fetch you if needed. All warriors rest after battle, and you have battled bravely today.”

  Her eyes began to close. “I am no warrior. I am a healer.”

  “That you are, dear wife. That you are.”

  Chapter 23

  A week after the battle, Artair and a group of men saw to bringing the last of the wounded men home. Zia hadn’t allowed the seriously injured to be moved until she felt they were able to make the brief journey.

  He had not only worked beside her that week, but watched her work, and as usual was amazed with the way she gave the injured hope and how her generous smile made even the most downtrodden break into a grin. It wasn’t only her healing skills that helped; her enthusiasm for life lifted the spirit and lightened the heart. He could easily understand why so many would deem her a witch. The envious and ignorant would claim she used magic, spells or potions, and that worried him.

  He didn’t believe that Zia was now safe, and he intended to remain vigilant. Sooner or later news would arrive from the church council. It was inevitable, and he’d be prepared to do whatever was necessary to save her. He would not see her denounced as a witch or burned at the stake, and with an eye toward protecting her, was determined to make her his wife, and sooner rather than later.

  But how?

  That was the question.

  He barely had time to talk to her, and when they fell into bed together, they were so exhausted that sleep claimed them immediately. However, now that they were home with more helping hands, Artair planned on having Zia to himself for a while.

  “Don’t count on it.”

  Artair turned with a befuddled look from where he stood on the steps of the keep, a strong autumn wind blowing, to see his brother Cavan cracking a smile as he approached.

  Cavan laughed. “It takes a married man and one in love with his wife to know what you’re thinking even without seeing your expression, though once you turned around I knew I was right. You haven’t had your wife to yourself lately.”

  “Neither have you,” Artair challenged.

  Cavan continued laughing. “Yes, but I’m laird so I can command.”

  It was Artair’s turn to laugh. “You never have nor will you ever command Honora.”

  “Damn, you can’t even let your brother keep his fantasy.”

  Talk suddenly turned serious as Cavan placed a firm hand on Artair’s shoulder and spoke low so no one else could hear. “Your wife works miracles.”

  “Which could prove fatal for her,” Artair replied, voicing what Cavan would not.

  “No one in the village speaks poorly of her,” Cavan assured. “All are grateful for her healing skills, especially James.”

  Artair nodded. “He continues to improve, and Zia keeps his hopes high, though she is honest with him, letting him know that she isn’t certain if his strength will fully return to his arm.”

  “I think James is feeling good because your wife informed him that she sends for that pretty lass he favored in her village to help look after him.”

  Artair chuckled. “James did brighten considerably when Zia told him she had sent for Mave to help.”

  “Considerably? He nearly jumped out of bed.”

  The brothers laughed, though it came to an abrupt halt when they spotted their mother running toward them and waving frantically.

  The two ran to her.

  “Honora. Honora.” It was the only thing a breathless Addie could utter.

  Artair helped his mother as Cavan took off toward where Addie pointed.

  Artair and Addie followed him in the same direction and came upon a hectic scene
as they entered the cottage of one of the healing warriors. Honora had been visiting with him when she was struck with pain. Everyone in the cottage was upset, especially Cavan, who held his wife in his arms as she groaned.

  Lachlan entered and began yelling, “Do something for her! Do something!”

  Artair took over then. He directed Lachlan to find Zia, while Cavan insisted upon carrying his wife to the keep. Interceding, Artair made him understand that it was better for her to remain in the cottage until Zia could look at her.

  Shortly afterward, Zia arrived to take control of the situation. Following a brief examine, and asking questions, she said that Honora had no more than an upset stomach. Zia ordered her to bed and then began to prepare a special brew.

  It wasn’t until Artair was alone with her as she brewed the potion that Zia confessed to more concern than she’d let on. In fact he had suspected as much, having seen the look on her face earlier, during her examination.

  “I’m not sure she will carry much longer,” Zia said.

  “If she delivers sooner, what of the babe?” he asked

  “If I can manage to keep her from going into labor too early, then I believe the child can be saved.”

  “And Honora?”

  “I’m not worried about her; it’s the babe that concerns me.”

  “Should you speak to Cavan about this?”

  “Honora will see his worry.”

  Artair nodded. “You’re right. What do we do?”

  “I will speak with Honora.”

  “And Cavan?”

  “That will be up to his wife,” Zia said.

  “If it were you, I would want to know,” Artair said.

  Zia placed a gentle hand to his cheek. “I would confide in you, for you would do what was necessary. Cavan, however, is madly in love with his wife and fears losing her.”

  Artair almost grabbed his chest, the stab was so sharp. Zia had no idea how he felt about her. But then why should she? He hadn’t made his feelings known; he’d only just realized them himself. And if he claimed them now, she wouldn’t believe him. What was he to do?

  Show her you love her.

  The voice in his head was clear, and it sounded just like Bethane, but then, the older woman did give good advice.

  Artair took hold of Zia’s hand. “Handle this as you will, but later make time for us.” He leaned down and, before kissing her, whispered, “You are so beautiful.”

  Her breath caught as he stole a quick kiss. Then he walked off. He had to or he would have dragged her upstairs to their bedchamber and kept her there for the rest of the day and night. They hadn’t made love since the battle—no time, no chance—though desire was there, and not only his. He could sense it in the way Zia leaned heavily against him when tired, the way her arm went around his waist to hug him, the way her lips found his at the oddest times, and how she whispered in his ear when least expected, “I want you.”

  Zia was more of a woman than he had ever expected. And now that he had her, he wouldn’t exchange her for anyone else in the world. She was his and he loved her.

  He hurried up the stone stairs to Cavan’s bedchamber and entered through the open door. His brother sat on the bed beside his wife. For a moment Artair thought of placing his hand on Cavan’s shoulder, but realized if he did that, his brother would know something was wrong.

  “Zia will be here in a minute,” he said, walking over to the bed and seeing that his mother sat on the edge of the chair in the corner. “How are you feeling, Honora?”

  “Better,” she said with a weak smile.

  He noticed how her eyes darted to the open door, and knew that she waited for Zia.

  “Why don’t we leave the women to handle this?” Artair said to his brother. “I’m thirsty for an ale or two.”

  “Make that three or four,” Lachlan called from the doorway. “Are you feeling better, dear sister?”

  Honora waved to him from the bed. “Much better, thank you. Now take this husband of mine off to drink with you while I tend to woman’s work.”

  “You heard her,” Lachlan said, waving at Cavan.

  Cavan didn’t budge. He looked to his wife. “Are you sure—”

  “Go,” Honora said, shooing him away. “Your mother is here, and Zia will be here shortly.”

  Cavan left reluctantly and with a promise to return soon to see how she was feeling.

  Artair hoped they wouldn’t pass Zia on the way to the hall, but they had no such luck. They met her on the way down as she was on her way up.

  “My wife?” Cavan asked anxiously.

  “Is fine,” Zia said, and Artair knew she answered honestly. He only hoped that Cavan would not ask about the babe, and was relieved when his brother simply nodded and moved on. Her answer was enough for now, though Artair didn’t think it would suffice for long.

  He lingered behind his brothers, wanting a moment with Zia, if only briefly. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers along her arm. She couldn’t respond in kind, since she had a steaming cup of brew in her hands, but he felt her response. It was a sensual shiver that rippled through her body and along his.

  “Later,” he whispered with urgency, and with a wide smile she nodded vigorously.

  He followed his brothers down the stairs, wishing he and Zia were going up the stairs to their bedchamber. Shaking the thought from his head, he kept a quick pace behind them.

  Zia entered Honora’s bedchamber with her mind far from where it should be. Artair had been in her thoughts far too often. And she found that she wanted to be with him far more often than she’d ever imagined possible. She sighed, knowing she had no time for such thoughts. But later she would…

  She smiled as she approached the bed in which Honora lay.

  “Tell me,” Honora demanded sharply, and caused Addie to jump out of her chair.

  Zia took charge, handing the brew to Honora. “Drink slowly and we’ll talk.”

  Honora followed her directions, Addie slipping back into her chair, waiting.

  The two women were like family to her. She couldn’t say when that had happened. Perhaps from the start she’d felt close to them because of Artair. Whatever the reason, she wanted to alleviate their fears while alerting Honora to potential problems.

  “You need to rest,” she said.

  “Why?” Honora asked fearfully.

  From experience, Zia knew that many women blamed themselves when something went wrong with their babe, so she answered carefully. “The easiest way for me to explain it is that the babe is restless.”

  Honora grew upset.

  “It has nothing to do with you,” Zia assured. “It is the babe who is making his wants and needs known.”

  “What do I do?” Honora asked anxiously.

  “You rest and listen to what the babe has to say.”

  “How?” Honora asked, near tears.

  Zia reached out and took hold of her hand. “You already know. You knew as soon as the babe pained you that it was time to rest. Don’t be stubborn. Listen to your babe and he will be born without a problem.”

  Addie shared her own experience. “Like father like son. Cavan kept me off my feet for several weeks before his birth.”

  “Really?” Honora asked with relief.

  “And look at him now,” Addie boasted with pride.

  The three women laughed while Honora sipped the brew.

  “Tell me what to do and I will do it,” Honora said. “And then I will share the news with Cavan. I would not want him to keep a secret from me, and I will not keep one from him.” She placed her hand on her rounded stomach. “He is our babe, and we must face any problem together.”

  Zia settled Honora to rest and promised she would send Cavan to her right away. Addie left with her, and as soon as they were out the door, took hold of her arm and moved her aside.

  “Honora will be all right?” she asked in a low voice.

  Zia nodded. “With rest and attention to the babe’s demands, I believe all will go
well.”

  “But you’re worried,” Addie said. “I can feel it.”

  “I always worry when a babe makes demands before he arrives, but we are aware of his demands and will keep a watch on him and Honora.”

  They continued to walk and Addie continued to question, though not about the babe.

  “How are you and Artair?”

  “We do well,” Zia said, and realized it was true. They were doing better than she had imagined they would, or was it better in spite of what she’d imagined?

  “You seem surprised.”

  “I suppose I am,” Zia admitted.

  “Why?”

  “We are different, Artair and I.”

  Addie smiled. “Not so much.”

  Zia looked at her, dazed. Artair and she were like night and day, yet Addie was suggesting that they weren’t.

  Addie stopped before they reached the hall. “One more thing. I want to know the truth about Ronan.”

  Zia had been expecting her to ask about her son. However, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “I am confident that my son one day will return home and with what you have told the family, I am sure of it. So tell me the truth. Tell me why he has yet to return when it appears he’s free to do so.”

  Zia took hold of her hand. “There are times when it is best that a question is not answered.”

  Tears pooled in Addie’s eyes and she looked ready to argue.

  “Please,” Zia begged. “I know how difficult this must be, but let it be for now. You will have your answers soon enough.”

  Addie stuck her chin up. “Cavan is waiting.”

  “I envy you your strength,” Zia said softly.

  “And I thank you for looking after Ronan long after he left your care.”

  They entered the great hall, and Zia immediately informed Cavan that Honora wished to speak with him. She hoped to talk with Artair; about what, she wasn’t sure, she simply wanted time with him, even if it were just a walk and they didn’t speak a word. She just felt the need to be with him, hold his hand, touch him, kiss him, or have him there beside her, and his intense glance told her he felt the same.

  She was walking toward him when a woman entered the hall asking for the healer. Zia stopped, and for a moment wished she wasn’t a healer. She could see that Artair felt the same way.