Under the Highlander's Spell Page 2

  She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I got sheared for healing them.”

  “It doesn’t look all that bad,” Artair said, meaning it. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing a woman with short hair but had to admit it did Zia justice. If possible, it made her appear more beautiful than the women he was used to.

  She laughed and rushed her fingers through her hair once again. “And here I thought you were a truthful man, Artair.”

  His innards jolted hearing his name spill with lighthearted laughter from her rosy lips, though was it that even jokingly she doubted his integrity?

  “I am a truthful man,” he said. “Your short hair seems to enhance your beauty.”

  Her green eyes sparkled and her smile deepened and turned lopsided, and he thought it the most enchanting smile he had ever seen.

  Enchanting.

  Was she enchanting him? Only if he allowed her to.

  “What a charming compliment,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome, but tell me…You are obviously an intelligent woman. How did you ever get yourself in such dire straits? You must have realized the situation in the village had turned dangerous for you. Why didn’t you leave before it got out of hand?”

  “An ill babe,” she said, her smile fading. “I couldn’t leave the darling lad. He had yet to reach his first full year. He had a right to a longer life, and I had the ability to see that he got it. He required constant care until I was certain the worst had past and he would survive. By then…”

  “It was too late.”

  She nodded. “In saving him, I condemned myself. No one had expected the lad to live, though the mother hoped and the lad fought bravely for his life.”

  “I admire your courage. There are not many who will give their life for another.”

  “I think I like you and your compliments,” she teased. “But alas, I cannot accept compliments for doing my duty. I am a healer; it is my obligation to heal.”

  “Even at your own peril?”

  “I take a risk whenever I tend the ailing. I never know if I will fall to an illness that plagues a village. I can only trust in my knowledge and have faith that all will turn out well.”

  “Did you have faith while tied to the stake?”

  “It was all I had.”

  “Have you ever been accused of being a witch before?” he asked.

  “No. I have been fortunate, though aware of the risks.”

  “Yet it doesn’t stop you.”

  “You are a warrior?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered proudly.

  “You know the risks when you enter a battle. Yet you enter it knowing you could die.”

  “I am defending my land,” he argued.

  “I am defending life,” she said with equal pride.

  “But you are only a wo—”

  “Do not say what I think you mean to say, for it will surely insult me.”

  He noticed her eyes twinkle with mirth and her lips fight a teasing smile, but her words had been edged with a boldness that cautioned him. She had meant what she said.

  She sat up suddenly and pointed a few feet ahead. “There’s a narrow path to the left.”

  They turned where she directed. It could hardly be called a path. Tree branches threatened to knock Artair and his men off their horses and forced them to hunch down over their saddles. He did, however, find being hunched over Zia…pleasant. Her hair smelled sweet, like a freshly plucked bouquet of flowers, the spiky tendrils tickled his cheek, and damned if her plump lips weren’t ripe for kissing.

  He was glad to see that the path cleared just ahead. If he remained hovering over her much longer he damn well was going to kiss her.

  With that thought heavy on his mind, Artair lifted his head too soon and a tree branch smacked him in the forehead.

  He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of pain.

  He jolted when he felt her fingers explore his forehead and slowly opened his eyes. She was focused on seeing to his care, but to him her fingertips felt cool and her touch more like a caress.

  “Nothing serious. It leaves a welt that will disappear soon enough,” she advised.

  He had hoped her fingers would linger longer, but with her examination finished, her touch vanished and disappointment rushed over him.

  “There is another turn a few feet ahead and it would be best if your men walked the horses.”

  He followed her lead and ordered his men to dismount. Zia slipped out of his arms and off his horse before he could help her and walked a few feet away from him. It wasn’t a far distance, but oddly enough, he felt as if she had slipped from his grasp.

  He watched her stretch her shoulders back, swing her arms out and roll her head from side to side. Then she smiled wide. Her beauty stunned him and for a moment, a sheer moment, he wondered if she was a witch for she certainly seemed to be bewitching him.

  Her clothes—dark blue skirt and pale yellow blouse—while common, fit her body like the silks and velvet garments tailored for royals, and she carried herself with the same distinction.

  Nessie, his dog, went over and immediately made friends with her, but then Nessie did whatever she wanted to do.

  “She is a beauty, so friendly and obedient,” Zia said.

  Artair laughed. “Nessie is far from obedient. She has a mind of her own.”

  Zia kissed the mutt on the head. “Smart lass.”

  “Is this no name, no direction place close?” Artair asked returning to the matter at hand.

  “We will reach it by noon tomorrow.”

  She walked ahead leading them, Nessie following her. Artair’s only recourse was to do as Nessie did, follow Zia. His men trailed behind grumbling. While he did not believe in the power of witches he knew some of his men did and at the moment he was sure that they thought following her unwise.

  After a few more twists and turns he wondered if he didn’t agree with them, for suddenly he felt in unfamiliar territory and worse, confined and confused, by the dense growth of trees and foliage.

  “What is this place?” he demanded.

  Zia glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “My home.”

  She hurried ahead and when she drifted from sight he grew concerned that perhaps he had been foolish not to have been more cautious with her, but then she popped up in front of him, her smile glowing like a bright full sun.

  “This way,” she said pointing. “I am starving. There is a stream, and I”—she tapped her chest proudly—“am very good at catching fish.”

  “Did you hear that, James?” Artair called to one of his men. “She is very good at catching fish.”

  “Not as good as I,” James shouted back.

  “A challenge. I love it,” Zia said with a laugh, and hurried ahead of them, Nessie on her heels.

  “No fair,” James yelled and the short, stout man quickly handed his reins to the warrior behind him and took chase.

  Not long after, Zia caught the first fish. James frustrated, threw down the pole he had quickly fashioned from a branch. Artair assumed Zia would take delight in her success, but instead she shared with James her secret to catching fish so quickly. With leaves dangling from his hook James caught a fish and before Artair knew it they were all sitting around a fire waiting eagerly for four fish to finish cooking.

  The smell was phenomenal, Zia having added to the cleaned fish a mixture of crushed leaves she had gathered from the surrounding woods. His men had eyed her skeptically but when the scent had turned mouth-watering their grumbling halted.

  After tasting the fish the men attacked it, licking every morsel off their fingers and grumbling because she insisted that each give a share to the dog.

  “A great cook besides a great healer,” Artair said.

  The others nodded, grinned, and patted their stomachs.

  Zia bowed her head in appreciation. “Food can sometimes be more healing than potions.”

  A lively conversation ensued, and
Artair was amazed at the way his men so easily befriended her. But then, he was beginning to realize that Zia embraced life with such zest, it was hard not to like her. He could also understand how her passionate nature might intimidate some and possibly cause jealously in others.

  Within the last few hours he had gotten a good insight into her and was eager to learn more. She had surprised him from the beginning. He had expected a shivering, frightened woman after being so close to being burnt at the stake, but once free she seemed unbothered by her brush with death.

  Courageous or foolhardy?

  He still wasn’t certain.

  On the road once again, they alternated between walking and riding, the path narrowing, winding, then yielding to easy terrain. The sun had surfaced as soon as they left the village, and it remained strong all day. Summer might be waning, but today she was at her peak.

  Artair realized that there was no keeping Zia beside him, or Nessie for that matter. She would talk with him awhile, and then be off foraging in the surrounding woods, returning with a flush of excitement, waving bunches of foliage as if she had discovered gold.

  But when she returned carrying a twig basket she had obviously fashioned to carry an abundance of berries, the men grabbed handfuls with appreciative grins. Nessie lingered nearby, and from the way the dog licked her lips, it appeared she had already had her share.

  “Leave some for me,” Artair warned, laughing.

  “We got here first,” James argued good-naturedly.

  Zia hurried alongside him afterward, filling the empty basket with her bunches of leaves, and he was glad for her company. Though she was in truth a stranger, he felt comfortable with her, as though they had been longtime friends.

  Bewitched.

  Women could certainly bewitch, and he supposed Zia did bewitch with her contagious enthusiasm. But being a healer, she balanced it with a reverence for life. She certainly appeared a complex woman, and that enticed him.

  After several hours he ordered James and Patrick to hunt a couple of fat hares for supper.

  Surprisingly, the two men looked to Zia, and it was James who asked. “Will you cook for us?”

  Zia smiled with glee. “Wild onions and I think…” She tapped her chin in thought. “I know…” And off she ran, the dog running after her.

  “Be careful your arrows don’t find her,” Artair warned his men.

  “Worry not, I’ll hear their approach,” Zia called out.

  The men stared wide-eyed after her, and Artair just stared, his mouth slightly agape, too late to respond to her for she had already disappeared into the woods.

  How she had heard words meant only for his men he didn’t know.

  “You know witches have powers we don’t,” James whispered to him.

  “You think Zia a witch?” Artair asked bluntly.

  James scratched his bushy hair. “She is a strange one.”

  “So that makes her a witch?”

  “She is a beauty,” James said even lower, as if afraid she’d overhear him.

  “That makes her a witch too?”

  “I’m just saying maybe we should beware.”

  “You asked her to cook the hare, giving her ample opportunity to poison us.”

  James had to think a moment, and then grinned as if he’d settled his own doubt. “She smiles too much to be a witch. Witches don’t smile. They’re mean buggers.”

  “I’m glad we’ve settled that,” Artair said, though he wondered how often others questioned the same about Zia. The thought plagued him the whole hour before a campsite was decided on for the night.

  Zia had suggested the place, which was near a stream, so the horses could drink their fill. She had returned to her foraging, promising to meet them at the location. Artair truly should not have allowed her to wander off on her own. There was always the chance she wouldn’t return, and with no knowledge of the area, he and his men could very well be lost for days.

  However, he believed Zia true to her word that she was a healer who did her duty. She would want to return to see how Ronan was healing. She had remarked about how he had been healing nicely when she left, so she had to be curious as to how he’d been during her absence.

  Artair planned on questioning her about Ronan tonight, after they ate and one of the men took watch while the others slept. He would find out as much about Ronan as he could for he wanted to be prepared to help his youngest brother however possible. He’d been missing over a year now, and everyone missed him terribly and wanted nothing more than his safe return home.

  His thoughts were interrupted when the two warriors returned boasting of their hunt and showing off two plump hares each had caught. Zia followed them, her basket overflowing with a variety of greens and several wild onions. That her foraging proved beneficial was obvious in her brightly flushed cheeks and sparkling green eyes.

  She was a tempty morsel, but Artair’s hunger was for information and food and he intended to assuage both as soon as possible.

  The meal was amazingly delicious, and the men ate with vigor, not one of them mentioning anything about witches. With everyone relaxed, conversation was lively, and when all the meat had been cleaned from the bones, James stood and volunteered for the first watch.

  “That’s not necessary,” Zia informed him.

  “And why is that?” Artair asked.

  “These woods are safe.”

  “No woods are safe,” Artair said.

  “These woods are. Trust me.”

  James glanced around the landscape skeptically. “Are there wee folk about?”

  “James!” Artair warned sternly.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t believe,” James argued. “You heard yourself how the wee folk stole all of Bogg’s coins and left him near the river to almost drown.”

  “Bogg drank himself drunk and had to concoct a good tale to appease his wife, or she’d have drowned him herself.”

  The others laughed.

  “He knew no one would dare speak against the wee folk,” Artair finished. “Bogg used his head, once it cleared, and told a tale that keeps growing taller with each telling.”

  The other men nodded in agreement.

  James looked to Zia for clarification. “If not the wee folk, then how are these woods safe?”

  “Sentinels.”

  Artair sprang to his feet, he and his men drawing their swords as Nessie sprinted to his side.

  Chapter 3

  “Your weapons are not necessary,” Zia said. “Besides, they are useless. Our sentinels are excellent archers. If they intended to kill you, you would have been dead when you first stepped on our land.”

  Artair ordered his men to put away their swords. “They have been watching us all day?” he asked.

  Zia could see uncertainty in his eyes. He was probably debating his next move, though ordering his men to sheath their weapons was a wise choice. She didn’t wish him to suffer needlessly. After all, he had saved her life.

  “There is nothing for you to fear. They will not harm you. They are there to protect our land.”

  “Our land?” Artair questioned.

  “The village Black. It belongs to all of us who live there, though it is named after my family, who founded it. Believe me, Artair, we mean you and your men no harm. The village is probably grateful you rescued me.”

  “How would they know? I have only rescued you today.”

  He was quick-witted, though cautious and he seemed to apply sound reason to his decisions. He had realized fast enough that the only way he would be able to have what he wanted from her was to free her and he had paid handsomely for the decision. And he hadn’t hesitated in paying the coins, which made her realize how important his brother Ronan was to him.

  It seemed every step he took was toward finding his brother, and she couldn’t blame him. If she had a missing sibling, she would do the same. Unfortunately, she was alone, without father or mother, but she was ever so grateful to have her grandmother.

&nbs
p; “They keep track of my whereabouts,” she answered, not ready to admit to the odd connection between her and her grandmother.

  “You give me your word that we are safe?” he asked.

  Strange, but comforting, that he would accept her word. It meant he trusted her, and that pleased her.

  “You have my word that no one will hurt you or your men. The sentinels protect from danger. You and your men are no danger to us. You can rest easy tonight.”

  Artair signaled his men that there was no threat, and the other three men spread their blankets and sought a good night’s sleep.

  He however did not, and Zia knew he intended to speak with her. She was ready. Actually, she looked forward to the discussion. Artair intrigued her. He had remained calm and in control throughout the whole ordeal in the village as if none of it had disturbed him. Even now he seemed in control and unperturbed, and she couldn’t understand why that troubled her.

  His men were soon snoring around the campfire, and she and Artair were left to themselves, Nessie cuddling beside her. It didn’t take long for him to begin questioning her about Ronan.

  “My brother was brought here to your village?”

  She had questions of her own as she responded with a nod. “Ronan made mention of three brothers.”

  “Cavan, the oldest; then there’s me; Lachlan follows; with Ronan the youngest.”

  “Ronan worried about Cavan.”

  “Cavan and Ronan were captured by barbarians during a battle. They were separated, and Cavan finally returned home after a year of captivity. He worries daily over Ronan’s fate,” Artair said. “He also worries about his new wife, Honora, who is to give birth in a couple of months.”

  “And Lachlan? Is he wed?”

  That brought a smile to Artair’s face. “Lachlan wed? Not likely. He likes women too much, as they do him.”

  “Ronan missed you all, especially his father and mother.”

  Artair’s joy vanished as quickly as a snuffed out candle, and Zia realized the news wasn’t good.

  “Our father was murdered a few months ago, and while the culprit was caught and punished, my heart breaks to have to tell Ronan.”

  “I am sorry for your loss. It must be difficult for your mother.”