Under the Highlander's Spell (6 page)

Bethane kept her tone soft. “She fought hard for him.”

“He is?”

“Still holding on. The night will tell. You will see her tucked in?”

“I will. You need not worry, she is safe with me,” Artair said.

“I know,” Bethane said with a smile, then walked away, Nessie following her.

Z
ia woke with a stretch then bolted up in bed. She was wearing her skirt and blouse from yesterday and it took her a moment to realize why. When she did, she smiled. She recalled being with Artair under the tree. He had to be the one who carried her to bed and tucked her in, clothes and all. How gallant of him.

She looked over at the thin drape that separated them and saw that it was pulled back, the sparse room empty. She hurried out of bed and quickly changed garments, choosing a violet skirt with a white blouse, sprigs of heather skillfully embroidered around the low neckline. After slipping her sandals on, she entered the main room, to find that empty as well. She made haste to the stream behind the cottage, scrubbed her face and hands with the cool water and saw to taming a few wild strands of short hair by dampening them.

Finished and feeling famished, she headed to her grandmother's cottage, where she usually took break
fast. Besides, there was an ill warrior to tend, and since her grandmother hadn't disturbed her during the night, that could mean only two things. The warrior had succumbed to his wounds or survived the night without incident.

She hoped Artair was with Bethane. She was looking forward to seeing him, recalling with pleasure the feel of his hard chest, though it had pillowed her head comfortably enough. But it was the elemental scent of him that had enticed her most; earth, wind, and fire. He was scented with all three, and oh how she loved it.

Zia entered the cottage with a flourish and a smile.

“You missed Artair,” Bethane said.

Neither her flourish or smile faltered. It was not her way. Life was too precious to waste on disappointment and too short not to enjoy.

“I'll find him, though Nessie prefers your company,” Zia said, and plopped down at the table to join her grandmother in her morning oatmeal porridge drizzled with honey.

Bethane patted the dog's head. “She's grown attached to me.”

“I'd say so. She follows you all over and listens to you much better than she does Artair.”

“She has a mind of her own and I understand that,” Bethane said, and received a lick from the dog.

“How is the warrior?”

“Surprisingly, he continues to sleep and heal.”

“Good,” Zia said with a firm nod. “I hoped and prayed for his recovery.”

“Artair heals as well, though in a different way, and will seek more questions,” Bethane said.

Zia scooped up a spoonful of porridge. “He already has. He asked who brought his brother here.”

“And?”

“I spoke the truth. I told him a friend.”

Bethane nodded. “That is the truth, but we both know there is more to it, and when he discovers—”

“I will tell him when the time is right,” Zia said. “Do you know where he is?”

“He has gone to speak with his men. What do you think of Artair?”

Zia rested her elbow on the edge of the table and her chin in the palm of her hand. She tapped her cheek with her fingers while thinking over her grandmother's question. She knew Bethane would not rush an answer out of her. She would want her to think it through and reach a sensible conclusion.

She sputtered at the silly thought of thinking it through and being sensible and laughed out loud, “He's gorgeous!”

Bethane nodded. “I thought as much. Have you looked inside him yet?”

“There's goodness there.” She scratched her head. “But he has an overly sensible nature and a strong responsibility to duty.”

“Good qualities,” her grandmother assured.

Zia shrugged. “He knows nothing of passion.”

“You could teach him.”

Zia's grin grew large. “I plan to.”

After finishing breakfast with her grandmother, Zia went straight to the see how the barbarian was doing. Bethane would be busy making the rounds of the village, visiting with the women whose birthing time was near.

The women of the village took time to sit with the ill and those recovering so that Bethane and Zia would be free to tend others. Zia had long ago found that being a healer had benefits and one of those was the many friendships she formed with women and the ease with which they spoke. It was also how she had learned so much about men, women and sex. Women openly discussed intimacy, some fearing there was something wrong with them because they enjoyed it so much while others complained that they couldn't stand it. The many chats had helped her to help other women and to better understand her own desires.

Tara, a robust woman with a gentle smile, who often spoke candidly with her, was busy working on a piece of embroidery while the barbarian slept.

“Has he stirred?” Zia asked, placing a tender hand to his head. There was no trace of fever, which boded well for him.

“He's rested soundly,” Tara said, gathering her things.

“You gave him the broth?”

“On schedule. You will look after him now?” Tara asked.

Zia nodded. “I will keep an eye on him while I tend to any who seek healing today.”

It was busier than usual, a few scrapes, an abrasion that required stitches, a stomach ailment that actually had Zia concerned, and Artair showing up worried over one of his men.

“It's James. He's complained of these ailments before but no healer has been successful in helping him.”

“Bring him here,” Zia said, not doubting his word, not thinking that he just wished one of his men in the village. He would not do that. Concern showed on his face, and he'd sought her permission first.

The stout man was in agony when Artair hurried him into the healing cottage. Zia saw to him immediately, concerned for the man she had enjoyed fishing with.

She questioned him and learned that his stomach problem occurred on a regular basis. She mixed a combination of herbs and had him drink the potion. It was sweet tasting so he made no objection.

In minutes his stomach soothed and he smiled. “It feels better,” James said rubbing his healed stomach in amazement.

At that moment a painful roar filled the air and Zia dropped the cup in her hand and rushed to the other room, Artair and James following.

Zia fought to keep the barbarian still, trying to soothe him with calming words, but he raged in fear and pain.

To her surprise, Artair came to the rescue. He clamped heavy hands down on the man's shoulders and ordered James to hold his legs still.

“It's all right. You're safe. No one will hurt you. Be still and you will grow strong,” Artair ordered.

The barbarian responded to the commanding tone and settled down.

“Are you in pain?” Zia asked, leaning over the man.

He nodded vigorously.

She quickly ladled broth into a cup from a warming caldron and held it to his lips. “This will ease your pain.”

He eagerly sipped at the brew until there was nothing left, then grabbed her arm. Zia had to stop Artair from ripping the injured man's arm off her.

“I—I—”

“You will recover if you rest and trust that we will help you,” Zia assured him, placed a cool cloth to his brow in hopes it would keep fever away, and gently caressed his shoulder.

He settled, but only after taking hold of her hand. “You won't leave me?”

“I am here, as are others.”

He shook his head. “You. You must stay with me.”

“I will,” she assured him, and felt Artair bristle beside her.

Then the barbarian drifted off to sleep, and she, Artair, and James left him to rest comfortably.

James excused himself, feeling fit and ready to return to Patrick the lone Sinclare warrior who waited outside the entrance of the village.

Zia stopped him. “Bring Patrick here. I wish to keep
an eye on your stomach ailment and there is no sense for him to remain alone.”

James nodded appreciatively and took his leave.

Artair took hold of her arm and moved in close. “Were Ronan's injures as bad as the barbarian's?”

“No, but bad enough,” she answered.

Artair ran his hands through his hair. “He shouldn't have left here. His injuries needed time to heal. He's left himself vulnerable.”

Zia took strong hold of his hand. “I would have preferred he remain here, but you must understand that when Ronan chose to leave here, he probably unwittingly took what was necessary to help him
survive
.”

Artair arched a confused brow. “Explain.”

“Potions necessary to his healing were added to the various foods he was given so that his healing would not be interrupted. Every bite of food he took fortified him. I doubt he left without taking some sustenance with him. He probably grabbed the first available food which meant he took the food kept in his room, which contained healing herbs. He continues to receive what he needs to heal.”

Artair shook his head and stepped away from her. “Your ways are strange to me.”

“To most,” Zia corrected.

“How do you do it?”

“We care for each other and those in need. It makes a difference.”

Artair stared at her unable or unwilling to respond until finally he reached out to her.

She took his outstretched hand and once again held it firm.

“Tell me my brother is strong enough to survive his wounds.”

Zia nodded repeatedly. “Ronan is more than strong enough to survive and more than determined to survive. You will find your brother.”

“It is my most devout wish to see him again. To grab him and hug strength into him and know—” He shook his head slowly. “—know that he is finally safe.”

“Zia!”

At the tearful cry, both she and Artair turned to see a chubby young lad, barely four years old, struggling to hold a plump pup in his arms. “Brute needs help.”

Zia went to his aid. “What's wrong with him, Thomas?”

A fat tear dropped on his pudgy cheek. “His paw.”

Zia gently wiped it away. “You were smart bringing him to me right away.” She eased the pup out of his arms and talked reassuringly to the animal as she entered the other part of the cottage and placed the dog on a small table. “Let's see what's wrong with you, Brute.”

Thomas hurried to the table and patted his pup on the head. “Zia will fix you, Brute.”

She hoped that she could, and after a quick exam, smiled with relief. “Brute has a big splinter in his paw.”

“He does?” Thomas cried out and shook his finger at the dog. “I told you not to play in the wood pile.” He
looked back at Zia. “Is it going to hurt? I don't want Brute to hurt.”

Artair hunkered down beside the lad. “Zia has a tender touch. I bet it doesn't hurt Brute at all.”

Thomas smiled wide, his full cheeks flushed. “Hear that, Brute? It won't hurt.”

Zia had the dog repaired in no time and without as much as a whimper. Actually, she received numerous licks for her good deed. She sent child and pup off with honey biscuits and a promise from Thomas that he would return with Brute in a couple of days so she could make certain his wound was healing properly.

Thomas thanked her with a big hug before he and the pup bounced off, sharing the biscuits.

An old man hunched over from age shuffled into the cottage after Thomas left, and stopped when he spotted Artair. “Sorry, I thought when I saw Thomas leave that you were done. I will wait outside.”

Zia went immediately to his side, her arm going around his frail shoulder. “No, Charles, I can see you now. This is Artair. He is Ronan's brother.”

“Good lad, Ronan,” Charles said as Zia guided him to a chair.

“You knew my brother?” Artair asked eagerly.

“I visited him from time to time. Smart and curious.”

“About what?” Artair asked.

“Just about anything, though he showed a lot of interest in bows.”

“Charles is Peter the bow maker's father,” Zia said.

“You passed your skill on to your son,” Artair said.

Charles nodded. “And he's made a better bow maker than me.”

“And Ronan was interested in bow making?” Artair asked.

“We spoke more about aim and accuracy. And how a skillful archer can hit his target even at distances thought impossible.”

The old man was hit with a coughing fit, and Zia shooed Artair outside, though not before Artair told the man they'd speak again.

Zia wasn't surprised when almost an hour later Charles left the cottage and she saw Artair join the old man and follow alongside him talking. But then that was what he was there for, to find out all he could about his brother's stay here. And many would have stories to share with him, for many had visited with Ronan.

However, she didn't know if any would be helpful to Artair, at least not helpful in the sense of what he searched for. Their stories wouldn't tell Artair where his brother went, but they would help him to better understand his brother and what he had gone through, and she wondered if he would realize that.

Several hours later Zia finished her duties and decided to dig up some woodland herbs to flavor that night's fish. Bethane returned and suggested that she find Artair and ask him to help her.

“Matchmaking, Grandmother?” she asked teasingly.

Bethane grinned and placed a hand to her chest. “Me? Never!”

“You like him, don't you?” Zia asked more seriously.

“From what I see of him, yes.”

“You see more than most.”

“I look deeper than most,” Bethane said. “But there is much on the surface of Artair that shows me he is a good man. Dig deeper and you will find even more sterling qualities.”

“Are you suggesting I dig deeper?”

She gave a wink. “Isn't that what you're about to do?”