“Make camp here—”
“You can’t mean—”
Artair cut off James’s protest. “If this is the only way to see if my brother is in the village, then so be it. Make camp and remain alert. I will remain in touch. If you do not hear from me each day then know that something is amiss. John, you return to Caithness and advise Cavan of our whereabouts and circumstances, tell him to take no action until he hears from me.”
John scratched his head. “I’m not sure if I can find my way back.”
Zia, though a good distance away, stopped and turned. “I will have one of our men take you.”
“You have exceptional hearing,” Artair said.
Her lovely face brightened and soft laughter spilled from her rosy lips. “Most people hear only what they want to hear, while I want to hear everything. Do you wish John to leave now?”
“I want him set to leave as soon as I have news of Ronan,” Artair said.
She nodded, searched the treetops and gave a wave. Suddenly, a young lanky man with bow and arrow dropped to the ground. “Terrance, please wait here with these men and as soon as word is received, escort John to the main road.”
“How will I find my way back?” John asked.
“Someone will see you when you return along the main road and direct you here,” Zia said.
Artair admired the way she seemed to have a solution to most situations. He prided himself on having the same ability and thought that perhaps she was more practical than she appeared.
With everything settled, he followed Zia through the pass, his horse following behind him. It was a narrow passage, the entrance easily missed by the visible eye. A few feet ahead the mountain pass ended and they were greeted by a dense forest of trees, or at least he thought it was.
A short distance into the forest a path led them directly to the village. He spied it just up ahead and he felt a sense of exhilaration mixed with fear. Shortly, the long, exhausting search for his brother could be over. He didn’t want to count on it, though. Too many times he had been disappointed following leads and information that proved false.
He knew he had taken a chance freeing Zia, for she could have lied to gain her freedom, but it was a chance he was willing to take, had to take. Even if it proved false, he needed to know if his brother was there or had ever been there.
The village Black welcomed them with open arms. Smiles shined on everyone’s faces, fields and gardens bloomed abundantly and everyone seemed generous with health.
There was no keep; rather, cottages dotted the landscape, though there looked to be a large communal lodge at the far end of the village. He followed Zia to a good-sized cottage that appeared partially tucked in the edge of the woods.
“Is this where my brother is?” he asked.
“This is where I left him,” Zia said, and smiled. “It’s my grandmother’s home.”
Her smile offered encouragement. Here, he knew, his brother would have found solace. It was a place of peace and healing. He could feel it, strange as it seemed, knew it deep inside.
The door swung open and a tall, slim woman with long, pure white hair that hung in a braid over her chest and fell to her waist greeted them with a huge smile and arms spread wide.
Zia rushed into them. “Grandmother,” she cried, hugging the woman tightly.
Artair observed them. Zia’s grandmother appeared ageless. Few lines and wrinkles graced her lovely face, but not enough to determine age. It was as if each glance offered a different observation and by the time glances were done one could only assume the woman defied aging.
“Welcome to village Black, Artair,” she said with an offered hand.
Had Zia informed her of his name? He didn’t recall hearing her say it, but then, enthralled with the woman’s presence, perhaps he hadn’t heard.
He reached out and accepted her welcome. “Thank you for having me to your village.”
“Bethane,” she said, her smile growing. “My name is Bethane, and you are most welcome here. Come. You most be parched and hungry from your travels.”
“Stay, Nessie,” Artair ordered, but the dog ignored him and followed Bethane into the cottage. “Nessie!”
Bethane turned. “She’s welcome in my home.”
Artair entered the cottage behind his dog and Zia, thinking Nessie definitely needed a firmer hand. He was amazed at the size, the room being large with beautifully crafted furnishings and pottery that were certainly crafted with a skilled hand.
He gave Nessie a reproachful glare, but the dog just parked herself beside Bethane and ignored him.
“Please sit,” Bethane said, extending her hand to a chair at the table in front of the hearth.