Artair remained standing, wanting to see his brother. “Zia says my brother Ronan is here?”
“He has left the village,” Bethane answered gently, and once again offered him a seat. This time he did.
Zia was busy filling a pitcher with a brew from the caldron that hung over the flames when her grandmother said, with concern, “He was too ill to travel.”
Artair looked to Bethane along with Zia. “Why did he leave?’
“I do not know. He was gone when I woke one morning.”
Artair felt the familiar punch of disappointment to his gut. He had hoped beyond reason that this time would be different, but in truth he wasn’t surprised that it hadn’t. It seemed too easy that he should enter a village and simply find his brother there.
“I am sorry,” Zia said.
Her apology was sincere. It was obvious she had expected to find Ronan there, which brought him some relief. She hadn’t lied to him.
“When I left, he needed more time to recover,” Zia added.
Artair could see worry written on her face as she occasionally gnawed at her plump lower lip. She obviously had reservations over Ronan’s departure.
“I agree, but something continued to trouble him. I can only assume that was the reason for his departure,” Bethane said with her eyes on Artair.
“He must have been well enough to leave, if he walked out on his own accord,” Artair said and knew his brother well enough to know it was the truth.
“He was healing nicely,” Bethane said. “He was eating well, resting and growing stronger each day. He had improved greatly from when he first arrived.”
Zia sighed. “I feel better knowing that.”
Bethane placed a comforting hand on Artair’s arm. “I only wish I knew where he went. I can imagine how disappointing this is for you.”
“I had hoped,” Artair said, and was suddenly struck by the resemblance between Bethane and Zia, elegant lines and angles with softness in every tender curve of their faces. It was as if the same craftsman carved them from the same stone, and Artair realized he was seeing for himself how beautifully Zia would age.
Zia placed filled mugs and sweet bread with bramble jelly on the table. “I would have made him stay here until he was well enough to leave.”
Bethane chuckled. “And for you, he probably would have stayed.”
Artair bristled. “He found you appealing?”
Zia looked affronted. “I was his healer.”
Bethane smiled. “Most men find my granddaughter appealing. I believe it’s her passion for life that attracts them, though her exuberance could eventually wear a man down. It will take a special man to love her.”
“It is who I am,” Zia said without apology, and plopped in a chair opposite her grandmother, leaving Artair at the head of the table.
Who was she? Artair could not say he truly knew her, though one day had given him a good indication of her nature, and left him wishing to learn more about her. How, though? How did he learn more? His brother wasn’t here. He had no reason to stay, yet didn’t want to leave. Besides, there could possibly be others in the village who might have seen something that would help him track Ronan.
“Would you mind if I remained here for a few days and talked to the villagers? You never know what they may have seen or heard.”
Bethane placed a slice of bread on his plate and a heaping of bramble jelly. “We would be honored to have your company, Artair. Remain as long as you like.”
He caught the way Zia scrunched her brow. She obviously wondered over her grandmother’s invitation. Was there more to it? The only way he could find out was if he remained and snooped around.
“Zia, you have an extra room in your cottage. Artair could stay with you,” Bethane suggested.
Artair raised a brow. “Would that be proper?”
“Do you intend any improprieties with my granddaughter?”
“Absolutely not,” he said adamantly.
“Then what’s the point of him staying with me?” Zia asked, disappointed.
Artair stared at her, confounded.
Zia burst out laughing, as did Bethane.
“Your word is good enough here,” Bethane said between laughter.
“You are welcome at my cottage,” Zia said, her face bright and her words honest.
“You trust me, a stranger?” he asked with a thump to his chest.
“I don’t consider you a stranger,” Zia said.
He was surprised, and spoke his thoughts. “We’ve known each other barely a day, and how can I trust you when I rescued you from being burned at the stake for being a witch?”
Bethane gasped. “You were tied to a stake?”
“Only for a short time, Grandmother,” Zia said, and sent Artair a scalding look.