Artair felt a stab of guilt. He hadn’t meant to upset or worry Bethane, but he intended to view the situation reasonably and sensibility would show that he had taken a huge risk in taking a chance with her.
“With your intentions to remain for a while, we should be able to get to know each other better,” Zia challenged. “Then you can determine for yourself if I am a witch.”
“A reasonable offer,” Bethane declared. “Now with that settled let me tell you about your brother.”
Artair gave her his immediate attention wanting to hear all she had to say, but his mind lingered on Zia, the way she quirked the corner of her mouth, the way her eyes danced with joy, the soothing tinkle of her laughter and her generous smile when she found something amusing or pleasing, which was often.
“He fought against his pain, all his pain,” Bethane said. “I would hear him whispering to himself to stay strong, fight, not give up. And he would laugh when he spoke of his brothers, telling me stories of when he was young and how Cavan—I believe he told me that Cavan was his oldest brother?”
Artair nodded, the knot in his throat preventing him from responding.
Bethane continued. “He claimed Cavan always protected him from his other brothers or his own stupidity, or as I advised his youthful innocence.”
“Cavan did that,” Artair said with fond memory. “He always protected Ronan, always kept him safe from harm.”
“I believe Ronan felt obliged to return the favor,” Zia added. “He wanted so badly to heal. He was determined to regain his strength and…”
When she didn’t finish, Artair asked, “And?”
Zia’s smile faded and she seemed reluctant to continue, but she did. “He wanted to rescue Cavan and seek revenge against those who had caused him and his brother such pain, such grief. He was as determined to seek revenge as he was determined to heal.”
Bethane nodded. “That surely was the way of it.”
Artair raised a proud chin. “Then he truly is a Sinclare.”
“Revenge serves no purpose,” Bethane warned.
“I beg to differ,” Artair said strongly.
“As a warrior, I would expect no different,” Bethane said.
Artair didn’t care for the way she spoke to him as if he were a child needing guidance. “Warriors are necessary.”
“I won’t argue that,” Bethane said. “I respect warriors and the need for them, but revenge?” She shook her head. “That can only bring more sorrow and regret than is necessary.” She stood, tall and regal, like a queen who had finished speaking to her subjects. “Zia, show Artair to your cottage, and Artair, feel free to speak to anyone in the village. We will all help you as much as possible. I must take my leave now. Bless you, my son.”
Artair stood as she walked out of the cottage with poise and dignity. She was a gracious woman, and Artair believed an intelligent one. He looked forward to future discussions. It took him a moment to realize that Nessie had followed her, and he called out for the dog.
“My grandmother is wise. You should listen to her,” Zia said, then grinned. “You’ve lost Nessie to her.”
“We’ll see about the dog, the advice I might take.”
As they walked out of the cottage his eyes settled over Zia and the seductive sway of her hips. He realized as he watched her that it wasn’t intentional or meant to entice. She simply possessed a unique rhythm, one that fit her body comfortably, the provocative sway as catchy as a repetitive tune.
Chapter 5
“Keep your eyes on the path,” Zia warned, and heard Artair stumble behind her. She turned as he easily righted himself. “There are some twist and turns in our village. I don’t want you getting lost.”
He nodded, and she heard him keep pace as they continued on.
She felt terrible about his brother having left before he arrived. She hadn’t expected him to be gone, and she didn’t believe he had been well enough to leave. What then had happened? She supposed revenge could fuel the body, but like her grandmother, she would not have advised it. Revenge never allowed for full healing.
She was glad Artair decided to remain for a while longer. She had hoped he would. It would not only do him good to be here, to cease his hunt for his brother, if only briefly, but give her time to get to know him better. She found him appealing in so many different ways, and she wanted to know why. He was handsome and intelligent, but that wasn’t the whole of him and she wanted to know the whole of him.
Zia stopped before a quaint cottage, neither small nor large and with a front flower and herb garden that bloomed profusely. “My home,” she said proudly, stepping aside for him to precede her down a pebbled path to the weathered, arched front door.