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.