Under the Highlander's Spell(27)
Morning greetings were called to him as he meandered through the village to Bethane’s cottage. It was a beautiful sunny day and he’d never felt so alive. Life had suddenly become more potent and more pleasurable.
He entered the cottage and stopped abruptly. It was empty. In the few days he had been there, he always found Bethane and Zia at the table sharing breakfast. What had happened?
He began to worry.
He walked around to the side of the cottage, certain he would find either of the women. He didn’t.
Tara, a healer-in-training, was there, and she didn’t know where they were.
Without hesitation, Artair began searching the village, but no one, not a single soul, could tell him their whereabouts.
He decided to see if his men had seen Zia or Bethane.
James shook his head at Artair’s approach. “Patrick has returned with bad news.”
Artair had recently sent Patrick to the main road to see if there were any signs of John, the warrior he had sent to inform Cavan of their whereabouts.
“Tell me,” Artair said, prepared for the worst.
Patrick stepped forward. “The village that thought to burn Zia as a witch has contacted the church council claiming that Zia practices witchcraft. The council intends to investigate the accusation.”
The news shocked and frightened Artair. How would he ever keep Zia safe? And how could he keep her safe if he didn’t know where she was?
“Be prepared to leave,” Artair ordered, and his men nodded.
He then continued his search of the village, and as before, no one could tell him where Zia or Bethane was and no one seemed concerned.
By early afternoon he was beside himself with worry and wanted to rush and grab Bethane and hug her when he finally caught sight of her entering her cottage.
He hurried to her, his silhouette filling the doorway. “Where have you been?”
Bethane turned with a flourish. “Artair, you startled me.”
“I have been looking for you and Zia. Where is she?”
“Is something wrong?” Bethane asked.
The older woman was perceptive; he should have known she would sense his concern. However, he couldn’t hide it. He was worried about Zia’s safety.
“Where is Zia?”
“What is wrong, Artair? Tell me,” Bethane demanded.
Artair recounted the news he had heard from Patrick, and watched Bethane pale. He reached out and helped her to sit, and she took his hand.
“Before sunrise an urgent message arrived from the village Holcote pleading for a healer. A difficult birth, we were told. Zia packed her basket and went to her aid.” Bethane shook her head.
“Tell me.”
“Holcote is not far from the village Lorne, which accused her of witchcraft.”
“I’m going after her.”
Bethane grabbed his arm. “She will not leave the woman in need regardless of her own safety. She will remain with her until the babe is delivered and both mother and child are safe.”
“She’ll leave,” Artair said firmly.
Bethane shook her head. “You know better than that. It will do you no good to force her, especially if you have feelings for my granddaughter.”
Artair ran a frustrated hand across his chin. “I don’t know what feelings I have for Zia. All I know is that she won’t leave my thoughts and she frustrates the—” He took a deep breath and plopped down in the chair beside Bethane. “I need to keep her safe.”
“You need to let her be who she is.”
“That will only get her into more trouble.”
“You know her better than I thought,” Bethane said.
“I hope to know her even better.”
“Then go and keep her safe.”
“Nessie, come,” Artair ordered, and the dog plopped her bottom down next to Bethane.
“I will look after her, go,” Bethane urged, and he did.
Artair and his men made their way to Holcote with haste. He arrived at the village half expecting, or perhaps half fearing, that he would again find her tied to a stake. Instead he found a village in need. The cottages were in disrepair and the fields ravished, and not by the inhabitants, for most looked half starved. These villagers were vassals to a feudal lord whose only interest was his own prosperity.
Several women lingered around one particular cottage, and Artair felt it safe to assume they were there to help in the delivery if necessary. Before dismounting, he spoke to James and Patrick.
“Go hunt game for these people, and if anyone attempts to stop you, tell them it’s by order of the laird Sinclare.”
Both men nodded and grinned. The Sinclare name was respected throughout the Highlands, and few would dare oppose them. Artair also knew that Zia would refuse to leave the village people in dire straits, but then neither could he. These people needed help, and he was capable of giving it to them. He could not just ignore them.