“How much?” Artair asked.
Harold appeared confused.
“How much for her release?”
Harold shook his head and his voice turned bold. “She will harm us if released.”
“I will make certain that she doesn’t,” Artair assured him. “And I will pay you handsomely to take her off your hands.”
The man seemed to consider his offer, and Zia understood why. Artair Sinclare made it sound as if he had the power to do as he claimed, though she had no doubt the promise of generous coins made Harold think twice.
“Burn the witch!” Someone yelled, and others joined in.
Harold, hearing his people call for the witch’s life and probably fearing disappointing them, continued to argue with Artair. The debate seemed to go nowhere, though Artair seemed determined and that led Zia to believe that the handsome warrior would have his way—and she would be freed.
She just wished that the rain had continued. It would have prevented the torch bearer from preparing another torch and creeping closer to her, ready and willing to please the crowd. But the rain had ceased when the four men entered the village.
Artair seemed to tire of the useless exchange and reached into the fold where his plaid crossed his chest and met his waist and extracted a small pouch. He dropped it to the man.
Harold greedily seized it, tugged it open and dug inside. He stepped closer to Artair. “You’ll take her far and make sure she doesn’t return here and about?”
“I’ll see that she has no more dealings with your village.”
“Take her, then, and be done with it,” Harold said with a dismissive wave.
Artair didn’t waste a moment. He gave a nod to his men and they in turn drew their swords. The crowd instantly halted their shouts and fear held them silent.
Artair drew his own sword and with accurate aim he sliced the ropes that held Zia without marring her flesh. He then replaced his sword at his side and reached out his hand to her.
Zia seized hold, and when he clamped his hand around her arm, she watched the muscles grow taut along his bare forearm and bulge with strength as he easily swung her up to sit in front of him in the saddle. His arm went around her waist and he yanked her close, adjusting her against him, while her legs rested over one side and came in contact with his bare one. Her skirt had ridden up just enough for her flesh to feel his, and he was warm and muscled, and once again she was made aware of his strength.
She met his dark eyes as he guided his horse away from the funeral pyre, and they were even more enticing up close.
“Keep away from her eyes, she’ll bewitch you,” Harold warned as they passed him.
Zia wasn’t surprised when Artair paid the man no heed. He obviously was making it clear to all, and to Zia, that he didn’t fear her. Could he also be letting her know that he didn’t believe in witches or magic?
At the moment, it didn’t matter to her. Her only concern was that she was free.
Zia smiled at her rescuer. “Thank you,” she said, and rested her head on his shoulder. After all, it had been a very difficult morning.
Chapter 2
Artair stared at the supposed witch wrapped in his arms. He was a practical man and didn’t believe in witches, though he believed in the ability of a beautiful woman to bewitch. And Zia was undoubtedly a beautiful woman.
Her dark red hair had obviously suffered a shearing, and blond spikes vied with dark curls for attention around her slim face, enlarging her beguiling green eyes. He recalled how she had held his gaze after he planted her in front of him on his horse, and how her eyes not only radiated a fierce intelligence but sparked with an undeniable passion.
She was taller than most women, maybe four inches shorter than his six feet, and though slim, she was curved and rounded in all the right places.
“Keep on the road that brought you to the village. It is a place with no name. I will tell you where to turn,” Zia said pleasantly.
She certainly was relaxed for a woman who had just escaped death, and now seemed not at all troubled resting against a complete stranger. She was a woman who obviously did not frighten easily, or perhaps she felt quite comfortable with her abilities to protect herself—though her skills hadn’t helped her in the village.
Curiosity nagged at him and he asked, “What happened back there?”
She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I got sheared for healing them.”
“It doesn’t look all that bad,” Artair said, meaning it. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing a woman with short hair but had to admit it did Zia justice. If possible, it made her appear more beautiful than the women he was used to.
She laughed and rushed her fingers through her hair once again. “And here I thought you were a truthful man, Artair.”