He held up two fingers. “Two days, and if everyone has improved and no one else turns ill, we leave.”
“Agreed,” she said, knowing that if in two days time all looked good, she could depart without worry.
He walked over and took her hand. “I will leave you to your work, but if you are not in our bed tonight, I will come find you and bring you there.”
She had to smile. “That sounds like an interesting prospect.”
“I can heft you over my shoulder and cart you off, if that is what you want.”
“Telling me takes all the passion out of it,” she complained.
“Being carried off like booty from a battle isn’t passionate,” he said.
She slipped her hand out of his. “When you put it like that it isn’t.”
“Like what?”
“Booty from battle?”
He shook his head. “It expresses it perfectly.”
“Perfectly practical,” she shot back. “Why even bother suggest it?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “I simply stated—”
“It wasn’t simply. You made it appear as if you’d drag me to your bed.”
“I would never drag you to my bed.”
“Why not?” she asked curtly.
“I prefer you willing,” he chortled.
“And what if I’m not willing to come to bed tonight? What then?”
He leaned in close. “I’ll see that you do.”
“How?”
He tapped the tip of her nose. “Don’t challenge me.”
She poked him in the chest. “I love a good challenge.”
“You may get more than you bargained for.”
“I can handle it,” she said confidently.
“Why must you always prove your courage?”
His question startled her, and she took offense. “I don’t need to prove my courage to anyone.”
“No, you don’t, but it appears you need to prove it to yourself.
A call from outside the cottage prevented the reply stuck in her throat. Zia hurried outside to discover that she was needed at old Mary’s cottage. After returning to grab her healing basket, she stopped and stared at Artair.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” he said.
She nodded and rushed off, running from his question or the answer, she wasn’t certain. Or was she running because he was waiting for her? And he would indeed wait, and with patience, damn him.
She tried in vain to keep him from her thoughts and concentrate on her work. Old Mary had developed a rash on her arm, but once she took a look, she knew it wasn’t anything serious and began putting a generous layer of salve on it.
The older woman was recovering nicely, with color highlighting her thin cheeks and her green eyes lively. She might look frail, but Zia could see she was far from it. She had a tenacity about her that couldn’t be missed.
“I heard you got yourself a good husband,” Mary said as Zia applied the salve.
“Artair is a good man.”
“How did you find him, or were you just lucky?” Mary winked.
“I believe a little bit of both,” she answered, ready to tell the story she and Artair had concocted, but only if necessary.
“Make sure you hang onto him. A good man is not easy to find,” Mary said, nodding slowly. “I know. I had one, and we had twenty-five wonderful years together. He’s been gone five years now and I still miss him terribly.”
“So you had all good times, no fights?”
Mary laughed till her thin body shook. “Good lord, lass, fighting comes right along with marriage. You’re going to fight. You need to fight. The trick is not to hold onto the anger. Spit it out and then forget it or it will eat your marriage up, and worse, it will eat you up.”
Zia chatted for awhile, then made to leave when Mary started nodding off.
But before she stood, Mary took hold of her hand and said, “Love that husband of yours every day. You don’t know how long you’ll have him.”
Zia didn’t know what to think and didn’t have time to ponder this advice. She was summoned to several cottages, where people praised her healing skills. Fever lingered in a few, but it remained low, and with vigilance and healing broth she was certain they would recover as well.
She made her rounds of the remaining cottages, and when finally done, realized that night had nearly fallen and Donnan had grown quiet. Standing in the center of the village, she could almost feel the calm that had been restored.
It was what she enjoyed most about healing—restoring hope and peace.
Why do you always have to prove your courage?
Artair’s words reminded her that it sometimes took a tremendous amount of courage to enter villages, and even more courage to try and heal, for when she failed, it hurt her heart. Her grandmother had told her that time would teach her how to deal with such loss, but she feared she’d never learn.