Under the Highlander's Spell(38)
What then?
She sighed and shuffled along, going nowhere in particular and not in a hurry to go anywhere.
Not only did she have her healing work to concern her, but she now had a make-believe husband. She thought she would have been married long before now. At twenty and two years, most women were married several years already, but she had been so involved with her healing work, a husband simply never materialized.
Now she had a good man, but he lacked passion. He was practical about every single solitary thing he did. You couldn’t ruffle his feathers. He remained calm and in control even when passion sparked in his eyes.
It was a good quality, so why then did she question it? Why did it bother her?
Zia.
It sounded as if her name drifted on the warm night air, coming from far away. She looked around and saw no one.
Zia.
She smiled and knew her grandmother thought of her.
Artair is good for you and you for him.
Her grandmother must have thought she needed reminding. She smiled, realizing that perhaps she did.
“Zia.”
She tilted her head to listen more closely. Had someone actually called out her name?
“Zia.”
She turned, and seeing Artair, smiled. He was such a handsome man, she thought, watching him approach, so confident in his stride, his muscular body so deliciously appealing. Damn, if her body didn’t tingle just looking at him.
“Have you come to collect your battle booty?” she teased with a laugh.
He knocked her laughter out of her when he scooped her up, flinging her over his shoulder. “No, I came to sweep you off your feet.”
Chapter 14
Artair hadn’t planned on scooping her up and carrying her off, but when he saw her standing alone, and with such a concerned look on her face, he didn’t hesitate. He snatched her up, wanting her in his arms where he could heal her.
Zia needed someone to look after her. She pushed herself until exhausted and barely ate enough to keep her going.
And yet?
Her zeal for her work kept her going regardless of anything else.
But it was different now. She had him, and he would be more sensible than Zia was. He’d see that she was taken care of, whether she liked it or not.
He had expected her to complain, but she remained quiet after he scooped her up. He wondered if she was just too tired to voice her opinion. He smiled and almost shook his head. Zia would never be too tired to give her opinion.
Yet she hadn’t said a word to him since he hefted her over his shoulder.
He entered the cottage and kicked the door shut behind him. Walking straight to the bed, he gently lowered her down onto it.
He rested her head against a pillow and ordered, “Stay.”
She made a move to bolt off the bed, and he pointed a finger at her. “Stay where you are. I’m going to fix you the brew that you favor.”
“Really?” she asked with a tender smile, and leaned back against the pillow.
He fussed with the leaves, hoping he’d watched her enough to know how to prepare the concoction the way she liked it. “How is everyone doing?”
“Much better. Old Mary has improved greatly, and most have no fever. I think the illness is finally under control.”
“That’s good to hear,” he replied.
“It’s a relief for all concerned,” she said.
He brought the mug to her and after handing it to her, he nudged her legs over so that he could sit down beside her. “Tell me about you.”
She sipped then shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”
He smiled warmly. “I beg to differ. There’s more to you than anyone can see. Or should I say, that you allow anyone to see.”
“Isn’t that true of us all? To an extent, we all keep something of ourselves secret.”
He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “I want to know all your secrets.”
“And will you share yours with me?”
“I keep no secrets.”
She laughed. “We all keep secrets. Some large, others small, but they are there, tucked safely away where no one will ever find them.”
Artair smiled sadly, her remark reminding him of an incident when he was young.
“See, you recall one of those tucked away moments,” Zia said. “Tell me.”
“I haven’t thought about it in years,” he said, shaking his head. “I suppose I wanted to keep it so safe that I forgot about it until this very moment.”
“Please,” she said, taking hold of his hand. “Share it with me.”
Her hand was warm from the mug, and he watched her slowly lace her fingers with his until their hands were wound together snug and firm, a perfect fit. Would their joining be as perfect?
He chased the lustful thought from his head and returned to the memory she had inadvertently stirred. “I was just a young lad of five and my brother Cavan and I were playing in the woods. He was seven, old and knowledgeable to my young mind.