His innards jolted hearing his name spill with lighthearted laughter from her rosy lips, though was it that even jokingly she doubted his integrity?
“I am a truthful man,” he said. “Your short hair seems to enhance your beauty.”
Her green eyes sparkled and her smile deepened and turned lopsided, and he thought it the most enchanting smile he had ever seen.
Enchanting.
Was she enchanting him? Only if he allowed her to.
“What a charming compliment,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, but tell me…You are obviously an intelligent woman. How did you ever get yourself in such dire straits? You must have realized the situation in the village had turned dangerous for you. Why didn’t you leave before it got out of hand?”
“An ill babe,” she said, her smile fading. “I couldn’t leave the darling lad. He had yet to reach his first full year. He had a right to a longer life, and I had the ability to see that he got it. He required constant care until I was certain the worst had past and he would survive. By then…”
“It was too late.”
She nodded. “In saving him, I condemned myself. No one had expected the lad to live, though the mother hoped and the lad fought bravely for his life.”
“I admire your courage. There are not many who will give their life for another.”
“I think I like you and your compliments,” she teased. “But alas, I cannot accept compliments for doing my duty. I am a healer; it is my obligation to heal.”
“Even at your own peril?”
“I take a risk whenever I tend the ailing. I never know if I will fall to an illness that plagues a village. I can only trust in my knowledge and have faith that all will turn out well.”
“Did you have faith while tied to the stake?”
“It was all I had.”
“Have you ever been accused of being a witch before?” he asked.
“No. I have been fortunate, though aware of the risks.”
“Yet it doesn’t stop you.”
“You are a warrior?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered proudly.
“You know the risks when you enter a battle. Yet you enter it knowing you could die.”
“I am defending my land,” he argued.
“I am defending life,” she said with equal pride.
“But you are only a wo—”
“Do not say what I think you mean to say, for it will surely insult me.”
He noticed her eyes twinkle with mirth and her lips fight a teasing smile, but her words had been edged with a boldness that cautioned him. She had meant what she said.
She sat up suddenly and pointed a few feet ahead. “There’s a narrow path to the left.”
They turned where she directed. It could hardly be called a path. Tree branches threatened to knock Artair and his men off their horses and forced them to hunch down over their saddles. He did, however, find being hunched over Zia…pleasant. Her hair smelled sweet, like a freshly plucked bouquet of flowers, the spiky tendrils tickled his cheek, and damned if her plump lips weren’t ripe for kissing.
He was glad to see that the path cleared just ahead. If he remained hovering over her much longer he damn well was going to kiss her.
With that thought heavy on his mind, Artair lifted his head too soon and a tree branch smacked him in the forehead.
He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of pain.
He jolted when he felt her fingers explore his forehead and slowly opened his eyes. She was focused on seeing to his care, but to him her fingertips felt cool and her touch more like a caress.
“Nothing serious. It leaves a welt that will disappear soon enough,” she advised.
He had hoped her fingers would linger longer, but with her examination finished, her touch vanished and disappointment rushed over him.
“There is another turn a few feet ahead and it would be best if your men walked the horses.”
He followed her lead and ordered his men to dismount. Zia slipped out of his arms and off his horse before he could help her and walked a few feet away from him. It wasn’t a far distance, but oddly enough, he felt as if she had slipped from his grasp.
He watched her stretch her shoulders back, swing her arms out and roll her head from side to side. Then she smiled wide. Her beauty stunned him and for a moment, a sheer moment, he wondered if she was a witch for she certainly seemed to be bewitching him.
Her clothes—dark blue skirt and pale yellow blouse—while common, fit her body like the silks and velvet garments tailored for royals, and she carried herself with the same distinction.
Nessie, his dog, went over and immediately made friends with her, but then Nessie did whatever she wanted to do.