Under the Highlander's Spell(42)
Artair stood and matched James’s rushed steps. “What’s wrong?”
James shook his head. “A messenger from the village of Lorne has arrived.”
“Damn,” Artair said, and ran rough fingers through his hair. “Where is he?”
“He’s speaking with the elders of the village in the common shelter.”
He could confront them, Artair thought, or wait to be summoned.
His course of action was decided for him when a young lad rushed over to tell him the elders wanted to see him.
As soon as he entered the large gathering room and saw the dire expressions on the elders’ faces, he knew trouble was brewing.
The messenger who had arrived in Donnan from the village of Lorne didn’t give anyone a chance to speak. He swung an accusing finger at Artair. “He’s no husband to the witch.”
“My wife is no witch,” Artair said firmly. “And if you continue to spread such lies, I will cut out your lying tongue.”
The thick-chested man wasn’t swayed by the threat. His pointed finger disappeared into a clenched fist, which he shook furiously at Artair. “She has bewitched you. We warned you and you did not listen and now you have condemned us all.”
“What nonsense do you speak?” Artair demanded.
The man lowered his voice, his eyes shifting fearfully. “It is not nonsense. The witch works her magic with her potions and spells.”
“Those potions heal the sick. And what spells? My wife cast no spells.”
“Then why do you claim to be wed to her? Show me proof,” the messenger challenged, though now, at Artair’s adamancy, he did show fear, his voice quivering.
It was just what Artair had been afraid would happen. He couldn’t help but think that if Zia hadn’t been so stubborn, this situation might have been settled without a problem.
Placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, he advanced on the messenger. The man shrank away from him. “You dare call me a lair?” Artair demanded.
“I only wish to protect you from evil,” the man hurried to explain.
“My wife is not evil. She generously heals the people of this village.”
The messenger spoke up bravely. “She did the same for us and then used her spells and charms to entice the men. If you had let us burn her—”
“The good people of Donnan would be dead,” Artair concluded.
His blunt remark had the elders whispering among themselves.
“Don’t listen to him,” the messenger begged. “He is bewitched. She has him doing her bidding and will have all of you doing the same.”
Odran, the oldest of the elders, spoke. “Zia has asked nothing of us.”
The messenger cringed and covered his ears. “Do not say her name. I will not hear it and I will not look upon evil.”
Artair wanted to beat the man senseless, but he knew that would only serve to reinforce the accusations against Zia. He had to show that he remained in control of himself.
“The only evil here is the evil you speak against my wife,” he emphasized yet again. “She has tirelessly tended the ill of this village and has healed them.”
“He is right,” Odran agreed.
The messenger’s finger shot out again. “She is casting her spell over all of you. You should burn her now before it is too late.”
Once again Artair was incensed. He almost grabbed the man—the blithering idiot—to smash his face in, but stopped himself and spoke with a calm he didn’t feel. “You’ve delivered your message, now leave.”
“I will leave after you show me proof of your marriage,” the man said boldly.
“It would settle the matter,” Odran said.
It certainly would, Artair thought, and silently cursed himself for not insisting that Zia and he wed. But that did him little good now.
“She’s tricked him into thinking he wed her,” the messenger accused.
The elders mumbled among themselves, no doubt agreeing that proof was necessary for the protection of their village. And he couldn’t blame them.
“Artair!”
The men turned to see Zia, smiling, holding a bouquet of wild flowers in her hand. She looked more angel than evil, her blond strands forming a halo affect over her red hair, her cheeks tinged softly pink.
She rushed over to him, holding out the bouquet. “Look what the women give us to celebrate our one week anniversary.” She looked from one startled man to another. “I’m sorry. It seems I’ve interrupted a private meeting.”
The messenger raised a quick, outstretched hand to ward her off as he turned his face away. “Don’t cast your evil eyes on me, witch.”
The elders ignored the messenger, and Odran said to Zia, “How wonderful for you, and how good of you to come to our village to help after being wed for such a short time.”