Under the Highlander's Spell(69)

Zia sat at the table before the burning hearth in the great hall alone. She had woken before dawn, her thoughts much too chaotic to return to sleep. She had slipped quietly out of bed, dressed and made her way to the hall, though stopped in the kitchen first. The cook was surprised to see her and only too glad to prepare whatever she wanted.

Zia only wanted to fix herself a soothing brew, but surrendered to the cook’s insistence that she needed hardy fare to help her face the day. Though the food was excellent, she had little taste for it.

“Troubled thoughts?”

Zia jumped, startled, so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard anyone approach. She smiled, seeing it was Addie, and was glad for her company.

“Confused thoughts,” Zia admitted.

Addie sat, Champion taking up his usual stance beside her, patiently waiting for any food either woman would give him.

“Tell me,” Addie offered, pouring herself a hot brew and refreshing Zia’s.

“I love your son,” she said without hesitation or doubt and so relieved to have admitted it to someone.

“I had no doubt of that, but you had?”

She had to be careful with what she said, though she preferred otherwise. “We are different, and I thought those differences would create a problem.”

“Only if you let it, and besides—” Addie laughed. “As I expressed to you once before, you and Artair are not all that different.”

“But he is so practical.”

“So are you.”

“I am not,” Zia said.

“You tend the ill with an unwavering responsibility.”

“Responsibility is far different from practicality.”

“Is it?” Addie asked, though didn’t allow her to answer. “Artair places his family and responsibility before all else. You place your healing before all else. What difference is there? You both are being practical in your approach and intentions. The two of you are more alike than you know.”

Zia let her words soak in.

“And while Artair may be more reasonable than most; he is also more passionate than most, for it is his passion that drives him to place others before himself. The story of how you met proves this—he rode into the middle of a village crazed with burning a witch and rescued you. That takes a passion of courage not many possess.”

Zia remained silent, soaking in every word.

“Passion, courage, sensibility come in all different guises, and those with clear vision can see each for its own truthful worth and judge wisely.”

Zia smiled. “You sound like my grandmother; she’s a wise woman.”

“Age usually brings wisdom, though it is often learned through difficulties,” Addie said sadly.

“You miss your husband.”

Tears trickled down Addie’s flushed cheeks. “I miss him terribly. There isn’t an hour that goes by that he isn’t in my thoughts. But the worst part is my empty bed.”

Champion woofed as if to let her know she had him, and she gave his neck a rub. “I hate going to bed alone and I hate waking up alone. My heart aches every day, and while many tell me it will get better, it hasn’t. I miss my husband.”

Words failed Zia. She could only reach out and take hold of Addie’s hand and offer what little comfort she could. She couldn’t imagine nor did she want to imagine her bed without Artair in it. His loving arms sheltered her, protected her, loved her, and she would not want to live without him.

“I am so sorry,” Zia whispered, needing to say something.

“So am I,” Addie said, her tears continuing to trickle, though she took a steadying breath. “That’s why you must wrap my son in your zest for life every day and share it with him as he does with you. Don’t question it, just do it and love will be forever yours.”

“Shall I leave you to your women talk?” Artair asked as he approached.

Zia jumped up, startling Champion to bark, and rushed to fling herself into Artair’s arms.

“I love you,” she said, and kissed him soundly.

He looked at her, startled, and she looked at him the same way. Had she really just shouted her love aloud for him?

But what did it matter? It was the truth.

“Like none of us knew that?” Lachlan asked teasingly as he passed the embracing couple to join his mother at the table.

Zia could see a flood of emotions wash across Artair’s face, but he remained stoic, and she wished—oh how she wished—that just for a moment he would shout out his love for her as she had for him. But that was not his way; only when it was right for him would he admit his love.

“Come,” she said, tugging his arm. “There’s honey bread with extra honey. Cook made it special for me and I shall share it with you.”