Under the Highlander's Spell(85)

“Please let me offer you food and drink and then a place to rest,” Cavan said.

“Where is the woman Zia?” the bishop asked, following Cavan into the keep.

“She is detained looking after my wife, who is presently in the middle of a very difficult birth.”

The bishop halted in the great hall with a scowl. “I will not be kept from my duty by excuses. You will command this woman to—”

A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the keep, sending icy shivers through Artair. He could only imagine what his brother must be feeling, for it sounded much too authentic not to be real.

The bishop crossed himself and mumbled a prayer. “I shall pray for your wife, and in the meantime enjoy your generous hospitality.”

“Go see to your wife, Cavan,” Artair said, knowing his brother worried.

“If you will excuse me a moment, Bishop Aleatus,” Cavan said. “My brother Artair, Zia’s husband, will see to you until I return.”

“Yes. That is fine,” the bishop said with a dismissive wave to Cavan.

Artair sat with the bishop at the table before the hearth where his family always gathered, and it was here where he would protect his family. Zia was no witch, and he would make certain the bishop understood that.

He thought the man might wait to question him, hungry and thirsty from his travels, but the bishop questioned in between enjoying the abundant offering of foods and drink.

“I was told by those at Lorne that you paid handsomely for Zia’s release.”

Artair knew an accusation when he heard one, and knew this was one time Zia would be pleased with his sensible nature.

“I had need of her,” he replied.

“You gave no thought that she may have bewitched you to secure her release?”

Artair gave caution to his responses, knowing that any answer could be misconstrued, which could do more harm than good.

“If she had such powers, wouldn’t she have convinced those in Lorne to release her?”

“The men at Lorne tell me that she tried but they fought against her powers.”

Artair wanted to shake his head, but knew better. He had to convince the bishop that Zia was no witch.

“I found her to have no such powers. She is a woman who generously uses her skills to heal the ill.”

“Miraculous healings, I hear,” the bishop said, sounding once again as if he accused.

“They are no miracles, just hard work by a healer who cares for those she treats.”

“We shall see,” the bishop said sharply. “I will talk to those in your village she has treated.”

Artair simply nodded, staring at the bishop. Something about him appeared familiar, but he couldn’t say what. And oddly enough, he sensed that the bishop could be a fair man. He had no idea why. It was something he sensed and it gave him a shred of hope.

“Where were you and Zia wed?”

“The village Black.”

The bishop tried to cover his startled look, but he failed. He remained unnerved.

“You know of it?” Artair asked, though the man obviously knew something.

“Some believe a place of healing, while others—” He glared at Artair. “—believe it a place of pagans.”





Chapter 30




Artair hurried along the road to intercept Bethane and her people, worried over their safety. If the bishop thought the village Black a place of pagans, how would he treat them when they arrived?

He hadn’t wasted a minute once Cavan returned to the hall. Cavan had appeared relieved, so Artair assumed all was well with Honora. He had signaled his brother that this wasn’t the case with the bishop and that he should approach with caution.

Cavan had fabricated a mission that required Artair’s immediate attention and served as a ruse for his necessary departure from the keep. The bishop hadn’t been at all suspicious, though he made it known that he would speak with Cavan there and then.

Artair caught up with the approaching group from the village Black only a few hours from the keep.

Bethane greeted him with a hug and a smile. “It is good to see you again.”

Artair could not get over her beauty. Though her lines and wrinkles attested to advanced years, Bethane still seemed young. She walked alongside a cart with firm and steady steps. Her long white braid lay over her shoulder, on her chest, and shined silky soft, and her skin glowed as if the sun kissed it pink.

“You have grown more beautiful than when I last saw you,” Artair said, walking alongside her and searching the surrounding area for Nessie.

“Tall tales will not set you in my good graces, for you are already there, dear son.”

Artair felt a thump to his chest when she referred to him as son. It pleased him to know that she thought of him that way. “I speak only the truth.”