Before Artair could finish, the bishop held up his hand for silence. “I will decide what is nonsense and what is not.”
“Speak to the witch,” Neil insisted. “Speak with her soon or she will bewitch you too, just as she did to everyone in our village. If it were not for the strength of our leader, Harold, to fight her powers, we would have all been doomed.”
“The man you speak of is the one who sold her to me?” Artair asked.
The bishop raised a brow as he regarded the messenger from Lorne. “This is true, is it not?”
Neil pointed an accusing finger at Artair. “She bewitched him into trading coins for her release.”
“Did she then bewitch the man to take the coins?” Artair asked with a sneer, growing annoyed with such nonsensical talk, and meanwhile concerned that the bishop just might agree with the ridiculous man.
“Aye, she did,” Neil said firmly. “She even commanded it to rain so that we couldn’t light the wood to burn her.”
Artair wanted to reach out and strangle the idiotic man, but that wouldn’t help his cause. Calm rationality would.
“Bishop Aleatus,” he said calmly, “my wife is not a witch. She is a remarkable healer schooled in the art by—”
“Other witches,” Neil interrupted with a trembling voice. “They all live in a village together. A village no one can get to for they have cast a spell around it to keep it invisible.”
Lachlan laughed.
“You find this humorous?” the bishop chastised.
Lachlan was wise enough to assert otherwise. “No sir, it is just that I have watched my sister-in-law heal many, and she uses no such witchcraft to do it.”
“What of James?” the bishop asked.
“What of him?” Artair said.
“He survived a severe wound. He claims Zia worked a miracle to save him.”
Artair knew James meant only to help but his choice of words had done the opposite. “Hard work by my wife is what saved James’s arm.”
“I have found no one who speaks harshly of your wife,” the bishop noted, nodding.
“She is loved and respected by all,” Artair said with pride.
“It seems odd that not even one person—”
Neil interrupted the bishop. “She’s done it again, bewitched the whole village.”
Artair almost lunged at the man, ready to beat him unmercifully. It took great willpower not to do so. Instead, while inwardly fuming, he retained a calm exterior composure.
“She has not,” he asserted.
“That will be for me to decide,” the bishop said curtly, and looked directly at Artair. “Tomorrow I will speak with your wife so that this matter can be settled. And you have two days more to produce a wedding document. If you fail to do so, I will assume she is not your wife and take matters from there.”
Artair stood. “Conduct your investigation, Bishop Aleatus, but know this. Zia is my wife. She is not a witch and I will not see her condemned and punished because of ignorance and lies.”
He stomped off, his hands fisted, itching to punch someone. He swore beneath his breath until he realized he was swearing aloud. One last oath and he clamped his mouth shut, taking the stone stairs two at a time.
He was furious and couldn’t calm himself down. Because of some ignorant, foolish, selfish men he could very well lose Zia. And he would be damned if he’d let that happen.
He burst into Cavan’s bedchamber without knocking, and his temper cooled in a flash when Zia jumped up off the chair where she sat with a firm finger pressed to her lips.
He saw that Honora and the babes were asleep, and from where Zia had sat, it looked as if she and Bethane had been talking. She walked over to him and took his arm, turned her head to give Bethane a nod, then headed out the door with him.
“You look as if you’ve lost your temper, but knowing you, that would make no sense.”
He caught her smirk and shook his head, realizing the stupidity of his actions.
She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Who was the unfortunate recipient of your seldom exposed temper?”
He wasn’t only reluctant to tell her, he was reluctant to admit it. “The bishop.”
“Really?” Zia asked, stunned.
His nod turned quickly to a shake. “I may have just made the situation worse.”
“But you did it anyway.”
“Stupidly.”
“No,” she admonished softly, and smiled. “Passionately.”
Artair took hold of her face; her lovely green eyes glistened as if ready to tear. “You sound proud of my foolishness.”
She laughed softly while a single tear drifted down her cheek. “You weren’t practical.”