Under the Highlander's Spell (2 page)

A
rtair stared at the supposed witch wrapped in his arms. He was a practical man and didn't believe in witches, though he believed in the ability of a beautiful woman to bewitch. And Zia was undoubtedly a beautiful woman.

Her dark red hair had obviously suffered a shearing, and blond spikes vied with dark curls for attention around her slim face, enlarging her beguiling green eyes. He recalled how she had held his gaze after he planted her in front of him on his horse, and how her eyes not only radiated a fierce intelligence but sparked with an undeniable passion.

She was taller than most women, maybe four inches shorter than his six feet, and though slim, she was curved and rounded in all the right places.

“Keep on the road that brought you to the village. It is a place with no name. I will tell you where to turn,” Zia said pleasantly.

She certainly was relaxed for a woman who had just escaped death, and now seemed not at all trou
bled resting against a complete stranger. She was a woman who obviously did not frighten easily, or perhaps she felt quite comfortable with her abilities to protect herself—though her skills hadn't helped her in the village.

Curiosity nagged at him and he asked, “What happened back there?”

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I got sheared for healing them.”

“It doesn't look all that bad,” Artair said, meaning it. He wasn't accustomed to seeing a woman with short hair but had to admit it did Zia justice. If possible, it made her appear more beautiful than the women he was used to.

She laughed and rushed her fingers through her hair once again. “And here I thought you were a truthful man, Artair.”

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.

“She is a beauty, so friendly and obedient,” Zia said.

Artair laughed. “Nessie is far from obedient. She has a mind of her own.”

Zia kissed the mutt on the head. “Smart lass.”

“Is this no name, no direction place close?” Artair asked returning to the matter at hand.

“We will reach it by noon tomorrow.”

She walked ahead leading them, Nessie following her. Artair's only recourse was to do as Nessie did, follow Zia. His men trailed behind grumbling. While he did not believe in the power of witches he knew some of his men did and at the moment he was sure that they thought following her unwise.

After a few more twists and turns he wondered if he didn't agree with them, for suddenly he felt in unfamiliar territory and worse, confined and confused, by the dense growth of trees and foliage.

“What is this place?” he demanded.

Zia glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “My home.”

She hurried ahead and when she drifted from sight he grew concerned that perhaps he had been foolish not to have been more cautious with her, but then she popped up in front of him, her smile glowing like a bright full sun.

“This way,” she said pointing. “I am starving. There is a stream, and I”—she tapped her chest proudly—“am very good at catching fish.”

“Did you hear that, James?” Artair called to one of his men. “She is very good at catching fish.”

“Not as good as I,” James shouted back.

“A challenge. I love it,” Zia said with a laugh, and hurried ahead of them, Nessie on her heels.

“No fair,” James yelled and the short, stout man quickly handed his reins to the warrior behind him and took chase.

 

Not long after, Zia caught the first fish. James frustrated, threw down the pole he had quickly fashioned from a branch. Artair assumed Zia would take delight in her success, but instead she shared with James her secret to catching fish so quickly. With leaves dangling from his hook James caught a fish and before Artair knew it they were all sitting around a fire waiting eagerly for four fish to finish cooking.

The smell was phenomenal, Zia having added to the cleaned fish a mixture of crushed leaves she had gathered from the surrounding woods. His men had eyed her skeptically but when the scent had turned mouth-watering their grumbling halted.

After tasting the fish the men attacked it, licking every morsel off their fingers and grumbling because she insisted that each give a share to the dog.

“A great cook besides a great healer,” Artair said.

The others nodded, grinned, and patted their stomachs.

Zia bowed her head in appreciation. “Food can sometimes be more healing than potions.”

A lively conversation ensued, and Artair was amazed at the way his men so easily befriended her. But then,
he was beginning to realize that Zia embraced life with such zest, it was hard not to like her. He could also understand how her passionate nature might intimidate some and possibly cause jealously in others.

Within the last few hours he had gotten a good insight into her and was eager to learn more. She had surprised him from the beginning. He had expected a shivering, frightened woman after being so close to being burnt at the stake, but once free she seemed unbothered by her brush with death.

Courageous or foolhardy?

He still wasn't certain.

On the road once again, they alternated between walking and riding, the path narrowing, winding, then yielding to easy terrain. The sun had surfaced as soon as they left the village, and it remained strong all day. Summer might be waning, but today she was at her peak.

Artair realized that there was no keeping Zia beside him, or Nessie for that matter. She would talk with him awhile, and then be off foraging in the surrounding woods, returning with a flush of excitement, waving bunches of foliage as if she had discovered gold.

But when she returned carrying a twig basket she had obviously fashioned to carry an abundance of berries, the men grabbed handfuls with appreciative grins. Nessie lingered nearby, and from the way the dog licked her lips, it appeared she had already had her share.

“Leave some for me,” Artair warned, laughing.

“We got here first,” James argued good-naturedly.

Zia hurried alongside him afterward, filling the empty basket with her bunches of leaves, and he was glad for her company. Though she was in truth a stranger, he felt comfortable with her, as though they had been longtime friends.

Bewitched
.

Women could certainly bewitch, and he supposed Zia did bewitch with her contagious enthusiasm. But being a healer, she balanced it with a reverence for life. She certainly appeared a complex woman, and that enticed him.

After several hours he ordered James and Patrick to hunt a couple of fat hares for supper.

Surprisingly, the two men looked to Zia, and it was James who asked. “Will you cook for us?”

Zia smiled with glee. “Wild onions and I think…” She tapped her chin in thought. “I know…” And off she ran, the dog running after her.

“Be careful your arrows don't find her,” Artair warned his men.

“Worry not, I'll hear their approach,” Zia called out.

The men stared wide-eyed after her, and Artair just stared, his mouth slightly agape, too late to respond to her for she had already disappeared into the woods.

How she had heard words meant only for his men he didn't know.

“You know witches have powers we don't,” James whispered to him.

“You think Zia a witch?” Artair asked bluntly.

James scratched his bushy hair. “She is a strange one.”

“So that makes her a witch?”

“She is a beauty,” James said even lower, as if afraid she'd overhear him.

“That makes her a witch too?”

“I'm just saying maybe we should beware.”

“You asked her to cook the hare, giving her ample opportunity to poison us.”

James had to think a moment, and then grinned as if he'd settled his own doubt. “She smiles too much to be a witch. Witches don't smile. They're mean buggers.”

“I'm glad we've settled that,” Artair said, though he wondered how often others questioned the same about Zia. The thought plagued him the whole hour before a campsite was decided on for the night.

Zia had suggested the place, which was near a stream, so the horses could drink their fill. She had returned to her foraging, promising to meet them at the location. Artair truly should not have allowed her to wander off on her own. There was always the chance she wouldn't return, and with no knowledge of the area, he and his men could very well be lost for days.

However, he believed Zia true to her word that she was a healer who did her duty. She would want to return to see how Ronan was healing. She had remarked about how he had been healing nicely when she left, so she had to be curious as to how he'd been during her absence.

Artair planned on questioning her about Ronan tonight, after they ate and one of the men took watch while the others slept. He would find out as much about Ronan as he could for he wanted to be prepared to help his youngest brother however possible. He'd been missing over a year now, and everyone missed him terribly and wanted nothing more than his safe return home.

His thoughts were interrupted when the two warriors returned boasting of their hunt and showing off two plump hares each had caught. Zia followed them, her basket overflowing with a variety of greens and several wild onions. That her foraging proved beneficial was obvious in her brightly flushed cheeks and sparkling green eyes.