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For a moment, Fia felt joy seeing her cottage, but it was a fleeting joy since she strongly sensed she would never see it again after today. She had woken this morning with a light blanket of snow covering her. The campfires had helped dispel some of the cold last night, as did the fur-lined cloak and wool blanket given to her, but none were enough to keep the cold ground from seeping in and chilling her body.
Thankfully, the snow had fallen only lightly throughout the day yesterday and into the night, but the gray sky and frigid air warned that a heavy snowfall was on the way, and she wished she could spend it snug in her cottage.
“Gather what you need so we can be on our way, a storm approaches and we have several more days of travel,” Varrick ordered as he reached up to lift her off the horse.
The strength in which he so easily lifted her warned that she possessed no defense against him. Her grandmother had reminded her of that often. She had told Fia that a man’s hands could be like shackles, forever imprisoned by them, and that she was never to get close enough to get caught in them. She had also warned of the gentle touch of a man. She had advised that it could be wonderful if the man was pure of heart and love, whereas a lying heart would bring endless pain.
Fia feared it might be too late, that she was already in shackles, forever imprisoned, something she would not let stand. She would be free, or she would die trying.
She was not surprised to see Varrick follow her into the cottage. He did not trust her, and she did not trust him. She could see by the way he glanced around that he was not only curious but surprised as well. She kept the cottage neat and clean just as her mum and grandmother had done. It made it easier to locate what was needed when she tended the ill who came for help.
Varrick pointed to a narrow table against a wall. “Do those crocks contain healing plants you wish to take with you?” He looked up overhead. “And these bunches of dried plants that hang here as well?”
“I would like to take them since I do not know if your healer possesses any.”
“I have no healer.”
Surprised, Fia asked, “Then who tends the ill?”
“Lloyd, the warrior who is skilled in treating the wounded on the battlefield. He does well by us.”
“What of the women?” she asked.
He shrugged. “What of them? They know better how to treat their ills than a man and they assist each other in birthing.”
“I will take all my herbs and plants with me,” Fia said, realizing all she had would no doubt be needed.
“I did not wed you to be my healer,” he warned.
“Then why did you wed me?” she asked and again, he ignored her question.
“The crocks will not travel well. Wrap them as best you can and wrap your healing plants in cloth. Put what you need in baskets with handles that will hook easily to the saddles. Do not take long.”
Fia was glad he left after that. She feared packing her things would bring tears to her eyes and she did not want to cry in front of him. This cottage was the only home she had ever known and leaving it was breaking her heart. It was the one place she had known genuine love, and she feared she would never know such love again.
While she wished to linger, she knew it was not possible and not wise. It was better she hurried and got done with the heartbreaking task before it overwhelmed her with sorrow.
When she finished, she cast one last look around and prayed that someone would find the cottage and make it their home and find as much love here as she had.
After Varrick settled her on the horse, she watched as the men removed her baskets from the cottage. She grew concerned when several warriors began to approach her home with axes in their hands.
She looked to Varrick ready to question him after he mounted his horse but before she could, he nodded to the men.
Shock widened her eyes and stole her voice, and an ache settled in her heart as she watched the men take their axes to the cottage door, smashing it to pieces while other warriors dragged the meager furnishings out to chop apart.
She had been right in assuming his reason for wanting to know where she resided. “You make sure I no longer have a home to return to.”
“This home is no longer necessary,” Varrick said.
Its senseless destruction upset Fia. “Someone else could have made use of it?”
“Not of a witch’s cottage,” Argus said, an axe in his hand. “We will join you as soon as we are done destroying this place, my lord.”
Fia felt as if her heart shattered at such useless destruction. How could someone be so heartless? Then she thought about the man on the horse beside her. He was known as the legendary Highlander for a reason. He had won endless battles and she could only imagine the things he had done to assure victory. Destroying her home would mean nothing to him.
She turned to Varrick as they rode off. “You are right. You have no soul.”
“Something you would be wise to remember,” Varrick warned.
