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“I assume you prefer I not touch you, so please take a generous portion of the salve from this pouch and rub it into both of your hands, paying particular attention to where it most pains you,” Fia instructed and placed the pouch in front of the Abbott.
The Abbott did as she instructed, then pushed the pouch back to her when done.
“Keep your hands tucked in the sleeves of your robe, the warmth will help the salve work,” Fia said. “And drink all of the brew.”
Warning shouts not to drink the witch’s brew circled the room.
“SILENCE!” Abbott John called out. We are in the Lord’s house. A witch’s magic has no strength here. She will see that for herself.”
Fia realized too late her mistake. The Abbott had set a trap for her, and it was the first time she wanted to pray for her healing to fail, but she could not do it. Her purpose as a healer was to help people and she could not betray her purpose.
She was surprised when she felt Varrick take her hand beneath the table and squeeze it as he turned his head and whispered in her ear, “Remember what I told you—remain close to me.”
Relieved her husband had realized the same as she had, she was only too happy to remain at his side. She squeezed his hand in return, hoping he understood she was grateful.
Varrick showed not a trace of surprise when he felt his wife’s hand respond to his squeeze, though it was not her response that had surprised him… it was his own. The gentle warmth of her hand in his large one and the tender way she latched onto him with strength had felt like she had hugged him, and the loving sensation lingered within him.
He was glad when he heard talk resume around the room and pulled him out of his strange musing.
The Abbott drank the brew when it was ready, evil not mentioned again. All turned pleasant, with talk of weather, crops, and battles, but Varrick was aware it might not last.
Abbott John was summoned away, along with Brother Luke, after a while, and Argus joined them at the table and conversation centered around the journey home until Varrick leaned across the table to whisper, “Keep men on watch, I do not trust all here. We need the witch and can let nothing happen to her.”
Argus nodded and left the table but not before Fia heard the man mumble, “Not yet.”
Abbott John and Brother Luke returned quite a while later and went straight to Fia, laying his hands flat on the table in front of her. “The swelling is gone and the pain fades. What magic did you work?”
Whispers rushed around the room sounding like a roomful of buzzing bees and Fia could almost hear them condemning her.
She was quick to speak up for all to hear and hopefully for all to understand. “It is no magic. The brew was made of nettle leaves and the salve was a mixture of comfrey, arnica, and sheep fat. You probably have comfrey growing in your garden, though arnica is not easy to find but it does thrive in the frost and snow. I can instruct your healer how to make the salve, so you have it when needed.”
A monk stepped forward, ringing his hands as he spoke. “It must be dark magic she practices if it worked in the Lord’s house. Do not accept her offer or we will all be doomed.”
“I am no fool Brother Alan,” Abbott John said. “We will seek the solace of the chapel and pray.” Nods circled the room along with prayers as the monks filed out of the room. Abbott John hurried a glance around the room. “Brother Luke, show Lord Varrick and Lady Fia to their room.”
Brother Luke reluctantly left the retreating monks to do as Abbott John ordered.
“I will see you both in the morning,” Abbott John said, bobbing his head at Varrick and ignoring Fia before hurrying from the room.
“A moment,” Varrick said to Brother Luke and stepped aside to speak quietly with Argus once again.
Fia avoided looking at Brother Luke, not wanting to see his face distorted with anger and hate. It did not matter though… she knew the man would not be able to hold his tongue.
“You are no healer. You are a witch,” Brother Luke whispered harshly. “Our prayers will protect us from you, and you will meet the dire fate you deserve.”
She shuddered when he mentioned her fate. She had already met it in Varrick but was beginning to think it would not work well for her. She turned to face him and noticed beads of sweat dotting his pale face.
Instinct had her hand reaching out to touch his arm. “Are you not feeling well?”
He pulled away from her. “I will not have your evil touch me.”
“You should seek your healer’s help. You do not look well,” Fia advised.
His face contorted into a nasty snarl, and he whispered, “Evil will not survive the night here.”
The threat was obvious, and she turned eager to return to her husband’s side.
Varrick saw the upset in his wife’s eyes and went to her. “What’s wrong?”
