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He watched as Lord Varrick dismounted his chestnut-colored stallion and tossed his fur-lined cloak to one of his warriors. The mighty warrior towered over Newlin, but then he held himself more erect than most men. He stood with confidence and determination, not a slope to his broad shoulders or a roundness to his belly. He was quite the opposite, not heavy with muscles but defined with them, making them appear as hard as iron.
He was not a man to trifle with or take lightly, and he was not a man to issue ultimatums to, which Newlin intended to do.
“Have the witch made ready,” Varrick ordered. “I take my leave within the hour.”
Newlin’s stomach churned, and he swallowed hard the fear that rose in his throat. “A private word with you, Lord Varrick, if you please.”
“I will not be denied the witch,” Varrick commanded forcefully.
Newlin rushed to respond. “Nay, my lord.”
It was the farthest thing from Newlin’s mind. He wanted the witch gone—permanently. And that was the problem.
“We will talk in your solar. My men are hungry and thirsty. See they are fed,” Varrick ordered and walked up the keep’s stairs.
Newlin hurried behind him and once in the keep scurried ahead of Varrick to lead him to his solar. Drink and food waited for him there and a servant lad hurried to fill two tankards, his head bowed, not laying eyes on Lord Varrick, then rushing out of the room once done.
Varrick downed half the tankard, then asked, “I have little patience, Newlin. Speak your piece and be done with it.”
“I have given great thought to the witch, my lord—”
“She belongs to me now,” Varrick was quick to confirm.
“Aye, she does, my lord, but I fear the revenge she may seek on my clan once you are done with her.” Newlin hurried to clasp his hands behind his back they shook so badly, but pressed on, knowing he had to do this for the protection of his clan. “I can take no chance of her returning here.” He gathered what courage he had to rush the words from his mouth. “The witch is yours as long as you wed her.”
Varrick’s brow wrinkled and he tilted his head slightly as if he was not sure he had heard the man correctly.
Newlin remained silent, gripping his hands tightly behind his back, praying, fearful of what the legendary Highlander might do to him. Met with nothing but silence, he remained silent as well. There was no more left for him to say—for now.
Varrick took a swallow of ale, placed the tankard, almost empty, on the small table, and went to the hearth and stretched his hands out to the heat of the fire.
Newlin stayed as he was, too fearful to move.
After a few moments Varrick turned around. “You are either a wise man or foolish one to demand such of me when I can simply take the witch from you.”
“You are right, my lord,” Newlin agreed. “I would be foolish to fight a battle that would only bring me defeat. But I must be wise when it comes to the witch and the safety of my clan. I need—my clan needs—to know that the witch will never return and trouble us again.”
“Has she been troublesome?”
“I cannot say for sure, though I do believe she cast a spell on my daughter and possibly my niece, although it was difficult to tell with my niece since she is a difficult young woman to begin with.” Newlin’s head hung low as he shook it. “I fear what havoc the witch may bring, and I need her gone—permanently.”
Varrick’s tongue accused harshly. “And my word that she will trouble you no more is not good enough?”
“If it was anyone other than a witch, I would not question it, but a witch…” Newlin left it unsaid, knowing Lord Varrick understood that there was no telling what a witch would do.
“Once I am done with her, I assure you she will trouble no one any longer.”
“I am sure you mean that, my lord, but if she is your wife, you are responsible for her and have no choice but to do what is necessary to see that done.”
“What you are saying is that as my wife, if she escapes me before I see that she can trouble no one any longer, I would be obligated to track her down and see her dead. Whereas if she is not my wife, I have no obligation to do so, leaving her to return here and seek revenge.”
“Aye, my lord. I mean no disrespect, nor do I suggest that you would not keep your word, but marriage—”
“Would force me to do so,” Varrick finished.
“And it would allow my clan to dwell peacefully and without worry the witch would ever return to us. I must do what is best for my clan, my lord, and I ask that you abide by my decision since I am not foolish enough to think I can force it upon you. But if you planned to rid yourself of the witch once done with her, then it would be no problem for you to rid yourself of an unwanted wife. You will not be the first husband to do so, and you will not be the last. We both will have what we seek, and the Highlands will be safer with the witch gone.”
Varrick went to the table, scooped up his tankard, and downed what remained.
