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He grabbed hold of her arm. “You will do no such thing. You will remain here until I come for you.”
“But it is imperative that a wound be treated immediately. It could mean the difference between life and death,” Fia argued, his grip strong yet she felt no malice from him, no threat of harm.
“Aye, your life or death. I will hear no argument from you, wife. You will do as I command,” he ordered and walked off, not giving her a chance to argue.
“He cares for you.”
Fia turned to see, Dysa, the old woman, a generous smile on her face that bore her advanced age well.
“Seth was that way when we were young, brash in his protectiveness of me, and he still is, and yet I could see how much he cared for me in his eyes just as Lord Varrick does when he looks at you.” Dysa cast a quick glance at her husband sitting up in the cart looking around anxiously. “He begs for a weapon, looking to protect me even now when he is too weak to do so.” A tear caught in the corner of her eye. “Please tell me death is not near for him. I cannot bear to lose him. He is all I have.”
“He is weak as you said, but he is strong of heart. Your journey has worn him down. He needs rest and food.”
“The journey has been difficult, but we had no choice. Seth would have died if we had stayed, his lordship working him to the bone. It is kind of your husband to take us in. I worried no clan would welcome us since we are old and can be more of a burden than a benefit.”
Fia laid a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. “There is always a way to contribute, good words and a smile being two of them.”
“You are an exceptionally kind woman, Lady Fia, and your husband is a lucky man. I am glad to see that he cares for you,” —she smiled— “though I do not think he realizes how much just yet, but his heart will let him know soon enough.”
“Dysa! Dysa!”
“Seth will worry if I am not at his side if we’re attacked. He would fight with his last breath to keep me from harm just as I would him.”
Fia watched the old woman hurry to her husband, a man whose fine features defied his age. Never had she seen such love between two people. She shook her head. She had seen a love as strong as theirs… Lord Cree and Lady Dawn. Theirs was truly a remarkable love.
Unfortunately, Dysa was wrong about Varrick. She had seen what she wanted to see. Varrick did not care for her, though there was that moment when she had pressed her finger to his lips. They had both felt something and she still wondered over it.
She saw Brother Luke walk over to the cart and make the sign of the cross over each of the people there, offering what protection he could.
Everyone froze when a scream of pain ripped through the air.
Fia did not hesitate, she grabbed a small sack she had filled with cloths and salves and hurried around the rocks just as her husband’s roar filled the air and the warriors who were emerging from the woods stopped abruptly. Fia did not. She ran to the fallen warrior, seeing that an arrow had ripped through his calf. He was young, his eyes full of fright, and Fia wondered if his fear was for the wound or of her.
“The legendary Highlander!” one of the opposing warriors cried out and shuddered.
“HOLD YOUR WEAPONS!” Varrick ordered with a shout and his warriors, and the opposing warriors obeyed without hesitation.
Varrick lunged toward the opposing warriors, his eyes filled with murderous rage and every one of them turned and ran, except one poor fellow who was not fast enough.
He grabbed the warrior by his shirt and shook him like he weighed nothing even though he was rotund.
“Mercy, my lord, I beg you,” the warrior pleaded. “We thought you were mercenaries.”
“Who leads you?” Varrick demanded.
“Lord David of the Clan MacSymon.”
“Tell him I demand his presence, or I will hunt every one of you down and see you suffer endlessly!” Varrick threatened and released the man with a hard shove.
The warrior stumbled, turned, and ran off.
Varrick turned and when he saw his wife bent over the fallen warrior, he took angry strides toward her. “You disobeyed me!”
“This man requires my skill. Please allow me to help him,” Fia said, glancing up at her husband towering over her and seeing why the men had run from him. It was almost as if fiery sparks shot from his simmering blue eyes and the tightness of his jaw betrayed his fight to contain his full fury.
“Like you helped Brother Luke,” Marsh accused, having been the first to reach the young warrior when the arrow had struck him.
“Please, my lord,” the young warrior begged. “Do not let her harm me.”
