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“Is she fair to look upon?” Argus asked, breaking through Varrick’s musings. “It is no good if she is, for it will be more difficult for you to resist when she plies you with her wiles and traps you in a spell.”
“How is it you know so much about witches, Argus?”
Varrick looked at Corwin, who had asked the question that had been on his own mind as well. He was a man of decent size, but then most of his warriors were. He was, however, the only warrior with bright red hair and a beard to match—and a teasing nature.
“I have heard tales.”
“But are they true?” Corwin challenged with a grin.
Argus leaned his thick arms on the table. “Let us find out. Lord Varrick can have you stare into the witch’s eyes, then we can see what happens.”
Corwin’s grin vanished. “I think your knowledge of witches is enough for us to heed your warnings.”
That Corwin did not continue to tease and bait Argus warned Varrick that his warriors were concerned about him wedding the witch.
“The witch will do what she is told and what is needed,” Varrick declared.
It was the first time he spied uncertainty in his warriors’ eyes. They always followed him without question, trusting his every decision.
“Unlike others, she has powers,” Argus said.
“And she will use her powers as I command,” Varrick said with the confidence of a man accustomed to obedience. “Now eat and drink while you can. We leave soon enough, and we will keep a good pace since I know you all wish to get home as soon as possible.” He nodded at a warrior, gray strands heavy in his dark, shoulder-length hair yet no noticeable wrinkles, who sat at the other end of the table and appeared lost in thought. “Especially you, Marsh.”
Marsh raised his head, hearing his name. “My lord?”
“You wish to get home soon, do you not?” Varrick asked, knowing full well he did.
“Aye, my lord, as soon as we possibly can,” Marsh said, nodding and looked as if he would say more but held his tongue, then changing his mind, words hurried from his lips. “I do not want the witch near Ella, my lord.”
“I will make sure the witch goes nowhere near Ella,” Varrick assured him.
“I am grateful, my lord,” March said, appearing relieved.
Varrick stood and went to make certain his wife would be ready soon, eager to take his leave.
* * *
Fia gazed longinglyat the wood tub filled with hot water, though it would not be hot for long if the two servants continued to argue by the door. Neither wanted to stay and help her as ordered and Fia did not care if they did. Her only concern was to climb into the tub and chase away the chill that had buried itself in her bones since arriving here.
Tired of their bickering and longing for the heat of the water-filled tub, Fia said, “I can see to myself.”
The two women could not leave the cottage fast enough and as soon as they did, Fia rushed out of her garments and into the tub. She sighed aloud just before she sunk beneath the hot water, head and all, letting the heat soak into every part of her.
When she finally sat herself fully up, she smiled. The water continued to lap at her breasts, just above her nipples and at her bent knees. She wished she could linger there for a while, forget her woes and empty her thoughts so she would be fully cleansed and ready to face whatever was to come.
Unfortunately, she had no time, and the water would cool fast enough, leaving the chill to return to her body. She hurried to reach for the soap sitting atop folded towels that rested on a tall stool beside the tub. She was eager to scrub the grime from her hair and her body and slip into the clean garments left on the table for her.
She scrubbed her hair twice and then got busy on her body. There was still some warmth left in the water when she finished, and it would have been nice to linger but that would have been wiser to do before she had scrubbed herself and left the filth in the water.
Hurry, he looks for you!
Startled by the sudden warning, she hurried out of the tub to hastily dry herself in front of the hearth, squeezing the water from her long hair before she did. When nearly finished, the cottage door burst open.
Lord Varrick’s impressive form overpowered the doorway and he glared at her with an anger that frightened her. She shivered, not only from his intense scowl but from the cold that drifted in, and she quickly covered herself with the damp towel.
Varrick hurried the door closed, seeing his wife tremble. He looked at the tub, then back at her. “What are you doing here in a cottage and not in the keep? And why is no one helping you?”
She spoke truthfully to him. “I was not wanted in the keep and there was no one who wanted to help me wash, and I needed no one to help me,” Fia said, recalling the protest of the servants ordered to help her until finally the two of the lowliest servants had been left with the task. “It would seem the witch is feared more than the legendary Highlander.”
