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“Nay, you will do as I order,” Varrick demanded.
Fia stopped and turned to her husband before they reached the horses. “You are a wise and exceptional warrior, and your warriors trust you. None doubt your command when you enter battle. You believe me a wise witch, though I am truly a wise healer. I know the woods, the good they offer and the bad to avoid. I know how to listen and hear what advice or warnings they give. I need you to trust me as I would you if I followed you into battle.”
Bloody hell if she did not make sense.Varrick’s thought annoyed him.
“I understand that honor demands that you protect your wife and I have no doubt you will protect me, but to place endless restrictions on me will only hinder the situation. You need to trust me in this and let me do it my way.”
A sudden squawk overhead from Sinead had them both glancing up at her.
“Sinead agrees,” Fia said with a smile.
Varrick staunchly disagreed. “She warns since she is wise enough to avoid the part of the forest the God of Death occupies.”
“You know her best,” Fia said.
What she was saying was that just like he knew Sinead, she knew the forest which, of course, annoyed Varrick since it made him see the wisdom of her words yet again.
“We will walk,” he said, “but the warriors will follow on horses, keeping a distance yet being there if necessary.”
“A wise choice, my lord,” Fia said and wrapped her arm around his. “When did you first believe that Arawn, the God of Death, occupied a section of your land?”
He liked it when she hooked her arm with his or when she took hold of his hand as if it was the most natural thing to do. He had never had that with any woman, never gave it thought, never had a desire to. But he found himself very much enjoying the simple yet intimate connection and the sense of contentment it brought with it.
“After we realized that the hell hounds’ howls sounded just before Death claimed someone in the clan. No longer could we deny that it was a sign of Arawn’s presence. Also, the animals avoided the area and the pines shed their needles far too much for the winter.”
“The animals could avoid the area due to lack of food supply there, and pines will sometimes purge their needles to give more room for the young to grow,” Fia said, offering a reasonable explanation. “Has any single woman arrived at the clan recently?”
“None that I am aware of,” Varrick said. “Why do you ask?”
“The tale claims that the God of Death rarely spends time away from his wife. Their love is so deep that he will not tolerate even a short absence from her.”
Was love that strong? Varrick wondered. To love someone that much that separation was intolerable? Was it possible or nothing more than a myth?
Fia had another possibility in mind. “Have you considered that someone may be plotting against you?”
Varrick’s hands suddenly took hold of his wife’s waist and hoisted her over a fallen, partially snow-covered tree the harsh winter wind had sent tumbling to the ground.
Fia tried to ignore the sensation that rushed through her with how easily he had lifted her. Though it was difficult to ignore since she found his unexpected touch pleasurable.
He nodded after placing her on the other side of the fallen tree, trying not to think about the feeling of her gently curved waist and the desire it had flared in him.
He forced the intimate thought away, but it refused to leave entirely, lingering in the back of his mind. “I have given it thought, especially since this whole ordeal has caused a rife in the clan. There are those who continue to trust me and those who have dared to voice their doubts. Never has the clan once doubted my decisions. But then Death has not stalked the clan as it does now.”
“It would seem foolish for someone to stir trouble in your clan with the fierce reputation you have. If it should prove true, that someone plots against you, then there would need to be an exceptional reason for it.”
Again, he was impressed with her reasoning for he had thought the same.
“A moment,” she said and stopped, tilting her head, listening as if someone spoke to her. “A storm brews.”
Varrick disagreed, though kept silent. The storm he thought would follow them home had petered out and left them with only a light snow. Even now he felt no snow in the air.
Fia continued walking, wondering over what she had sensed, for the storm was like none she had ever felt.
A storm of the heart brews.
Whatever did that mean? She wondered, though made no mention of it. She would think on it another time. Presently, she needed to keep aware of the forest and all that went on in it. The trees seemed content, the animals as well. It was not until they were not far from where she and Brock had their encounter with the hounds that she felt a change.
Varrick stopped her when they reached a certain point. “It is just beyond here.”
