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“You say that, but lies come easy to evil,” he challenged.
“I told you I speak the truth, but you wonder if I truly do. You have only one choice.” She smiled softly as she said, “But will you make the right one?” Fia walked off, leaving him to decide.
Varrick knew well he had only one choice—trust her or don’t trust her. But which one was the right choice?
* * *
The cold feltas if it had pierced down into her bones by the time they reached the shelter. It was a small dwelling, and she was glad of it since it would not take long for the fire to heat the sparse space. A single, narrow bed, folded blankets piled on it, was pushed against one wall and a small table, a bench tucked beneath, sat against another wall. A chest sat braced against the bottom of the bed and baskets filled with root plants sat atop a narrow bench that occupied the wall across from the small yet adequate hearth.
Varrick got a fire going quickly, then grabbed the bench from beneath the table and sat it in front of the fire. “Sit and warm yourself,” he ordered.
Fia hurried to do as he said, since she was eager for the fire’s heat.
“There is no need to always order me when all that is necessary is to ask,” she said, stretching her hands out to the warmth.
“I am in command, therefore, I command,” he said, annoyed that he offered her an explanation.
“That must be burdensome at times. It is not necessary for you to always command me—simply ask me.”
“And if you argue with me?”
“I would not argue. If I disagreed with your request, I would explain why.”
“And so, we circle back to why I command,” he said as if it explained it.
“You will not be questioned,” she clarified, her brow pinching. “But surely you cannot believe you are never wrong.”
An unexpected smile broke across Varrick’s handsome face. “Nay, I don’t. I believe I am always right.”
Fia looked at him oddly, then laughed and was surprised when he chuckled as well. She had never seen such a smile on his face, and it highlighted his fine features, which caused a rash of flutters in her stomach once again. Was this what falling in love felt like? If so, it was quite enjoyable. Still, she had to be cautious. He did not trust her and if he did not trust her, how could he love her?
“I should go linger in the forest a bit,” she suggested, thinking some time alone would do her good.
“You have spent enough time there today and it grows cold. Time enough for you to do that tomorrow.”
She heard no demand in his voice and yet there was a strength to his words that warned she was not to argue.
“I can make a soup from the root plants in those baskets, if you’d like,” she offered, hunger having chased the flutters from her stomach.
“That would be good. I do grow hungry. I will leave you to it while I see that the sentinels are in place.”
“What of Sinead? Will she follow you here?”
“Aye, she’ll make a perch for herself in one of the trees but keep her distance from that part of the forest the animals and birds refuse to enter and visit with me when it suits her.”
“I will be a while. Do not leave here,” Varrick ordered.
“As you say,” Fia said, her thoughts on food and the root soup her grandmother had taught her to make.
After she got warm, she got busy preparing the soup and enjoyed the task. The small cottage reminded her of home, a place where she had been well loved. It brought back good memories and she found herself missing her mum and grandmother. She missed talking with them, sharing laughter and even tears with them. Loneliness was not something she was familiar with when she had them. At least when her mum passed, she had her grandmother, then when she passed… she had no one. She had lived a solitary life since then, seeing only those who came to her for healing, mostly women. She kept herself busy, but there were times she could not help but feel lonely.
She had not felt that since meeting Varrick and the more she got to know him, the more she enjoyed being with him, the more she came to care for him, the more she questioned if love began that way.
Varrick returned just as the soup was ready and they ate, Varrick moving the small table close to the hearth and sharing the one bench with her. It was a tight squeeze but a comfortable one since his body heat kept her comfortably warm along with the hearth’s fire.
“The soup is tasty,” Varrick said after finishing his second bowl.
“My grandmother taught me to make it. She loved to cook almost as much as she loved healing people.”
