Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“I am grateful for your help, Cora,” Fia said, taking the wrapped cloth. “Is there any chance you could bring me a bucket of water? I would like to wash some before leaving here.”
Cora leaned close and whispered, “I would leave the stench on you. He will keep his distance then. Besides, I will not be able to return. We are busy preparing food for him and his men.” Tears rushed to her eyes. “I wish you well, Fia.” With that, Cora turned and hurried up the stairs.
Though hunger poked at her, she had no desire to eat, but she forced herself to do so anyway, not knowing when she would eat next.
Fia returned to her sleeping palette and sat, a sadness washing over her. She thought about her small cottage in the woods and all the things it held. Crocks of herbs and salves, the mortar and pestle that had been her grandmother’s, the bunches of herbs on her drying racks, her mum’s wool shawl she wore daily. Her aprons she had stitched from her grandmother’s worn garments, and two shifts she had stitched for herself from her mum’s garments. Her home not only contained those precious items, but it also contained the memories of her family, of being cared for, of being loved. She feared she might never see her home again or feel the lingering love that greeted her when she entered there.
Tears threatened her eyes and she let them fall, knowing she could not, would not, shed tears in front of…
Fia had heard tales as well about him and Cora had been right. The tales had seemed more fanciful than true. How could anyone believe he commanded an army of the dead? But how could one man possess such remarkable strength, be so fearless, and care nothing for the sanctity of life unless… he was heartless.
She shivered at the frightening thought, then wondered. What could a heartless warrior want with a woman he believed was a witch?
The question troubled her, for no doubt he was expecting something from her that she did not have the power to give him. What then would he do with her?
Fia did not like where her thoughts were taking her. Her grandmother had warned her many times to be careful, for few, if any, understood how a woman could thirst for knowledge about the workings of the body. A woman was simply not wise enough and, therefore, it had to be the devil enticing her to do his evil bidding. Even if careful, trouble could befall a wise healer as it did her grandmother.
She brushed the last of her tears away. She would stay strong and meet her fate with courage like so many of her ancestors had done. She wondered, though, had they suffered the gripping fear that she now did when fate had intervened?
She could not help but be fearful of what her fate would be. Would fate be kind to her or would she meet suffering and death at the hands of Lord Varrick… the ruthless, legendary Highlander.
CHAPTER 2
Newlin tried to stop his body from trembling, but it was useless. He had something to tell Lord Varrick and he knew it would not go over well. But he had a duty to his clan, and he would not fail them.
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.”