Page 13 of The Unencumbered Warrior (Highland Wishes Trilogy #1)

A gust of wind swirled around Raff as he stood after securing another bundle of grain.

He cast a glance at the gray clouds that had suddenly rushed in not long ago.

Rain was most likely which would hamper the day’s work.

There were several tasks that still needed to be done if they were to be ready for the harvest celebration.

He pulled his shoulders back, easing the taut muscles in his back as he watched several women, baskets filled to the brim with dried flowers and ribbons, in preparation for the woven garlands that would grace the village for the celebration, hurrying their steps to join the group of women already at work.

It was a celebration everyone was looking forward to, himself included.

It had been several days since he and Ingrid had returned from market.

The talk of witches had not vanished. It merely slept with one eye open, passed in whispers behind closed doors, avoided under the open sky.

Even he and Ingrid hadn’t spoken about it much.

It was as though if avoided, perhaps no more would be made of it.

He and Ingrid had spent much time together, sharing some meals, sitting by the outside fire in the evening and talking, taking walks, and sharing kisses. The more he kissed her, the more he wanted to, and the more he knew he wanted to make a home with her.

He had watched, more intently, the people in the village to see if it was at all possible to spot a witch.

But he saw nothing out of the ordinary. People were pleasant with a few disagreements here and there but as a whole the village was a pleasant place.

Presently, there were no serious illnesses and a healer from a nearby clan visited now and again or was called on if needed.

All was good. Surely, if there was a witch among them things would not be so pleasant.

But what about the figure he saw the other night? Was it real? Had he brought the witch down upon his clan and this village? And though he was intent on finding out, how did one go about finding a witch?

Raff spotted Ingrid and she waved, then lifted a jug and smiled. It was time for a respite, so he smiled and hurried to her.

She handed him a filled tankard when he reached her. “You have been working hard since sunrise.”

“We need to be done in time for the celebration. Besides, the land needs to be ready to rest for winter.” He leaned his head down closer to hers. “A time spent more indoors by the hearth, preferably not alone.”

“Then you will be staying?” she asked.

He heard the hope in her voice and realized she had been waiting to see what he would do. “Aye, I’m staying. I’d like this to be my home, here, preferably with you.”

“That is a very good possibility that requires further discussion.” She smiled, a bit of teasing to it, then it began to fade, and she grew tense.

“What’s wrong, Ingrid,” he asked, setting the tankard alongside the jug on a bench and took hold of her arm.

She didn’t have to answer. He felt it, the tremble, and he heard hooves beating the ground like war drums.

Mothers ran to gather their children. Men grabbed weapons and Raff stepped in front of Ingrid to shield her.

Laird Chafton rode into the village with six men. His gaze was sharp, as were his features. He dismounted with a quiet command that was louder than any shout, his shoulders thrown back, his chin tilted, and a note of disdain in his eyes.

The villagers kept their distance, though remained close enough to hear what brought him to the village.

“I received news,” he began, his voice like ice slicing a still pond, “that a witch is in the area and that she may live among you.”

No one responded. Even the wind seemed to be still.

He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing on faces that dared not meet his. “You have nothing to say? Nothing at all?” He raised his voice. “Not one of you?”

Chafton looked toward Ingrid, who had stepped from behind Raff.

Raff took hold of her hand seeing the way he stared accusingly at her, and he felt her hand tighten around his.

“Curious, isn’t it?” Chafton spoke softly now, though the silence carried his words as he approached her. “How ailing bairns wrapped in your blankets suddenly recover, so it’s been rumored. Miracle or witchcraft?”

Ingrid’s breath caught.

Chafton’s gaze swept to Raff. “And you, standing at her side like a guard dog. Has she bewitched you?”

Raff kept his voice steady though he was eager to land a good blow to Chafton’s jaw. Not a wise choice. “Ingrid is a skilled weaver. She’s done nothing wrong.”

Chafton smiled coldly. “That’s not for you to decide. I will find the witch, condemn her, and see her burn.”

Raff took a step forward, ready to pummel the man, but Ingrid caught his arm. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t.”

He looked down at her, jaw clenched, then remained as he was, keeping tight hold of her hand. The restraint cost him.

Chafton turned to address the villagers, his voice rising with false warmth. “If any of you know something—anything—and choose silence, you choose to condemn your neighbors. I will return. And someone had better find their tongue… or I’ll make sure this entire village pays the price.”

“We’ve heard rumors too,” Raff said, with the strength of a warrior confident in his abilities.

Chafton took a step back as if Raff suddenly presented a challenge to him. “What rumors?”

It did not set well with Raff to turn the problem on his clan, but they could weather such accusations better than this small village. And the truth was that they were searching for a witch.

“Clan MacMunn hunts a witch who caused them some problems. Maybe they point a finger to one of us.”

Chafton glanced around. “Is this common knowledge among you?”

All heads bobbed.

“I will see to this matter, but if it proves false, I will return and demand the name of the witch,” Chafton commanded.

With that, he mounted his horse and rode out, leaving a silence louder than any storm.

Raff stood still, the heat in his chest battling the cold rage settling in his bones.

People hurried to him.

“He will return if his quest proves worthless,” Edith said anxiously.

“Aye,” Latham joined in. “And that he points to you, Ingrid, means he wants one of us to condemn you.”

“Ingrid is no witch,” Raff said fiercely.

“Nay. Nay. She’s not,” many called out.

“Chafton wants a witch,” Agnes said, “and if he doesn’t find one, he’ll return and make us suffer until we give him one.”

“Unless the witch Clan MacMunn hunts is found,” Tolan, the smithy, said.

“You mean an innocent woman is accused and made to suffer,” Ingrid said.

“Not if she’s guilty,” Tolan argued.

“That’s easy for a man to say,” Agnes snapped.

“Stop,” Ingrid said. “You are doing exactly what Laird Chafton expects. You are willing to condemn anyone to save yourself. If you give him that, our village will never know peace again. We will always look over our shoulder wondering who would sacrifice another to save themselves.”

“Ingrid’s right,” Agnes said. “We need to protect each other.”

“There is work to finish so we can have our celebration… our harvest festival,” Ingrid said with a forced smile. “We can worry over this another day.”

All seemed only too relieved to do as she said and people wandered off quietly, their minds heavy in thought.

“We will talk later, Ingrid,” Raff said, not leaving it an option.

“Come for supper,” she said just as eager to speak with him.

“Aye,” he said with a smile and a nod, having had supper with her most nights, but this night would be different. They would need to talk more seriously.

Ingrid’s glance followed him as he hurried back to his chores.

“You’re not the only woman who watches him.”

Ingrid turned, her cheeks holding a hint of color.

“It’s about time you admit how much Raff means to you.”

“It’s a meal, Edith, nothing more,” Ingrid insisted. “Besides, he has supper with me frequently.”

“It’s more than supper you should be having with him,” Edith said, “You should handfast with him before winter sets in, then as soon as a cleric passes through the village, wed him. He’s a good man, don’t lose him.”

Ingrid smiled. “He is a good man.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Everyone sees how you look at each other, how you often clasp hands, and some have even seen you share a kiss or two. Be done with it and handfast. The man is completely irresistible.” She chuckled. “I don’t know how you can keep your hands off him.”

“He is a fine-looking man,” Ingrid agreed, her cheeks blushing since her hands did itch to touch him.

“Well, don’t you let that fine-looking man get away. The winter is drawing near, and I bet he’d set that empty bed of yours on fire when he crawled into it.”

“Edith!” Ingrid scolded, her cheeks flushing hotter from the image that struck her of Raff naked in her bed.

“Don’t take your time deciding about him or another woman will scoop him up fast enough,” Edith cautioned before spotting her husband and hurrying over to him.

Ingrid glanced around and caught many a woman, married or not, admiring Raff, and Edith’s warning lingered on her mind as she went to her cottage to set supper to cooking.