Page 22 of The Unencumbered Warrior (Highland Wishes Trilogy #1)

T he wind shifted. Cold and sharp. The firewood beneath Ingrid’s feet hissed, not from flames, but from frost.

Gasps and cries broke out.

A streak of white ice threaded up the stake, splitting the rope that bound her wrists.

The crowd shrank back.

“She’s cursing us now!” Laird Chafton bellowed, but his voice cracked, and his glance rushed over the crowd.

“Nay,” came a shout from somewhere in the crowd. “That’s not her doing.”

All eyes were on Ingrid.

And then, as if pulled by an unseen force, her second rope snapped.

She stumbled forward, stunned. She was free.

Raff didn’t wait.

He moved.

Raff burst from the crowd, shoving past stunned villagers and dazed warriors. His eyes locked on Ingrid as she staggered forward, blinking in disbelief, her wrists raw and red.

“Ingrid!” he called, reaching her just as her knees buckled.

Her gaze lifted to his face, stunned. “Raff?”

He caught her, pulled her into his arms, and whispered against her ear, “Together always.”

The crowd began to move, some toward them, some away. The guards were yelling, blades scraping from scabbards.

But then?—

A crackle.

A hiss.

A thin flame slithered out from the frost-kissed wood like a snake seeking prey. It curled and rose, flickering unnaturally, its light tinted not gold, but blue.

Gasps echoed.

The witch, still hunched, her cloak wrapped around her, let out a sharp, high cry, like a frightened old woman.

“The flame knows!” she wailed, trembling and pointing a finger. “The flame seeks the real witch!”

The spark flared, rose in the air, and spun—once—twice—before hurling itself across the square… straight at Laird Chafton.

He didn’t have time to scream.

The fire struck him in the chest, bursting into a blaze that devoured his fine cloak and rich tunic in a heartbeat. He stumbled back, clawing at himself, eyes wild with terror. The crowd shrieked, scattering as the fire roared louder, hotter, impossibly fast.

He turned blindly, trying to find someone—anyone—to help him.

And then he saw her.

The old woman in the cloak.

The witch.

Their eyes locked.

She tilted her head, her eyes fixed on him, her words carrying on the wind for only him to hear. “Stupid warlock.”

Laird Chafton fell, fire wrapping him in orange and blue like a funeral shroud.

No one stepped forward to put it out.

And in the rising chaos—villagers crying out, warriors standing helpless, others fleeing—Raff grabbed Ingrid’s hand and ran.

They didn’t stop running until the flames and shouts were far behind them. The forest swallowed them in mist and shadow, branches closing overhead like sheltering arms. Raff finally slowed near a hollow between two ancient oaks, guiding Ingrid down to sit on a moss-covered log.

Her breathing was ragged, her hair damp with sweat and smoke, but her eyes, those green, beautiful eyes, had never looked more alive.

“You came,” she whispered.

“Of course I did,” he said, brushing a smudge of dirt off her cheek. “Nothing would stop me from getting to you.”

Her hand found his, fingers still trembling. “I was so afraid. Not just of dying… but that you’d come, and they’d take you too.”

“I’d rather die beside you than live in a world without you.” He leaned forward, their foreheads touching. “But we didn’t die. Not today.”

Her lips curved and tears touched her lashes. “And we won’t—not tomorrow or the next day. Because whatever comes… we face it together.”

He kissed her then, slow and reverent, full of all the words he hadn’t said and the ones he didn’t need to. When they pulled apart, her eyes shimmered with tears.

“I love you, Raff.”

“And I love you, Ingrid. Always.”

A twig snapped behind them.

Raff stiffened, reaching for his blade, but Ingrid sat up straighter and called, “You can come out now, Mum. You’re about as quiet as a stomping cow.”

From behind a crooked old pine, the cloaked figure stepped out, grumbling. “I’ll have you know, I once slipped past a dozen mercenaries without making a sound.”

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “And yet you nearly tripped over a root just now.”

“On purpose, to let you know I was here.”

Raff blinked, looking between the two women, not quite believing what he had just heard. “Wait… her, the witch, is your mum?”

The witch gave him a long, assessing look. “Do you have an issue with that?”

“Only since I met you,” he said, shaking his head, trying to comprehend the shocking revelation.

“Well, you’ll mind your tongue and show respect now that you know who I am.”

“A witch,” Raff said.

“Your mother-in-law,” she corrected him. “And you’ll do.”

“Do?” Raff asked, his brow shooting up.

The witch grinned. “Three daughters I raised—strong, smart, capable women. But foolish. Not one of them went looking for a husband. So, I figured I’d better do the looking myself.”

“You didn’t put a spell on Raff, did you?” Ingrid asked upset.

“She granted a wish I made, but it had nothing to do with a woman. It was the opposite. I wanted freedom and she gave it to me,” Raff explained, then smiled. “It brought me to you.”

“I simply gave a helpful nudge to fate.” She waved a hand. “I find three warriors—drunk, muddy, and battle-weary—but with honor in their bones. I thought, these’ll do. Just had to knock a few lessons into your thick heads first. Who they chose out of the three of you was up to them.”

Raff stared. “So, all of this… was matchmaking?”

“Magical matchmaking,” the witch said proudly. “The finest kind.”

Ingrid crossed her arms. “Mum?—”

“Oh don’t ‘Mum’ me. You love him, don’t you?”

Ingrid softened. “Of course I do.”

“And he clearly loves you. Followed you into a cursed village and he would have burned with you if I hadn’t helped him.

That he would face death for you proved he was the honorable man I believed him to be.

And a good husband for one of my daughters.

He came to you of his own accord. Fell in love with you without an ounce of help from me. Do you want to argue with that?”

“Nay,” Ingrid said, turning a smile on her husband.

“I have no fault with it,” Raff agreed, his arm circling his wife’s waist and drawing her against him.

“Good,” the witch said. “Now that that is settled, I will stay for the harvest celebration and make certain all is well with you two.” She glared at Raff. “And if you’re thinking of warning your friends, forget it. I’ll silence any message you send them.”

“If their wishes turned out like mine, I wouldn’t dare interfere with their chances of correcting them,” Raff said, silently hoping his friends would do as well as he did.

“Wise man,” the witch said. “When I leave?—”

“Which won’t be soon enough,” Raff mumbled, which got him a poke in the side from his wife and a glare from his mother-in-law.

“I have your sisters and two other prospective husbands to check up on,” the witch continued. “I just hope they’re not as slow on the uptake, though that one sister of yours can be terribly stubborn.”

“I wonder who she gets that from?” Raff mumbled.

“Be careful with your words, Raff,” the witch warned.

“Why? Will you turn me into a frog?” Raff said with a chuckle.

“Don’t tempt me,” the witch snapped.

“I would just change him back, Mum,” Ingrid said.

Raff’s head snapped toward his wife. “What? Wait?—”

“Didn’t stop to think that since her mum’s a witch that your wife might be one too?” the witch asked with a chuckle.

Raff looked at his wife bewildered.

“I’m not powerful like her,” Ingrid said as if trying to reassure him. “My magic is in my weaving. It comforts and sometimes heals.”

He stared at her speechless.

“We’ll discuss it later when we’re alone,” Ingrid said, wrapping her arm around his. “We should head home now.”

The witch led the way, still chuckling. “That’s not the only surprise that awaits him.”

Ingrid shook her head. “Mum, what did you do now?”