Page 5 of The Unencumbered Warrior (Highland Wishes Trilogy #1)

T he sky burned in hues of amber and crimson, the last light of day casting long shadows over the village.

A crispness lingered in the air, the scent of earth ripe for the last harvest of the season and a touch of woodsmoke marking autumn’s steady advance.

Ingrid stood near the weaver’s hut, her hands idly twisting a length of spun wool as she chatted with Edith and Agnes, two women she had come to know well since settling in the village.

Their laughter was easy, the conversation light, but Ingrid’s attention drifted.

Her gaze snagged on movement near the stream’s path, and her fingers stilled. Raff was returning, his pace unhurried, the last golden rays glinting off the damp strands of his dark hair as he pulled a shirt over his head.

She had grown used to the rough look he had carried when he first arrived—the unkempt hair, the thick beard that had made his expressions nearly unreadable.

Now, trimmed and tamed, he looked… different.

His features were finer than she had realized, sharp angles softened by the autumn light.

The strength in his broad shoulders was undeniable, his every movement fluid and sure. A warrior’s grace.

Edith followed her gaze and let out a low hum.

“Mmm, now there’s a pleasant sight,” she murmured, tilting her head as she studied Raff.

“He’s one fine looking man. If I didn’t have my Ralph, he’d be at the top of my husband list.” She poked Ingrid with her elbow.

“It’s time for you to find a husband and I daresay you could do worse than him. ”

Ingrid blinked, tearing her eyes away from him. “Don’t let Ralph catch you talking that way,” she said, arching a brow, though smiled. “I thought Ralph was the love of your life.”

Edith shrugged, her lips curving in a smile. “He is but that doesn’t mean a woman can’t admire other men. Especially when something fine crosses her path.”

Agnes, however, did not share their amusement. She crossed her arms, her expression darkening. “You should be wary of him,” she said in a low voice. “Laird Chafton has been grasping at our village recently. What if he sent this one to spy on us?”

Ingrid frowned. “Laird Chafton wants more wool from us. If he harms us, he won’t get it.”

Agnes scoffed. “Aye, not yet, though that could change quickly. But men like him, warriors who suddenly appear with no past, no ties? That doesn’t sit right. And with Laird Chafton pressing us more and more…”

Edith waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t sour the moment, Agnes. If he’s here to cause trouble, we’ll find out soon enough. Until then, I’ll enjoy the view.”

Ingrid forced a chuckle, but Agnes’s words left a weight in her chest. She had wondered about Raff from the moment he arrived.

He was strong, skilled in ways that spoke of a past he kept to himself.

And while he had been nothing but helpful since meeting him, there was a restlessness in him, admitting he’d been traveling for a while, which meant he was searching but for what? And that made her a bit uneasy.

She looked at him again, watched as he ran his fingers through his wet hair, shaking out the last drops of water. He caught her gaze then, pausing for a heartbeat before offering a slow nod.

Ingrid hesitated, then nodded back.

Spy or not, Raff was a mystery she could not ignore.

As he strode toward them, Edith and Agnes exchanged quick glances.

Edith flashed a sly smile. “Be nice, Ingrid. He has prime husband potential.” Then she slipped away.

Agnes cast her a wary glance and hurried to say before rushing off, “He’s a stranger. Take it slow.”

Their absence left an odd silence, unusual for her since words rarely failed her. She needn’t worry. He was quick with his own words.

“Did I chase them away?” he asked, amusement flaring in his eyes.

Ingrid tilted her head. “They were talking about you.”

He raised a brow. “Aye? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

She smirked. “A bit of both, I imagine. After all, you are a stranger to us all.”

He laughed briefly, his expression playful. “Understandable.”

Ingrid took the moment to study him up close, noting again how different he looked. Not just cleaned up, but… more settled. Or perhaps more resolved. It only deepened her curiosity.

“You mentioned you spent a year wandering. Where did you call home before that?” she asked, a reasonable question.

Raff’s smile faded slightly. “A distance from here.”

She waited for more, but he only looked at her expectantly. Not willing to let the moment pass, she tried again. “Surely a man like you had a place, a purpose before now?”

His gaze drifted across the village, then back to her. “Everyone has a past, Ingrid. Not all of us are eager to speak of it.”

His evasion only sharpened her interest. “So, do you plan to stay here, then?”

“For now.”

“I suppose wandering makes it difficult to commit to anything for too long.”

“It can but with winter coming, a longer respite might be what I need.”

She narrowed her eyes, unsure whether to be frustrated or amused.

He was careful with his words, avoiding distinct responses.

He did not trust easily and there was something about him that made her feel he kept himself apart from people.

That he didn’t let anyone get close. Didn’t let anyone truly see him.

Raff glanced at the darkening sky. “Night will be upon us soon.” He met her gaze then, something steady and assured in his expression. “If you ever need help with anything, Ingrid, I’m here for you.”

She was caught off guard by the offer, by the quiet sincerity in his voice. Before she could respond, he inclined his head. “Good night, Ingrid.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the cool autumn air, watching him walk to his cottage.

He was a mystery, indeed, and one she found herself more and more determined to unravel.

Raff pushed open the door to his cottage, stepping into the dim interior. The fire had burned low, filling the space with quiet warmth. He moved to the bed and dropped onto it with a sigh, staring up at the wooden beams above.

This village was different. Everywhere else he had gone since his wish, people had barely looked at him, as if he were a shadow slipping through their lives. Here, they acknowledged him, accepted him. He was no stranger to their kindness, no ghost on the fringe of existence.

Was there magic at work here? Some unseen force that made them welcome him rather than ignore him like all the places he had wandered before?

For the first time in years, he considered the thought of staying, of calling this place home. It was foolish, he knew. His wish still lingered like a curse, unsettled and unresolved. But something about this place… something about her made him wonder if it would be wise to remain.

Ingrid.

His mind drifted to the sharp wit in her eyes, the way her fingers worked through wool with practiced ease, even with two fingers fused, the stubborn lift of her chin when she questioned him.

No woman had appealed to him, not since his wish had cursed him with an existence of solitude.

He hadn’t even cared for the woman he had been betrothed to, but that was not unusual with an arranged marriage.

It was one thing freedom had brought him that he hadn’t minded.

Yet, with Ingrid, there was something he felt, a pleasant pull he had not expected.

He closed his eyes and released a slow breath.

Whatever this village held, whatever fate had brought him here, he would find the answers soon enough.

Sleep took him, Ingrid still lingering in his thoughts.