Page 6 of The Unencumbered Warrior (Highland Wishes Trilogy #1)

T he morning sun hung low in the sky, its golden light casting long shadows over the field where Raff worked.

Autumn’s crisp air did little to cool him as he drove the hoe into the earth, sweat glistening on his bare chest and arms. His muscles tensed with each movement, his mind drifting in places it shouldn’t.

Ingrid.

He had fallen asleep with her in his thoughts, and here she was again, lingering. It was a dangerous thing, to think of a woman like that. He had spent a year feeling nothing for anyone, untouched by desire, untouched by the weight of connection. His foolish wish had seen to that.

And yet, here in this village, something had changed.

A shout from the village broke through his thoughts. Then another. Urgent voices, rising in alarm. He straightened, his breath still steady despite the hard work.

Then he saw them.

Four warriors on horseback rode into the village, their presence like a dark storm rolling in.

Raff’s grip tightened on the hoe. Even from a distance, he saw the way the villagers stilled, how the usual bustle of morning tasks faded into wary silence.

Some women clutched their children’s hands, ushering them back toward their cottages.

Men who had been repairing the thatch paused, shoulders rigid with unease.

The warriors rode past the fields, past the smithy, their attention fixed on a gathering of women working the wool outside a cottage. Among them stood Ingrid.

Raff wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes narrowing as he watched one of the warriors dismount.

He strode toward the women, his boots stirring dust in the dry path.

The others remained on horseback, their expressions blank, though their presence alone sent a ripple of unease through the villagers.

“We’ve no need for raw wool any longer,” the warrior announced, his voice sharp and clipped. “Laird Chafton demands the finished plaids and blankets. You will turn them over immediately.”

A murmur swept through the gathered women, but it was Ingrid who stepped forward, her chin lifted in defiance.

“We were given no warning of this,” she said, her voice steady but edged with anger. “The agreement was for wool. If Laird Chafton wants finished goods, he’ll need to pay for them.”

A few villagers exchanged nervous glances, their unease thickening in the air like a coming storm. Laird Chafton was not a man known for fair dealings, nor was he one to be denied.

The warrior sneered. “Everything here belongs to Laird Chafton.”

Someone turned and sprinted toward the fields, calling Raff’s name.

He didn’t hesitate. He tossed the hoe aside and started for the village, moving quickly, his body still humming from the morning’s labor.

But as he neared, he slowed, instinct taking over.

Warriors demanded strength. Confidence. Not reckless haste.

He adjusted his stride, rolling his shoulders back as he approached, controlled and unshaken.

His gaze locked on the mounted men first, then shifted to the one speaking with Ingrid.

He studied them as he closed the distance, his muscles still taut, his body still damp with sweat from work.

If they meant trouble, he wanted them to see him coming and think twice.

Only they didn’t.

They ignored him entirely.

Not a glance in his direction. Not the flicker of recognition that men usually gave when another warrior approached. He may as well have been nothing more than a wisp of wind moving through the village.

His steps slowed. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Beyond this village, people treated him as though he barely existed, barely noticed him. But why?

Why was this place different?

The question gnawed at him as he finally reached Ingrid’s side. She barely glanced at him, too focused on the warrior before her. Though the warrior’s eyes rounded suddenly noticing him as if he had magically appeared. Was it because he stood next to Ingrid that made the difference?

“We’ve worked hard for what we have,” she continued, her voice steady despite the tension in her stance. “You expect us to hand over the very things we need to survive winter?”

The warrior sneered. “That is not my concern.”

A cold anger stirred in Raff’s chest. He clenched his fists at his sides, waiting, watching. If these men thought to take what they wanted, they would find resistance.

He just needed to be ready for when the moment came.

Ingrid slowly stepped aside, knowing the futility of any further discussion. The other women, their gazes filled with worry, followed her lead. With a slight tilt of her head, she motioned toward the weaving cottage, silently granting them entrance.

The warriors wasted no time. Two dismounted, pushing open the cottage door as the others followed behind, their boots heavy against the wooden floor. Inside, the woven plaids and blankets lay folded, the result of weeks of careful labor.

The warriors grabbed the finished goods, bundling them under their arms and carrying them out to their waiting horses. The villagers stood still, watching in silence as their work was taken from them, helpless to stop it.

Raff’s muscles coiled, his hands clenching into tighter fists. He wanted to intervene, to strike out against the injustice of it, but he knew as well as Ingrid did that such a move would bring nothing but greater trouble upon them.

When the warriors had taken all they could carry, they mounted their horses once more. Without another word, they rode off, dust rising behind them. Only once they had disappeared beyond the trees did the villagers seem to breathe again.

Ingrid turned to the other weavers, her voice low but firm. “From now on, for every two items we complete, one will be added to our hidden reserve.”

The women exchanged glances, some nodding in agreement, others still shaken by the confrontation, barely able to nod.

Raff frowned. “You expected this?”

Ingrid met his gaze, a fire still burning in her eyes. “I feared it. So, we prepared.”

She motioned toward the cottage. “We’ve been hiding some of our work in a place where Chafton’s men won’t find it. When the time comes, we take those goods to market and sell them. It helps make up for what he steals from us and keeps us from starving.”

Raff studied her, admiration curling in his chest. She was clever. Resilient. She didn’t just accept her fate… she fought it in her own way.

Edith, still watching the trail of dust left by the departing warriors, let out a breath. “If we’re to take more to market, we’ll need to be careful.” She glanced at Ingrid, then at Raff. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Raff should go with you next time… to keep you safe.”

Ingrid blinked. “I don’t?—”

“Unless he’s one of them who’s come to spy on us,” Agnes accused, still leery of the newcomer.

“For heaven’s sake, Agnes,” Edith admonished.

“We don’t know him well. Why should we trust him?” Agnes argued.

“She has a good point,” Raff said. “And while I can assure you that I am no spy, it doesn’t prove I’m not.

I can give you my word and prove myself by working alongside everyone and doing what I can to keep your village safe from Laird Chafton’s men.

If one thing, I am a highly skilled warrior and I can be of great help to you if ever needed. ”

Agnes considered it. “I suppose with Chafton’s men sniffing around and not knowing what they’ll do next, it would be wise to have a skilled warrior amongst us and to accompany Ingrid to market.”

Raff crossed his arms, watching Ingrid’s reaction. She looked at him, searching his face, perhaps trying to decide, like Agnes, if she could trust him.

Ingrid let out a breath she didn’t realize she held and nodded. “Fine. But only if he keeps to himself and lets me do the trading.”

Raff smirked. “Aye, lass. Whatever you say.”

But as he watched her, he knew this would be more than just a simple trip to market. Chafton had taken from them more than once and greedy men like him never stopped demanding more.

Later, just before dusk, Raff approached the fire where Ingrid sat, the glow casting flickering shadows over her face. Villagers milled about, enjoying the last of the daylight, children laughing as they played nearby.

“May I join you?” he asked.

Ingrid looked up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Of course.”

He lowered himself onto a nearby log, stretching out his legs. Silence settled between them comfortably, the sounds of the village filling the space.

She studied him for a moment before speaking. “Are you enjoying the work in the fields?”

He gave a small chuckle. “I imagine you don’t think I belong there.”

“That you’re a warrior was obvious before stating it yourself,” she said. “I don’t think anyone would take you for a farmer.”

Raff turned his gaze to the flames. “Maybe. But I’ve always loved working the earth. There’s power in the soil, in the way it nourishes life. A battle takes, but the land gives.” He paused, rubbing his hands together. “There’s something honest about it.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “That’s more than you’ve said about yourself since you arrived.”

Raff continued to stare into the fire. “Not much to tell.”

“I doubt that.” She nudged a stray ember with the tip of her boot. “Your family?—”

“They pay me no mind,” he said, but as soon as the words left his lips, something stirred inside him, made him think differently of his situation. It wasn’t that they had abandoned him. He had abandoned them—with his wish.

A shadow fell across his face, and he forced himself to add, “It was my fault.”

Ingrid was quiet for a moment, then gave a wry smile. “I once wished my mother didn’t pay me much mind.”

“You mentioned she could be overbearing.”

She chuckled. “That’s putting it mildly.

She insists she knows what’s best for me more than I do.

She believes she can find me the perfect husband and that I should accept him without question.

” She chuckled again. “Fair warning. She stops by now and again and if she sees us sitting, talking like this, she will attack you with endless questions.”

Raff puffed out his chest. “Remember, I’m a warrior.”

Ingrid dropped her head back in a hardy laugh. “Even a warrior is no match for my mum.”

“I will keep that in mind and plan wisely.”

They both chuckled, but as Raff watched her, a new feeling settled within him…

contentment. And something else. He realized that he favored Ingrid, cared for her and dare he think about having a possible future with her?

If he was lucky enough for her to feel the same about him.

It might be a foolish thought since they only met, but being seen by her and having feelings he long thought dead gave him hope.

And hope was something he had given up on until… Ingrid.

But first, he needed to see about ridding himself of the wish. If he had a chance for happiness here, with her, he wouldn’t let it be stolen from him. And for that he needed a witch.