Page 3 of To Wed a Witch (Reluctant Brides #3)

"No misunderstanding, Laird MacKay!" shouted a burly man at the front of the group. "Yer daughter worked witchcraft before our very eyes!"

"Surely we can discuss this reasonably," MacKay continued, his voice growing strained. "Sìne is a healer, nothing more. If she helped a child, then—"

"She called him back from the dead!" shrieked a woman, pointing an accusing finger. "We saw him lifeless as stone, and she whispered her devil's words and made him breathe again!"

Bhaltair watched with growing disgust as Laird MacKay floundered, trying to reason with the unreasonable.

The man was losing control of the situation entirely, his authority crumbling before a mob of superstitious fools.

Sìne trembled against him, and he could feel her fear radiating through her small frame.

Enough.

"SILENCE!" Bhaltair's voice boomed through the hall like thunder, cutting through the chaos with such authority that every person froze mid-shout. The sudden quiet descended over the hall.

He stepped forward, bringing Sìne with him, his arm still firmly around her waist. Every inch of his tall frame radiated lethal power, and his dark eyes promised violence to anyone fool enough to challenge him.

"I am a guest of the MacKay. I dinnae ken who ye think ye are," he said, his voice deadly quiet now that he had their attention, "but no one," his gaze swept over them, "will harm this woman while I draw breath. Cross me on this, and ye'll have hell to pay."

Dugald, Murphy and his men stood resolute beside him, and their scowls and stance gave the villagers pause. For once, Bhaltair was glad he had brought them with him.

The villagers shifted nervously, suddenly aware they were facing a warrior who could likely cut down half their number before they could blink. The angry muttering died to uncertain whispers.

Without taking his eyes off the crowd, Bhaltair drew his dirk from his belt, and several villagers took an involuntary step backward. Moving with care, he sliced through the ropes binding Sìne's wrists with one clean stroke.

She gasped softly as her hands came free, rubbing at the raw marks on her wrists.

Bhaltair saw her bloodied wrists for the first time and clenched his jaw. He wanted nothing more than to cut down every villager before him for daring to harm her.

"Now then," Bhaltair continued, his voice carrying the quiet menace of a predator, "let's speak of this child ye were so eager to bury. Where is he now?"

The villagers exchanged confused glances. The burly spokesman frowned. "What d'ye mean?"

"I mean," Bhaltair said, "in yer righteous fury to chase this lass through the forest, what became of the supposedly dying lad?"

The silence stretched uncomfortably. Several faces began to show dawning realization and shame.

"We... we left him..." a woman whispered.

"Ye left him," Bhaltair repeated, his tone flat with disgust. "So concerned were ye with hunting a so-called witch that ye abandoned an ailing child in the dirt?" His voice dropped to a growl that made grown men flinch. "What manner of Christians are ye?"

The mob shuffled their feet, no longer meeting his gaze. The burly man cleared his throat and gestured to two women, who immediately ran out of the hall. No doubt they were returning to see to the boy. "We... we were frightened. She made him move when he was dead, and we..."

"He was never dead!" Sìne cut him off. "As any fool with sense would have discovered had ye bothered to check for breath before digging his grave."

"Steady, woman!" Bhaltair growled.

Sìne just frowned at him. "I'm tired of them sullying me name as if I'd ever work for the devil."

"I ken it, but calm yerself." Bhaltair then asked the crowd, "Who checked that the lad was alive before ye decided to bury him?"

There was an awkward silence before a man with a ruddy complexion replied, "I did. He were dead as can be."

"Are ye a healer?"

"Aye, and he was lying on the ground, pale, with his eyes closed. None of my methods could rouse him."

"Did ye check for breath or listen for the beating of his heart?"

"Uh, no. 'Twas like he were in a deep sleep with barely any movement. I decided it best to bury him quickly because he was already spirited away."

"Well, clearly he was not dead. He was knocked unconscious. I've seen it many a time on the battlefield. An injury to the head can do that, but after some care, people recover."

Someone shouted to the healer, "Ye said he were dead with no heartbeat or breath? Do ye mean ye did not even check?"

"No, I thought 'twas not normal to lie so still for so long."

"Did ye even try to care for him longer than a day?" another shouted.

"People usually rouse within a short time. 'Twas not normal for him to be still for so long."

It was then the crowd began giving their healer a skeptical look.

"Is it possible ye were wrong?" Bhaltair asked.

"Aye, I suppose I might have been too hasty."

It was then the crowd began to disperse, shame-faced and muttering among themselves whilst shaking their heads in disgust at the healer. Within minutes, the hall had emptied save for MacKay's household and Bhaltair's men.

"How did ye manage that?" Laird MacKay asked. He was clearly relieved Bhaltair handled the situation.

"Often, once people have time to think and question the facts, they lose all their bluster."

"Thank ye," Sìne said softly, finally turning to face him properly. Her striking eyes shone with gratitude, and despite the mud and scratches, Bhaltair could see she was indeed bonnie. Very bonnie. "I dinnae ken what would have happened to me if ye had not been here."

She moved to step away from him, but his arm tightened around her waist, keeping her close. The warmth of her body against his side felt right in a way he hadn't expected.

"Ah, if ye dinnae mind me asking," she said, looking up at him with a curious gaze, "but... exactly who are ye?"

Bhaltair looked down at her, taking in the proud tilt of her chin despite everything she'd endured, the intelligence that sparked in her gaze, the way she fit perfectly against his side.

Until this moment, he hadn't decided whether to accept MacKay's proposal.

The marriage had been about necessity, about saving his clan.

But looking at her now, he found the words leaving his mouth before he'd consciously made the choice.

"I am the man ye are about to wed," he replied.

All the color drained from her face.

***