Enchanted Cottage (Avador Book 3, Books We Love Fantasy Romance) (2 page)

She stood and turned left and right, afraid to believe.
Why had this house appeared, here and now, when she needed refuge, above all? Had the Goddess made this happen because Talmora knew she needed sanctuary? She smiled at her fanciful thought, as if the Goddess, good and powerful though she was, would do anything special for her. But if not by the bounty of the Goddess, how had the cottage and all it contained appeared in this spot?

By now, the water had heated.
She ground the comfrey into a small bowl, then poured the water over it. First giving the mixture a few seconds to cool, she dabbed it on her face. Oh, Talmora, please have it work!

She waited for her skin to clear, touching her face again and again.
Oh, no, Goddess, no! The splotches remained, her face as ugly as ever. She didn’t need a mirror to realize that. She sank onto a chair and pressed her hand to her face, trying so hard not to cry. The tears streamed down her face. Would this be her life for the rest of her days, to be so ugly no one wanted to see her? She was only twenty; must she live in isolation for the rest of her life?

Some way, she must break this curse, but how?

Chapter Two

The days passed as Alana gradually adjusted to life in the cottage, learning where all the utensils were, so similar to ones she had used in the past.
But the curse, oh Goddess, the curse! Every day, every day, she awoke, hoping, praying that her skin had returned to normal. And each day, she tried different herbal remedies—parsley and peppermint, all the herbs that came to mind. Oh, she knew vanity was a sin, yet she recalled the admiring looks from the men—young and old—in the village. Their silent praise was akin to soaking in a warm, perfumed bath.

The Goddess may have provided supplies for her the first day, but hereafter, she was on her own.
And she did manage as best she knew how. She’d made good use of all the pots and pans, the other implements. By her second day, she’d learned to always keep a pan of hot water over the fireplace. How would she obtain food when the weather turned cold, she worried. Perhaps the Goddess would provide.

With time on her hands, she went for walks through the woods every day, learning the trees and foliage.
She didn’t go too far from her cottage for fear she wouldn’t find her way back. She marveled to find a weeping willow tree set among the others. Willow bark, she noted, good for fevers, something to remember for later use. She was rarely sick, but it might prove helpful to keep in mind. She caught the scent of a sassafras tree, recalling it also had medicinal uses.

Virtually every day, she headed for the wide Nantosuelta River that flowed nearby, to wash and collect water in her bucket for cooking.

On a morning when coolness still clung to the air, she headed for the river, bucket in hand. Wending her way among the maples and oaks, she followed the rocky path downward. She neared the river, hearing its roaring sound, its frothy waters gushing over thick boulders on the shore. Off to the west, she gazed at the distant Orn Mountains, their high peaks lost among the clouds.

On the shore, she slipped out of her sandals.
As always, she hesitated to remove her dress and linen shift, on the very slim chance that someone lurked nearby. Just her dress, she decided as she reached down to lift the hem.

“There is evil in the land.”

Alana gasped and spun around.
An old man clad in a brown robe rested on a tree stump, a few steps away. How had he appeared so suddenly? His gray hair fell to his shoulders, a thick beard wreathing his chin. Tiny wrinkles tracked his sunburnt face.

After several seconds, Alana found her voice.
“Evil, yes, how well I know.”

“We must defeat evil.”

“We?”

He shrugged.
“You, me, all people of good will.” He smiled kindly. “Dear child, I suspect you have a story to tell, a sad one.”

Her hand flew to her face.
“Look at me! A woman in the village cast a spell—“

”She must be truly evil.
No one deserves such a curse.”

“What I don’t understand
—how did she work this curse?” She thought for a moment. “She had a crystal ball, she told me once.”

He shook his head.
“A crystal ball is used only for discerning events of the past, present, or future. When you lived in your village, did you always stay inside?”

“No, of course not.
I often visited others in the village, and I taught several students who lived not far from my home.” She wondered what he was getting at.

He opened his hands wide.
“Well, there you have it. While you were gone from your house, she found your comb or a handkerchief—something you use all the time—and she placed the curse on it.”

She twisted her hands together.
“But what can I do? How can I erase this spell?”

“You must defeat the sorceress.”

“I intend to, but how? I can’t return to the village looking like this.” Her voice trembled. “And what man would want a woman with such an ugly face?”

He smiled again.
“Perhaps someday a man will love you for yourself.”

“Not a chance!”
She spoke flippantly, but fresh tears threatened to spill. She turned away, biting her lower lip.

“Let things happen as they will.”

She looked his way again, but he was gone. Disappeared, just like that! Could he be one of the immortal folk who dwelt among the hills?

Countless seconds passed, then she raised her dress over her head and tossed it onto an earthberry bush.
Clad only in her shift, she waded out into the water, shivering with the cold. She winced as she stepped onto sharp rocks that studded the shore. She waded farther out until the water reached her waist. With fast, sure strokes, she swam, soothed by the undulating motion of the water, the sunshine warming her back.

For these few carefree moments, she tried to forget her misery, yet Morag’s words came back to taunt her.
“The people will shun you.” With determination, she swam farther out, until the shore was a hazy outline beneath the late morning sun. Well aware she couldn’t escape her dilemma, she turned and swam back. She must defeat this curse and expose Morag Delaney as an evil sorceress.

* * *

Beset by hunger and thirst, exhausted from his long journey, Colin Duffrey plodded through the forest. His upper right arm ached, the sword wound an angry red and swollen. Foul smelling pus leaked from the battle injury. His head ached; his teeth chattered as chills raced over his body. He swore, fearful he would lose his arm if he didn’t stem this infection, but he knew nothing about medicine.
Talmora! I must not lose my arm!
What kind of a soldier would he be with only one arm? How in the name of the Goddess could he fight?

Nor had his troubles ended with this injury.
He had lost his horse in the battle and hadn’t had the opportunity to purchase another.

As the younger of two sons, he knew he would never inherit the family estate.
So he had hired himself out as a mercenary soldier to Elegia in its never-ending war with Fomoria. But now…. He stopped to rest against a maple tree, afraid he couldn’t go much farther. Rest, he needed rest. He closed his eyes for a moment, his ears buzzing. His knees buckled under him but he caught himself in time. The constant rubbing of his tunic sleeve against the wound drove him crazy, so he rolled the sleeve up. There, much better.

Disgraced and demoted for insubordination, he headed home to rest and recover.
Yet Ulaidh was still days away, and that was by horse. He’d never reach his village. Swiping the sweat from his forehead, he pushed himself away from the tree. He had to get home. Two years since he’d last seen his family! His throat tightened. His family—only his father and brother. Letters often didn’t get through, and at other times, the Fomorians wouldn’t permit correspondence to get past their lines. His mother had passed on to the Otherworld several years ago, and he feared his father would soon join her, for he suffered from heart trouble.

He had thought to take this shortcut through the forest, then connect with the Royal North Road later, where he would find inns along the way.
But this trek was taking longer than he’d anticipated.

He licked dry lips; the ground tilted around him.
It was agony to lift one foot in front of the other. His knapsack weighed him down, the sword at his side another burden.

He looked off in the distance and saw a clearing, a cottage set in its midst.
Strange. Why was a cottage set here, in the middle of nowhere? Never mind! If he had any luck—a scarce commodity these days—the owner might offer him food and a place to rest. He tapped the coin purse attached to his metal belt. He would pay the owner, if it came to that.

Wending his way among the oaks and maples, he staggered to the front door and dropped his knapsack.
He knocked, faint with the effort. He waited a few moments, then knocked again, leaning his head against the wood. Spots danced in front of his eyes.

Drawing on his last bit of strength, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
After a few steps, he fell sprawling onto the floor. The sword clattered at his side. Darkness closed around him.

* * *

On the shore again, Alana squeezed the water from her hair and shift. She perched on the stump, letting the breeze and sunshine dry her hair. She wished she could stay here forever, forget her worries, pretend life was as it had been before the illness had taken her parents. She smiled, thinking of all the happy times with her mother and father and her brother Duncan before he’d married and moved away.

She stared off to the tree-studded hills.
Had the old man returned to his home there? She wondered if she would see him again and hoped she would. His kind words had offered hope and comfort when she needed them most.

She sighed, well aware she couldn’t stay here forever.
Among her provisions at the cottage, she’d found oat flour, yeast, and salt, all she required for making bread, except milk, but water would have to do. A loaf of freshly-baked bread sounded good. Her wet shift still clung to her, but she couldn’t linger. She slipped her dress on, struggling to pull it over her drenched undergarment. She headed back to the river to dip the bucket for water. Stepping into her sandals, she headed home. Strange, she mused as she followed the rocky path back to the cottage, that she would now think of this place in the wilderness as her home.

Climbing upward, she neared the house as bright sunshine lit the clearing.
The chickens squawked and scattered, but she stepped past them. She approached the front door and gasped.

The door stood open.

Chapter
Three

Alana pressed a hand to her fluttering heart.
She stood still, at a loss to know where to go, what to do. Fear froze her stomach, but indignation overrode all other emotions. Someone had invaded her sanctuary! In desperation, she looked around for a weapon but saw none. She smiled grimly. If robbery was his motive, she had precious little to steal—except her gold bracelet. No, he mustn’t have that! And if he had a darker purpose? She’d fight him with everything in her. Then she saw the knapsack outside her door. So, he planned to stay?

She couldn’t remain outside all day.
With a deep breath for courage, she moved closer to the door and stepped inside, setting the bucket down. The most Goddess-awful stench assailed her. A man lay on the floor. Dead? With cautious steps, she approached him and saw the rise and fall of his chest. Just look at his arm! The poor man suffered with an infection and would lose his arm if she did nothing to save it.

Grabbing a pair of scissors from the counter, she rushed outside to the herb garden.
She snipped off the petals from a calendula plant and hurried back inside. Her breath came fast, her hands shaking as she crushed the petals in a mug and poured boiling water over the petals.
Time!
She must hurry, yet she needed several minutes for the infusion to steep.

While she waited, she moved about the cottage, putting dishes away, making her bed.
Back in the front room, she saw the man’s sword. Was he a soldier, or did he carry the weapon for protection? She slipped the sword from the scabbard and set it against a chair. It appeared to be expensive, made of the finest steel. Perhaps he was an officer, but Avador had been at peace for years. If not fighting for Avador, then where? She retrieved the knapsack from outside and set it by the sword.

Then she noticed his belt.
Made of metal, its design revealed intricately intertwined animals and was studded with garnets. Only a man of wealth would own such a belt.

She heard him moan and mumble in his sleep.
His head moved restlessly as he shifted his position. He had harsh features, as if cut from granite, and thin lips. Unruly dark hair fell past his neck. He wore a dark brown tunic and plaid trousers tucked inside mid-calf leather boots. The boots appeared to be made of well-crafted leather.