Under the Highlander's Spell (17 page)

A
rtair plopped Zia down on the bench at the table before the hearth, where his family was gathered. She looked ready to give him a good tongue-lashing, but instead clamped her lips tight.

He slipped in along the bench beside her with a smile. “Zia couldn't wait to join the family for the morning meal.”

“Yup, it sure looked like she came willingly,” Lachlan said with a smug grin.

“You look exhausted,” Honora said to Zia with concern, then eagerly asked, “How is the new babe?”

“He is a strapping babe with a generous wail and a thatch of bright red hair like his father's,” Zia said.

Honora smiled with glee. “I cannot wait for our babe to be born. I know he will be as handsome as Cavan.”

“Better he be as handsome as his uncle,” Lachlan said, thumping his chest.

“He should look like his father, for then he will also resemble his grandfather,” Addie said, sounding melancholy.

Everyone turned silent, though nods circled the table.

Addie broke the silence. “It will be good to have a little one around here again. I cannot wait.”

“And more little ones should follow soon,” Lachlan said, raising his tankard at Artair.

“When do you do your share in seeing our family grow?” Artair raised his own tankard in challenge while considering the idea. He had always wanted a large family, and after last night there was now a possibility.

Lachlan laughed. “You and Cavan can see to that for now.”

“Coward,” Cavan accused with a grin.

“Wise,” Lachlan corrected.

“Be careful, Lachlan,” Artair joined in. “Fools are made to suffer.”

“Then I have no worry,” Lachlan chortled.

“Lachlan will do well finding a wife,” Zia said, breaking off a piece of bread from the freshly baked loaf on the table.

“Why?” Artair and Cavan asked in unison.

Zia answered quickly. “Because he is attentive and passionate with women.”

Lachlan grinned from ear to ear. “Oh dear, sister I love you. You know me so well.”

Artair and Cavan disagreed with protests.

“Zia's right,” Honora agreed. “Lachlan does know women.”

Cavan's head snapped around to his wife. “I know women.”

“Oh do you now?” Honora said curtly.

“I did know women,” Cavan tried to correct.

“So you don't know me?” Honora asked sharply.

Cavan hurried to explain. “That's not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Lachlan asked with a smirk.

“Shall we kill him now?” Artair offered.

“You can both try,” Lachlan laughed.

“This is my fault,” Zia said. “Please don't fight on my account.”

“Dear, this has nothing to do with you,” Addie said, patting her arm. “They're men; they can't help it.”

“That's right,” the three brothers declared simultaneously.

The women burst out laughing.

Artair loved family, and he loved that Zia now shared it with him and that they would seed the family and watch it grow. Of course, he had to get her to marry him first, but he didn't think that would be a problem, not after last night. In a way, they had actually committed to each other by making love. The only thing left was to exchange vows.

Zia yawned, and Artair slipped his arm around her. She instinctively rested her head on his shoulder, reminding him that she needed sleep. He intended to see that she got it.

Cavan helped his cause. “You need to rest, Zia.”

“She's going to bed right now,” Artair said.

Just as Artair stood, one of Cavan's warriors burst into the hall.

“The village Hosack is under attack from marauders,” the man announced.

The men immediately got to their feet, and Artair looked to his mother. “Please see that she rests.”

“I'll look after her,” Addie promised.

Artair leaned over and captured Zia's mouth with a kiss. “Promise me you'll sleep. There may be wounded who will need your help.”

Her eyes popped wide. “I'm going with you.”

He held her down firmly, his hand to her shoulder. “You aren't going anywhere.”

“What of the wounded villagers? Who will heal them?” she demanded.

“She has a point,” Lachlan said.

“No one asked you,” Artair said, annoyed with his brother for taking Zia's side.

“There's no time to argue,” Cavan said with the distinct voice of a leader. “The wounded will be brought here if necessary.”

Artair almost breathed a sigh of relief, though never got the chance. Zia broke loose of his grip and stood.

“And your wounded warriors?” she asked sharply, and then didn't let Cavan answer. “My presence could mean life or death for them.”

Artair knew that settled it, for his brother would do whatever benefited his men.

“Get your things,” Cavan ordered, “but remember, you are to obey my every order—my order, no other.”

Artair knew that was meant for him, and he knew what Cavan intended to say next.

“Don't even think of designating me to remain behind. My wife goes, I go,” Artair said firmly. “It's Lachlan's turn to stay and protect this time.”

To his relief, Lachlan agreed. “Artair's right. I'll stay.”

Addie stood. “We'll prepare to feed and help the wounded.”

Honora kissed her husband. “I will help Addie, and don't try to tell me not to. And make certain you come back to me, husband.”

Cavan hugged her. “Always, wife.”

Artair envied them, Honora remaining at the keep safe while Zia would be amidst the mayhem and danger of battle.

When all the warriors were mounted and ready to leave, Cavan rode up to Artair. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

“My wife gets hurt and I'll kick your ass.”

Cavan smiled. “Keep that angry thought in mind while in battle.”

 

Zia didn't think or feel. She was too busy to do either. Cavan had designated a safe spot for her to remain until the battle was over, but the screams and cries of agony made that impossible. She knew if she could get to the injured sooner rather than later, they would have a chance of surviving.

Artair had given her only one warning.

“Do as you're told.”

She wanted to obey both men, but she was a healer
before anything and had to follow her own instincts. It was what kept people alive. So she found a secluded area closer to the battle and fashioned a spot to care for the injured that she might manage to get there.

Her first rescue was a mother and daughter. The young woman was stumbling, the child held tight in her arms, trying to get away from the carnage. Blood dripped down her face, her eyes rounded in fright, and she couldn't gain solid footing. Zia couldn't see if the child was hurt, but she didn't waste time. She looked around, feeling safely for the dirk she had tucked into her boot in case she needed to defend herself, and rushed out to hurry the woman into the surrounding woods and to safety.

It took only a few minutes to ascertain that the woman had suffered a minor abrasion and was more stunned from her ordeal than anything else. Her child, thankfully, was fine, and when she finished ministering to both of them, she left them safely tucked behind a boulder and went in search of others who were injured.

By her fourth trip bringing injured villagers to the safe spot, she had a group of helping hands, all women. One woman began helping her rescue the injured, while two others stood guard with swords, and one with a bow, in case of attack.

Only two of the injuries were serious, though Zia didn't believe they were life threatening. However, she had seen a badly injured warrior who would certainly die if not given immediate attention.

Neddie, the woman helping her rescue the injured, joined her to help the fallen warrior. They waited on the edge of the woods, the warrior not far from them, blood oozing from his chest, his moans audible even above the noise of battle.

“As soon as an opening occurs, we go,” Zia ordered.

Neddie nodded, set to move.

Within minutes a lull in the battle and an opening on the field enabled the two women to rush out. They had pulled the warrior to the edge of the woods when a marauder appeared on horseback, grabbed a fistful of Zia's hair and tried to drag her along the ground. But with her hair short, and with her ripping at his hand as he tried to keep his grip, he finally let go.

She scrambled to her feet and ran for cover, but he descended on her with surprising speed. Realizing she wouldn't make it to the woods, she stopped and reached down to her boot for the dirk. She turned in time to see Artair descend on the man. With one blow of his sword, he knocked the marauder from his horse. The man was dead when hit the ground.

“Do as you were told!”
Artair screamed.

Zia looked at him wide-eyed, and threw the dirk. It flew past a startled Artair and settled in the chest of another marauder, who'd come up behind him and had been about to end his life. She froze for only a moment, to see if she'd killed the man.

“Go! Now!”
Artair screamed at her.

She obeyed instantly, joining Neddie, who had gotten the wounded warrior into the woods. Between
the two of them, they moved him to safety. Then Zia went to work on him as Neddie continued to prowl the edge of the battlefield, looking to rescue villagers and warriors as best she could on her own.

When the battle ended, the warriors chased off those who had been wounded but were able to walk.

Within minutes Artair and Cavan descended on Zia.

She abruptly raised her hand at them. “You can berate me later. Right now this man needs me or he will die.”

“There are other wounded warriors,” Cavan said.

“Any who need immediate attention?” Zia asked while continuing to work on the man.

Artair answered. “James.”

With a swift turn of her head, her worried glance fell on him. “How bad?”

“His arm looks near severed,” Artair answered.

Neddie had returned as soon as she discovered that her husband and son survived without any injures and offered her help.

She turned to Neddie. “Can your husband and son help get this man into a cottage where he can rest?”

Neddie nodded, and Zia gave her instructions, telling her what needed to be done for the injured man she'd been working on.

As Neddie moved off with him, Zia cleaned her hands in a bucket of water that had been filled and refilled throughout the battle by the young children. She grabbed her healing basket, which was seriously de
pleted, and followed Artair and Cavan. She was concerned about several other wounded men, but their situation didn't sound nearly as dire as what she'd been told about James.

She hoped that Artair's description of the wound was exaggerated, but seeing it, she quickly knew that it hadn't been. She didn't know if she could be able to save his arm, or more important, save James.

James appeared to have the same thought. “I'm done, I'm done!” he yelled to the men around him. “Kill me now and get it over!”

Zia dropped down beside him on the ground. “How dare you survive a battle only to surrender to a wound.”

“I've lost my arm.”

“Not yet you haven't,” she said, and looked to Artair. “Find me a clean enough place to work on him.”

It didn't take long to have James settled on a sturdy table in a cottage. Neddie arrived to let her know that the warrior she had worked on now slept comfortably and was grateful to her, and she offered further help if needed.

Zia gratefully accepted her offer.

She could see those who had looked at the wound didn't believe she could save James's arm, but no one said as much. They let her go about her work without interruption.

She took several chances she normally wouldn't, but her grandmother had often told her that if it looked like there was no chance at all, to take all the chances you could.

She gave James a concoction that healers rarely used, since it wasn't safe. It would either make him sleep deeply for hours or kill him. But she had little choice. With the work she had to do on his arm, he could never have tolerated the pain, and she needed him very still; the potion guaranteed both, and alleviated his misery over losing his arm, which she knew could still happen.

As she worked on James, she was aware that Artair came and went from the cottage. He was not the only one. There were also women who came to ask advice about injuries they weren't sure how to handle.

Meanwhile, a fresh group of warriors arrived from the keep, while those warriors who could, returned home. Another group was sent out after the remaining marauders, to make certain they didn't terrorize other villages.

Addie arrived when Zia was nearly finished.

“When the news arrived at the keep, I thought you could use some help and more healing supplies and a change of clothes,” she said, holding up two baskets.

“You're an angel,” Zia said with relief.

“No, m'lady, you are,” Neddie said with a tear in her eye.

“I'm a healer,” Zia said, as if it explained everything, then returned to stitching James's arm.

It wasn't until hours later, well past nightfall, with James safely tucked in bed and Addie arguing with Zia that she must sleep, that Artair entered the cottage.

Zia was prepared to argue her point that James
needed her nearby if there was a problem with the wound.

“Your wife is not reasonable,” Addie said to her son.

“That she isn't, Mother,” Artair said.

“James may need me,” Zia insisted.

“There is no more you can do for him except get some rest and be refreshed when he does need you,” Artair said, walking over to where she stood by the table.

“But—”

“You can do no more, Zia,” he reiterated.

“There's always more—”