Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Varrick rushed her to a table near the hearth that blazed with a fire and Fia sighed softly when the heat kissed her cheeks.
“Sit. Food and drink will be brought to you,” Varrick ordered and eased her down on a bench, then walked away.
Fia removed her cloak, eager to let the hearth’s heat soak into her.
Her husband spoke with an older woman, slim in size and stature, her gray hair piled haphazardly on her head and a lovely smile on her pretty face that faded as he spoke with her.
Once again, the news that she was his wife was met with distaste.
Fia thought he might introduce the woman when they approached the table where she sat, but the woman drifted off before reaching her.
“Merry will see you are fed. She runs the keep. Do not give her any trouble,” Varrick ordered.
It struck Fia then that something had changed in Varrick since arriving here. He seemed agitated and annoyed. Something was troubling him, and she wondered if it had to do with why he had brought her here.
Food and drink were placed in front of her, though none of the servers would meet her eyes. She ate while Varrick met with different men at the dais, sharing food and drink with them.
She thoroughly enjoyed the food and drink, and the heat from the hearth lulled her enough to have her eyes closing and sleepiness taking hold.
Willard Needs You!
Fia’s eyes popped open, and she jumped up off the bench. “I need to see Willard now!”
All eyes turned on her and some mouths fell agape. She did not care. She hurried her cloak around her shoulders and rushed to the dais, seeing Argus there. Had she slept some, not having noticed him before now?
“Where is Willard? He needs my help,” she demanded anxiously.
Argus looked at Varrick, not sure what to do.
“I will take you to him,” Varrick said, having left his chair to walk around the dais.
“We must hurry,” she said, rushing ahead of him, though not knowing where to go once outside.
Varrick grabbed hold of her hand and tugged her along through the falling snow.
She had been a constant on his mind since arriving home. He had not known what to make of it or the difficulty he had in ignoring her. The last few days with her had been enough to leave him wondering about his wife. Who was she? A witch or nothing more than a healer?
His hawk’s cry had him turning his eyes to the sky and seeing her perched on the edge of one of the wall defenses. He sent her a nod, letting her know he would visit with her soon. Sinead had a mind of her own. She would let him know when she felt ignored or preferred to be left alone. But she never failed to alert him to danger or protect him against it.
Raised voices had him turning his head to the cottage a short distance ahead. It was Willard’s home which he only recently shared with his new wife. People lingered nearby listening to the angry voices.
“See to your tasks!” Varrick ordered and they hurried off, but not before casting a nasty glare at Fia.
She did not care. Her only concern was for Willard, and she was glad when her husband shoved open the door and demanded, “What goes on here?”
“They both tell me my wound needs to be seared and I wanted to talk with Lady Fia first and see if she agrees,” Willard said, his young wife weeping softly by his bedside.
“The witch has befuddled him,” Marsh said. “Lloyd knows better what his wound needs.”
“You cannot be serious to think the wound should be seared now,” Fia said, shaking her head at the barrel-chested man who stood equal in height to her. His lips were nearly consumed by his bushy red beard that covered most of the lower portion of his full face and two thick, red braids hung from the sides of his head onto his shoulders.
“The wound needs closing before it turns putrid,” Lloyd said. “Then I’ll have no choice but to chop it off.”
Willard’s wife gasped. “Nay! Nay, you cannot take his leg.”
“Breda is right. You cannot take my leg,” Willard cried out.
“No one is chopping off your leg,” Fia assured the couple. “The wound will heal with proper care and rest.”
“There is no time for rest,” Marsh said. “He has his duties to see to. With the wound seared, he can return to his duties.”
“Tell me,” Fia said softly, as if speaking to an upset bairn, “what happens if the wound hides a bit of putrid in it and you sear it closed? What then?” She didn’t wait for a response. “I will tell you what will happen. It will fester and by the time it shows itself it will be too late. He will not lose his limb… he will lose his life. The wound does well. Leave it be so it may fully heal.”