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)
Fear struck Fia like a slap in the face as soon as she entered the Great Hall. Servants whispered among themselves. Warriors bent their heads mumbling to each other as they ate and cast short glances at her. Something was wrong.
“See to things while I am gone, Berta,” Merry ordered a servant as she slipped on her cloak. “I don’t know how long I will be.”
“Worry not about here. Think only of Ella and the bairn,” Berta said, her pretty face pinched with fear.
Fia hurried to approach them. “Can I help?”
Both women drew back as if she had swung at them.
“Your evil hands will not touch her,” Merry warned.
Marsh rushed toward Fia after entering the room and hearing Merry.
“You will not go near my wife,” Marsh shouted and hurried to stand between Merry and Fia.
Fia remained calm, knowing anger would not help the situation. “I may be able to help. I have delivered many bairns.”
“So, you tell us,” Marsh accused, “but will you say how many bairns died at your hands?”
“One, unfortunately,” Fia admitted. “He was stillborn. There was nothing I could do for him. Is this your wife’s first bairn?”
Marsh shut his eyes as if in pain.
Merry placed a comforting hand on Marsh’s shoulder. “Ella has lost three bairns.”
“All born alive?” Fia asked.
“No more questions,” Marsh snapped. “Ella needs all the women who have birthed bairns to help her.”
“Then begone and gather all the help you can,” Varrick ordered, having entered the room and having heard the exchange. “You will come with me, wife.”
Argus followed Marsh and Merry, offering what help he could.
Fia followed her husband to his solar. It was a sizeable room with various weapons hanging on the walls. Wood chests were piled three high against one wall and on another wall leather garments hung from pegs. Several tankards lined the rough-hewn mantle over the fireplace and a narrow table with benches sat before the hearth.
Fia was anxious to speak with her husband and as soon as the door closed, she asked, “The bairns Ella lost, were they born alive?”
“Aye, but barely lived,” Varrick said and pointed to the table for her to sit.
She sat on the bench with her back to the hearth and wondered how many battle plans had been discussed here. And wondered if she would win the one she planned to have with him.
“You should let me tend to Ella. I might be able to help,” she said.
“And if the bairn dies, what then? You will be blamed for stealing its soul.” Varrick shrugged. “But perhaps that is your plan.”
He almost choked on the accusation, for some reason thinking his wife’s intentions were more honorable than wicked.
“I do not know how many times I must say this… I am a healer. I harm no one.”
The more she claimed it as truth, the more he was beginning to believe her. But why? He knew her only a few days. She could be feeding him lie after lie even though she claimed to speak the truth, and yet seeing how she had tended to the ill and injured proved truth to her words. If that was so, she would be of no help to him. It was time to find out.
“I need you for a more important matter,” he said.
Fia listened, eager to hear, though her worry remained on Ella. No one there had the knowledge that she possessed to help save the bairn. She had to find a way.
“I need you to use your witch’s powers to fight an evil in the forest,” Varrick said.
Her brow narrowed in question.
Varrick delivered the news that had plagued his clan. “Arawn, the God of Death has taken residence there and sends out his hellhounds to claim souls from my clan.”
CHAPTER 11
Fia sat, her eyes remaining fixed on her husband as she digested his words. Her grandmother and mum had talked of the myths that had been born in the Highlands. Her grandmother had insisted that myths were born from a grain of truth that grew wild and out of control by the telling or by those who would benefit from a grander tale. But that grain of truth that had given it life had to be considered before anything else.
Her brow wrinkled, recalling something about the myth. “Arawn was birthed of the Welsh. Why would he be here?”
“He has been known to travel amongst our lands,” Varrick explained.
“And you believe he has settled here?”
Agitated that she would question him, he snapped at her. “I do not believe… I know he has settled in my forest. He and his hellish hounds have been spotted.”
She ignored his irritation since she was beginning to suspect it was simply part of his nature. Besides, she was far too curious to find out more. “Who saw them?”
“Two of my warriors. They only got a quick glance at the God of Death, a man with antlers, they claimed. The hellhounds they saw more clearly and described them well, large and white with eyes that glared red, and their teeth bared and snarling, hungry to capture souls and speed them to their master, the God of Death, who claims them and sends them to where they will forever dwell.”