Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
His fingers faintly caressed her cheek, and a quiver of pleasure raced through her. “I didn’t mind.”
He rested his hand against her cheek. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I did again sometime?”
She turned her face slightly into his hand, savoring the roughness and warmth of it against her cool cheek. She could almost feel it leaving his mark on her.
“I wouldn’t mind at all,” she whispered.
A sharp tug in his chest caught him unaware and for a moment his breath stopped. He felt he was alive for the first time since making his foolish wish. And he wanted to feel more, so much more.
He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and she smiled at him as they walked back toward the cart in silence. Raff cast one last glance over his shoulder, toward the women and their whispers about the witch and…
Clan MacMunn.
His clan. His home. His family.
CHAPTER 10
The scent of woodsmoke mingling with the cool night air greeted Raff as he stepped from his cottage. The chatter of voices drew his attention, and he made his way through the village to the fire pit where news was often shared. Several villagers stood, their faces lit by flickering flames and furrowed with concern. He spotted Ingrid at once—her braid a dark sweep over her shoulder, her stance quiet but firm among them. He didn’t need to hear the talk to know what it was about. Ingrid had shared the rumor they had heard at market about the witch. They had agreed on the journey home that the villagers should be made aware of it, especially with gossip about a witch in the village.
He walked toward the gathering, boots crunching softly on the fallen leaves that blanketed the path. The conversation quieted some at his approach, and Ingrid offered a faint smile and shifted to give him room beside her.
“We were speaking of what we heard at the market,” Ingrid said, her tone calm but edged with something tighter. “About the witch said to be roaming these woods.”
An older woman crossed herself. “Add to that the careless talk that one roams among us. It’s always women who pay for such stories. Always.”
“There’s no proof,” said another, a younger man with wary eyes. “No name. No deed spoken aloud. Only whispers, and we know what whispers can do.”
“They can burn a good, innocent woman,” Agnes said, fright obvious by the tremor in her voice.
A ripple of agreement moved through the small group. Raff remained quiet, listening. The warmth of the fire did nothing to settle the chill inching down his spine. He looked to Ingrid and slipped his hand around hers and she took firm hold of it.
“But where did it begin? And why now? We’ve kept peace here,” Tolan, the smithy, said, worry heavy in the deep lines of his furrowed brow.
“That may be the very reason,” Raff said, his voice strong, feeling the warrior in him rising and ready to defend his new home. “Peace unsettles those who profit by unrest.”
His words were met with thoughtful and uneasy silence.
A log popped in the fire, sending sparks spiraling upward. Above them, the sky seemed to darken even more, and a wind stirred through the trees enough to raise gooseflesh and suspicion alike.
A sharp voice cut through it. “There must be something we can do,” Edith said, her arms folded tightly over her chest, determined. “If there is a witch among us, do we let her curse us without a word? And if there isn’t—if it’s all just a tale—who starts such poison, and why?”
“To keep us looking over our shoulders,” Latham said grimly. “Frighten us. Divide us.”
“Or draw Laird Chafton’s gaze here,” Ingrid added, her voice quiet but firm. “We all know what happens when he sets his mind on an issue.”
“Aye,” Agnes said. “That man bleeds a village dry. He’ll come demanding something—anything—and if folk are frightened enough, they’ll surrender one of their own.”
“But who’s the greater threat, then?” Edith asked. “A witch no one’s seen… or a laird with too many warriors and too few scruples?”
Raff’s jaw tensed as he studied the faces around the fire. Fear had already taken hold, not with screams or shouts, but with the kind of silence that whispered behind closed doors. That sort of fear could do just as Agnes said, surrender one of their own.
“How do we protect ourselves?” Tolan asked, his eyes darting nervously. “What can we do?”
“Watch each other’s backs,” Raff said. “Keep the gossip from spreading. And if Chafton’s men come, don’t give them reason to suspect anyone.”
“But what if the witch is real?” Agnes pressed.
“If that is so, she’s been quiet all this time,” Ingrid said, casting a glance to the woods. “Why stir now? What brings her here?”
Raff didn’t speak, but a thought brushed his mind like a wind through leaves. Magic didn’t move without reason. Nor did trouble. And more than once, they arrived together.