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)
“Nay,” came a shout from somewhere in the crowd. “That’s not her doing.”
All eyes were on Ingrid.
And then, as if pulled by an unseen force, her second rope snapped.
She stumbled forward, stunned. She was free.
Raff didn’t wait.
He moved.
Raff burst from the crowd, shoving past stunned villagers and dazed warriors. His eyes locked on Ingrid as she staggered forward, blinking in disbelief, her wrists raw and red.
“Ingrid!” he called, reaching her just as her knees buckled.
Her gaze lifted to his face, stunned. “Raff?”
He caught her, pulled her into his arms, and whispered against her ear, “Together always.”
The crowd began to move, some toward them, some away. The guards were yelling, blades scraping from scabbards.
But then—
A crackle.
A hiss.
A thin flame slithered out from the frost-kissed wood like a snake seeking prey. It curled and rose, flickering unnaturally, its light tinted not gold, but blue.
Gasps echoed.
The witch, still hunched, her cloak wrapped around her, let out a sharp, high cry, like a frightened old woman.
“The flame knows!” she wailed, trembling and pointing a finger. “The flame seeks the real witch!”
The spark flared, rose in the air, and spun—once—twice—before hurling itself across the square… straight at Laird Chafton.
He didn’t have time to scream.
The fire struck him in the chest, bursting into a blaze that devoured his fine cloak and rich tunic in a heartbeat. He stumbled back, clawing at himself, eyes wild with terror. The crowd shrieked, scattering as the fire roared louder, hotter, impossibly fast.
He turned blindly, trying to find someone—anyone—to help him.
And then he saw her.
The old woman in the cloak.
The witch.
Their eyes locked.
She tilted her head, her eyes fixed on him, her words carrying on the wind for only him to hear. “Stupid warlock.”
Laird Chafton fell, fire wrapping him in orange and blue like a funeral shroud.
No one stepped forward to put it out.
And in the rising chaos—villagers crying out, warriors standing helpless, others fleeing—Raff grabbed Ingrid’s hand and ran.
They didn’t stop running until the flames and shouts were far behind them. The forest swallowed them in mist and shadow, branches closing overhead like sheltering arms. Raff finally slowed near a hollow between two ancient oaks, guiding Ingrid down to sit on a moss-covered log.
Her breathing was ragged, her hair damp with sweat and smoke, but her eyes, those green, beautiful eyes, had never looked more alive.
“You came,” she whispered.
“Of course I did,” he said, brushing a smudge of dirt off her cheek. “Nothing would stop me from getting to you.”
Her hand found his, fingers still trembling. “I was so afraid. Not just of dying… but that you’d come, and they’d take you too.”
“I’d rather die beside you than live in a world without you.” He leaned forward, their foreheads touching. “But we didn’t die. Not today.”
Her lips curved and tears touched her lashes. “And we won’t—not tomorrow or the next day. Because whatever comes… we face it together.”
He kissed her then, slow and reverent, full of all the words he hadn’t said and the ones he didn’t need to. When they pulled apart, her eyes shimmered with tears.
“I love you, Raff.”
“And I love you, Ingrid. Always.”
A twig snapped behind them.
Raff stiffened, reaching for his blade, but Ingrid sat up straighter and called, “You can come out now, Mum. You’re about as quiet as a stomping cow.”
From behind a crooked old pine, the cloaked figure stepped out, grumbling. “I’ll have you know, I once slipped past a dozen mercenaries without making a sound.”
Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “And yet you nearly tripped over a root just now.”
“On purpose, to let you know I was here.”
Raff blinked, looking between the two women, not quite believing what he had just heard. “Wait… her, the witch, is your mum?”
The witch gave him a long, assessing look. “Do you have an issue with that?”
“Only since I met you,” he said, shaking his head, trying to comprehend the shocking revelation.
“Well, you’ll mind your tongue and show respect now that you know who I am.”
“A witch,” Raff said.
“Your mother-in-law,” she corrected him. “And you’ll do.”
“Do?” Raff asked, his brow shooting up.
The witch grinned. “Three daughters I raised—strong, smart, capable women. But foolish. Not one of them went looking for a husband. So, I figured I’d better do the looking myself.”
“You didn’t put a spell on Raff, did you?” Ingrid asked upset.
“She granted a wish I made, but it had nothing to do with a woman. It was the opposite. I wanted freedom and she gave it to me,” Raff explained, then smiled. “It brought me to you.”
“I simply gave a helpful nudge to fate.” She waved a hand. “I find three warriors—drunk, muddy, and battle-weary—but with honor in their bones. I thought, these’ll do. Just had to knock a few lessons into your thick heads first. Who they chose out of the three of you was up to them.”