Page 16 of The Unencumbered Warrior
The warrior reached for Raff, intending to shove him aside, but Raff caught his arm, yanked him off the horse, twisted it, and drove his fist into the man’s gut. The air whooshed out of him in a grunt as he stumbled backward.
The second warrior leapt down, hand on his blade.
Raff was on him in an instant, a solid blow to his jaw sending him stumbling into the other warrior.
The two warriors recovered, trying to steady each other.
One cursed, blood trickling from his lip. “You’ll both pay for this,” he spat. “Laird Chafton does not forget insults.”
Raff’s chest rose and fell, but he held his ground, fists clenched. He wanted them to try again, wanted a reason to beat them senseless.
The air around them remained charged, anticipating it.
But Ingrid stepped between them, her voice sharp, capitulating. “We’ll give you the grain.”
“Wise woman,” the one warrior said.
Two sacks of grain were brought to the warriors, and they mounted up, victorious grins on their faces as they took their leave. The moment they were gone, the weight of silence fell heavily over the village.
Villagers slowly emerged from their doors, wide-eyed, uncertain. Watching. Waiting.
Raff turned to Ingrid.
“That was bold,” she said. “And foolish.”
“They cannot keep taking from the village. Soon you’ll have nothing left for yourselves,” he warned, worried for her and those he had come to know and respect.
“We don’t have a choice,” she said. “If we don’t give Laird Chafton what he demands, he will only send an army of his warriors to take it and more from us and we cannot defend ourselves against them.”
He disliked the truth of her words. There was no recourse for the villagers.
“You stirred a hornet’s nest striking one of Laird Chatham’s men,” she cautioned. “There will be consequences.”
Raff glanced toward the path where the warriors had ridden off, his hands still faintly trembling, not from fear, but from the lingering rush of it all.
It felt… good.
The strength in his limbs, the fire in his chest. The choice to act, to stand for something—someone—rather than drift like a man waiting for his curse to claim him. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the edge of challenge, the way his instincts roared to life in defense of something that mattered.
For the first time in what felt like ages, he’d felt like a warrior again. Not a ghost. Not a man cursed by a careless wish. But a fighter. A protector.
And it felt right.
He looked at Ingrid again, at the way she stood so fiercely despite the weight pressing in on her. And something inside him, something buried deep, aligned itself to her in a quiet, undeniable way. A bond of some kind that he had never felt before. A bond so strong, he sensed it could never be broken.
Love.
Could he truly be falling in love with Ingrid?
The question was, though, would his foolish wish prevent her from falling in love with him?
CHAPTER 9
Raff hadn’t expected conversation to flow so easily between them along the road to market, but they had barely left their village when Ingrid asked him if he enjoyed market days.
“Aye, they were favorite times of mine. Meeting friends, sharing food and drink,” he said recalling those days fondly.
“Meeting a lass or two?” she asked teasingly.
