Page 42 of The Unencumbered Warrior
And if it had… had the witch punished Ingrid for it?
His heart pounded. He didn’t know. But he couldn’t stand here wondering. There was only one who might have answers and only one who could truly help him.
He threw on his cloak and strode from the cottage, ignoring the wary stares that followed him. He grabbed the axe from the cart as he passed by it. Then he headed to the forest that loomed ahead, dark and waiting, and he made for the stream.
Cold stone pressedagainst Ingrid’s back as she leaned against the wall of the dungeon. The darkness was thick, the air stinking of rot, blood, and hopelessness. Chains clinked softly from somewhere farther down the corridor. A rat scurried past her foot.
And then came the laughter.
Two guards stood just beyond the bars of her cell, faces half-lit by torchlight, shadows dancing like devils on their cheeks.
“She doesn’t look like much of a witch,” one sneered. “Bit scrawny. She hasn’t eaten enough children to keep meat on her bones.”
The other chuckled. “Aye, but soon enough she’ll burn bright. That’ll warm her, eh?”
They laughed louder.
Ingrid said nothing. She stared at the mold-darkened floor, her fingers wrapped tightly around the iron bars. She refused to let them see her fear.
But it was there. Not for herself.
For him.
Raff… please be safe. Please stay away.
She pictured his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his mouth tilted when he teased her, the warmth in his eyes when he watched her work. Her heart twisted.I love you. I always will.
She closed her eyes, tears threatening, and whispered a prayer under her breath.Don’t come for me, Raff. Not this time. Not if it means your life.
The guards hadn’t noticed. They were still making fun of her being a witch.
One of them swaggered forward, stumbling a bit as he reached to lean against the bars. His hand brushed hers.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another guard let out a sharp gasp. “You touched her!”
The man straightened quickly. “What of it?”
“She’s a witch, you dolt!”
A flicker of doubt crossed the guard’s face.
“She as good as cursed you,” the other insisted, stepping back.
“I… I didn’t mean—” He began swiping frantically at his garment, slapping at something invisible, unknowing. “I feel—my skin—something’s crawling—” His voice cracked as he scratched violently at his arm. “It’s in me! I can feel it spreading!”
The other guard backed away, face pale. “Don’t come near me!”
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to!” the cursed man wailed, now clawing at his chest. Panic consumed him. “Help me! Help me!”
“No one will touch you now,” his companion muttered, already turning away.
Ingrid stepped back from the bars, breath steady, watching as the man screamed and fled down the corridor, his cries echoing off the stone walls.
She sank to the floor.
Words, she thought. Sometimes, all it takes is a few words to make someone believe a lie. Or a truth too frightening to face.
