Page 44 of The Unencumbered Warrior
He took a step closer. “You don’t frighten me anymore.”
“You should be afraid. Of what you face. An entire clan ready to burn a woman alive. You can’t stop them.”
“Watch me.”
“Fool.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “You’re not invincible, Raff. You’ll die before you even reach her!”
“Then I’ll die with her name on my lips. But I will reach her.”
They stood, eyes locked, the air between them thick with defiance.
Then, softer, he added, “Unless you plan to stop me.”
Her expression flickered.
“Nay,” she said. “I plan to watch you fail.”
“Then watch closely,” he said, brushing past her.
But she turned with him, her voice losing its edge for the first time.
“You’d risk everything… for one woman?”
He stopped.
“She’s not just one woman. She’s mine. And I’d burn every cursed thread of fate you’ve spun if it meant keeping her alive.”
A silence stretched through the forest as if it held its breath in anticipation of what would come next.
And then… the witch gave a slow nod. “You’re still an idiot. But a useful one, perhaps.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you offering help?”
“I’m offering options. There are ways to turn the tide, warrior. But they come with a price.”
“I’ve already paid.”
“Nay,” she said, stepping toward him. “You haven’t even begun to pay.”
The clouds had thickenedas they neared the outer edge of Clan MacCannish land, hanging low and dark, promising rain or worse. The task pressed heavy on Raff’s shoulders, but not as much as the weight of achieving his first goal… getting past the guards.
The witch walked beside him, hood drawn, her silence sharper than any blade. When she finally spoke, it was through gritted teeth.
“You mean to just… walk in?”
“Aye,” Raff said, eyes fixed ahead. “A tired son and his ailing mother seeking shelter from the coming storm.”
She chuckled. “You think they will actually believe me to be your mother?”
“You’re old enough,” he shot back, then added before she could curse him, “and you’ve got the temper to match.”
She glared. “And you’ve got the brains of a tree stump.”
“It doesn’t matter what they think. What matters is that they see what we want them to see. Lean on me. Cough, limp, whatever it takes. Play the part. What difference does it make as long as we gain entrance?”
She bristled but took his offered arm with the air of someone agreeing to hold a dead fish. “Remember, I’m your mum, so treat me properly?—”
“Just limp,” he growled, cutting her off.
