Page 48 of The Unencumbered Warrior
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 runninguntil 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.”
