Page 50 of The Unencumbered Warrior
The village hummed with life, golden with the bounty of the harvest, as the celebration burst to life. Children darted between tables laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and honeyed apples. Music swirled on the air, lively pipes and drums mixing with laughter.
Raff stood at the edge of the celebration, his feet rooted to the earth, his thoughts anything but steady.
His mother-in-law, Theodora, was a witch. A good one, he reminded himself quickly, though he thought that could be debated after seeing her powerful magic for himself. Magic that included matchmaking, meddling and, apparently, fire-stopping spells. Seeing her talking, laughing, enjoying herself here now like everyone else was strange. But the one thing that made her tolerable was the love he saw in her eyes for Ingrid, her daughter.
And his wife? Ingrid, brave, strong Ingrid was also a witch. Her magic? Weaving. She wove more than just patterns into her blankets. Her power lay in the threads, soft and subtle, yet powerful enough to calm a storm of fear or warm a soul chilled by grief.
He turned his gaze to his wife, his heart tightening in his chest.
She was weaving a garland of late-blooming heather for a laughing lass. She glowed with joy knowing the villagers didn’t fail her but were there for her in the end. A special thanks went to Latham and Edith, who had stood fast when the flames threatened. They had shouted her innocence when others had doubted. Their voices had turned the tide.
He smiled, thinking there wasn’t a woman alive who could compare with her beauty, her kindness. He wanted to go to her, to take her hand and whisper how much he loved her and always would.
“Raff!”
The voice came from a distant, but familiar place. His heart stalled. He turned.
A line of riders approached, their horses dusty from the road. One dismounted with a cry that tore straight into Raff’s soul.
His brother, Nathan.
Before Raff could move, Nathan’s arms were around him, a hand clapping his back, laughter caught with emotion.
“You bloody fool,” his brother said, his voice thick. “We thought you dead. Then we hear rumors—Raff alive, settled in MacCannish land, married to a woman accused of witchcraft and wrapped up in clan disputes.” He pulled back, eyes glinting. “And I thought—of course.”
Raff choked on a laugh, but it broke into a sound that was almost a sob, and he cast a quick glance at Theadora. She smiled brightly. She had ended the wish. He was truly free. Maybe his mother-in-law wasn’t so bad after all.
“It’s so good to see you again, Nathan,” Raff said.
“We’ve missed you, Raff, and glad you’re finally home. And just in time to take your rightful place.”
“Rightful place?”
“Knowinghe was close to death, and having no heirs, Angus claimed you the next Chieftain of Clan MacCannish,” Nathan said. “You are the rightful Chieftain. Chafton lied and laid claim to the title for himself with you not being around. But truth always finds its way.”
Raff shook his head slowly, overwhelmed.
“Chieftain Angus let it be known that you were strong and brave enough to keep the clan well-protected and prosperous,” Nathan said. “The clan needs you and you’ll make a fine chieftain.” He chuckled and bumped his shoulder against Raff. “Not as good as me but fine nonetheless.”
The villagers had fallen quiet, eyes wide, heads turning toward Raff and the man who had called him brother, listening to the astonishing news.
Nathan raised his arm and shouted. “To my brother, Raff, the new Chieftain of Clan MacCannish.”
A tremendous cheer rang out, the villagers relieved that such a good and honorable man would now reign over them.
Ingrid managed to slip through the crowd and get to her husband’s side, slipping her fingers into his hand, her touch welcoming.
“I thought I was no one,” Raff murmured to her, his voice breaking. “Forgotten. Unseen. But you saw me, Ingrid. You always saw me.”
Her eyes glistened as she whispered back, “And I always will.”
Cheers continued to rise from the crowd, strong and happy. It was for the harvest, for Ingrid’s rescue, for the return of a brother. But mostly, it was for the mending of wrongs, the quiet magic of love—and the promise of a new chieftain who had fought battles no one had seen.
As night fell,and dancing began beneath the stars, Raff stood with Ingrid in his arms, his family beside him, and the village celebrating him.
The season of sorrow had ended.
And a new one—richer, brighter, and filled with the kind of magic only love could make—had just begun.
Off to the side, unnoticed by most but always watching, Ingrid’s mum tugged her cloak tighter around her and gave a satisfied nod. “One daughter down,” she muttered to herself, casting a last look at Raff and Ingrid, now laughing together as the villagers danced around them. “Two more to go.” With a hum and a grin, she turned toward the forest path, her footsteps light. “Now, that other fool of a warrior better be where I sent him…”
THE END
