Page 39 of The Irresistible Warrior
Aura’s breath stilled. “Declan?—”
He straightened at once, forcing a faint grin. “It was nothing.”
“If it wasn’t for the other incidents, I might believe you,” she said softly.
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, his voice warm despite the shadow in his eyes. “I’d rather you believe I can handle whatever comes.”
She wanted to. Good, Lord, she wanted to. But as they walked on, her hand in his once more, the image of him nearly falling again lodged itself deep, and the vow she’d just spoken felt like more than a promise—it felt like a challenge to whatever unseen force had its grip on him.
Food and drink were brought for Cleric William, and Declan had no choice but to sit and talk with the man. She, however, was eager to return to her work cottage. How to do so politely when Cleric Willaim insisted on toasting to their proper union, as he claimed, was the problem.
She was pleased her husband understood her dilemma without saying a word to him.
He took the matter into his hands and commanded with a grin, “You may return to your duties, wife.”
“As you say, husband,” she said obediently and stood, though not before giving him a hard jab in the side, causing him to chuckle since he barely felt it.
The soft lightof late afternoon slanted through the cottage window, falling across the table where Aura had been working for some time now. She had a few bits of leather, some polished stones, and lengths of cord left to shape them into the last of the talisman. The air smelled faintly of sage and rosemary, thescent calming to most, but not enough to ease the knot of worry twisting in her chest.
She threaded a cord around a small carved stone, her fingers moving from habit while her thoughts circled back to the same place, every stumble Declan had taken soon after the man thought to be a cleric had wed them. She worried who he truly may have been… a warlock out to destroy them. But why? Why would a warlock have any interest in them? Had it something to do with the ring of stones? Had they unwittingly trespassed on his domain? And could he be the one who wanted her abducted, and if so, why? If he was a warlock, what had they done to capture his wrath?
They had both spoken of it before but not since and it needed to be discussed again. The only one who could truly help them, make sense of things, would be the witch. She only hoped they hadn’t waited too long to speak with her.
A sharp knock broke her thoughts. She went and opened the door to find Hamish standing there, his expression grave.
“We need to get you to the keep,” he said without preamble.
Her heart leapt with worry. “What’s happened? Is Declan?—”
“He’s fine. For now. But there’s talk in the village,” Hamish said, glancing past her toward the closed door as if wary of being overheard. “Word’s spread about your marriage not being valid before today. And that you and Declan were seen at the ring of stones.”
Aura’s stomach tightened. “So?”
“So,” he said, lowering his voice further, “Cleric William’s caught wind of it. And there are whispers—about witches. He wants to speak with you.”
The air seemed to thicken around her. Did he think her a witch? She found the thought laughable, but it was no laughing matter.
“We best put a quick stop to any talk about witches,” she said, grabbing her cloak and stepping out into the fading light.
Hamish nodded and mumbled, “If it’s not already too late.”
CHAPTER 18
The Great Hall was quiet when Aura stepped inside with Hamish, but it was the kind of quiet that carried weight. A few villagers lingered along the walls, their eyes glancing toward her before quickly looking away, and Freyda sat at one of the many tables, worry in her eyes.
Cleric William stood near the dais, his hands folded, his expression unreadable. Declan was beside him, arms crossed, his stance protective.
“You sent for me?” Aura asked, her voice steady.
William inclined his head. “I did. There are… matters I wish to discuss with you, my lady.”
Declan’s gaze sharpened. “These whispers you heard are meaningless.”
“Whispers of witches are never meaningless,” William said, his eyes not leaving Aura. “Whispers travel quickly. Word of the ring of stones. Word of talismans. Potions. The rowan sticks some of your villagers now carry tucked in their belts, and all this learned from a simple walk through your village to see if anyone was in need of a cleric.”
Aura kept her chin lifted. “Rowan wards off ill luck. That is a long-held belief.”
“Belief,” William echoed, as though tasting the word. “Or witchcraft?”
