“A messenger,” —the man stopped to catch a needed breath— “has arrived,” —he stopped again his eyes going wide— “from the legendary warrior.”
CHAPTER 22
Newlin paled and dropped down on the nearest bench, while Torin lingered, no longer in a rush to the dungeon.
Cree was familiar with Lord Varrick, also known as the legendary warrior, a name well-earned. Cree had met the warrior years ago and was impressed with his skills and ability to be victorious in every battle he fought. Cree had never gone against him in battle, though would not hesitate in doing so, his own skills equal if not superior to Varrick’s, but there had never been an occasion to do so.
Varrick ruled a heavily forested area in the far north of Scotland. Not many, if none, would even attempt to challenge him there. Rumors had grown about him having an army of the dead there and that no one passed through his land without permission, or they would chance battle with the ethereal army. It was nonsense to Cree, but tales often had a germ of truth to them.
Silence permeated the Great Hall waiting for the messenger to arrive and Newlin hurried to his feet when the man finally appeared. He was of good height and thick with muscle, his fur-lined cloak drawn back to hang behind his broad shoulders. His garments were mostly leather and cloth, a plaid peeking through the strange mixture. His dark hair was drawn back tightly away from his round, plain-featured face that was pinched taut. A sword hung from his belt and several knives were tucked in sheaths along his belt. He was a man prepared for battle.
“I am Argus. I have come with a message from Lord Varrick of Clan MacThore for Chieftain Newlin.”
Newlin stepped forward beside Cree. “I am Chieftain Newlin.”
Argus turned his eyes on Cree. “It is good to see you again, Lord Cree.”
“You as well, Argus,” Cree said. “Now what message have you brought us.”
Argus’s brow narrowed. “You are here to help Chieftain Newlin with his plight?”
“I am and I will have your message now,” Cree ordered.
“Aye, my lord,” Argus said with a nod and turned his attention to Newlin. “Lord Varrick is on his way here to take possession of the demon or witch whatever she is… Lord Varrick wants her.”
“She is to be burnt at the stake for what she has done here,” Newlin said, feeling more confident standing next to Cree.
“I strongly suggest you wait until Lord Varrick arrives before you take any action against her,” Argus warned. “You do not want to make an enemy of Lord Varrick.”
“You should see what Lord Varrick has to say before refusing him,” Cree advised.
“Wise advice, Lord Cree,” Argus said.
“There is time before I condemn her to burn,” Newlin said with an attempt at sounding in charge.
Cree was curious and he also had a thought. “How did you know Newlin had captured the demon or witch, whichever she may be?” Cree prevented the man from answering with a quick raise of his hand. “Wait. I believe I know. Lord Varrick’s tracker tracked her here and discovered she had been captured.”
Argus smiled, “Lord Varrick always felt you would be a worthy opponent.”
“An opponent he could never conquer,” Cree said with his own smile.
Argus gave a respectful nod. “I hope there never comes a time that needs proven.”
“On that we agree,” Cree said.
Argus once again turned his attention to Newlin. “I will remain here until Lord Varrick arrives. I have a small troop of warriors with me. We will camp on the outskirts of your village and be no bother to you, though offer our help if necessary.”
Newlin nodded, not knowing what else to do since the man spoke as if his decision was not open for debate.
“My warriors will help if there is anything you need,” Cree offered.
“That is generous of you, my lord, but we do well on our own,” Argus said. “Now I would like to meet your prisoner.”
Torin stepped forward. “That will have to wait. I leave you both to explain.” He turned, his strides rapid as he headed for the dungeon.
“There is a problem with the prisoner?” Argus asked.
Newlin looked to Cree to explain.
“You took it upon yourself to tend the prisoner without seeking my permission?” Torin demanded once in the dungeon, Flora’s back to him as she applied salve to the prisoner’s back.
Flora’s eyes burned with a fiery anger. He was not even her husband yet and he dictated to her. What would marriage be like to him? She turned ready to unleash a scolding tongue on him.
Fia grabbed her arm and whispered, “Do not lose what power you have over him.”
Her advice stunned Flora. She did not believe she had any power over him, but she did if he continued to think of her as someone he could dictate to.