The Raban Tribe was not a warrior tribe. They wielded weapons when necessary, but they were no match against seasoned warriors. They were more farmers, their growing fields harvesting more food than other tribes.
Harran had told him the warriors had entered the village peacefully at first, requesting food, which Harran gave them. It was not long before the warriors turned on them. Their skill with weapons was remarkable and Harran feared the few warriors would defeat his small tribe, killing everyone.
Harran did not recall seeing the large warrior, who had recently succumbed to his wound, enter the village. But with all the chaos and fear that more warriors would arrive, he could not be certain.
Wrath had assured him that King Talon would see the tribe kept safe, but he saw doubt in the elder’s eyes. The war was still fresh in many minds. Much blood had been shed to unify the tribes and make them strong so that foreigners could not lay claim to the land again and that those tribes to the south would keep their distance from the mighty Picts.
Someone was trying to destroy what King Talon had managed to build... a powerful Pict nation.
Harran approached Wrath. “My people grow worried that another attack will come, bringing more warriors, and your help will not be enough. I truly believed that the peace King Talon brought to our land would prevail, but now I wonder if peace is possible.” He shook his head. “And while I do not condone gossiping tongues, many fear that if the King does not produce an heir soon that someone will seize the throne from him. Someone that will not be as wise and generous as King Talon, and the Picts will once again war with each other. I fear if that should happen, the Pict people will be lost forever.”
“King Talon will see us safe.”
“I hope your words ring true. I would like to see the King have strong sons who will see that the Picts go on forever in this land. And that in a faraway day from now, my blood still runs in those that follow me. But enough of that, how does your wife fare?”
“She rests.”
“That is good. She is a good and generous woman. My tribe is appreciative of her help. But many wonder if she is as good as she appears since she wears a mark around her neck that they question.”
“It is no one’s concern. Verity is who she appears to be a good and generous woman.” He would explain himself to no one, though he and the King had wondered the same about Verity. Good people were sometimes forced to do bad, sometimes horrible, things out of necessity.
“Let us see to the weapons,” Harran said wisely, saying no more about Verity.
~~~
Verity sat up after Wrath left. Usually a vision left her tired, but not this time. This time she did not feel tired at all. She felt refreshed. She wondered if perhaps the woman in her vision was a forest spirit and was protecting Hemera. She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe all would be well, but she feared otherwise.
She scurried off the sleeping pallet and grabbed her cloak, slipping it over her shoulders and hurried out the door. She craved the cold air and the company of others. She did not want to be alone and ponder her problems. If she kept her hands busy, her mind would be as well, especially since she did not want to think on what Wrath would say to her when he found out she had not done what he had ordered.
She had taken only a few steps out the door when Cora grabbed her arm. “I need help.”
Verity went with the healer willingly, though she kept a grip on her arm as if Cora was afraid to let go of her. They entered a dwelling and Verity grimaced at the smell.
“This wound cannot be healed. It will take him soon enough, but his mother has not stopped begging me to help her only child. I have others who will live if I tend to them. Do what you can for him,” Cora said, pointing to a young man on a sleeping pallet.
The door opened and a woman entered, her eyes filling with tears when she looked at Cora. “You have come to help him. Bless you.”
“Verity here is going to help him,” Cora said.
The woman shook her head. “No! No! You are the healer. What good will she do my son?”
“As much good as I would do him, Etta.”
Etta’s tears fell down her wrinkled cheeks. “He will not die. He cannot die.”
Cora shook her head. “He cannot be saved, Etta.”
Though Cora spoke bluntly, Verity saw the sorrow in her eyes. It hurt her to tell the woman, but lying would not help the woman face the truth.
“Verity will help,” Cora said and hurried out of the dwelling.
Verity took off her cloak and dropped it on the sleeping pallet on the other side of the small room. She looked to the woman as she rolled up the sleeves to her tunic. “Could you bring me a bucket of snow and set it on the edge of the fire pit to melt.
Etta nodded, her aged eyes widening with a spark of hope. “Whatever you need I will fetch for you. Please. Please help my son, Rand.”
“I will do what I can. Now hurry with the bucket of snow. His wound needs cleansing if he is to survive.” Verity pulled a bench next to the bed and braced herself for the smell when she threw back the blanket covering the young man. She scrunched her nose, not at the smell, for it was not as bad as she expected, it was seeing that the leg and wound had never been cleaned.
Etta returned, struggling with the bucket and Verity hurried to take it from her.
“I need clean cloths and I will need the bucket refreshed often,” Verity explained.
“The woman went to a basket with a covering on it and returned to Verity with a clean shirt. “I just finished this for him and I will go fill another bucket with snow and keep refreshing them as often as you need.” Etta placed her slim hand on Verity’s shoulder. “I am grateful to you.”
Verity hoped that death was not ready to claim Rand yet. She got busy washing the wounded leg. Rand was warm to the touch, but not hot. If a fever set in all could be lost. Calling on what she had learned from the Northmen and their women, she took some of the snow before it melted and placed it around his neck, hoping to block any fever.
She had also learned that a wound must be cleaned before wrapped. If there were signs of any rot, it had to be dug away.
Rand cried out when Verity began cleaning the wound.
“I mean you no pain,” Verity said gently. “I only wish to help you.”
Etta entered then and seeing her son’s eyes wide open, she rushed to his side. “A bit of pain and you will be fine, son.” She turned pleading eyes on Verity to make it so.
“He may need a stick to bite on. I must dig some of the rot out if he is to survive.”
Etta grabbed a thick stick from the basket by the fire pit and ordered her son to bite down on it when necessary. She then took his hand and held it tight. “I am right here with you. You are not alone.”
Verity admired the woman’s strength and how deeply she cared for her son. She set to work determined to save him.
~~~
“Riders approach!” a young lad called out as he ran into the village.
Everyone reached for a weapon, but stilled their hands when they saw who entered the village first—King Talon.
He rode a magnificent beast of a horse that stamped and pawed the ground as if in anger at being brought to a stop. He dismounted in one swift movement. He wore a fur cloak with a black leather tunic beneath that fell to just above his knees and fur wrappings hugged his lower legs down to the tops of his foot coverings. He strode toward Wrath, everyone moving out of his path, the sight of the King frightening as well as thrilling.
“My King,” Harran said with a respectful nod as he stepped forward, “welcome to our humble tribe. I had not expected you to trouble yourself over this.”
“I protect my people and those that have done this to you will be punished severely. You have my word on that.”
“I am most grateful, my King,” Harran said with another nod.
“I will speak to Wrath privately, then I will speak to you.”
“As you wish,” Harran said and lo
oked to Wrath. “You may use my dwelling since your wife is resting in yours.”
King Talon turned to Wrath. “First, let us see how your wife fares.” He once again looked to Harran. “My warriors will make camp on the outskirts of your village. You have nothing to fear.”
After more grateful words from Harran, Wrath and the King walked to Wrath’s dwelling.
“So you have a wife,” King Talon said with a grin. “Was she difficult to find?”
“She gave quite a chase, but I caught her.” Wrath was not about to tell him how Verity purposely dropped off the edge of a slope to get away from him. He would never hear the end of it.
“She finally obeys you?”
Wrath stopped at the door to the dwelling. “She does what I tell her.”
“Good, we need no more trouble from her, we have enough already.”
Wrath opened the door and stepped aside for the King to enter first. He followed the King in and both men stood looking around the empty room.
“What was that you said to me? There is not a woman you cannot handle?” King Talon asked with a look that announced he was none too pleased to find Verity had disappeared once again.
Chapter Twelve
It took some doing, but Verity finally had the wound cleaned thoroughly. All sign of rot was gone and the wound was wrapped with fresh cloth. It had been painful for Rand but he had handled it well, his mum urging him to stay strong and fight. She instructed Etta to put snow at Rand’s neck and on his brow throughout the night, letting her know it could help in keeping a fever from settling in.
Etta hugged her. “You have saved him and I am forever grateful.”
Verity did not want to take her hope away from her. “His chances look much better. Keep the cloth and his leg clean and see that he eats a little something so that he stays strong. I will take a look at his leg tomorrow.” She placed a tender hand on Etta’s arm. “You need rest yourself, if you are to care for him.”
The door swung open, startling the two women and Verity instinctively stepped protectively in front of Etta. Verity was shocked to see King Talon standing before her.
“My King,” Etta said, lowering her head.
Verity saw that the commotion had woken Rand and he struggled to try and get up. She put her hand to his chest. “Stay as you are. You are not well enough to stand.” He refused to listen and she placed her other hand to his chest to stop his movements.
“Do as she says!” the King ordered and Rand stilled.
“Wrath, see to your wife, while I speak to this brave young warrior and his mum.”
Verity quickly moved aside as the King stepped forward, his overpowering presence filling the room. She was suddenly yanked against her husband and she stilled in his arms when she saw the anger in his eyes and felt it in his tense muscles that seemed to tighten around her.
“Verity saved him, my King,” Etta said through tears. “The healer gave up on my son, but not Verity. She worked hard and it is because of her that he will live. Wrath is fortunate to have such a caring wife.”
The King looked to Wrath. “Yes, he is very fortunate to have such a good wife.”
Wrath gave a respectful nod to the King and ushered Verity outside so hastily that she stumbled. His strong grip kept her steady as he hurried her to their dwelling.
Once inside, Wrath stepped away from her, shaking his head. “If you were this much trouble to the Northmen, I am surprised they come after you.”
His words hurt, but she refused to show it. “Then let me go and I will be no more trouble to you.”
“No!” Wrath shouted. “You stay with me. You were to rest. What were you thinking, taking your leave when I told you to stay here until I returned?”
“That was the problem—I was thinking, and I wanted to stop thinking. Lending a helping hand to others keeps my worried thoughts at bay.”
“And you did not think to inform me of this?”
“Truthfully, no.”
“Truthfully? Now you are being truthful with me?”
Verity sighed heavily, tired of arguing over her every action. “What do you want of me, Wrath?”
What did he want of her? He wanted to stop worrying about her. He wanted to stop thinking that she would have an attack and he would not be there to catch her and keep her safe. He wanted to stop thinking of how inviting her lips were or how soft her skin was to touch. But he said none of that. “I want you to do what I tell you to do.”
“And if I do not want to?” she asked, thinking she would never be free to do as she pleased.
“You do not have a choice. “You will stay with me and do as I say. You are my responsibility.”
Stay with him. He seemed to be forever telling her of that. Responsibility. Another thing he was forever reminding her about. She wished he wanted her to stay with him by choice and for him to be responsible for her as she would be for him if they cared deeply for each other. Dreams. That is what they were, dreams that would never come true.
“As you say, I have no choice.”
“You will give me your word that you will do as I say.”
“I cannot,” she said with a slow shake of her head, “for I do not know what the future holds and what choices I may be forced to make.”
Her words gave him thought. What choices would he be forced to make in regards to her? It sparked his ire to think that someone else could decide her fate.
He stepped forward, taking hold of both her arms. “You need to trust me. You need to know that I will keep you safe.”
Her visions had shown her that, though they had not shown her how she would feel about this mighty warrior.
He did not like seeing the doubt in her eyes or the way her brow scrunched with uncertainty. He never had trouble getting a woman to trust him, but then he never gave a woman any reason not to. So why was Verity different?
Different.
She was not different. It was how he felt about her that was different, and it clouded his judgment. Yet the thought of stepping away from her, leaving another to deal with her, tore at him until he thought he would roar with fury. She had once told him she was where she belonged—with him. And he was beginning to believe her.
The door opened abruptly, preventing any further discussion.
Wrath stepped to Verity’s side, their arms touching.
The King’s presence overpowered the small room and Verity instinctively leaned against Wrath.
“You did well with the young warrior, Rand. He tells me he will live to fight again for the Picts.”
“With a nervous quiver to her voice, Verity said, “I hope that is true.”
“You gave Rand the strength to believe it is true and that makes a difference if he is to survive. On one hand, you have proven to be a considerable problem while on the other hand you have proven yourself helpful. If you had not run off, then the Raban Tribe could have suffered a far worse fate than what they did. So, do I punish you or praise you?”
Wrath eased Verity to stand slightly behind him. “I believe there is a more important matter for us to discuss.” Wrath did not wait for the King to respond. “Verity knew one of the men who took part in the attack—he was a Northman.”
The King folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me.”
Wrath explained everything that he had discovered.
King Talon looked to Verity. “Return to Rand and wait there until Wrath comes for you, and do not dare venture anyplace else.”
“What if I am needed elsewhere, my King? Do I refuse to help a warrior in need?”
“You dare to speak so boldly to your King?” he demanded his words so sharp they stung.
What had made her speak so brashly? He was King and he would do as he wished to her, whether she deserved it or not, no matter how she spoke to him. His word was law. There was nothing beyond his word.
Verity bowed her head. “Forgive me, my King. I worry should another warrior need my help.”
“Do not leave the village
or you will suffer, and most unpleasantly.”
She bobbed her head and hurried out the door, wanting to distance herself from the powerful King and the anger she had felt growing in Wrath. He was not pleased with the way she had spoken to the King. It seemed that every time she spoke the truth she got herself in trouble and she was already in enough trouble. She shook her head and walked the winding path to Etta’s dwelling only to have Cora stop her again.
“I saw what you did for Rand. There is another warrior I have little hope for, perhaps you can have a look at him and see if anymore can be done.”
Verity nodded and followed the healer, relieved she was not going against the King’s wishes, though concerned how Wrath would feel about it.
~~~
Wrath’s glare remained on the closed door. With the King’s order, he realized how he would feel if another had say over Verity, and he did not like it.
“You either trust her or you do not.”
Wrath turned to the King. “It is not that simple.”
“All things are simple. We make them more difficult than necessary.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Enough about this woman, I am concerned with this Northman that fought with the Ancrum warriors.”
“Verity called him Ivan.”
“Ivan,” the King repeated as if surprised, “friend to Ulric, son of Haggard?”
“Verity did make mention of that.”
“I have never met Ulric or Ivan, though I heard of both when I met with Haggard to discuss peace between our people. Listening to Haggard, I assumed his son thought differently than him. Haggard made sure to mention what a fierce warrior Ulric was and his friend Ivan as well. He insisted that the two of them alone could lay claim to a village.”
“If that were true, how could a few Pict farmers wound a fierce Northman warrior so badly that he crawled away from the battle?”
“No Northman would crawl off wounded. He would rather fight to the very end, then to die without honor. Something goes on here. Tarn had spoken of others, before he died, who wanted to see me dead. I was aware there were some who did not want me to be King, but I thought it only a small portion of men who had been opposed to my decision to unify the tribes under one leader. I wonder if they seek the help of Ulric and his warriors to conquer me.”
The King's Warrior (Pict King Series Book 2) Page 11