I asked the same myself, Zia admitted.

And did you get an answer? Artair asked.

No, I never did.

Perhaps he wasnt a barbarian at all but someone who had once been captured by the barbarians, Cavan said, as if trying to make sense of it.

No, he was born a barbarian, of that there is no doubt, she a.s.sured him.

How would you know? Artair asked.

Zia recalled first meeting the barbarian. There was no mistaking it. The strength, the courage, but most of all the fearlessness in the eyes; this person would let nothing stand in his way.

What did he say when he brought Ronan to you? Cavan asked.

Zia looked from one brother to the other. Heal him; he is a great warrior.

The two brothers grew silent, and Zia could see that they fought to contain their emotions. She wished she could ease their pain, for she felt it herself.

I need to go now, she said, and stood.

One more question, Cavan said.

She waited.

Did this barbarian have something to do with my brothers sudden departure?

Her response was simple and yet so much more complicated. No.

You are sure? Cavan demanded.

I am sure, Zia said firmly. Now may I go?

Cavan stared at her. There is something you do not tell me.

Have you ever given your word to someone? she asked.

Cavan nodded. Many times.

And you have kept your word, she said, not for a minute doubting he had.

Of course. A mans word is his honor.

Though I am a woman, I feel the same. When I give my word, I keep it, she said, standing tall, her chin high.

You gave your word to a barbarian and you wish me to honor it? Cavan asked incredulously.

It is my honor I wish you to respect.

Cavan looked from Zia to Artair, then stood.

Talk to your wife, Cavan ordered and walked away.

I have work to see to, Zia said, and turned to leave.

Artair stopped her, taking hold of her arm. We need to discuss this. While I will always defend you, I cannot defend your keeping information from us about Ronan.

I keep none that is of consequence.

That is for us to judge.

Zia slipped her arm from his grasp, his warm imprint still tingling her flesh. I would do nothing to jeopardize your brothers safety or delay you from finding him. I have confided everything I know that would help you in your search.

But one thing"the barbarians ident.i.ty, Artair said.

She didnt like hearing the disappointment in his voice. She liked even less that he challenged her on it. You dont trust that what I tell you is true?

He looked startled. It is you who does not trust me. Cavan tells me to speak with you for he believes that a good wife would keep nothing from her husband. He has given you a chance to confide in me, and if I deem the information useful, I can share it with him. If not, he knows that it is not significant, and the news remains between you and me.

I am not your wife, she said sadly, not wishing to hurt him.

You are in all ways but one, he said. Exchange vows with me and be done with it.

I will not wed a man whose proposal holds no pa.s.sion. She turned and hurried from the keep, not stopping until she was past the village, at the moor. She stopped to look out over the expanse of empty land, and realized that was how she felt at this moment"empty.

If he had uttered one word of love to her, she might have considered his proposal. After all, she did love the sensible fool. But hed made no mention of it, and that hurt her heart. She had blurted out her love for him, and in front of his mother. It needed saying or she would have exploded with the joy of it. She needed to say it, hear it spill from her lips.

Of course, she could have waited until they were alone. But no! She wasnt afraid of someone hearing her declare her love for Artair. Why should she? Love should be shouted from the highest hill and echoed through the valleys and over the dales. Love should not be confined or tucked away to bring out at the appropriate time.

Love is magical, she chuckled. She probably would be accused of casting love spells if anyone heard her. But wasnt it she under Artairs spell, and hadnt that been true from the start?

She had felt the magic between them from the very first moment their eyes met. They couldnt have fought it if they had tried, and she hadnt wanted to. She had wanted to see where it would take her.

She had fallen so easily under the Highlanders spell and she didnt care, because she knew she wove her own spell, like so many women before her. This rift between them could not be allowed to grow. They would have to discuss it, but not now, perhaps later, when they both had time to think and reason. She laughed. Artair reasoned all the time, perhaps she should learn something from him and apply reason to this matter and see what happened.

She would have loved to walk the moor, but had work to do and had to be sensible. She laughed again as she turned and walked to her cottage shaking her head.

Artairs naked chest glistened with sweat, his hands ached, and still he swung his sword, taking down his third opponent.

Whos next? he asked, challenging the warriors who stood in a circle around him.

None are foolish enough to practice with a crazed man, Lachlan called out, and entered the circle to throw him his shirt.

Artair flung the shirt over his shoulder and watched the warriors disperse. You chase them away.

Lachlan laughed. It is you who frighten them off. Youre like a madman with your sword today, which can only mean that you fought with your wife, and why only the single warriors were fool enough not to recognize the signs and agreed to practice with you.

Shut up, Artair said and walked over to the water bucket and drank from the dipper.

I knew I was right, Lachlan said with glee.

Artair dumped a full ladle over his head, feeling a sense of relief as the cool water trickled down his face and onto his chest.

Good idea. Cool your anger, Lachlan said, braced against a thick tree trunk with his arms crossed. So what did you do to incur your wifes wrath?

Youre asking for it, Lachlan, Artair warned, brandishing the ladle like a weapon.

His brother held up his hands. Dont take it out on me. Im only trying to help.

How? By aggravating me even more?

No, by pointing out that youre allowing your anger to get the better of you, when you usually handle problems with calm sensibility.

How can you be sensible with a woman who refuses to listen to reason? Artair asked, running his fingers through his wet hair.

Lachlan looked ready to laugh.

Dont dare! Artair warned, swinging the ladle at him.

Lachlan wisely hid his chuckle.

Artair dropped the dipper in the bucket and shook his head. I dont know how to make her see reason.

Zia doesnt strike me as a reasonable woman.

No kidding, Artair said.

But you sure can see the pa.s.sion in her.

Artair shot daggers at him with his eyes.

Lachlan grabbed his chest. d.a.m.n, but if you could kill with looks, would I be dead.

Watch it, Artair cautioned.

Im trying to help, if youd just hear me out.

By telling me my wife is pa.s.sionate?

Yes! Zia is pa.s.sionate about life. You can see it in everything she does. In her work, when she talks, when she laughs"

Artair grinned though barely. Her laughter is unbelievably sensual.

d.a.m.n right.

Artair shot him another murderous look.

Lachlan threw his hands up. Sorry, but you need to really know Zia to deal with her.

I do know her. Shes obstinate, insistent, inflexible"

Lachlan interrupted. Youre repeating your"

Artairs icy glare shut him up. How? How do you deal with a pigheaded woman?

Youre asking the wrong question.

Really, almighty know-it-all of women?

Lachlan bowed. At your service.

Tell me what question I should be asking?

Lachlan obliged. How do you deal with a pa.s.sionate woman?

And pray tell, how do you deal with a pa.s.sionate woman?

Brother, brother, brother, Lachlan said shaking his head and slapping Artair on the back. Need I detail it?

Artair curled his hand into a tight fist. So help me, Lachlan Lachlan leaned in close and whispered as if the answer was a secret. You deal with her pa.s.sionately.

Chapter 26.

Zia thought over the situation and no matter how hard she tried she couldnt find anyway to be practical. It just wasnt in her to do it. She was who she was and Artair had to accept her that way or a marriage could never work between them. She loved who she was and she had worked hard to be who she was in spite of obstacles along the way.

Besides, she couldnt live without the zest that claimed her every day. Sunrise always brought with it a joy, a thrill that she embraced and gave thanks for. Her grandmother had taught her that each new morn was a gift to be unwrapped and cherished. She had never forgotten that, and each day she unwrapped her gift, she appreciated it more and more.

Her grandmother would also tell her that she was being stubborn, that if she wished Artair to accept her for who she was, then why not accept him for who he was? But in a way, wasnt she? After all, she loved him and did not plan to simply walk away because at times he could be a practical fool. She knew that about him and loved him anyway. Just as she knew he loved her, but could he truly accept who she was? She had easily voiced her love for him, and he had yet to voice his. She wondered how he would choose to do so. Or did she doubt that he would?

She chuckled at the question. He loved her"of that she had no doubt"and when the time was right for him, he would seize the moment and claim his love.

Would it be enough?

Her own query startled her.

Why wouldnt it be enough? Was it because he would see the rational side of their union, while she was looking for him to seewhat? The miracle of it all? He had rescued her from a burning stake, and though he had done it for his own reasons, he had never stopped protecting her from the moment he freed her. He took hold of her and never let go.

To her, he had proven a hero beyond measure and a man she could easily love.

Night was falling and the air grew cold. A storm was brewing off the coast, the waves more vicious than usual, and a constant mist blew in off the sea. She was glad for the warmth of her wool cloak on her walk to the keep. She wasnt looking forward to the evening meal, would much prefer to isolate herself this evening, to tuck herself away from questions and demands and worries of her own. Or better still a birth that would occupy her mind leaving no time to think.

She stopped and stared up at the sky, which had darkened, the mist kissing her face. Send me a joyful birth so I may have peace this night.