Under the Highlander's Spell by Donna Fletcher

and laughed out loud, “He’s gorgeous!”
    Bethane nodded. “I thought as much. Have you looked inside him yet?”
    â€œThere’s goodness there.” She scratched her head. “But he has an overly sensible nature and a strong responsibility to duty.”
    â€œGood qualities,” her grandmother assured.
    Zia shrugged. “He knows nothing of passion.”
    â€œYou could teach him.”
    Zia’s grin grew large. “I plan to.”
    After finishing breakfast with her grandmother, Zia went straight to the see how the barbarian was doing. Bethane would be busy making the rounds of the village, visiting with the women whose birthing time was near.
    The women of the village took time to sit with the ill and those recovering so that Bethane and Zia would be free to tend others. Zia had long ago found that being a healer had benefits and one of those was the many friendships she formed with women and the ease with which they spoke. It was also how she had learned so much about men, women and sex. Women openly discussed intimacy, some fearing there was something wrong with them because they enjoyed it so much while others complained that they couldn’t stand it. The many chats had helped her to help other women and to better understand her own desires.
    Tara, a robust woman with a gentle smile, who often spoke candidly with her, was busy working on a piece of embroidery while the barbarian slept.
    â€œHas he stirred?” Zia asked, placing a tender hand to his head. There was no trace of fever, which boded well for him.
    â€œHe’s rested soundly,” Tara said, gathering her things.
    â€œYou gave him the broth?”
    â€œOn schedule. You will look after him now?” Tara asked.
    Zia nodded. “I will keep an eye on him while I tend to any who seek healing today.”
    It was busier than usual, a few scrapes, an abrasion that required stitches, a stomach ailment that actually had Zia concerned, and Artair showing up worried over one of his men.
    â€œIt’s James. He’s complained of these ailments before but no healer has been successful in helping him.”
    â€œBring him here,” Zia said, not doubting his word, not thinking that he just wished one of his men in the village. He would not do that. Concern showed on his face, and he’d sought her permission first.
    The stout man was in agony when Artair hurried him into the healing cottage. Zia saw to him immediately, concerned for the man she had enjoyed fishing with.
    She questioned him and learned that his stomach problem occurred on a regular basis. She mixed a combination of herbs and had him drink the potion. It was sweet tasting so he made no objection.
    In minutes his stomach soothed and he smiled. “It feels better,” James said rubbing his healed stomach in amazement.
    At that moment a painful roar filled the air and Zia dropped the cup in her hand and rushed to the other room, Artair and James following.
    Zia fought to keep the barbarian still, trying to soothe him with calming words, but he raged in fear and pain.
    To her surprise, Artair came to the rescue. He clamped heavy hands down on the man’s shoulders and ordered James to hold his legs still.
    â€œIt’s all right. You’re safe. No one will hurt you. Be still and you will grow strong,” Artair ordered.
    The barbarian responded to the commanding tone and settled down.
    â€œAre you in pain?” Zia asked, leaning over the man.
    He nodded vigorously.
    She quickly ladled broth into a cup from a warming caldron and held it to his lips. “This will ease your pain.”
    He eagerly sipped at the brew until there was nothing left, then grabbed her arm. Zia had to stop Artair from ripping the injured man’s arm off her.
    â€œI—I—”
    â€œYou will recover if you rest and trust that we will help you,” Zia assured him, placed a cool cloth to his brow in hopes it would keep