Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The Healing Cottage at Willowmere
Where Wounds Are Mended and Lives Are Saved
Silence settled in the cottage. Not the gentle quiet familiar to Bria, but a heavy silence that made even the smallest noise sound like thunder. The hearth snapped, a sharp crack of burning wood breaking through it, followed by an unexpected clatter.
Hannah’s wooden spoon struck the floor, sounding like a clap of thunder. She made no move to retrieve it.
A moment later, Arella spoke, her voice firm. “No one goes to Driochmor. Not by choice nor by chance, and not without defying the order of King Dravic.”
The words seemed to settle just as heavily as the silence had.
Bria felt them, though her gaze remained on the man, as did Hannah’s.
Arella continued to speak in her blunt and sometimes dismissive fashion. “Bria, you will take—” She glanced at the man, waiting.
Silence met her but only briefly, then he spoke. “I am known as Kaelan.”
Arella turned back to Bria. “Take Kaelan to one of the recovery cottages.” Her head snapped back to him. “Go and rest, for that wound will pain you more soon enough. Hannah will bring you a brew before nightfall to help with the growing pain and possible fever.”
“Growing pain you say,” Kaelan repeated. “Then it would be good if Bria could bring me the brew since she is a comfort healer and her touch would be appreciated.”
“I can give the brew to Bria,” Hannah said with relief in her voice.
Kaelan pushed himself to his feet with little effort, and Bria’s eyes followed him. He was tall. She was of fair height, a bit taller than most women. Still, she had to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes.
“You will not be leaving here bare-chested,” Arella said before he could take a step. “Bria, see that he gets his shirt on, and leave off the leather vest. It will only aggravate the wound.”
Kaelan reached for his shirt draped over the nearby bench, then paused, his gaze shifting to Bria. “You will assist?”
It was not a demand. Nor was it quite a request. But she was a healer, a comfort one at that, and her touch would ease the chore of slipping on his shirt.
Bria stepped forward and took the shirt from him. “Raise your arm as much as you are able.”
He did so carefully.
She slipped the fabric over his uninjured arm first, her movements slow and gentle—though she was more aware of him now than she had been before.
The warmth of his skin brushed hers like a gentle kiss, raising gooseflesh along her skin.
The immense strength in the lines of his shoulders and his muscles, taut without any effort, warned of a fierce warrior.
She drew closer cautiously to guide the other side, mindful of the bandaged wound, her fingers brushing lightly along his upper arm as she eased the sleeve into place.
The contact stilled her, not in body—but from deep within.
Then a strange awareness stirred, far deeper than what she knew of her gift.
It was not the quiet easing she brought others, not the calm that flowed so naturally from her touch.
This was different and strong, as if something reached out to her, tugging at her to join it.
Her breath caught, though she gave no outward sign of it, continuing her task as she settled the shirt across his shoulders and adjusted the fabric with careful hands.
Kaelan did not move, nor speak.
But she felt it again. There was something in him, steady and unmistakable, as though her touch had reached farther than it should.
She drew her hands away and the absence of it came just as quickly, leaving her feeling an unexpected emptiness. Like the last time her hands left him. And just like the last time, it was brief and gone before she could understand it. But she could not ignore having felt it.
Finished, Bria stepped back, relieved by the distance, even if it wasn’t much.
Arella gave an approving nod. “Better. You’ll keep the wound from further irritation that way. Leave your vest and sword. They will be brought to the cottage for you.”
Kaelan’s gaze lingered on Bria a moment longer than it should have, something strange shimmered in his eyes before he turned toward the door.
Bria moved ahead of him, pushing it open.
As they stepped outside, cool air greeted them, carrying the scent of pine and distant sea.
The quiet rhythm of the village wrapped around them, so different from the tension left behind.
They walked a few paces before Kaelan spoke.
“May I?” he asked, extending his hand to her.
Her brow narrowed as she cautiously asked, “You wish to hold my hand?”
“Aye. The movement has stirred the wound, and you are a comfort healer,” he said as if she needed reminding.
She hesitated, though not because of the request, but because of the memory of what she had just felt. What she had not understood and, yet strangely enough, what she found herself wanting to feel again.
Slowly, she extended her hand.
His fingers closed around hers, warm, firm, and—
There it was again, only stronger this time. Not simply the easing of pain, though she felt that too, the tension in him lessening beneath her touch.
Nay, it was something more. An unmistakable tug that unsettled her in ways she could not explain. Her breath caught softly, though she kept her gaze forward. This was not how it had ever been, not with anyone.
And yet she did not pull away.
They walked on, her hand still in his, the contact no longer questioned—only felt.
Bria glanced at him. “Why the interest in Driochmor?”
Kaelan did not look at her as he answered, “I have seen how people retreat from the name… or refuse to speak it at all. It made me curious what causes such fear.”
Her steps slowed slightly, though she did not stop.
“Is it true,” he continued, “that magic resides there?”
Bria drew a soft breath. “That is what we are told.”
“And you believe it?”
“From the stories told, there was reason enough for King Halric to act as he did,” she said.
Kaelan’s attention sharpened. “Halric.”
“Aye,” she said. “It was during his rule, grandfather to King Dravic, that magic was banished. Those who practiced it were driven from the regions and sent to remain where the heart of magic dwelled… Driochmor.”
“Why?” he asked.
“To protect Scotara,” she answered without hesitation. “Magic turned against the kingdom. It could not be trusted, and so it was condemned and banished.”
Kaelan was quiet a moment.
“And now?” he asked. “It remains there… contained?”
“Aye, according to law, though recently King Dravic has opened communication with Driochmor,” she added quickly, “though the law still forbids others from going there.”
“Do you believe that law is obeyed without question?” he pressed. “And why now would the king speak with those who were once thought to betray Scotara?”
Bria looked at him then, more directly than before as she considered his questions. “There are few, if any, who would dare disobey the king’s law, and why he would seek talks with Driochmor is anyone’s guess.”
Kaelan was quiet a moment, his gaze steady on her before he asked, “And what is your guess?”
She didn’t hesitate to share her thoughts, since the matter had been an ongoing discussion in the village.
“Some say it is because war with Drogath is inevitable and the king could use the magic of Driochmor. Others believe it is because he wishes to find the healer who defies death and she can only be found in Driochmor.”
“You tell me what others guess at. What do you think?” he asked.
Bria shrugged. “I cannot begin to think what is on the king’s mind. I only hope whatever comes of it that it is good for the kingdom and its people.”
“A response one would expect of a healer,” he said with a nod. “But tell me, is healing not magic?” he asked.
The question struck sharper than the others.
Bria frowned slightly. “What I do is not magic.”
They walked on, their arms brushing lightly as the path narrowed, the contact brief yet enough to send a quiet awareness through her.
“You ease pain with a touch. You calm what troubles the body without herbs or brew. How is that not magic?” he asked.
“It is a gift,” she said, more firmly now.
“And magic is not?”
She went to pull her hand from his.
He did not let go. Not forcefully but with a quiet insistence that stopped her just the same.
Her breath caught, her gaze dropping briefly to where his fingers still held hers, warmth stirring there, then spreading, slow and unexpected, along her arm.
“It is not the same,” she said again, though there was less certainty in her voice now.
“Because you are told it is not?” he asked.
Bria lifted her chin. “Because it does not harm.”
“Nor does all magic,” he said.
A stone shifted beneath her foot, and her step faltered.
Before she could steady herself, his grip tightened just enough, his other hand coming to her arm to keep her from stumbling. The contact sent a sudden warmth through her, swift and unsettling, before he released her, though not her hand.
The warmth of his grip lingered now, no longer just a comfort, but something that stirred deeper, traveling through her in a way she could not ignore.
She forced herself back to their conversation, away from the stirring she did not understand.
“You speak as though you are familiar with magic,” she said.
“I speak as one who prefers to decide what I fear and what I don’t, which isn’t much,” he said with a slight smile.
Her heart gave an unexpected quickening at the difference the barest of smiles made in his features. He was even more striking. She saw the truth in her own thoughts, catching several women glancing his way, smiling at him.
Bria could not help but say, “You do think highly of yourself.”
His brow narrowed. “Nay, I don’t believe so. I’m simply confident.”
A brief sting touched her hand, unexpected though not painful.
He let her hand go then as if he felt it too.
“I grow tired. I need to rest.”
She glanced at him and seeing the sudden exhaustion in his eyes, she hurried the last few steps to the cottage.
Bria pushed open the cottage door and stepped aside to let him enter.