Free The Staff and the Blade: Irin Chronicles Book Four by Elizabeth Hunter Page A

a little thing and had lived a sheltered life. She’d never seen an Irina burn or drown at the hands of humans. Never seen a scribe out of his mind with grief taking vengeance in the worst way. This was why the calls for isolation were growing louder. The days of peaceful coexistence with the human population of Europe were coming to an end because of the fear of witchcraft and of any women of learning.
    “Almost home,” he said, hoping his calm would seep into the girl. He brushed a spell over her sweaty forehead, watching the faint gold glow as her breathing evened out. “Easy, Kirsten.”
    The last thing they needed were otherwise peaceful scribes and singers of Orkney making out for the humans in anger. Relations could be salvaged. Their haven could remain. But only if cool heads were in charge.
    “Kirsten?” Mirren’s voice rose from the doorway of her cottage. “Kirsten!”
    “Remember,” Damien whispered. “Calm.”
    The brave girl nodded and took a shuddering breath.
    “What’s happened?” Mirren came running. “Did she fall? Why isn’t she walking?”
    “Twisted ankle.” Damien ducked under the doorway and searched for a place to put the young woman. “Her bed?”
    “Here.” Mirren parted a curtain that divided the room. “She’s not here much anymore. She has her own cottage. What happened?”
    Kirsten said, “It was Ann.” She glanced at Damien. “I think she must be unwell, Mother. She accused me of witchcraft. Her milk has dried up, and she might be running a fever. I checked on the baby, but I couldn’t check her because she and her sisters…”
    Mirren’s eyes blazed. “She did this to you? The scratches? The bruises?”
    “I twisted my ankle trying to get away. I fell on the way back. It hurt so much, but I didn’t want to ask anyone in the human village for help. Damien found me on the road.”
    Mirren was cursing low under her breath, and Damien put a hand on her shoulder. “You know the moods that sometimes strike new mothers. Ann could be ill, Mirren.”
    “And her ignorance would be fed by her mother,” Mirren spit out. “The girl’s mother didn’t even want us to help her give birth. But the husband’s family is traditional. I delivered him myself—well, they assume it was my own mother, of course. The young man—”
    “He wasn’t there, but Ann accused me of seducing him.” Kirsten looked confused. “Why would I seduce her husband?”
    Damien put a hand on her head. “Don’t try to make sense of it, sister. The woman wasn’t well in her mind.”
    Mirren heaved a sigh and poured boiling water into a deep pan. “This hasn’t happened in many years.”
    “But it has happened before,” he said quietly. “We must keep calm heads.”
    Mirren nodded and set to tending her daughter. None of the cuts on her face were serious and with Mirren’s tending would heal quickly. Her swollen ankle would mend. Kirsten’s father, Bernard, was a sensible, steady scribe who would listen to reason and not overreact.
    It was Einar whom Damien was worried about. Einar had been making noises lately about the Irina working so closely with the humans on the island. He tried to keep Sari in the village instead of letting her help the local farmers. Tried to keep Ingrid from trading her herbs in Kirkwall.
    He would say it was for safety, but Einar wasn’t a man who trusted females. His mate, Agnes, was a capable woman, but the clinging sort, and Einar made the mistake of thinking his woman was the model of all others.
    Bypassing the longhouse, Damien walked to the library and hoped Henry would have some ideas. Because Einar needed to be controlled, and Damien’s memories were still too stained with horror to have much perspective about humanity.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    B Y the time Sari heard about the attack on Kirsten, the episode had taken on the ring of legend. Like any news in a small, peaceful village, details were exaggerated until Kirsten hadn’t faced three angry women but a