"Karen is new to us, a — a guest in our town, from quite some distance away. Obviously, none of us want to accuse her of any wrongdoing," he said firmly, giving the villagers a warning glance. "But in the interests of ruling out the possibility that some of these… these awful events that have been transpiring lately… might be linked to her, with or without her knowledge…"
She wanted to reach out to squeeze Connor's hand — he looked like he was about to explode with rage. As much as she appreciated him sticking up for her, she couldn't help but worry that he wasn't helping the cause much…
"This matter was brought to me early this afternoon," Father Caleb said firmly. "I take my role as spiritual leader here very seriously, and I've been reflecting and praying on the best way to proceed, to thoroughly clear our guest of any suspicion so that we might continue our fight against the real issues that trouble us." He was being very diplomatic, and she appreciated it — appreciated the implication that this was a clearing of her name, not a trial. "So, I'd like to propose a method of clearing Karen's name of any wrongdoing. The first step is having her set foot in a church — as we all know, the Lord hates evil, and it cannot bear to be in his presence. So —" He gestured to her, and she felt a bizarre urge to take a bow. Here she was, standing in a church. Strike one for the witch theory.
"And furthermore," he continued, gaining confidence as he saw a few of the villagers nodding their approval of this first step of the plan, "Karen will be invited to take communion, go through confession, and be interviewed here by myself and a member of the Watch."
"Best choose someone other than Connor," Rosemary called out, her eyes burning. "If she's a witch, she's gotten to him already."
Connor started forward, his eyes blazing, but Father Caleb cleared his throat hard, raising a hand for silence — Karen was grateful to see her lover gain control of himself, though she could see the tension emphasized by every line of his body.
"I've asked Captain Brendan to conduct the interview," Caleb continued stiffly. "I trust that these steps will be enough to assure you all that Karen is no witch?"
There was a general murmur, but Father Caleb remained stalwart, asking the same question of each of the village leaders. They all nodded their approval stiffly, and Karen could tell from the expressions of the crowd that confession and communion would be enough to calm their fears.
"Karen?" Caleb turned to her, a little hesitantly. "You've been rather quiet. Does all of this seem — acceptable, to you?"
She hesitated. How best to play this? What she really wanted to do was tell them all off for being superstitious idiots — but hostility wouldn't help anything. They'd see how wrong they were soon enough — some of them were already beginning to realize they were being ridiculous, she could tell by the shifting expressions on their faces, their refusal to look straight at her. She stepped to his side at the pulpit, raising her voice to address the congregation.
"I'm a little upset to be accused of this, as anyone would be," she said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. "But what I want more than anything is to keep the peace — to be able to help you all deal with what faces us. To have your trust, and your respect. And if this will help ease your minds, convince you that I'm just a regular person who wants to help, then I'm more than willing to do it."
Chapter 39
She'd hoped, quietly, for a round of applause — Father Caleb clapped his hands together a few times, then cleared his throat and stopped when it became clear that nobody else was going to join in. All she got were stares… but it would do, she decided as the meeting was adjourned, and the villagers began to trail out of the church. She could tell from the energy in the room that a great deal of the momentum of the witch hunt had been arrested by this little gathering, by the priest's slightly pompous address… and, more to the point, by how Karen had gone along with everything they'd requested without so much as a peep. It had been the right move, she decided. And though she hadn't taken communion or given confession since she was a child, she was happy enough to partake in that familiar old ritual if it would help the people trust her again.
"Karen, are you sure you're willing to go through all this?" Connor said softly, stepping to her side as the village leaders filed out of the church, talking amongst themselves in an effort to avoid making eye contact with Karen. "None of them have any right to force you —"
"They don't need to force me, I'm happy to do it," she said softly, giving his hand a squeeze — she could sense Father Caleb's beady eyes taking that little gesture in, but for the time being she didn't care at all. "I'm Catholic, anyway — or at least, I used to be — it's not as if this is new stuff."
"Good to hear you're on your way back to the fold," Father Caleb said, giving her a sharp look — he clearly wasn't impressed by her use of the past tense regarding her faith.
She decided not to bring up the agnosticism of her father, or how little time she'd had lately for matters of faith — it didn't quite seem like the time. If playing the good little Catholic would help convince the people she wasn't a witch, then she could do it. Besides, it wasn't as if she didn't believe in God, exactly… more that she hadn't really given it much thought. If he was out there, she just hoped he approved of what she was doing with her life. Healing the sick was more or less in keeping with what the Lord encouraged people to do, wasn't it? Having premarital sex with Connor, on the other hand… that might be more of a gray area…
The appointment had been made — she would take communion the next morning, in a ceremony that had been arranged just for her. A few representatives from the village would be present as witnesses to this element of the process, though of course they wouldn't be listening in to her confession, and the interview with Brendan from the Watch would similarly be observed by the village leaders. Hopefully, she thought with gritted teeth, by this time tomorrow, the witch question would be entirely put to bed, and she could actually get on with her work.
But for now, the evening was drawing in, and when they left the church the dark was gathering. Father Caleb bid them a pleasant goodnight — she was glad to have the fussy priest on their side. It was clear that he didn't think she was a witch, and she appreciated that greatly. She also appreciated the way Connor slipped his hand into hers as they walked down the road in the twilight, the wind flapping at their clothing as it picked up. She frowned, peering up into the cloudy, overcast sky. It felt … dense and close, somehow. As though there was a storm coming.
Connor had taken the opportunity, at the end of the impromptu little meeting in the church, to instruct everyone to shut and bar their west windows for the time being — he'd encouraged them to go as far as nailing boards up over the windows just to make sure that nothing could get through. It was a superstitious instruction for sure, and Karen had expected resistance — but the villagers had just nodded as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and even as they walked down the street back toward Connor's cottage she could see villagers out in their yards, nailing planks over the west windows in their houses.
"I love that you tell people to nail their western windows shut and that's just fine, but I suggest avoiding touching infected sores and that's witchcraft," she pointed out with a roll of her eyes. There were certainly double standards at play. Was it because he'd lived here all his life and they trusted him already? Or was it because he was a man? Either way, she wasn't going to resent him for it. He'd done everything in his power to protect her, to use his privileges to amplify her voice and keep her safe. She couldn't hold it against him that the villagers trusted him more than they trusted her just yet. She'd earn their trust, one way or another. She'd just have to be patient.
When they got in, they had a quick dinner of bread and cheese that Connor prepared, quickly building the little fire back up from the embers that remained of it from their afternoon spent in front of it… she smiled to herself at the memory of it, gazing soft-eyed at him in the firelight. Come what may, she was unbelievably happy t
hat this was happening… the new intimacy in their relationship was exactly what she needed to soothe her nerves and keep her going. And as the night closed in, they found themselves having a very early night indeed, finishing their bread and cheese before heading into Connor's little bedroom. She spent a little time pulling the bedsheets up, anticipation building deliciously in her body… but she also checked the west-facing windows before they went to bed, not liking the way the wind was howling through the eaves.
Then they were in bed together, mostly unclothed, and she sighed with happiness, losing herself in the scent and sensation of Connor's arms around her, his body against hers, the gentle tracing of his fingertips as they explored her body… gone was the hurried, explosive passion of that afternoon. Now, they had all the time in the world. She touched and caressed him, too, exploring in depth the parts of him she'd skimmed over earlier… the firm muscles of his forearms and shoulders, the occasional pearly scars that showed on his skin… she could feel her body shivering under his touch as they kissed lazily in the warmth of the bed, torn between the pleasant warmth of his arms around her, and a stirring, growing need for more contact, more pressure, for his hands to creep lower and lower to a place that was aching for his touch… she could barely hear the wind howling anymore, all she was aware of was Connor, his breath against her ear, his hands on her body, the scent of him, the intoxicating warmth of him… she could feel her heart pounding in her chest as her desire mounted, and she was just about to pounce on him and flatten him to the bed to take the pleasure she needed from him when their reverie was interrupted by what was unmistakably an alien, inhuman screech that echoed through the night like a gunshot.
Chapter 40
Connor's hands stilled, and he sat upright in bed, his body tense. One look at his face told her that he'd heard exactly what she had, and the two of them stared at each other, both of them hoping against hope that they'd been mistaken. Outside the window, she could see trees bending and swaying furiously in the wind that had picked up, and the low moaning and howling of the wind in the trees sent a shiver down her spine. Connor put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close to him in wordless reassurance, but she could tell from the expression on his face that he was worried, too.
"Is it them?" she said softly, her voice a little hoarse. "The Sluagh again?"
"That's a west wind," he said softly. "It could be that —"
But he was cut off by yet another unearthly shriek. This one was high and wild and set her teeth on edge as it seemed to rattle the very foundations of the house… and it was quickly joined by another, and another. Her eyes moved to the westward-facing window in the wall and she shuddered, unnerved by the utter darkness out there, by how little she could see beyond shadow. Shadows that seemed to move and shift before her eyes… shadows that she knew in her bones were concealing flapping wings and skeletal frames, the Sluagh keening and shrieking their awful song to the night.
"It's them," she murmured, sure of it.
Connor nodded, drawing her close to him. They huddled in the bed together, glad that the windows were all shut and barred, and listened as the storm closed in around them.
"I hope the villagers are all inside," Connor muttered a little later, clearly restless. There was no question of starting back up where they'd left off in their exploration of each other — the shrieking and howling of the wind and the Sluagh — difficult to tell one cry from another — had definitely killed the mood, and all she wanted from Connor was the warmth and reassurance of his body close to hers. He was tense against her, and she knew that some part of him wanted to charge out into the night with his sword to fight the things. But that was a fool's errand. From what Maggie had said, they were terrifically dangerous. And she couldn't risk losing him. Not when she'd only just truly found him…
"They'll be safe," she said firmly. "You told them to bolt their western windows — they were all doing it when we walked home. And besides, everyone knows what happened during the last attack… nobody would be foolish enough to go out until dawn."
"I hope so," Connor said softly. They lay in silence, holding each other close. It went without saying that sleep was out of the question — Connor leaned over to light a candle, which made the room a little cheerier, even if it did emphasize the contrast between the warm little room they were in and the howling and shrieking wind outside. Part of her wanted to go out there — she was itching to see a Sluagh for herself, to prove once and for all that monsters were real… but she knew that was a bad idea.
It must have been midnight when the new scream came. Despite their fear, Connor and Karen had dozed off a little into that curious half-sleep, dreams beginning to creep in around them… but Karen sat bolt upright when she heard that scream, so different from the shrieks and howls of the wind and the Sluagh. Connor had heard it too. It was real, and vivid, and full of the most heart-wrenching fear she had ever heard… and what was worse, it sounded like it belonged to a child. Having given out vaccinations, Karen was intimately familiar with the shriek of a child who was afraid, and this was just like that — but much, much worse than any fear that a simple injection could engender in even the most needle-phobic child.
Without saying a word, the two of them got dressed quickly. Connor lit a torch and they hurried out of the house, enveloped immediately by the hot wind that blew from the west, screaming through the village and setting their teeth on edge with that unearthly howling. Sure enough, they weren't alone in having heard it — the street was full of villagers in their nightclothes clutching torches and exchanging frightened looks. Connor and a few of the other watchmen took charge, asking the villagers what had happened, who had screamed. Karen found herself praying that a child had simply been frightened by the storm… but it wasn't long before the truth of what had happened come out.
Rosemary burst out of her home, her eyes wild with terror and grief, gesturing wordlessly over her shoulder. Connor moved fast, running into the house and returning a few minutes later, shaking his head with a grim expression on his face. Rosemary had shut and barred her west-facing window… but it seemed that the lock had given way and the window was hanging open, almost wrenched from its frame by the force of the wind… or something else.
But it was worse than that. That window was in little Malcolm's room… and the boy was nowhere to be seen.
As if drawn by some awful magnet, the villagers turned as one toward the hillside where the men had been found. Rosemary screamed as she realized what the implication was, what they were expecting — a high, desperate sound — and before anyone could stop her, she took off running, her bare feet striking hard on the cobblestones as her nightdress flapped in the high winds. Connor and Karen ran after her, Karen grateful she'd stopped to put on her boots and grab a cloak to gather around her shoulders — the west wind was hot and reeking, but the night was cold. Connor called to Rosemary, begging her to slow down, to let them search for Malcolm, but she was like a woman possessed, running faster than Karen had ever believed possible up the street out of town. Despite their best efforts to catch her, she was well ahead of them by the time they reached the hillside.
With the clouds obscuring the moon and stars, it was almost pitch dark out here. The low keening of the wind and the flapping of their clothing distracted them as they stumbled out after Rosemary, who was quickly disappearing into the darkness. Connor held his torch aloft, shouting in vain after Rosemary… but she'd already vanished into the gloom. Karen stared wildly about her, trying to search the grassy hillside for any sign of what she prayed, so desperately, she wouldn't find…
But then a new scream ripped through the night, as the villagers caught up and gathered in an uneasy clump around Connor. A scream far worse than any that had come before it … a scream that spoke of rage, of pain, of terrible, awful loss. A scream that sliced right through the murmuring of the crowd and put an identical stricken expression on every single face there as all of them at once came to the same awful, awful conc
lusion.
Rosemary had found her son on the hillside.
"Go back to your homes," Connor said in a low, flat voice. The villagers drew together, the expressions on their faces saying they understood completely — no woman would want a crowd at a time like this — and they began to trudge away across the hillside back toward the town, their torches held low. The scream had been replaced by a low keening wail that broke every few seconds for a gasping breath. It was easy enough to follow... and it wasn't long before they came upon Rosemary, collapsed on the hillside like a puppet with her strings cut. In her arms, a little figure, terrifyingly small, awfully still… and when she looked up at the approach of the torchlight, Karen saw all that she needed to see on her face.
She'd seen that face in a hundred hospital rooms. Even halfway across the world and five hundred years in the past, she recognized it instantly. It was the face of a mother who had lost absolutely everything.
It was the face of a mother clutching the dead body of her child.
Chapter 41
Things seemed to move in slow motion after that. There was no question of moving Rosemary between the two of them — she was all but comatose, rocking Malcolm's lifeless little body in her arms and uttering that low, keening wail of denial. Karen tried not to look too closely at the broken little shape of him, knowing that if she looked, she'd begin to diagnose what had happened… the wounds caused by the claws of the Sluagh, the broken limbs caused by the fall. And Malcolm was no longer someone she could help. That was the thing about being a doctor — in the face of death, there was absolutely no comfort she could offer. So, she stood back, and let Connor go to her.
Troubled By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 6) Page 16
