‘I am in the king’s service.’ The recollection of Luke stating this made her quietly gasp. Was this commission what he meant? Surely he was not making a living off this travesty? Now it was her perception of Luke that took a most repugnant turn.
The door to the storage room was unlocked and opened, the light from the torch blinding them all.
‘Which one of you is Margaret Munro?’ the guard demanded.
Reluctant as she was to do so, Maggie held up a hand. ‘I am she.’
‘Come with me,’ he said gruffly.
As she rose and followed, the other women appealed for mercy, food, water!
‘The like of you get nothin’ until I’m instructed otherwise.’ The guard slammed the door closed and locked it. He then held his torch before his prisoner to look her over. ‘You’re easy on the eye for a devil’s whore.’
‘Where are we going?’ She gently reminded him he had orders. Was she to face the witch now? Or was she to be interrogated first? The way the guard was leering at her, she feared he had designs of his own. That he’d sought her by name only was a comfort, in that it indicated someone else had sent him to fetch Margaret Munro. No one she knew called her by this name, not since the day she’d been given it; she had always been Maggie.
‘Your accuser wants a word.’ He grabbed her by the arm and led her into the cellar proper.
The news felt like daggers all over her body. ‘Nay.’ She attempted to pull herself free, and not having a free hand to strike her with, the guard shook her like a rag doll.
‘Hush up, you hear! He’s paid good money for an audience, so you will oblige him or I’ll take your tongue, and take you to him after. Your choice?’
Without her tongue she’d have no defence, hence Maggie ceased resisting.
‘Much better.’ He hauled her before Angus Mackenzie, who appeared most gratified by her depleted state.
Maggie glared at the laird. ‘You just can’t take no for an answer, can you?’ she snapped, wanting him to know his efforts had got him nowhere and she was not afraid of him.
‘Quiet, I said!’ The guard placed his torch in an iron sconce upon the wall and then struck out at her with a backhander to the face that knocked her to her knees.
‘Leave us,’ the laird instructed, and the guard returned to his post outside the door at the top of the cellar stairs.
‘They’re going to torture you, you know?’ Mackenzie taunted, as she struggled back to her feet, her face pulsing in pain beneath her comforting hand. ‘They’re going to cut off all your lovely blonde hair, strip you bare, deprive you of sleep, wrench your head in a rope vice and crush your fingers in pilliwinks, until you confess.’
Maggie had never known her own true capacity to hate, not even when her father had been taken from her, but now she felt the kind of loathing that might drive her to kill a man. She noted the guard had not asked the laird to surrender his weapons; Mackenzie wore a sword on one hip and had a dagger holstered on the other.
‘If the devil does pay any heed to the will of man, I hope he rains hellfire down on you and yours!’ What broke her heart most was the thought of her animals left out in the open this night — they could be being picked off right now for all she knew.
‘Be a little grateful, as I come with a means to spare you from all that,’ the laird gloated, believing that she might now bend to his will.
Although Angus Mackenzie was a good ten years her senior, he was handsome, yet raffish and had he been from any other clan and not so conceited, Maggie might have given his suit more consideration. But as charming as he could be, he was a liar, a thief and a cheat of some infamy. Profligate and licentious in his ways, he seemed a far more likely candidate to be in league with the devil than she.
‘You cannot recant your accusation now,’ Maggie scoffed.
‘That is true,’ he concurred, still smug and cheery. ‘And in light of your wolf-taming and healing powers, I’d say the great witch is bound to see the devil in your eyes. So before she does, all you have to do is confess, recant your ways and reconcile with God.’
‘Recant my ways?’ She folded her arms to await clarification.
‘If you were to give up the healing, the wolf, the single life . . .’
Of course this was all leading to a marriage proposal, the same suit she had turned down many times since her father’s passing. He’d not been able to force his suit as she had the protection of Alexander Bayne, the brother of the Baron of Tulloch, whom her father had died defending — and he in turn had the protection of the king.
‘How do you even know of my wolf?’ Maggie wondered; this man had never been welcomed at her home.
‘I’ve been watching you.’ The statement was lustful and filled her with dread. ‘I was happy to watch you frolic with wolves and animals, but another man? I couldn’t have that.’
That his eyes had been upon her without her consent or knowledge made her skin crawl. She was no longer even sure whether the man he was jealous of was in her favour.
‘You have me all wrong, you see. It’s not your land I’m after, it’s you I want.’ He took a step towards her and she took a step away. ‘I could just take you now, and no one would care.’
‘Alexander Bayne will see this for the treachery it is, and although circumstance will prevent my clan from coming to my rescue, they are just itching for a reason to wipe your kin from the face of the earth,’ she stated, with such venom that he actually hesitated a moment, before pushing her up against the wall and pinning her to it with his body.
‘Hasn’t there been enough bloodshed? We could unite our clans and end this feud.’ He battled to raise her skirt against her resistance. ‘Look into my eyes.’ He gripped the back of her head with his free hand, attempting to force her to his will, as, having won the battle with her skirt, his fingers explored her most private parts.
‘Ugh!’ She drew his dagger and, directing the tip at his family jewels, she encouraged him to back up. She’d never liked his eyes, there was something weird and unsettling about his gaze.
‘You think the man you saved is coming for you? He isn’t! He’s one of them!’ He pointed upstairs to refer to the commission. ‘The next time you see him, he’ll be lighting a pyre beneath you.’
‘If you do not leave this instant, I shall confess to the commission and then name you and all your kin,’ she threatened.
‘They’ll know you’re just being spiteful.’
‘Would you stake your life on that? Whole towns have been wiped out thus. I’m an educated woman, and can spin a very plausible tale.’
The door atop of the stairs opened and two of the king’s soldiers accompanied the guard down into the cellar.
‘What are you doing down here?’ One of them confronted Mackenzie.
It was Luke. Maggie barely recognised him in full uniform.
‘Accusers are not permitted to see the accused without a commission representative present. And why does she have your weapon?’
Mackenzie was alarmed, but only for a moment. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’
‘Get him out of here.’ Luke wasn’t in the mood for small talk; the guard and the other soldier each grabbed one of the intruder’s arms.
‘My blade.’ Mackenzie was not going to leave without it.
‘Kindly return the dagger,’ Luke requested to move the proceedings along.
‘Take it from me.’ She maintained the right to try and fight her way out of this; she didn’t feel safe with Luke either now that she knew who he truly was.
‘You’ll get the blade back.’ Luke motioned all his male company towards the exit door upstairs.
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Maggie challenged Luke’s optimism.
‘I’ll be right outside if you need any assistance.’ Luke’s fellow soldier eyed her over with suspicion.
‘Much appreciated.’ Luke watched him ascend after the guard and Mackenzie, and then looked back to Maggie. ‘I’m so sorry—’
�
��You’re part of this?’ She begged to hear it wasn’t true, that he was just assuming this guise to aid her escape.
‘I wanted to leave—’
‘But not any more.’ She kept her dagger tip aimed at him to hinder his approach. ‘You believe what they say about me.’
‘No, I don’t!’ He grabbed her knife-wielding hand and, holding it aside, he drew closer. ‘I wanted to keep you away from this—’
‘Then get me away from this now,’ she appealed. ‘We’ll run—’
‘It’s too late, you’ve been named. They would take fleeing as a sign of guilt and would only hunt you down.’ He appeared most sincerely sorry. ‘The only way to truly be free is to stand trial and be acquitted.’
‘And what if I’m not?’ She began to shake as the reality of her circumstance bore down on her.
‘Then I’ll find a way.’ He’d dropped his voice to a whisper, and rested his forehead to hers. ‘We shall be together, or die trying.’
‘Just tell them I’m not a witch,’ Maggie suggested.
‘If I do, they’ll say I’m bewitched and I’ll be arrested too.’
She pushed him away, disheartened by his arguments. ‘I see.’
‘Maggie . . . I can’t help you if I’m locked up.’
‘I don’t think you can help me at all. Nobody can.’
‘Please, Maggie, I will get you free of this, I swear it.’
Maggie wished she could trust his word, but the flame she had held for him had ebbed with the realisation of the kind of man he truly was. ‘I would greatly appreciate it if you would return me to my confinement now, least my maidenhood is stolen by a prison guard this day.’
‘Has he—’
‘Not yet, his intent was waylaid by Mackenzie’s visit, just as Mackenzie’s intent was waylaid by your arrival. So unless you also intend to exert your advantage to defile me this day, I believe I am safer in my cell.’
Luke’s jaw tensed, but he nodded to comply with her request.
‘Guard!’
When the guard joined them in the cellar, Luke requested his keys, so that he could personally see Maggie returned to her cell.
‘Let me make something perfectly clear,’ he told the guard. ‘These women have the king’s protection until such time as they stand trial. They are to be fed, watered and treated fairly. You are not to lay a finger, or any other body part, anywhere near them. Is that understood?’
The guard flashed a spiteful glare sideways at Maggie.
‘I could just have you relieved of your duties altogether,’ Luke proposed.
‘That will not be necessary,’ the guard conceded. ‘I have no interest in the damned.’
As Luke escorted Maggie back to her confinement, she feared he might only have given the guard further reason to spite her, but she was grateful to have made it back to her prison cell unscathed in this instance. Luke unlocked and opened the stench-filled cell, and when he saw the appalling conditions therein, his expression of pity was twofold. ‘I’ll do all I can—’
‘You’ve done enough.’ Maggie joined the women in the room and was stunned to note that the old woman who had been so informative earlier was nowhere to be seen. Still, she said nothing of the oddity and took a seat on the floor by the wall as the door was again locked and the room plunged into darkness.
‘Where is the old woman?’ Maggie asked her fellow accused as soon as she felt it safe to do so.
‘You are the only one who has left this cell,’ came the reply, which was most perplexing to Maggie.
It might have been her memory playing tricks on her, but it seemed to her now — from the brief glimpse she’d had of the missing woman — that she appeared remarkably like the old woman who had first delivered Luke to her home for treatment. Maybe the woman in question was a real witch? This made no sense, as why then would she have brought Luke to Maggie to be healed. If the woman had knowledge of the witch hunts then maybe she sought to avoid being accused as a healer herself? But as they had both landed in this cell, then she’d not avoided the hunts, had she?
If indeed, the old woman had been here, and was not just a figment of Maggie’s imagination. One cannot receive information from a non-existent source, she concluded logically.
Nor had Luke, in his decrepit state, delivered himself to her door to be healed. Perhaps the old woman was an angel, sent by God to aid her through this trial. Yet, considering it was Luke who had inadvertently led her into this sad circumstance, it seemed more likely that the old woman was the devil himself, leading her straight down the stony path to hell.
* * *
After his audience with Maggie, Luke needed some distance to collect his sensibilities and brainstorm.
The evening breeze carried the stench of the day’s death fires all the way from an outlying field, where the remains of witches still smouldered as a sad reminder of Maggie’s looming fate. Luke felt guilty to be at liberty when Maggie was confined in putrid conditions; and going over the day’s sad events in his mind was making him nauseous.
He was halfway down the road that led to the river that ran through the estate’s pastureland when he discovered Stephen was trailing him.
‘It’s time to eat.’ His fellow soldier obviously wondered why they were moving in the opposite direction to the food.
‘I’m not hungry.’ Luke waved off the opportunity.
‘Luke.’ Stephen pulled him up, and Luke stopped to hear him out. ‘I don’t claim to know your business with that lass, and I don’t want to know, but you need to forget her.’
‘She saved my life,’ Luke confessed in a whisper, trusting Stephen would understand.
‘Don’t repeat that to anyone,’ Stephen sternly suggested. ‘There will be little point to her effort if you are put to the torch beside her. If God sees fit, he shall free her . . . it is not for the likes of us to decide.’
That manifesto did not sit well with Luke any more, and had not since the commission had handed over the power of judgement to the Witch of Balwearie. After all the death he’d seen as a result, he was hard-pressed to believe this was God’s divine plan. Indeed, he’d thought the world forsaken by God until he’d met Maggie. The way she led her life, simply, thankfully and doing harm to none, was the closest thing to heaven on earth that he’d ever witnessed. Now even that tiny piece of paradise had been destroyed by his employers and he could not in good conscience condone the acts of the commission any longer.
Stephen was a good soldier, loyal to any cause the king commanded he serve — just as Luke had been before this year. He considered Stephen a good friend and had no wish to involve him in woes to which he could not be sympathetic. So Luke assured his comrade that he agreed with his summation entirely. ‘I just need to stretch my legs.’ He sent Stephen off to dinner alone.
Out in the woodland beyond the stronghold, Luke felt at liberty to expel all his pent-up emotion, but torn between screaming and weeping, he simply collapsed to a seat on the grassy bank of the river to watch to sun sink behind the trees. ‘Dear Lord, she is innocent. Help me find a means to prove it.’
The sound of an amused chuckle drew his attention to an old woman who was seated on the bank not far from him. ‘Well, it’s comforting to know that you believe she is innocent at least.’
‘Sorry.’ Luke was wary of the intrusion. ‘Do I know you?’
‘I’m the one who found you left for dead on the side of the road and fetched you to the healer.’ She pointed to the castle, obviously aware of Maggie’s current fate.
‘Then, I thank you—’
‘Don’t bother,’ she rejected his gratitude in a huff. ‘If I had known it would come to this, I would have left you there to rot.’
‘You blame me for Maggie’s predicament, yet I was not the one who named her.’ He’d been blaming himself, but now when someone else accused him, it was all the more cutting.
‘You were supposed to protect her!’ Her aggravation compelled her to stand. ‘And now all you can do is sit
around and pray for God to help you? Ha! If God works miracles on earth, it is through the good deeds of the living, so I suggest you devise a better plan.’
‘I am just a yeoman, I have no authority—’
‘Then find a sympathetic nobleman who does! Tulloch Castle is but a few miles from here.’
‘Alexander Bayne.’ He recalled Maggie mentioning that he was the brother of the Baron of Tulloch, who owed her father a great debt. Even with that being the case, would a nobleman dare challenge the king’s commission?
‘Even if he wanted to help we have no means to prove Maggie’s innocence.’
‘That’s because the commission is designed in such a way that there is no way to prove innocence and even if you could, the suffering would continue for many others.’
Luke was beginning to tire of this conversation. ‘So what is to be done?’
‘The only way to kill an insidious weed is to rip it out at the roots.’
‘You speak of the Great Witch of Balwearie,’ he supposed, but shook his head to disagree with her suggestion, as he observed the last of the sun’s rays shoot colour across the evening sky. ‘She has the protection of the commission, I cannot touch her. Were that not the case, I would have been tempted to dispatch that fraud long before—’ Luke gasped as he was hit by a revelation. ‘That’s it!’
He looked to the old woman to explain his epiphany only to find himself alone on the river bank that was fast being swallowed by the evening shadows.
* * *
On the day of her trial, Maggie and the other accused women were herded into the court room, and seated in a fenced-off area opposite their accusers. Other town folk, nobles and soldiers were permitted to attend the trial to bear witness to the proceedings. One by one the accused stood up before the court to hear charges read against them, and without any evidence being presented, they were then asked to give a plea.
If a plea of guilt was entered, an opportunity to repent would be offered; but the witch stigma would follow the penitent for the rest of their days on earth. If the plea was innocence, then the accused faced the judgement of the Great Witch of Balwearie.
The Immortal Bind Page 11
