Rumors flew as fast as an eagle, enraging one person after another, until nearly the entire clan was in a frenzied state. Just as Helen had known they would be.
“Nothin’ like this ever happened until Onnleigh came back,” Helen had whispered into Deidre MacKelvey’s ear.
“I wonder what she was doin’ out in the woods fer all those years?” Helen had asked Mona MacCallen. To which Mona replied, “I heard she was practicin’ her spells! Did ye ken Margery’s cow quit given milk? There be no other explanation fer a good milk cow to suddenly stop given milk!”
Before she knew it, the rumors she had begun earlier were getting back to her. Enid MacCallum stopped by Helen’s croft that evening. The poor woman was fit to be tied with dread and worry. “Did ye hear about the goat?” she asked breathlessly as she fidgeted with the hem of her shawl. “Dead, it was! Hangin’ from a tree with its heart and entrails missin’!”
“Aye, I had heard,” Helen replied. “Who would do such a thing?”
“’Twas Grueber’s daughter, Onnleigh, I just ken it!” Enid said, looking worried and angry at the same time.
“What makes ye say such?” Helen asked, feigning ignorance whilst trying to hide her glee.
“Och!” Enid cried. “Did ye nae hear? All those years of livin’ away from us, out in those woods? She was practicin’ her dark arts, she was.”
“Nay!” Helen murmured, looking just as appalled as poor Enid.
Enid leaned in and lowered her voice. “I heard that when Grueber died, she cut out his heart and offered it as a sacrifice to the devil!”
Helen hadn’t started that particular rumor. Still, she was glad they were taking flight and turning more terrifying and gruesome. ‘Twould all work to her advantage.
“What are we to do?” Enid cried.
“I do nae ken,” Helen replied.
Enid swiped away a tear from her cheek. “She will cast spells on all our menfolk, Helen! Soon, all our cows will be dry, our chickens will quit layin’, and our goats will be dead!” She actually began to tremble with worry. “And what of our children, Helen? How will we protect them? Ye must do somethin’ about this, Helen!”
And those were the words she had been waiting to hear.
Whilst having the clan lathered into a frenzy and gaining a taste for blood was important, it was not the most important part of her plan. What she needed most was a way to get the warriors Connor had left behind to leave. And what better way to do that than to tell them Connor and his party had been attacked some ten miles from the keep?
She owed that bit of duplicity and wonderful acting to Darwud MacAllen. Months ago, Helen had caught him in the throes of passion with a woman who was not his wife. She’d been sitting on that bit of information for a long, long while. Darwud knew that should his wife find out about his infidelity again, she would leave him. So keep it to herself she did, to be used when ’twas most needed. And today, ’twas needed.
’Twas just after the sun began to set that she put the next part of her plan into place. Just as she had planned, Darwud came running up to the gates of the keep, looking as though he’d been chased by a rabid bear. He had dozens upon dozens of people running after him.
“Call the alarm!” he yelled to the guards. “Call the alarm!”
The guards began to scurry to find out why Darwud and the others were running toward the keep.
“Connor has been attacked! The Randalls and McCearys be headin’ this way!” he shouted, out of breath, falling down in the deep snow. “Call the alarm!”
The guards needn’t be asked twice.
Onnleigh was in her room with Bridgett when they heard the commotion taking place outside.
“What on earth is goin’ on?” Bridgett asked. Onnleigh had no earthly idea. With a shrug of her shoulders, she scooped Nola up and they rushed out of the chamber and into the hallway. They were about to descend the stairs when the doors to the gathering room burst open.
Fear and dread enveloped Onnleigh when she saw Darwud, with his sword drawn, blood dripping from the tip. Right behind him were Helen and Margaret.
Darwud’s eyes were filled with a murderous rage, his chest heaving up and down. When he caught sight of her, he scowled, drawing one hand into a fist.
Onnleigh gasped, trying to take tentative steps backward. She knew that look, had seen it that day more than a year ago, when he’d struck her not once, but twice. Try as she might, she could not will her feet to move.
Helen noticed her too. The smile she gave her was enough to make Onnleigh’s stomach drop to her toes.
“Good lord,” Bridgett murmured as she took Onnleigh’s arm. “Run!”
They couldn’t move fast enough. Bridgett pushed Onnleigh through the door to the chamber. She was trying to bar the door when Darwud shoved it open with one shoulder.
Bridgett cursed as she fell to the floor.
Holding her daughter tightly, Onnleigh scurried to the far wall, pressing herself against it. Her fingers trembled, her legs feeling as strong as water.
Darwud panted as he stood over Bridgett. Helen and Margaret swept themselves inside, stepping over her without so much as a glance her way.
Onnleigh could not find her voice. She wanted to scream, to cry out, but the sound was lodged firmly in her throat.
Helen stood directly in front of her, still smiling that wicked, ugly smile. “Margaret warned ye, yet ye refused,” she hissed.
“She has every right to be here, ye auld hag!” Bridgett screamed.
Darwud kicked her in the side with a heavy boot.
Hugging her side, Bridgett glowered up at him. “Ye will regret doin’ that.”
His booted foot landed harder this time, sending Bridgett rolling to her side.
Anger filled Onnleigh’s heart, allowing her the strength, finally, to speak. “What are ye doin’ here?” she asked Helen.
“I be settin’ things to rights,” Helen said. “Connor will be marryin’ Margaret, nae ye.”
Onnleigh scoffed openly. “He will ne’er marry her.”
Helen quirked one brow. “Think ye nae?” she asked. “He will once the clan sees he was bewitched by ye. They will demand it, and Connor will be so grief-stricken and so worried about losin’ the clan, that he will do anythin’ to keep it together.”
Onnleigh’s brow drew into a hard line. “Grief-stricken?” She regretted asking the question the moment the words passed over her lips.
Helen’s smile grew more devious, more malicious. “Aye,” she said with a nod. “Devastated at losin’ ye and that bastard child.”
Onnleigh’s eyes grew wide, horrified, as understanding settled in. Helen meant not only to kill her, but her babe as well. Bile rose in the back of her throat. Refusing to show Helen how terrified she truly was, Onnleigh lifted her chin defiantly. “Ye will burn in hell fer this.”
Helen lashed out, her hand burning across Onnleigh’s cheek. It stung, but Onnleigh refused to shed one tear in front of this woman. Helen grabbed a handful of Onnleigh’s hair, forcing her to look at her.
“I do nae believe in hell,” she seethed. “But ye soon will.”
At Helen’s order, Darwud pulled Bridgett to her feet, the tip of his sword aimed right at her throat. Bridgett remained silent, but if looks could kill, Darwud would have been dead.
“Take the babe,” Helen ordered Margaret.
Margaret did not move. Onnleigh could see Margaret was battling with something. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was not as keen on the idea of murder as her mother was.
“Please,” Onnleigh pleaded. “She be an innocent babe. Please, do nae hurt her.”
Margaret’s eyes darted between Onnleigh and her mother. “The babe be an innocent,” Margaret whispered.
Without taking her eyes from Onnleigh, Helen spoke to her daughter. “If ye do nae do this, by morn, everyone in the clan will ken.”
Onnleigh didn’t know what Helen meant, but whatever it was, it shook away any doubts Margaret might have been harbo
ring. She stepped forward and began to pull Nola from Onnleigh’s arms.
“Nay!” Onnleigh cried. “She be an innocent babe!” Her heart thundered against her breast, her palms damp. Sweat began to trickle down the back of her neck as she pleaded for mercy for her daughter. “She is just a bairn,” Onnleigh sobbed, refusing to let go. “She has ne’er hurt anyone.”
“Give Margaret that child,” Helen ordered. “Or ye will both die now.”
Tears streamed down Onnleigh’s cheeks. How could anyone be this cruel? I cannae just give her my babe!
Margaret shoved her hand between Onnleigh and the bundle in her arms. As she did, she leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Do as she says and all will be well.”
Furiously, Helen demanded to know what Margaret had said.
“I simply told her I will kill this babe in front of her so she might watch her die.”
Satisfied, Helen nodded. “Take the babe to the fairy tree,” she told Margaret.
Fear seized Onnleigh’s heart. “Nay!” The fairy tree was more than two miles from the keep. ’Twas a place mother’s sometimes left babes when they were ill. It was done with the belief that if the babe was still there by morn, it would be healed. If the babe was gone, then ’twas believed the fairies had taken it to be raised as one of their own. More often than not, the babes would be found dead, dying either from their illness or exposure to the elements.
It was the dead of winter. Nola would not be able to survive more than an hour. Onnleigh screamed as Margaret pulled the babe from her arms. “Nay! Do nae do this!”
Margaret hurried away, slipping past Bridgett. Darwud glanced down at the bundle in Margaret’s arms. A brief glimpse of the crying babe was all it took for his smug expression to evaporate in an instant. Bewilderment turned to rage as he spun to look at Onnleigh.
In that brief moment, she realized he knew. He knew ’twas his babe Margaret was carrying to its death. For the briefest of moments, Onnleigh hoped and prayed he would do something to stop her. Instead, he pursed his lips and glowered at her.
Her heart cracked, shattering into inestimable pieces. He knew the babe was his, yet he was not going to intervene. Darwud would rather let the child die than to admit he was her father.
Onnleigh could not breathe, could not find the strength to move. Nola! Nola! Silently she screamed, for she did not have the strength or wind to speak. Falling to her knees, she begged Helen to show mercy on the babe.
“I will do anythin’ ye ask, anythin’. I will go far away and ne’er come back. Just please, do nae hurt her!”
Helen stepped away, the contempt she felt towards Onnleigh etched into the lines of her face. Shaking her head, she looked at Bridgett then back at Onnleigh.
“On the morrow, ye both shall be tried as witches. Then ye shall burn.”
People had gathered in the courtyard. How many, they could not tell, but it sounded to Onnleigh and Bridgett like a thousand angry voices. The air vibrated with hatred and the call for Onnleigh’s death. She could hear them chanting “Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”
When Bridgett had asked Darwud where he was taking them, he replied with a sharp slap to her cheek. Onnleigh tried to intervene, to help her friend back to her feet. Enraged, Darwud turned his wrath on Onnleigh before dragging the two women at sword point to the dungeon. Blood trickled from her nose and broken lip.
They were now locked away in the deepest, darkest part of the dungeon. One lit torch at the opposite end of the space offered the only light. Bridgett insisted the space hadn’t been used in decades. But to Onnleigh, it still smelled of death and despair.
Feeling hopeless, they huddled together in the corner of the cell. Terrified and angry, they clung to each other for warmth as well as support. Cold seeped up through the damp, cold stone floor, chilling both of them. ’Twas a long while before either spoke.
“I hate that woman,” Bridgett said with a shudder. “I hate her and her daughter.”
Onnleigh didn’t have the energy to reply. Weeping, she clung to Bridgett, unable to control her anguish. At this very moment, Margaret was on her way to put her babe in the fairy tree. Nola would undoubtedly be dead before the evening meal.
She wept openly and without restraint. Her heart, she was certain, had quit beating. Nothing, nothing could ever take away this pain and sorrow. Silently, she prayed for her own death. There was no reason to go on anymore. Let them do to her whatever they would, for she no longer cared.
“Wheest,” Bridgett whispered as she tried to offer some form of comfort. There was no point in it. “Ronald and Connor will save us,” Bridgett said. “Just ye wait and see.”
“I do nae care about meself,” Onnleigh cried. “’Tis Nola I cry fer!”
“I ken, Onnleigh. I ken. ” Bridgett said as she smoothed Onnleigh’s hair. “But I refuse to give up hope. If I do, I will nae survive to the morn.”
“Hope?” Onnleigh scoffed at the idea. “I lost all hope when Margaret took Nola from me. I just want to die!”
Bridgett grabbed her by the shoulders. “Do nae say that!” she scolded her. “Do nae say that! Ronald will come fer us, ye will see. He will!”
“But what about Nola?” Onnleigh wept against her friend’s chest. “What about Nola?”
Bridgett swallowed the tears that threatened. “God will watch out fer her, I ken he will.”
Onnleigh sniffled and pulled away to look into Bridgett’s eyes. Deep down she knew there was no hope for them, not for any of them. But Bridgett was so utterly hopeful, even though tears clung to her lashes. Aye, Onnleigh was quite certain they were going to die on the morrow. She would do whatever she could to make Bridgett’s last hours on earth a bit more peaceful. If that meant falsely hoping that somehow Connor would come to rescue them, then she would.
“Do ye truly think they will come fer us?” she asked, swiping away tears on the sleeve of her dress.
“Aye, I do,” Bridget replied. She did sound rather hopeful. Mayhap Onnleigh should cling to hope as well.
Silently, she turned her thoughts heavenward.
Please, God, watch over my babe. Please.
“Bridgett, be that ye?” a low, deep voice whispered from across the way.
Both women sat upright, their eyes scanning the dark. “Who goes there?” Bridgett asked.
A slight groan filtered in before the man answered. “’Tis me, Fergus,” he replied. “Be Onnleigh with ye?”
“Aye,” Bridgett replied as they scurried to the bars. “Please, Fergus, let us out of here!”
“I fear I cannae do that, Bridgett. I be locked in here with ye. I think me arm be broken.”
Their hope at rescue fell away in the flutter of a heartbeat.
“Darrin be with me,” Fergus groaned. “I fear he be worse off than I.”
Bridgett and Onnleigh clung to the bars of their cell, craning their necks, trying to see the men.
“I be here as well.” That voice came from the opposite direction. “’Tis me, Red John.” Onnleigh could not remember meeting him before. However, she took a good measure of comfort in knowing she and Bridgett were not completely alone.
“Are ye well?” Onnleigh asked, her hope rising once again.
“Other than me poundin’ skull, aye, I be well,” Red John called out to them.
“I cannae wait to get me hands on Darwud,” came yet another voice from farther down. “I plan on reachin’ into his chest and pullin’ his heart out.”
“Be that ye, Clarence?” Red John asked.
“Aye, it be me,” he replied, his deep, scratchy voice echoing off the walls. “The bloody fool damn near gutted me!”
“Watch yer language in front of our laird’s lady and Bridgett,” Fergus admonished him.
Clarence apologized to both women before adding, “I have Thomas Blue-eyes with me, and Garret the fisherman. But I think they both have passed on. I cannae see me hand in front of me face.”
“I be nae dead yet,” came a weak voice, followed
by an even weaker chuckle. “Me wife will kill me if this wound to me leg does nae.”
There was much scurrying about and talking. These men had all fought hard to ensure the safety of the keep as well as Onnleigh and Bridgett. “I failed ye, m’lady,” Fergus said. “I tried, I truly did. But I was overrun by a bunch of half-crazed people, all convinced ye are a witch.”
“I wager we owe that to Helen, aye?” one of the men replied.
“Be there any way out of here?” Onnleigh finally asked.
The dungeon fell quiet.
“Nay, m’lady, I fear there is nae way out,” Fergus finally replied. “But I am nae without hope,” he quickly added. “I will find a way or make a way out of this bloody hell hole. On that, ye have me word.”
His sincerity was so profound that Onnleigh actually allowed herself to believe him.
Chapter 13
“Och!” Bruanna exclaimed as she rubbed her hands over the brazier. “Me auld bones do nae take to the cold like they used to.”
Her longtime friend, Frazier Randall, chuckled. “I happen to like yer auld bones.”
Bruanna blushed as if she were a young lass. Frazier was seventy-seven years old, but you would never know by looking at him. Aside from his silver hair, and the wrinkles that lined his pale blue eyes, he looked just as strong and vigorous as he had at forty.
They had known one another for decades. At one time, they had been secretly engaged. But fate and circumstance would never allow the two of them to be together. He was, after all, a Randall. Bruanna’s father would have rather eaten broken glass than to allow the two people to be wed.
“I ken ye be naught more than an old son of a whore,” Bruanna cackled. “But I fear I cannae help meself. I still like ye!”
“Because I be an auld son of a whore, or in spite of it?” He asked mischievously. His pale blue eyes twinkled with mirth. Bruanna sighed in spite of herself.
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