“Aye, we will tell them,” Alexander said. “Godspeed, and kill as many of them as ye can when ye save her, ye ken?”
“That I will do,” Ian turned his horse northeast and took off at a ground-eating pace. A glance back told him that both Sawny and Tom had saddled up and followed. He shook his head. It was a hard ride to Inverness, a little over a day at best, and two full days at the worst, and that was riding through the night. He’d not waste time by stopping to beat the life out of those two, and they’d best be thankful for it.
As they traveled through the Highlands, Ian stayed in the lead, keeping the two young men slightly behind him. Ian sent out a silent plea to any benevolent power willing to listen and lend him aid. He promised to give anything he ever hoped to own, even swore to sell his soul. Anything to be granted the blessing of saving Gretna from those bastards’ clutches.
“We should rest the horses a bit,” Sawny called out. “And Tom and I can stand guard while ye rest a few hours before we reach Inverness.”
“Aye,” Tom added. “Ye need sleep to hone yer wits, ye ken?”
“And ye expect me to trust the two of ye to stand watch?” Ian shifted in the saddle, every muscle tensed and aching. As much as he hated to admit it, the two made sense. Both he and his horse had traveled about as far as they could stand for one day. Even with stopping for a while, they’d still easily reach Inverness before midday tomorrow.
“I willna fail ye again, Master Ian,” Sawny said quietly. “I swear it by all that’s holy.”
“Neither will I,” Tom said.
Both men peered at him through the darkness, neither of them climbing down from their saddles until he gave them permission.
“No fire,” Ian ordered with a glance around. “Too little cover here.”
“I’ll take first watch,” Sawny announced, swinging down out of the saddle and pulling his longbow from behind it. The bow was too cumbersome to shoot from horseback, but it was apparently Sawny’s preferred weapon when he was on foot.
“I’ll see to the horses,” Tom volunteered. “Sounds like a spring trickling just past those rocks. I’ll fill the water bags while I’m at it.”
Ian didn’t acknowledge their chatter nor their attempts to be useful, just dismounted and stretched. He wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t even bother trying. Ignoring the damp chill of the night, he made his way to a higher point and sat atop the largest of several limestones pushing up through the crest of the slope. He stared up at the stars, wondering if there really was anyone or anything watching the misery of this world and actually giving a damn.
“I can help ye get her,” Sawny said as he joined Ian. “I know the wardhouse at Inverness. If that’s where they took her.”
Ian knew Inverness, too, but he feared the prison wasn’t where Gretna was headed. “When were ye last in Inverness?”
“A year ago.” Sawny stood with his bow hooked over one shoulder, scowling at the land around them. “They had the witch pit then, too. Two of’m, in fact. Down beside the docks.”
The boy had spoken Ian’s fears aloud. They kept the witch pits close to the docks because it was handier for their testing by water if a witch pricker wasn’t available. Should the witch hunters fail to drown the accused, a great paved area had been built nearby, perfect for burning them at the stake or in barrels.
“Where will ye take her once we’ve gotten her freedom?” Sawny meandered back and forth atop the small knoll, constantly scanning the land. “The witch hunters will surely hunt her down again. If anything, to save their reputations. They willna let her live in peace at Tor Ruadh.” He shook his head as he ran the curved wood of his bow through his hands. “Dinna ye reckon she’d not wish to return there anyway? How could she forgive the clan for nay stepping in to save her?” After a heavy sigh, he stubbed the toe of his boot against the ground. “How could she forgive any of us?”
Ian remained silent. He had shoved those very worries aside, but they’d nagged at his gut every moment of the journey. There were also the boys to consider. Wherever they went, whatever happened, Evander, Rory, and Finn couldn’t be left behind at Tor Ruadh to suffer because of their mother. He scrubbed his face with both hands, then held his head as he propped his elbows on his knees. “I’ll have to get her out of Scotland. Her and the lads.”
“France?” Sawny asked.
“Nay.” Ian rubbed his eyes, gritty from weariness and travel. “France is as bad as Scotland and England when it comes to the cruel practice of witch hunts. I willna risk the accusations following us to torment her there.”
“I thought King Louis issued an ordinance forbidding the prosecution of witchcraft? I couldha sworn Lady Mercy mentioned it one day while she and Mistress Gretna were in the gardens.”
Ian glared at the lad. Was the boy that big of a fool? “And I suppose France differs from other countries because the French never disobey any laws put forth by their king?”
Sawny ducked his head and ambled farther down the hillside. “Aye, I guess there is that.” He glanced back. “Whatever ye decide, I’ll help ye any way I can.”
Ian didn’t comment, just looked away, as though Sawny wasn’t there. He had to concentrate on one thing at a time. The first matter at hand was getting Gretna out of the witch hunters’ clutches before they tortured her with any of their cruel games. He’d get her safe and settled. Somewhere.
He rolled the weariness from his shoulders. Aye, he’d get her and the young ones settled, and then he’d find Colin Neal and do a little torturing of his own.
Chapter Sixteen
“Back! Back, I say! Hie yerselves back to the darkness or burn by the holy fire!” The gruff, booming voice had called out that same warning so many times, Gretna had lost count. She wished she had a bow to shoot the fool between his eyes.
“Gretna! Hurry!” Someone tugged at her arm in the dank darkness. “Ye heard the call. Ye’re too close to the center!”
Gretna forced aside her weariness and found the strength to move. She half-crawled, half-rolled into the narrow tunnel previous prisoners had clawed into the side of the earthen cellar to shield themselves from the regular dumping of hot coals into their midst. According to the other women held captive with her, no one had ever been left in the pit long enough to escape. But each unfortunate soul damned to endure the place did their part and dug away more of the earth. They dug as long as their strength held, to hopefully help a future victim escape the vile treatment of the witch hunters.
After Gretna’s first witnessing of the shower of live embers, Beitris, one of the other residents of the witch’s hole, had told her the commission practiced the act to make sure the accused never slept. To sleep risked dreaming, and the hunters feared the power of a witch’s dreams. Beitris confessed she knew this information because her husband, the man who had accused her of witchery when his cock refused to harden, was the overseer of the witches’ fires.
“Heartless bastards!” shouted Effemy, another captive huddled with them in the tunnel. “A curse on ye all! May yer cocks shrivel to the size of a midge’s arse and stay limp as worms!”
“Effemy!” scolded Teasag, the oldest of the three women sharing the stinking pit with Gretna.
“They’re going to kill us anyway,” Effemy defended. “Whether we cry, confess, or condemn them all to hell, they’re still going to kill us.”
“Aye, maybe so,” Teasag replied with her right hand clutched to her chest. Her thumb and fingers had been crushed by the wicked thumbscrews. “But there’s no reason to make them torture us even more before they decide to do it. Ye willna much care for the pilliwinks, I promise ye that.”
“Aye,” Beitris agreed. “And the witch pricker’s still here, too. Ye saw what he did to me.”
Gretna winced at the memory of Beitris’s naked body, mottled red and purple from repeated stabbings of the witch pricker’s long brass needle. It had been the day Gretna arrived. The last day she had experienced full-on daylight while being stripped naked along wit
h the other women and paraded around the docks three times in a circle because of her captors’ superstitions. They believed the humiliating act somehow protected them from a witch’s vengeful curse.
Gretna’s thirst for revenge had increased with every violation. She had been pinched, prodded, and spat upon, but at least the witch pricker had refused to use his cruel bodkin on an accused expecting a child. None of the others had seen fit to torture her with anything else either—not when both the pits held plenty of victims less likely to bring down any ill-luck upon their heads. They all believed the Almighty didn’t look kindly on the torturing of an unborn child, even when the mother was a witch.
Instead, they’d handed her a grimy, half-burned shift with which to hide the lewdness of her belly, as they’d phrased it, before forcing her to climb down into the hole. The rest of the prisoners remained naked. She couldn’t believe they’d taken such care to escort each of them down into the pit until she realized why. They wanted them alive and somewhat whole for torturing.
At the sound of the covering sliding away from the hole’s opening, all but Gretna pressed farther back into the tunnel and shielded their faces with their arms. Gretna squatted at the tunnel’s entrance. She readied herself in case a bouncing spark made it to her. No light streamed in before the pot of coals dumped. That meant it was night again. The lid to the prison was made of tightly woven thatch. Thankfully, it kept out most of the rain, but, sadly, kept out sunlight as well. She’d lost count of how long she’d been in this hell.
Fiery embers fell from above, sizzling and sending up sparks as they hit the damp ground, then spread. Gretna hurried to scrape up piles of dirt to push the coals back into the center. Earlier, they had all huddled together with the cold. At least now, they’d be warm for a little while. Her stomach clenched and emitted a loud, hungry growl as the four of them clustered around the heat.
“Yer babe thinks the fire means food,” Beitris observed, her face dimly lit by the reddish glow of the coals. “I wish I’d had a babe,” she added, staring sadly into the fire.
“Why?” Effemy growled. “So, yer bairn could watch ye burn?”
“Dinna be cruel,” Gretna said, half tempted to scoop up a handful of dirt and throw it at Effemy. “We’ve enough evil to deal with from above. We dinna need it amongst ourselves, ye ken?”
“Gretna is right,” Teasag said. “Now, draw closer to the warmth and sleep whilst we can. There could come a time when they dinna call out the warning and merely fill the hole with enough coals to be rid of us. They’ve outdone themselves with their gathering of souls to torture this spring. They put us in this old cistern because the other pit’s so full no’ another body could stand inside it.”
“Aye,” Beitris agreed. “My husband said they rarely use this one anymore because they’ve nay had time to fill in the tunnel. Reckon that means it’s nearly made it beyond the wall?”
“I dinna ken. All I know is we need to keep digging after we’ve rested a bit.” If Gretna had the energy, she’d dig right now while she raged at the vile injustice of these heartless bastards. But with little food and little sleep, she was so very tired.
Tears streamed down her face, and she didn’t attempt to stop them. She missed Ian. Her sweet sons. Hated how her life would end all because she’d acted the stubborn fool and hadn’t listened. She bowed her head and prayed that Colin Neal would burn in the hottest part of hell after suffering a painful death. The good book might preach forgiveness, but she didn’t have a shred of it and never would. At least, if she was damned for not forgiving him, she’d witness Colin’s suffering firsthand.
“I dinna understand why they’re waiting so long to end us all,” Beitris mused aloud as she scooted closer to the coals. “I been down here near on a sennight now, I think. Leastwise, that’s what it feels like.” She stretched her hands over the coals. “Wish they’d have the trial and go ahead and end us.” With a shuddering sigh, she pressed her hands across her stomach. “No sense in me living on. The witch pricker shoved his needle extra deep into my belly. Now, I got a fever comin’ on in my womb. I can feel it. I’ll not be long for this world once it takes full hold.” Her voice lowered as if she spoke more to herself than anyone else. “Tha’s how my mam died when she had an old woman help her slip a bairn.”
Beitris shrugged and poked at the embers with a stone. “After birthing a dozen and burying three, she said she couldna bear having another bairn. Bled like everything, she did, then took fever and died.”
“Shut yer maw and go to sleep,” Effemy said, but her tone was kinder than before. “We’ll die when we die. No’ a moment before. No sense worryin’ ’bout it.”
They lay in a circle around the dwindling embers, curled on their sides so each of them could offer their flank as a pillow to the next woman. With her head resting on Beitris’s leg, Gretna stared into the coals, wondering if Ian had found out about what had happened to her yet. He was her only hope in this bleak darkness, and at least, if he couldn’t rescue her, she knew in her heart, he’d protect her sons and raise them as his own.
She forced her eyes closed, determined to steal what rest she could for whatever lay ahead. For now, she couldn’t depend on anyone but herself.
A scraping sound overhead jolted her back to alertness. She shook Beitris and nudged her leg out from under Teasag’s head. “They’re opening the grate again.”
“To the tunnel. Hurry!” Teasag rasped as she crawled into the shadows. Beitris followed, then Effemy, but Gretna stayed put.
“Gretna!” Effemy barked in a harsh whisper. “Get yer arse over here.”
“Nay.” She’d had enough. Instead of skittering off to the tunnel and hiding like a frightened rat, she’d face her accusers and do her damnedest to fill them with fear. After all, as Effemy had said, they intended to kill her anyway. She crawled over to the wall and steadied herself as she rose to her feet. Head spinning, she waited for the dizziness to pass, trying not to think about how long it had been since they’d thrown down a few crusts of moldy bread.
The grating overhead eased back a few more inches. Scraps of low rumbling conversation floated down to her, but she couldn’t tell what they said. No matter. She’d not wait for whatever wickedness they planned. Armed with a hand-sized stone, she stumbled over to the rubble piled against the wall. Those crumbling blocks had held her interest for a while now. Haphazardly stacked to the rim of the cistern, they were a better means of escape than the incomplete tunnel.
It was night. If she climbed to the top, she might be able to slip outside and take her chances. She had tried it once before and gotten a boot in her face for her efforts. The other women had pulled her back, begging her to stop her foolish attempts at escape. They’d said she’d bring the witch hunters’ wrath down on all of them by acting in such a way. So, she’d stopped. But, she’d had enough now, and this time would be different. If the bastard kicked her in the face, she’d grab hold, pull him into the pit, then help the rest of the women out.
Just as she’d climbed to the rim, the covering slid all the way back. Gretna hugged the side of the pit, pressing back tight against the wall. Thankfully, light from the closest torch stand created a shadow in which she could hide.
“Where are they?” asked a familiar voice in a hushed tone. “Graham said he saw them put her and three other women in this one.”
Gretna held her breath and didn’t spring out of her shadow just yet. Was she dreaming? That had almost sounded like Sawny.
“I’m going down there to find her,” said a voice that made her heart leap.
If she was asleep and having a dream, at least it was a happy one. “Ian,” she called out softly as she risked rising up out of the shadows.
“Mo chridhe!” Ian dropped to one knee, grabbed hold of her shoulders, and yanked her out of the hole. “My dearest love,” he murmured as he clutched her tight. “God Almighty, I feared they’d already done away wi’ ye.” Before she could speak, he stood, cradling her in his arm
s. “Sawny. Tom. Return the lid and come. There’ll be a changing of the guards soon, and they’ll find the bodies of this watch’s witch hunters.”
“Wait!” Gretna struggled to speak through the relief coursing through her. “Please. We must save the others, too—if we can. At least these three that were with me?”
Ian gave her such a grim look, for a moment, she feared he’d refuse. The thought of leaving Beitris, Teasag, and Effemy behind cast a pall across the joy of her own escape.
“Tom, Sawny.” He nodded down into the prison. “Fetch them if ye can, but hurry.”
The two disappeared into the darkness of the pit, returning moments later with Beitris and Teasag wrapped in Sawny’s kilt, and Effemy wrapped in Tom’s. Both young men had stripped down to their boots and lèines. All of them clambered out of the hole, then hurried out of the light of the torch stands blazing around each of the entrances to the prisons.
Gretna tucked tighter against Ian’s chest. She hugged an arm around his neck and clutched his jacket in her hand. His embrace felt so good. Tears of happiness slipped from her closed eyes. She’d secretly feared never to feel his touch again.
When Ian bent to place her in the wagon, she refused to let go. “Nay! Can I please ride with ye?”
He kissed her forehead but gently pried her hands free as he settled her down into the hay lining the wagon bed. “Nay, m’love. The place we’ve secured is on the other side of the quay. Verra close. We must hide ye so ye willna be discovered. We can ill afford raising the alarm.”
As much as she hated losing his touch, he was right. Gretna nodded and settled down beside the other three. Now was not the time to argue. After all, her bull-headed ways had gotten her into this mess.
The men retrieved their kilts, then covered the women with several blankets. After motioning for them to cover their heads with the cloth, they piled something soft atop them. Gretna wrinkled her nose, ran her hand out from under the blanket, and fingered the bundles. Wool. No one would suspect a wagonload of wool headed out.
The Dreamer Page 21
