“The demons are foaming out her mouth! They’re coming after us all!” Beitris shouted, spinning about to face the corner and rock back and forth as she screamed the prayer even louder.
“It’s not demons!” Gretna yelled. “She’s bit her tongue and canna help it.” She caught sight of Ian and jerked her head for him to help. “Teasag canna hold her because of her hand. We’ve got to keep the poor lass from hurting herself any worse until the attack passes.”
Ian was more concerned about Effemy hurting Gretna. He strode forward and took hold, amazed at the strength of the woman’s violent spasms. He held her down by the shoulders and pinned her flailing legs with his own.
Teasag backed away, clutching her crippled hand to her chest. She rushed to Beitris and backhanded her across the arse with her good hand. “Haud yer wheesht! Our poor Effemy’s ailing. Dinna be such a damned fool!”
“It’s not demons,” Gretna repeated in a quieter tone as she held Effemy’s head in one position. “If I could find her some mugwort, I’ve seen it calm others stricken like this. It might help her, too.”
“Are ye all right? She hasna hurt ye or the babe?” Ian grunted and shifted positions as Effemy’s jerking caught him in his man parts. Thankfully, the force of the strike wasn’t hard. “Damnation! How long will this last?”
“It’s gone on too long already. I fear for her,” Gretna said. Still holding Effemy’s head in place, she twisted and looked for Teasag. “We need a rag, aye? To force between her teeth.” She jerked back around as the woman wheezed and gagged. “On her side! We must get her on her side, lest she swallow her tongue.”
Ian rolled the twitching lass to her side, thankful that her fighting seemed to be growing less severe. Then he noticed her odd coloring and understood immediately why. The poor thing wasn’t getting any air. “I fear it’s too late, lass. She’s not breathing.”
“Dinna ye dare die on me, Effemy!” Gretna said as she struck the now still woman hard between her shoulder blades. “Pry open her mouth and pull her tongue forward!” she ordered as she hit her again. “Effemy! Breathe, woman! Dinna ye dare die after we went to the trouble of dragging yer stubborn arse out of that pit! I demand ye breathe right now! D’ye hear me?” She struck Effemy’s back, over and over, to no avail.
As Gretna drew back to hit the lifeless lass again, Ian caught hold of her wrist. “Nay, love. She is gone. Let her leave us in peace, aye?”
Gretna sat back on her heels and allowed Effemy to gently roll to her back. “God bless ye, ye poor thing,” she whispered as she closed Effemy’s eyes, then rested her fingers on the woman’s forehead for a brief moment. She crossed herself and clasped her hands to her chest. “Rest ye well, Effemy Gordon. I’m so sorry I couldna help ye. Please forgive me as ye go with God.”
“She said her fits were why they thought her a witch,” Teasag said quietly as she rose and tossed the rag back in a bowl of water. “The poor lamb was nay a witch, but she was surely cursed to bear such an affliction.”
A noise from the corner made them all turn.
Beitris clambered down off the chair and hurried to Effemy’s side. Kneeling down beside her, she scooped up Effemy’s hand. “I’m so sorry I acted the fool, Effemy, but I hope my prayers helped the angels come to carry ye home.”
Ian stood and gently pulled Gretna upward with him. He held her tight, selfishly thankful that at least both she and the babe were alive and well. A terrible fear struck him. “Her ailment…” How could he phrase this without sounding the callous bastard? “Can the rest of ye catch it? It’s not some sort of…plague, is it?”
Gretna leaned back in his arms and looked up at him with a sad smile. “It’s only a plague to those born with it. We canna catch it from her.”
“How will we lay her to rest?” Beitris asked as she tucked Effemy’s limp hand down at her side and smoothed the woman’s clothes neatly in place.
Ian gently set Gretna aside, then bent and picked Effemy up. Opening the door wider with the toe of his boot, he paused and turned back. “Find a blanket to wrap her in. Tom and Sawny can lay her to rest in a kirkyard once night falls.”
“But who’ll pray over her and say the words?” Beitris argued, wringing her hands. “She willna be able to find her way to St. Peter if we dinna say the words to draw the light to her.”
The more Ian was around Beitris, the more he wondered about the lass. She seemed more than a little odd, too childlike for a grown woman. He kept that in mind and chose his words with care. “Why dinna ye pray over her once we’ve settled her in the wagon? I think that’d be a kindly thing to send her on her way, aye?”
Beitris brightened and hurried to gather up a blanket.
Gretna gave him a grateful smile and followed him out to the wagon. It didn’t take them long to settle Effemy Gordon for the last trip she would ever take.
Shouts from somewhere outside interrupted Beitris’s singing of her prayers.
“All of ye into the office and bar the door, aye?” Ian ordered, realizing he’d left one of his pistols and his sword back there. It was just as well. The women could defend themselves if forced. He took hold of Gretna’s hands. “One of ye take my pistol, the other the sword. I left them on the table.” He eyed Beitris, then gave Gretna a pointed look. “Just yerself and Teasag, aye? Dinna give that lass a weapon.”
Gretna held fast to his hands, refusing to let go. “Nay, come with us. Please dinna go out there.”
He squeezed her hands, then led her a few steps in that direction. “I have to see what’s astir outside. I’ll be fine, but only if I know ye’re safe. Now, please, go and bar the door, aye?” He could tell by the look on her face she was about to argue. “Did ye not promise ye’d do as I asked in times such as these?” He almost laughed aloud when she bared her clenched teeth.
“Aye,” she fumed. “I did at that.” She gave him a hard kiss across the mouth that was more like a smack than a sign of affection. As she headed toward the office, she looked back and shook her finger at him. “Dinna get hurt, ye ken?”
He pointed at the office door. “On wi’ ye, woman. Now.”
Once she’d finally disappeared into the room, he ran to the side of the warehouse where the shouts and cheers had grown louder. Unchaining a side door that opened into an alley, he slipped outside. Ruefully, he remembered that earlier he’d been glad there were no windows. Now, a peephole or two would’ve come in handy. He stole a glance around the corner of the building.
As it turned out, the crowd wasn’t as close to them as the shouting had sounded. But the size of the amassed gathering was disturbing. The large group, both men and women, waved their fists overhead. They milled around a trio of men standing atop a stack of wooden crates on the walkway in front of a dock farther down the wharf. The three men were dressed all in black except for the lining of their cloaks, which were a dark crimson. The one on the left rang a small handbell as he sang out words Ian couldn’t quite make out. Sounded like Latin. The man in the center held a thick book high overhead, and the one on the right held aloft a handful of unlit candles in one hand and a tinderbox in the other.
The man with the book waved and patted at the air for silence. Once the crowd had quieted somewhat, he spoke in a loud booming voice, “I swear on our Almighty Lord’s word that we shall find these witches before they wreak any harm upon ye, good people of Inverness!”
The mob cheered.
Once their cheers faded to a low rumble, the man continued, “We’ve already sent their sisters back to Satan. Once the four are captured, we’ll banish them to the fires of Hell as well! The wicked ones shall trouble ye no more, good people! I do so swear it as the Witchfinder General!”
Ian peered closer at the group. He knew some of those folks. A few were Neals from Ruadh. Aye. And there was that bastard, Colin Neal, himself. The fool stood just behind the men stirring the crowd into a dangerous frenzy. Rage surged through Ian, tempting him to lift his remaining pistol and fire, but common sense stayed
his hand. Nay. Colin was well out of range. Ian would leave nothing to chance when it came to killing that whoreson. Time would have to be bided on that score. The immediate problem was getting Gretna and the other two away from the docks since it sounded like the mob was about to search the area from top to bottom.
Sawny’s familiar head of flaming red hair brought Ian relief this time rather than irritation. The young man stood head and shoulders above most of those clustered along the docks and was carefully weaving his way toward the warehouse. The sight of the lad keeping his chin tucked to his chest and his face hidden with one hand as though shielding his eyes from the sun gave Ian a new appreciation for the lad. The boy must’ve seen the Neals, too, and realized the danger of being recognized. Tom had to be close behind.
Ian hurried back inside, secured the alley door, and ran toward the small door they’d been using that overlooked the Mackenzie’s two private docks. That end of the building was angled away from the crowd. Sawny and Tom entered just as he rounded a stack of barrels.
Sawny shook his head as he jabbed a thumb back toward the door. “I’ve never seen such a crazed bunch, and there’s several Neals from Ruadh among them. They’re talking of torching the warehouses to clear out the witches, as if those poor women are like the pox.”
“Fear spreads faster than fleas, boy.” Ian motioned him and Tom forward. “Pray, tell me that Mistress Mackenzie knew of a place we could go. Because go, we must. Now.” He nodded at Sawny. “And we’ve got to get ye a hat or a bonnet to hide that hair. I’m surprised the Neals didna spot ye.”
Sawny gave Ian an apologetic look. He pulled a knitted bonnet from where he had it tucked in the back of his belt and yanked it on, covering a good bit of his hair. “Mistress Mackenzie knew of a place right off. It’s the building across the alley from the White Lion’s stable. She said the Mackenzie just took it over to settle a debt, so verra few know he owns it. Said it’s an old inn and completely empty. She’s having it readied for us now.”
Ian took the large key and hefted its weight in one hand. “If the two of ye continue to do this well, I might forgive ye yet.” He walked faster. “Come. We’ll get the lasses and be on our way.” As they passed the wagon and its blanketed cargo, he remembered Effemy. “But there is one other thing.”
“What’s in the wagon?” Tom asked, his brows arching. “That looks like a body,” he whispered.
“Effemy died earlier,” Ian said. There was no easy way to tell it, and they didn’t have time for gentleness. “She had an ailment Gretna couldna cure. Dinna talk of it, aye? I dinna want the women more upset than they already are.”
“She was fine this morning,” Sawny said, turning back to gawk at the long bundle laying in the hay. “How could she just die?”
“Ye’ll find that happens more than ye know,” Ian said, snatching hold of Sawny by the collar and nudging him onward. “Come. We’ve no time to delay.
Sawny glared at him as if he was the most cold-hearted man alive. It mattered not. All that mattered was getting Gretna to safety.
“Tonight, after we’ve safely settled at the inn, I want the two of ye to find a kirkyard and lay Effemy to rest. Can ye do that?” Ian asked, scowling back at the lad, then shifting the look to include Tom.
“A kirkyard at night?” Tom whispered, then crossed himself.
Sawny cut an impatient look at Tom, then turned back to Ian. “Only way we’ll do it is if ye’ll forgive us for allowing Mistress Gretna outside the keep. Forgive us and mention it no more, aye?” He lifted his chin. “I think we’ve proven our loyalty to ye and will continue to do so, but it’s time ye treated us like men instead of the bumbling, snot-nosed lads we used to be.”
Sawny made a fair point, and Ian admired the lad for speaking up. He agreed with a slow nod. “Ye have at that. Both of ye have, and I’m grateful.” He nodded again. “Bury the lass on holy ground and consider yerselves forgiven, aye?”
“Only problem now is getting everyone out of here.” Sawny nudged Tom. “Get the horses and hitch them up, aye?”
Tom headed for the corner of the warehouse they’d converted into temporary stalls for the livestock.
Ian strode to the back of the wagon, frowning at its current cargo of Effemy’s remains and a great deal of loose straw. “We’ve got to make this look like a delivery for the White Lion.”
Sawny glanced around, motioning toward the stacks of barrels, crates, and rolled bundles. “It’s a tavern. What shall we load?”
“The problem is we need to hide so many.” Ian nodded at the driver’s seat of the wagon. “Two men on the driver seat. Any more than that would raise questions. One of us will have to ride in the back with the women.”
“It should be yerself and Tom driving. Too many Neals recognize my height and hair. I’ll pull my bonnet down low and crouch as small as I can.” Sawny strolled over to a pile of barrels. “These barrels are awful big. If we try to make a pair of walls with them, there’ll be no room left for four of us between them.” He shook his head, scowling at the other goods stored in racks and rows. “A tavern would have no need for bundles of wool, and none of the rest would hide us verra well. Would it be too risky to just cover the wagon bed with a canvas?”
“Nay, I fear a canvas would tempt them to search underneath.” Ian studied the massive barrels. Those just might do. “Four of those largest ones, the tuns, will fill the wagon and still leave room enough for ye to crouch between them as if ye’re merely riding along to help unload the weighty cargo. The women can hide inside the casks. Tom and I will take the driver’s seat.”
“We can bash out one end of them.” Sawny gave the barrels a dubious look. “How ill’s the Mackenzie going to be over losing four tuns of wine. Tha’s a dear price right there.”
“I dinna ken, but I’ll risk it,” Ian said as he headed toward the office. “I’ll fetch the women.” He halted mid-step and turned back. “Hurry and load Effemy into the first barrel, aye? I’d just as soon the lasses didna witness that.”
Sawny cast a squeamish glance back at the wagon. “Aye, we’ll get to the task of Mistress Effemy first.”
“Ye’re a good man,” Ian said and meant it. “I’ll leave ye to it then. I’ll bring the lasses out shortly.”
The office door didn’t budge when he tried to open it, and he was glad. She’d done as he’d asked. “It’s me, Gretna. Open the door.”
Furniture scraped, metal clicked, and then the door opened. Gretna rushed into his arms. “’Tis about time ye came for me. Shame on ye for making me wait so long. I should thrash yer arse for ye!”
The love in her scolding washed across him like a caress. He tipped her face up and drank in her sweetness with a long, slow kiss. Barely lifting his mouth from hers, he smiled down at her. “The lads found us a place to stay. A safe place,” he said soft and low.
A quiet shuffling behind them reminded him that Beitris and Teasag were in the room. Regretfully, he eased back a step but kept Gretna in the curve of his arm. There was grim business to tend to. He needed to stay focused. “We need to leave here. Now. The witch hunters are stirring a crowd to search for ye.” Thinking of the wine-soaked interiors of the barrels, he nodded toward the blankets folded atop the cot. “Each of ye snatch up a blanket, and we’ll be on our way, aye?”
“Leaving in the middle of the day?” Teasag questioned. “Will they no’ see us right off?”
“The lads and I have come up with a plan.” Ian gave them a reassuring smile that he didn’t quite feel. He hoped the young men had finished with the unsavory part of their task. He didn’t want to stall much longer. “Come, let’s get on with it. I fear the crowd will soon reach us.”
The tension knotting him tighter than a bowstring lessened a notch as they neared the wagon. The air reeked with the sticky-sweet smell of wine. Three of the barrels were already loaded in the wagon. One barrel remained on the ground. Ian had a fair idea of what that fourth barrel held.
“Ye mean to stuff us in barre
ls?” Gretna asked, one hand held to her small yet rounding middle. Doubt shone in both her face and tone.
“Aye.” Ian urged the three women forward. “’Tis the safest cover we could think of. Wrap yerself with a blanket to shield ye from the dampness, then crouch down, and we’ll lower the barrel over each of ye.”
“We knocked out the bunghole to give ye more air,” Sawny said. “Be sure and face the back of the wagon when ye crouch down because we dinna wish anyone to see the open holes. Ye can keep yer faces pressed close to them so ye might breathe easier.”
“What about Effemy?” Beitris asked. She walked over to the barrel still to be loaded and rested a hand atop it. “Ye put poor Effemy in here?” She bent and examined the barrel. “Ye didna knock out the hole for her!”
Teasag rushed forward, hugged an arm around Beitris, and walked her to the back of the wagon. “’Tis all right, lass. Effemy’s watching us from heaven right now. Probably laughing with the angels.” She paused and cast a glance over at Gretna. “Come. Let’s get in the wagon so we can make a safe way to our new home, aye?”
Gretna hurried over and took hold of Beitris’s other arm. “Aye, wee lassie. Up ye go now. Do ye no’ wish to see our fine new home?”
“We’re going home?” Beitris asked with a childlike smile. “A real home where no one will hurt us?”
Ian’s heart ached for the poor lass. Her mind had taken all it could. “Aye, Beitris. No one will hurt any of ye ever again. The lads and I will guard ye well.”
Beitris gave an excited nod, climbed up into the wagon, and allowed Tom to help her hide inside a barrel.
Teasag went next, crouching down with the blanket cloaked around her.
Ian gave Gretna a sound kiss, then lifted her up into the wagon. Tom gently settled the wooden cask down over her, then jumped down and helped Sawny load the fourth barrel.
With a grim nod, Sawny stuffed as much of his hair as he could up into his bonnet, then launched himself into the back of the wagon and crouched between the barrels.
The Dreamer Page 23
