by Mary Morgan
Rory raised an eyebrow in amused contempt. Glancing upward, he noted the blazing outline of one of the dragons against the night sky. “And now ye choose to answer me?”
A blow of power leveled him across the ground, and he slammed against a tree.
“Is death what you seek, Fenian Warrior?”
Wiping the blood from his mouth, he stood. “To save her life, I’d do so willingly.”
“You are walking into the abyss. Banish the shadows.”
He held out his hands in aggravation. “Then show me another way.”
“The answer lies within your heart.”
Turning around swiftly at the sound of a horse approaching, Rory waited and withdrew his sword.
Graham emerged through a cluster of trees. As he dismounted, Rory met him and sheathed his sword.
“I am unable to find any trace or direction. I hate to admit it, but we must camp here for the night. I’ve sent other riders to the neighboring village in hopes they have heard anything relating to Sinclair or this bishop. They will gather at the entrance of the forest come the morning.” Graham fisted his hands on his hips. “I fear we are losing precious time.”
Rory’s hands shook as he tried to remain in control. Finally taking a step toward his friend, he took the reins of his horse. “If Erina is going to be put on trial, it will come in the morning. Even those men must require their rest.”
Graham wiped a hand over his brow. “Aye, ye are correct.” He removed the satchel from his horse and strode to a small open area within the trees.
Rory led the horse to a nearby tree and then went to retrieve his own horse. He made sure both animals were secure for the night and headed back to their camp. Graham had started a fire. Though the blaze remained small, it was a beacon of warmth for their dreary moods.
After pulling out a pouch with dried beef and cheese from the leather satchel, Graham settled across from Rory on a boulder. Removing the food, Graham tossed some to him.
Both were content to eat in silence with their thoughts. A cold breeze settled around them, and Graham bent to retrieve a flask. He took a swill and then handed it to Rory.
Taking the offered item, he asked, “Do ye ken where this bishop resides? Or Sinclair?”
Graham leaned his forearms on his thighs. “We are heading south in the direction of the Sinclair’s lands. Although, I sense he is not taking her there.”
Taking a sip of the whisky, Rory let the heat invade his body. “Why?”
“He spoke of problems with his own people. He worried there were those who still practiced the heathen ways and feared they would poison his food or drink.”
“And ye considered him a suitor for Erina?”
“I came upon this news only recently.” He shifted back. “Did he take Erina as an example for others? Is he doing this as a way to garner support from the church? I dinnae have the answers. Nevertheless, we will continue to journey toward his lands.”
Rory handed the flask back to him. “I shall take the first watch. Go get some sleep.”
“Sleep?” Graham stretched and slumped down against the boulder. Wrapping his plaid around his shoulders, he continued, “Nae, until Erina is found and put into safekeeping, I won’t rest.”
“Regardless, do try. I will wake ye in a few hours.”
Graham grumbled a curse, but closed his eyes.
Rory tossed in another piece of kindling into the fire. The flames hissed and embers danced upward—reminiscent of what had happened to the woman he loved in the past. Whispers of Erina’s past haunted him. They echoed of a wronged injustice. No longer could he bring forth the other memories of his time with her, but he did know the outcome.
And this time, the past would not be repeated.
He stood and moved away from the fire. Clasping his hands behind his back, he let his gaze roam the night. Nocturnal animals called out to him, and he in turn, sought their aid, appealing for their sight. Come daylight, others of the animal kingdom would join their cause. He would use their sight over the land to assist him in any way.
Rory knelt on one knee. Placing his hand upon the ground, he drew forth the energy from the land and absorbed as much as possible. The ground rumbled in protest, but he continued to draw forth from her bounty.
Standing quietly, he sent out a single whisper on the breeze. “Show me where ye are, Erina.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Time has many colorful layers. Yet, there is always a beginning and an ending.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Erina huddled upon the stool, trying to fight the panic coursing throughout her body. Many people filled the large room, their hushed whispers echoed all around her. She glanced around, trying to see if she recognized anyone. None would meet her stare, but Erina was not about to recoil in shame. She had done nothing wrong. Some of the stone columns had been battered, scars of previous battles a swift reminder that the belief in any one religion was like changing your garments.
As she clutched the amethyst around her neck, she brought forth the image of her grandmother. Her breathing slowed, and she straightened and leaned against the wall. Feeling comforted by the memory, she dropped her hand.
Malcolm had swiftly departed after bringing her inside the room, and she worried he had taken her advice and fled. She would have found no fault if he had, but MacKay had brought a sense of calm to her trembling insides. She lifted her head, scanned the area, and saw him standing off to the side of the entrance. Reassured by his presence, she then went on her search of finding anyone who would dare to accuse her of witchcraft.
The crowd fell silent as a short, robust man in long, flowing robes entered the room. He was followed by Laird Sinclair and several of his guards. As they made their way to the front, she stood to get a better view. However, the guard next to her shoved her back onto her stool. Biting back the barb she wished to release, she remained silent.
The man in the flowing robes lifted his arms upward. “Lord, give us the strength and courage to cast out the devil’s mistress who sits in our presence. Bind her power, so she cannot wield a curse or cause further harm to those she has enchanted.”
Erina fidgeted. Did the man’s words pertain to her?
“Bring the woman forward,” he demanded, pointing to a place directly in front of him.
The guard grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. As he shoved her forward, he continued to prod her along like cattle. Erina kept her focus steady and met the glare of the small man. She refused to show her fear and kept her hands clasped together to prevent them from shaking. Coming to a halt in front of the man, she waited.
He leveled a gnarled finger at her, and she recoiled. “By all that is holy, ye shall speak words of truth. Do ye understand, witch?”
“My name is Erina—”
Laird Sinclair stepped forward and slapped her across the face. Her body stiffened in shock, and she heard the crowd gasp. Blood trickled from a cut to her lip, and she attempted to blot it with her sleeve.
“Ye will hold your tongue, unless Bishop Stewart calls upon ye.” Sinclair made a fist with his hand. “If ye do not comply, I can find other means of silencing your words.”
Anger and hurt infused Erina. She wanted to rake her nails over his face. Giving him a curt nod, she watched him step back.
“As Laird Sinclair aptly pronounced, I am Bishop Stewart. Ye have been found guilty of the crimes of witchcraft. Do ye deny these charges?”
“Aye,” she declared. “I am nae witch.”
“Silence!” he shouted, his face twisting in disgust. “Just answer the questions.”
Erina battled the words she wanted to hurl at the horrible man. She clenched her jaw so tight, she feared it would snap, but she held her tongue silent.
Bishop Stewart snapped his fingers. The crowd parted farther back along the walls as the side doors opened. She glanced over her shoulder, and her heart froze. Entering the room were Betty Timmons and her parents; Bryson, the butcher; and on
e of the men who had tried to attack her many weeks ago. She gave no care about the man, but the others were people she knew well.
Betty refused to meet her stare as she made her way past Erina and stood off to the side of the bishop. Yet, Betty’s parents sent her scathing looks in passing. Graham’s words came back to haunt Erina. Did they not once call her the White Healer when she tended to a sick Betty?
The bishop gestured toward Bryson. “Ye may give your account.”
The man stepped forward, refusing to look at Erina. “I found this in my bed one evening.” Pulling forth the pouch of herbs Erina had given to Mairi, he tossed it on the floor in front of her.
The crowd murmured their objections, and Bishop Stewart held up his hands to silence them. He then redirected his attention to Bryson. “How do ye ken it belongs to the witch?”
“I saw her with the vile charm.”
Liar! Ye found it on Mairi. Either she has told ye, or ye are protecting her. Erina fought the wave of panic and tried to settle her breathing.
“We find ye speak the truth. Ye may leave.”
Do I not have a say? Erina screamed within her mind.
Without a word, Bryson swept past her.
“The others may come forth,” the bishop ordered.
Betty’s mother reached for her daughter’s arm and proceeded to move forward. Her father stepped around them and stood near Sinclair.
Bishop Stewart placed a hand on Betty’s shoulder. Her lip trembled as she kept her focus on the floor. “I ken ye are scared of the witch, but ye must speak the truth. ’Tis not your fault what has transpired. Afterwards, ye can be cleansed of your sins.”
“I…” Betty coughed and lifted her head. “I told Erina—”
“The witch,” corrected Bishop Stewart.
“Aye,” she mumbled. “I spoke of my…feelings for a man.” Her eyes went wide as she turned swiftly to her mother. “She said she could give me something to make the man love me. I realize I should not have taken the charm, but she…threatened me.”
Her mother’s mouth thinned in disapproval. “She was working for the devil, child.” She turned her heated gaze to Erina. “We should have never let ye touch our daughter when she was with fever.” The woman leveled a finger at her and continued, “Ye have enchanted her with the devil’s words.”
Betty collapsed into her mother’s arms. “’Tis true, Mother. I have not been the same since ye let her into our home.”
Erina could no longer hold back. “Ye were my friend. I would never bring ye harm.”
Instantly, Sinclair took a fist to her stomach, and Erina crumpled to the floor. The room became a blur of voices and colors as she fought to breathe.
Sinclair stooped down next to her. “I warned ye. Now get up.”
After regaining her strength, Erina stood on shaky limbs and hugged her arms around herself. She glared at Sinclair with burning reproachful eyes.
“Enough! If ye cannot keep your voices down, I will have the guards usher all of ye out of here,” commanded Bishop Stewart.
The crowd quieted.
He turned toward Betty and her parents and held his hands in the air over them. “Ye have spoken the truth. Though I deem your actions were unwise to let the witch into your home for healing, ye were kind people and did not see the error of your judgment. The witch lured your daughter with the devil’s words, and hence, she became corrupted.” The bishop inclined his head to Betty’s father. “See that ye come faithfully each day to wash the sins away.”
Betty’s father bowed his head and then led his family away.
Erina’s resolve was quickly fading. She’d thought the Timmons family her friends. Never did she fathom such betrayal and lies.
“This man came on a pilgrimage, seeking forgiveness for his sins and to enter into our Lord’s service. If not for him, we would not ken the full extent of the witch’s powers. Let the last accuser give his account,” ordered the bishop.
When her attacker stepped forward, Erina shot him daggers. Ye vile creature.
The man snarled and pointed. “She bewitched me with her body, tempting me one day many weeks ago. I came upon her bathing in the stream with nothing but the skin she came into the world with. She sang a song and wove her seduction.”
A woman from the crowd shrieked. “Burn the devil’s mistress! She carries the Blackthorn rod and made me lose my bairn!”
The bishop snapped his fingers at a guard, who then went to remove the ranting woman.
“Continue,” he encouraged. “Tell us how ye escaped.”
“I recited the Lord’s prayer.”
“And what happened?”
“She twisted upon the ground, spouting loathsome words, and I took off through the trees.”
“Not true!” Erina snapped. “He tried to force himself on me.”
When the blow came, Erina’s head snapped back, and she fell backwards. Darkness clouded her vision. The bile in her stomach came unbidden onto the pallid floor. Panic ensued all around her as the room erupted into a hysterical mob.
Someone pulled her to standing. His strength soothed the turmoil within her, and she twisted to get a glimpse of the man. Malcolm! She blinked trying to focus. Malcolm kept a steady hold on her arm, and his gaze fixed on the bishop.
“Ye may step away from the witch,” Bishop Stewart ordered and then took a step toward her. “Ye have met your accusers. Do ye deny knowing these good people?”
“Nae,” she mumbled as a sense of coldness enveloped her the moment Malcolm walked away.
“Do ye deny using herbs to create love charms?”
“Nae.”
“Do ye deny treating those who are sick without the aid of a true physician?
“Nae.”
He slowly moved around Erina. “There is a remedy to rectify to the crowd ye are not a witch and to appease the church of your sins.”
The bishop returned to face her. His mouth twisted in a malicious grin.
One of her eyes was now swollen as she swept her gaze over him. Waiting.
He tapped a finger to his mouth in thought. “If ye can recite the Lord’s prayer to those present here, your punishment will go lighter.”
A shaft of light pierced through one of the arched windows, and Erina lifted her head. Swallowing, she realized her fate was sealed. She did not know this prayer. Yet, in her heart, she judged that if Jesus were in this room, he would not ask this request.
She directed her attention back to the bishop. “I was never taught this prayer ye speak of.”
“Then by the decree of our Lord, I hereby sentence ye to burn to the stake for witchcraft.”
Taunts and shouting spilled forth. This time, the bishop did nothing to squelch the people. He let them spew obscenities at her. Sinclair thrust her forward and she stumbled. Numb, confused, and defeated, Erina moved through the crowd. Some spat at her and others held up wooden crosses.
When she stepped out of the room, she swept the area for one last remnant of hope. The throng of people continued to engulf her as Sinclair pushed her along the corridor and out into an open space in front of the cathedral.
She doubted Malcolm had remained, but she held on, praying, seeking his presence. And then her eyes came upon her end. Her execution. A hideous stake surrounded by so much wood. Once, the large pieces of wood were beautiful trees. Now, they resembled her funeral pyre. She shuddered visibly, and her heart clutched in terror, but one thought remained fixed within her mind.
I love ye, Rory. Farewell, my Fenian Warrior.
****
As he nudged the sleeping man with his foot, Rory waited for him to wake.
Graham grumbled a curse and blinked. After tossing his plaid aside, he rubbed at his eyes and stood. “God’s blood! Why didn’t ye wake me?”
Shrugging, Rory dumped more dirt over the dying embers. In truth, he required little or no sleep. “The first light of dawn is arriving. Do ye need to break your fast?”
“Nae. And I can see ’tis a
lmost daylight.”
Rory handed him a flask. “Drink.”
When Graham took a sip, he spat out the liquid in disgust. “Water?”
“Our minds and bodies need to be clear and focused.”
Graham approached him. “Do ye hear yourself?”
“Indeed.”
Shaking his head in dismay, he handed the flask to Rory. “I shall require a moment, and then we can depart.”
Understanding the man’s need to piss, Rory gave him a curt nod and secured the flask to the side of his horse.
As soon as Graham returned, they mounted their horses and proceeded across the open fields. Training his Fae senses all around him, Rory listened with intent to any movement other than the animals. He inhaled deeply, trying to capture anything with Erina’s scent. A flower, a broken branch, or a torn section of her dress. Again, he received nothing. Not even the birds had noted her direction.
When the first light of the new day shimmered over the hills, he pressed onward with more urgency. The fingers of time were slipping away, along with Erina’s life. His desire to find her increased a manic ferocity inside him he had never experienced.
Then he saw the whisper of movement in the trees to the left. As he led his horse in the new direction, Rory ignored the heated shouting from Graham. He prayed with all his might it was Erina. As they galloped across the land, his hope soon faded when Brother Michael emerged forth.
Bringing his horse to an abrupt halt, Rory jumped down and ran to the man. He swept his gaze over him and stumbled. Erina’s scent clung to the man. His voice shook as he grasped the monk’s robe. “Where is she?”
“Ye…ye must save her.”
Graham ran over to his side. “Release him, MacGregor. Can ye not see he is injured?”
Complying, Rory took a hesitant step back. “Forgive me.”
Brother Michael wiped a shaky hand over his brow as Graham led him to a fallen log. “Can ye explain?”
He shook his head. “I am sorry, Graham. We were seized upon at the herb cottage by Laird Sinclair and his guards.”
“Dinnae worry. I ken ye did all that ye could. How did ye escape and not Erina?”
