Fiona gripped his arm. Her voice could hardly form the words. "M—my… mother—?"
"Alas, bound over for trial," he said deeply. "One week from today." He pulled Fiona into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. "Steady now, my dear. Nothing is final yet."
Dimly, she heard Mrs. Harmon give a muffled cry, and Sally seemed to sob. Fiona shut her eyes, clinging tightly to Giles's rough tan coat, smelling the damp wool, feeling his cold cheek press against her own as he murmured endearments and encouragement.
In a couple of minutes, Fiona raised her head. "I'm all right. I must go at once to Boston. Might I borrow a horse?"
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and straightened her shoulders.
"Boston?" Giles echoed blankly.
"I want to ask Governor Phips for his advice. Remember he said on the voyage that he would help me anytime I needed it?"
"Shipboard promises—" Giles began doubtfully.
"Dear heaven, it may be our only chance!"
"I think you're right, Fiona." Sally nodded. "You must try everything. You have an implacable enemy in Salem. Late last night, Judge Blaize came to our door, demanding that I divulge your whereabouts. When I said I didn't know, he went into a violent rage."
"Oliver came out and heard him yell that he would kill me if he found I knew where Fiona was hiding. Oliver would not stand for my being threatened, and they both began to fight. Blows were exchanged. I knew there was more behind their anger than Fiona's whereabouts. It was an old feud comprising jealousy and revenge. For some reason, Oliver, burly though he is, was getting the worst of it—almost as though Blaize had supernatural strength."
"I grew frightened and flew between them. I grabbed the judge's arm and he struck me on the shoulder so that I fell down on the garden path. Oliver gave a roar and charged, but there was suddenly another roar, another charge. Gray, the wolf, soared across the fence, fangs gleaming, hair on end."
Sally paused for breath and her audience didn't move or speak until Mrs. Harmon stuttered, "The—the judge—?"
"He got away while I held Gray back."
Too bad, Fiona thought, then felt guilty at her bloodthirsty wish, but how much better for the world if Blaize were dead.
"Fiona," Sally said, "Oliver promised to drive you to Boston. We both think you should go without delay. That is why I came here, so Giles could relay the message. I thought he would surely know where you were."
Giles stood up, and so did Fiona. "I agree," he said. "Thank you and Oliver, Sally, but Fiona goes with me. I will hitch up the wagon right now."
Fiona put out her hand. "Oh, no, Giles. I can ride a horse, if you will saddle one—"
"Do you think I would let you go alone?" Giles cut in, almost roughly. "Mother, a little food and money for Fiona, if you please."
"Giles, I can't involve you," Fiona protested.
He didn't argue. "Mother, I'll be back after Fiona is safe in Boston with her cousin, who may know of a way to help her. Thanks for coming, Sally. Take care of yourself." With a brief nod, he swung out the door.
Mrs. Harmon shrugged. "I think you cannot change his mind, and I am in accord with his decision to accompany you." She emptied coins from a bowl into Fiona's pocket. Then she sliced bread, carved meat, added apples, and wrapped it all in a cloth. "Now, take my shawl. Your own is still too damp."
"Thank you so much." Fiona could hardly speak, so choked with gratitude was she as she embraced them both.
A few minutes later, Giles burst back into the room, breathing rapidly. "Quick! A group of men are just across the field. They seem to be heading here."
"Perhaps Fiona should hide—" Mrs. Harmon exclaimed.
"No!" Fiona shook her head. "I cannot stay here any longer. I worry all the time that I am putting everyone in danger. Oh, Giles, suppose they—"
"Suppose, nothing. We go forward and do." This was the man who had weathered storms and fear and dreadful illness on the long sea voyage.
Fiona followed him without another argument, only giving one last wavering smile for the two women regarding her with so much trepidation.
Near the barn, the horse stood ready, the wagon piled with sacks from which emanated the most evil smell. "What is that?" Fiona gasped, holding her hand across her face.
"Asafoetida, a most strong-smelling resin used in my medicines. You'll have to bear it for a spell, I fear. Put your shawl around your face. I'm hoping it will discourage any searching." He helped her up, covered her with sacks. "Can you breathe? All right. Stay down, now, no matter what happens. I'll make for the woods, but we can't go too fast or we'd draw attention. It's too bad the fog has lifted. It might have hidden us."
Fiona crouched, trembling, under the heavy, odorous gunnysacks, trying to keep her breathing shallow. How could they fail to be seen and stopped, the wagon searched? Was she about to share the fate of all those accused of witchcraft like her poor mother? Would she be chained in a dank, cold cell, taunted by a screaming mob? Put through the bedlam of the uncontrolled court trials with all the lying accusations? Then… then… death by hanging?
She had never given way like this before, and desperately she tried to keep her mind from frightening pictures which nearly brought on panic. Rigid with terror, she pressed against the rough planks, hardly conscious of the painful jouncing of the cart over the rocky ground.
"Someone's seen us," Giles gasped. "Steady, now. Keep quiet at all costs."
She didn't need the admonition to keep still. The slightest speech or movement was now beyond her.
"Halt, there!" Hoofbeats thudded up beside the cart, the animal snorting as the rider reined it in. A man's voice spoke. "We are looking for a red-haired girl accused of witchcraft, name of Fiona Prescott."
Giles said evenly, "As you can see, I am quite alone."
"What have you underneath those sacks? I must look." A stick poked at Fiona's sack. "Phew, what is that terrible aroma? Is something dead?"
"You smell asafoetida, a powerful drug I used recently to treat several infected farmers. I intend to burn their clothes so the disease will not spread."
"What disease?" The man sounded as though he had backed off. "Is it fatal?"
"I've seen some deaths. I am Dr. Harmon. I would advise you not to touch the sacks of rags."
"No, no, nothing could be in that horrible mess. Drive on, doctor, and get them buried. Go, go!"
Fiona heard shouts and hoofbeats fading into the distance. Relief flooded through her, leaving her limp and drenched in perspiration. She didn't move until Giles spoke. "They've gone, Fiona. You can sit up now. We're in the woods."
Trembling, she pushed back the sacks, gulping great lungfuls of the blessed clean, pine-scented air. "Oh, Giles, thank heaven, you are so quick-thinking."
"Yes, that odor stopped them in their tracks though it's nearly gone. But from now on, we must travel fast so we can reach Boston before dark. You can climb up beside me."
When they entered the wider road to Boston, Giles snapped the reins and the wagon shot forward. Birds started up in fright; dust billowed behind in clouds. Fiona clung to the sides of the swaying cart, all the while constantly darting glances behind her.
On and on they sped, exchanging very little conversation. After a while, the sun passed its zenith and dipped behind the tops of the trees so that soon long shadows stretched along the road. Finally, Fiona's vigilance relaxed and her head nodded forward to her chest. It snapped up when she realized that Giles had stopped the wagon.
"There's a stream. Let's stretch our legs and get a drink," he said.
He helped her down and Fiona followed him stiffly. The water was cold and refreshing, and she bathed her face and hands, sniffing to see if any of the odorous resin still clung to her.
Giles smiled. "The wind has swept you clean and fresh."
For a moment, his arms encircled her and she leaned back, luxuriating in his warm male strength. "Remember the other time you brought me to this road?" she murmu
red.
"To get your baggage. That was a happy day. I was so eager to be with you. I thought you were the loveliest, bravest, sweetest girl I had ever met."
"And now look at me—covered with threads from gunny sacks, face all hot and anxious, hair a-tangle—"
"I am looking and I see your distracting red-haired beauty with the same tug on my heartstrings that it's always had. I fell in love with you long ago at sea, and my love has been growing ever since." He pressed a passionate kiss against her neck.
"Oh, Giles!" With a sob of joy, Fiona tipped her head back against his shoulder and caught his black hair in her fingers, tugging until his open lips met hers. A flame shot through her and she pressed deeply into his mouth, feeling the mating of their tongues in a hot, blinding urgency.
He drew her tighter, his hands fondling her breast, pushing her thighs against his own, raining kisses on her face and throat. At last, he whispered hoarsely, "We must go, but, oh, I want so much to make you mine and kiss every inch of you until you tell me that you love me, too."
She tore her mouth a breath apart from his. "I do—I do! I love you, Giles, with all my heart and soul. I want everything that you want—"
"Oh, my dearest! I have dreamed to hear you say those words." He kissed her passionately, then at last put her from him, steadying his voice. "Someday, my own dear heart, we shall be together forevermore."
"Yes. Someday." Fiona echoed his words, but sadness filled her. There was no certainty that the day would ever come, and a tear stole slowly down her cheek.
Giles licked the drop away. "Someday, when all is well again, we shall be wed, Fiona, and live with love in both our hearts."
Unable to stop the flood of joy she felt, she still forced herself to say, "Alas, Giles dear, I have no dowry. I thought that was why you wanted Grace."
"I never considered marrying Grace," he exclaimed. "That was all in her head. I don't need a dowry, nor would I wed just for that reason. My practice is flourishing and will do even better when this witch hunt madness ends. So will you promise to marry me, Fiona?"
"Oh, yes, Giles," Fiona answered. They kissed once more and began to leave the brook, eyes clinging, hands entwined. They had pledged their troth, but it was a sad song in Fiona's heart. She was betrothed to the man she adored and he loved her, but would she live to enjoy their love?
They were nearly at the wagon when Fiona grasped Giles's sleeve. "Do you hear something?" It was a muffled sound, a steady clop of hooves.
"It may not be an enemy," Giles said tightly, "but we'll take no chances. Hang on!"
Fiona hunkered in the back, ready to duck under the sacks. Still no one appeared on the road, though now they could plainly hear the pounding hooves in the distance. Sometimes the sound faded; sometimes it grew louder and Giles would urge the laboring horse to even greater speed. The trees became a blur of green and brown as they flew past. The wind stung their faces and flattened their clothes as on and on they tore.
They seemed to have traveled a long distance when suddenly there came a sharp crack—a lurch—and the rear wheel twirled off across the road.
Chapter 25
Fiona gave a cry and Giles shouted, "Get out—we must hide!"
They both leaped to the ground, and together with the laboring animal, were able to drag the horse and wagon out of sight on a narrow side road screened by trees. The mare's lathered sides heaved and she dropped her head, too weary to make a sound.
"She couldn't have kept up that pace much longer," Giles said. "As for the wheel, I must get help."
"Oh, Giles, what shall we do? That other rider is getting closer. I can hear it—"
"Let me think. Get down behind these thick bushes."
"We can't stay here," Fiona cried distractedly. "We'll be caught, sure as fate. Let's run—"
"No, wait, we're not sure who it is." Giles caught her arm and pulled her close to the ground. "Listen—here he comes."
Crouching beside him, Fiona felt her pulses hammer wildly. She dug her nails into her palms and clamped her teeth down on her trembling lip. Every instinct urged flight, but Giles held her in a tight, restraining grip.
Soon a big horse pounded into view, a thin man dressed in black bent low above the saddle, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with a fanatic gleam until he disappeared from sight.
"It's Blaize!" Fiona stifled her exclamation with a hand pressed to her mouth. "How did he know we were on this road?" In the sudden silence, she slumped, shuddering against Giles's side. "He's looking for us… for me!"
Giles's brows were knotted. "He'll be back, I fear. When you didn't turn up anywhere in Salem and he found that my cart and I were gone, he must have figured we had driven off. Did you ever mention anyone you knew in Boston?"
"Yes, Governor Phips," Fiona groaned. "Oh, Giles, let's get out of here and hide somewhere in the woods."
"He would find us. If we could hear his horse's hoof-beats, he could hear ours, too, whenever he slowed down. He'll soon realize that we have stopped somewhere and he'll come back, searching for us."
"He plans to kill us, doesn't he?" Fiona whispered. "And he doesn't want any witnesses. That's why he came alone."
"We're not about to give him any chance," Giles ground out. "I have a plan." He gripped her arms and pulled Fiona to her feet. "You will have to go on alone."
"A-alone?" Fiona quavered, suddenly hating the idea.
Giles nodded. "When he returns, I'll hail him as though I have nothing to hide. He doesn't know for certain that you were in the wagon with me. I shall tell him the same story about the disease I am treating; also, that a fanner is on his way to help me with the wheel. See, there actually is a farmhouse through the trees, and a man lives there who I have recently attended. I can ask his aid as soon as Blaize leaves."
"Do you think Blaize will believe that you know nothing of my whereabouts?"
"Maybe not, but he won't hurt me. I am needed too much in Salem. As soon as I can get my wagon fixed, I'll follow you. What is your cousin's name?"
"Mistress Samantha Flaherty on Beacon Hill at Green Street. Oh, Giles, I so hate to leave you!"
"I know, my darling, but you must go quickly and be safe." They embraced fiercely and kissed once more, and then Fiona turned and ran.
Without sparing a backward glance, she pushed her way through the screening trees, moving as fast as she could. It wasn't long before she heard Judge Blaize pounding back along the road and she shrank down into the leaves, still as a hunted animal. When he had passed, she pulled herself up and clung to a tree trunk until the pounding of her heart had lessened.
In a few moments, she started on again, keeping a band of trees between herself and the road in case she might be seen. She tried to put everything out of her mind except the importance of reaching her destination, scarcely noticing the rough branches that scraped her skin, the blisters forming on her heels, the rocks and bushes that impeded her stumbling progress.
After a while, the pain in her side became a red-hot flame and breath tore through her throat in great exhausting gasps. She dropped to the ground on all fours, her lungs laboring while she brushed aside the tangled hair falling across her face. How much farther must she go? Four miles? Five? She would have to travel slower, or she would faint from exhaustion.
Giles must have been able to convince the judge that she had not been with him. She sent up a little prayer for Giles, brave, strong, and loving. In her mind, she saw his long-lashed steady gaze, true and fearless, the passionate lips that had kissed her with such fervor and formed the words "We shall be wed."
It seemed almost incredible that she loved and was loved in return by such a special man. Emotion welled up in her and she shut her eyes, dizzy with the longing to have him beside her. So this was love, a bewildering, aching, yearning such as she had never known.
However, she knew she couldn't linger and explore this sweet sensation—not now. Unsteadily, she forced herself upright. Her heart still hammered like a bird trapped in
side her chest, and her legs trembled betrayingly beneath her, but she dared rest no longer. She would go slower, place one foot in front of the other, think only of the path before her. Yes… that was better. Perhaps she was getting her second wind.
Darkness had nearly engulfed the woods. In the distance something howled, and her terrified eyes swept the shadowed trees. She saw gleams of light, pinpoints like yellow fire. Wolves!
Suddenly, she thought of Gray. Would he attack her as a member of the race which was his enemy? He must fear and hate all humans except for one small girl who had healed his wounds and continued feeding him, now that he was too old for plundering the chicken yards. Perhaps Gray would now associate her with Sally. Fervently, she hoped so. She had given him a slice of meat at one time. How long did animals remember?
At any rate, this might be a different wolf, and with that thought came a new surge of strength which sped her forward.
And then at last the River Charles stretched before her. Swaying with fatigue, she clung to a nearby elm, amazed to see so many people waiting at the dock for the approaching ferry, perhaps the last boat of the night. Some carried baggage, some rode horses, some sat in carts like the one in which Thomas had driven them to Salem. That day seemed so long ago… if she and her mother had known what the future held, they might not have left Boston, even if it meant applying at the workhouse. But then she'd never have met Giles again. Perhaps there was a plan for everything.
Squaring her shoulders, Fiona made her way down the slanting path to the ferry. The passengers from Boston swarmed ashore and now the other crowd moved forward, taking seats along the railing or standing by their mounts. Fiona dropped some coins into the boatman's hand and then crept toward the bow, pulling her shawl concealingly around her head. She inhaled deeply of the fresh salt-laden breeze and sank wearily onto the rough wooden seat.
For the moment she was safe, and soon she would see her cousin. If only Giles were with her. Was it possible he had met the judge? At least Blaize could determine she was not with Giles and there was no proof that she ever had been. The Harmons had been so kind and helpful, but if it brought them harm, she would bear a terrible guilt for the rest of her life.
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