by Connie Mason
“Wherever there’s an army, there are always camp followers,” Rob said, snatching the looking device from him and bringing it to his eye.
“That’s no camp follower,” Hamish said. “That’s a noblewoman.”
Rob recognized the hooded cloak, and his gut sank with foreboding. The woman reined in her mount and turned to look back at the castle. Her face came into sharp focus in the center of his wavering lens.
“Elspeth,” Rob whispered.
“Aye, I thought as much, but I didna wish to say so until ye’d had a chance to see for yerself,” Hamish said with a heavy sigh. “All that unholy racket she made at supper must have been a ruse to lessen our watchfulness of her. But she didna slip out any of the gates. We’re locked down tight as a tick. How the devil did she manage to escape?”
Rob knew, but he couldn’t say. He’d trusted her with the secret known only to the lairds of the castle, and she’d used the secret passage. Now she was riding off behind her father on the mare Rob had bought for her in Lochearnhead.
“Elspeth!” he shouted. His voice echoed back from the surrounding peaks. She didn’t turn to look this time.
Rob handed the Grandsire’s Eye back to Hamish. Then he raced down the steps to the bailey, bellowing for his groom to saddle a horse for him.
“What are ye doing?” Hamish dogged his steps. “Stewart may be leaving, but Drummond’s men are still out there. If ye set foot outside the castle walls without a flag of truce, they’ll cut ye down in a heartbeat.”
“Then get me a white flag.”
A glossy bay was led from the stables with just a simple saddle on its back. Rob was glad the lad had realized there wasn’t time to adorn the horse with the MacLaren’s showy accoutrements.
“Ye’re no’ thinking clear,” Hamish said, blocking the way. “With the Stewart leaving, Drummond willna honor a truce. And the man willna give ye the fair fight ye deserve now that ye no longer have anything he wants,” He lowered his voice so only Rob could hear. “Think, Rob. Ye’re no’ a man who can do as he pleases. Ye have a whole clan depending on ye. If the lass wished to stay with ye, she’d still be here. Ye canna risk yer life to go after her like a lovesick pup.”
“Ye presume too much on our friendship.” Rob glowered at him. “Get out of my way.”
When Hamish didn’t move, Rob threw a punch. His fist landed on his friend’s jaw with a bone-crunching thud. Hamish might be built like an oak, but his jaw had always been brittle as Frankish glass. He reeled and staggered out of the way.
Rob started to mount the horse, but someone clubbed him from behind, knocking him solidly at the base of the skull with a blunt object. He dropped to his knees.
Pinpoints of light burst in his brain, and Rob’s vision tunneled. Before he winked out completely, he heard Hamish say, “Now look what ye made me do, Rob. I broke yer Grandsire’s Eye on yer thick skull.”
***
Mrs. Beaton bustled into the chapel, looking for Father Kester.
At first she’d thought it a good thing that Elspeth Stewart had taken herself out of Caisteal Dubh by some nefarious means. But now it was evident that the witch had sunk her claws into the laird’s soul so deep, he could barely be restrained from following her to his doom.
Hamish had carried the unconscious MacLaren up to his chamber, and Mrs. Beaton had left Margot to sit with him. After Hamish left, Mrs. Beaton strapped the laird to the bed to prevent his escape. Margot was under instructions to spoon in the tea laced with henbane whenever he stirred. With any luck at all, the MacLaren could be kept in drug-induced oblivion for days.
Long enough for Mrs. Beaton to see Elspeth Stewart was gone for good.
Mrs. Beaton’s gaze swept the sanctuary. The priest was nowhere to be seen.
“Father Kester!” she called again, her tone strident with irritation.
The priest appeared from the sacristy and walked toward her, folding his hands into the capacious sleeves of his robe. “Peace, Mrs. Beaton. This is the House of God. He’s no’ pleased by the sound of a voice raised in anger.”
“Aye, and I’ll warrant He’ll no’ be pleased if ye let a witch escape His justice either.”
“But Providence has protected us. She’s gone. Elspeth Stewart is no longer within our walls.”
“Aye, but she still troubles the House of MacLaren. Even now our laird raves on his bed, half out of his mind with her curses.” And henbane. “Ye must follow the witch and see this thing through to its divine end if there’s ever to be peace in this place.”
Father Kester frowned. “I was watching from the ramparts with everyone else. She’s under the Stewart’s protection now. Even if Lady Elspeth is a witch, it’s up to Alistair Stewart’s priest to convince him to give her up for judgment.”
That wasn’t likely to happen. It was a rare father who would surrender his own child to the flames.
“Mayhap ye noticed that she’s no longer in Drummond’s good graces,” Mrs. Beaton said. “I’ve no doubt there’s a marriage that willna go forward.”
“How d’ye know this?”
Didn’t the man have eyes? “If there was still going to be a wedding, Drummond would have been riding beside his betrothed, would he no’? Instead, he and his men hung back and left the field only after the last Stewart man had quit. There’s no love lost there, or I’m mistook.”
“Hmmm,” Father Kester said.
Honestly, would she have to put every single thought into the man’s head for him?
“Dinna ye see? Ye must go to Lord Drummond,” she said with urgency. “Tell him the Almighty calls him to hold a witch trial for Elspeth Stewart, and see if he’ll no’ jump at the chance to aid ye in your righteous cause.”
“We’ll need witnesses,” Father Kester said doubtfully.
“And we’ll have them. Leave that to me.” Mrs. Beaton had half-a-dozen serving girls she’d brought with her from Beaton lands when she took this position. They owed her their living. She could twist them into giving whatever testimony was wanted. “Go ye now, and I’ll be but half a day behind with all the proof ye’ll need.”
***
Travel was a muckle of trouble. From the moment the castle gates closed behind him, Father Kester felt the sky lowering on him. The world was too big, too wild a place for a man of peace to take comfort in it.
Give him the tranquility of a monastery, the quiet of a scriptorium, the diligent hum of scholarly pursuits, and he was a happy man. Instead, Father Kester bounced along on his mule, sure the beast was trying to step in every hole along the way.
He was more surprised than anything when he overtook the rear of the Drummond column, which was traveling at the pace of their wagons and baggage. A man of the cloth was welcomed most everywhere, but he was further surprised when he was hustled into Lord Drummond’s tent after he made his first request to speak with the laird. Evidently, anything related to Elspeth Stewart was of keen interest to the Drummond.
While Father Kester laid out his case for the witchery of Elspeth Stewart, Lord Drummond listened with the intensity of a fox eyeing a rabbit hole. When he was finished, silence descended for the space of several “Our Fathers.” Finally, the laird rose from his chair and paced for the length of a few “Hail Marys.” Father Kester began to fear Lord Drummond harbored tender feelings for the lass and might do him hurt to silence him.
“Ye’re certain ye can convict her?” Drummond asked, his voice like the whisper of snakeskin through dry leaves.
“With or without her confession, aye,” Father Kester said. “There is enough evidence.”
“Ye’ll no’ shrink from burning her?”
“‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’” he quoted. “I’m a man inclined to mercy, but I must please God rather than myself.”
After he was ushered from the presen
ce of the laird with the injunction not to speak of his purpose to anyone until Lord Drummond gave him the sign, he began to wonder what might happen after the trial.
Perhaps Father Kester would be given charge of a monastery. A group of monks would be so much easier to manage than a castle full of sinners. Being able to pick and choose who would copy scripture all day and who was fit only to weed the turnips would be a lovely post indeed.
Chapter 32
The second day on the road, light snow began to fall. The wet flakes didn’t stick, but they turned the paths into a churning morass of mud. Elspeth and her father rode at the head of the Stewart column, but their pace was slowed by those at their heels. She was surprised when Lord Drummond picked his way around the Stewart fighting men to catch up to them.
“Since Lady Stewart is still awaiting us at my stronghold, I assume ye’ll be going there to collect her before ye return to your own land,” Lachlan said, pointedly ignoring Elspeth as if she wasn’t riding alongside her father.
That was fine with her. She hoped never to speak to the man again.
“No doubt she’ll be thrilled to see the Lady Elspeth safe and sound,” he continued.
Elspeth didn’t meet his gaze, but she watched him from the corner of her eye as if he were a hound she wasn’t sure was quite safe.
“We’ll no’ be imposing on your hospitality longer than necessary, Drummond,” her father said.
“Ye’re welcome to stay under my roof as long as you like, of course, but frankly, I’m thinking your men would welcome returning to their own hearths as soon as may be,” Lachlan said. “The way divides just up ahead, and if they take the right fork, your fighting men can be on Stewart land in another day’s ride and by their own fires in two.”
“I am aware of it,” Stewart said stonily.
Lachlan looked pointedly at the leaden sky. “The air smells of snow.”
Elspeth’s father nodded.
Lachlan bid them a pleasant good day and turned back to join his own force. Once he was gone, Elspeth’s father called his second in command to join them. He gave orders for his men to turn aside and make for Stewart land at the coming fork in the road.
“Pick a contingent of ten to remain with us as a guard, and lead the rest home,” her father said. “Winter’s hard upon us. I would not have my men away from their women and children when the snow flies in earnest.”
Once the man left to do his laird’s bidding, Elspeth screwed up her courage.
“Father, ye know I’d not question your judgment, but I have to wonder if it’s wise for us to be so few when we must return to Lord Drummond’s stronghold.”
“Whether or no’ our clans are bound by a marriage, the man is still our neighbor. We must find a way to live in peace with him,” he said softly so as not to be overheard by any other ears. “Besides, if his intentions are ill, Lord Drummond has just reminded me that he holds my wife.”
Elspeth gasped. She hadn’t considered that. If Drummond was still intent on wedding her, threatening her mother was one thing that would make her yield.
“But if his intentions are good, he was asking me not to flood his keep with my men. They might be trapped there by heavy snows for a long while and so deplete his larder,” her father said. “No man wishes to admit baldly that he canna support so many mouths. By turning my men aside, I save Drummond’s dignity and earn his gratitude.”
“Is every conversation such a chess game between the pair of ye?”
“More often than not,” he admitted. “It comes with leadership. Ye never really know when a man’s ‘yea’ means ‘yea.’”
Rob MacLaren was as much a Scottish laird as Drummond or her father, but she had yet to see him engage in such crafty plans that someone had to decipher what his words meant. Even his abduction of her was straightforward, his goal of single combat with Drummond the stated outcome from the beginning.
An uncomplicated man with a boatload of stubbornness might be trying at times, but his lack of guile was restful to her spirit.
Her chest ached from missing him so. She wondered what he’d done when he realized she was gone. He was probably furious that she’d used the secret passage. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t come after her. Of course, it would be folly in the extreme to brave two armies to reach her, but part of her wished he’d try it.
Surely he’d come for her at her father’s stronghold.
Unless he believed she’d left him because she still intended to wed Lord Drummond. Her heart sank with hopelessness.
“Sometimes, ye must give a man trust in order for him to behave in a trustworthy manner,” her father said, interrupting her despairing thoughts. “I withdrew from the MacLaren field without his leave. Ye have spurned Drummond as husband, and yet he’s behaved with courtesy toward us both. I can afford to give the man a sop now.”
They plodded on side by side. The horses’ hooves made such loud sucking noises in the mud Elspeth almost missed her father’s soft “I hope.”
***
Elspeth enjoyed a tearful reunion with her mother, but their joy was short lived. Before they could speak ten words to each other, there was a scuffle and a clash of blades outside their door. Drummond and a dozen armed men broke into their guest chamber. Elspeth’s father’s sword was out of its scabbard in a blink.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” he demanded.
“Sheath your blade, friend. The quarrel is no’ with you,” Lachlan said smoothly. A priest peeked around the doorjamb and then scuttled in behind Drummond. “We war no’ against flesh and blood but against the powers of darkness itself.”
Stewart’s sword didn’t lower one jot. “What nonsense is this?”
“Tell him, Father,” Drummond said to the priest.
The priest glanced at Elspeth’s father then hastily averted his eyes. Instead they fastened on her. “Elspeth Stewart, ye stand accused of the sin of witchcraft, of consorting with the devil and leading others into the grave errors of sorcery and magic. Ye must answer for yer crimes. Arrest her.”
“By God, ye will not!” her father bellowed and slashed at the men who tried to approach.
“Stewart, your men are dead. Ye canna hold out against so many,” Lachlan said. “If your daughter is innocent, I promise she will come to no hurt.”
The accusation of witchcraft was as good as a conviction, and everyone in the room knew it. Her father didn’t back down, flailing away at all comers.
“Father, no!” she shouted. “I will surrender, Lachlan. Call off your men.”
“I forbid it, Elspeth,” her father said.
“Ye have naught to say in the matter.” She broke free of her mother’s arms and ran to stand before the priest.
“Disobedient to parents,” the priest muttered, and she realized she’d given him another bit of evidence against her.
“Drummond,” her father said as his sword clattered to the floor, “I’m begging ye. Dinna do this thing.”
“The trial will commence as soon as the witnesses arrive. Tomorrow probably, Father Kester assures me,” Lachlan said. “For your own safety, ye and Lady Stewart will remain under guard in this chamber. Once the court’s decision is reached, ye’ll be free to go.”
“And what of Elspeth?” her mother sobbed.
“I’ve a chamber in the tower for her for now,” Lachlan said. “’Tis quite comfortable, with a window that opens onto the bailey.” He marched her out of the room and then hissed into her ear, “Ye’ll have a good view of the stains left on the cobbles by MacLaren’s wife.”
***
He hadn’t seen her in so long, it took Rob a moment to realize who it was that appeared overhead in the thatch. Fiona wavered before his eyes and then sank slowly to the floor, her long gown fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. She halted her descent before the
tips of her bare feet brushed the cold flagstone.
Fiona drew near his bedside. She smiled, and the room brightened around her.
“Lazing in bed when ye’re needed elsewhere.” She reached out to cup his cheek, and for the first time in all his lovely dreams of her, Rob couldn’t feel her fingertips. “What are ye doing, my daftie man?”
“Daftie man,” he repeated, though he realized his lips hadn’t moved. “Ye always called me so. Ye must have known I’d come to this. D’ye ken they say I’m mad in truth now? Mad or witched.”
“Aye, but ye’re no’ mad. Nor witched either,” she said. “The one caring for ye now has slipped a net o’er your mind. She spoons it in each time ye wake.”
He turned his head and saw Margot Beaton as though through a thick mist. The lass was propped in a chair, her head lolling to one side, her mouth gaping in sleep. A cup balanced on her lap.
“Aye, that’s it,” Fiona said when he frowned at the cup. “Dinna accept another drop. There’s one who needs ye, and ye’ll be no use to her wandering among the poppies.”
“Who needs me?” He wouldn’t stir a muscle for Margot Beaton, whatever her need.
Fiona settled a hip on his bedside, but the feather tick didn’t sink an inch under her weight. “Elspeth Stewart, of course.”
“Ye know of her?”
She smiled sadly. “Aye, Rob, I know she has your heart in her keeping as I used to.”
“Ye still do,” he said.
“I know that too, but there is a great divide between us. I canna hold on to ye anymore. I must let ye go.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead. Her lips were light as angel’s breath on his skin. “And ye must let me go.”
He knew she was right, but his chest still constricted.
“Aye, that’s love,” she said, still naming his feelings for him. “That willna end, though all else does. Dinna feel sad, Rob. ’Tis the way of things.”
She began to float away, and he strained against his bonds to reach for her.
