Adrienne Basso (32 page)

Grace wrung her hands. “What can we do? We cannae allow Roderick and his army to camp outside our gates fer months. They’ll hunt in our forest, ruin our crops. They’ll retaliate against the unfortunate villagers who did not make it inside the keep. And those of us that are behind the walls, well, they shall starve and torment us. I could not live with myself if so many innocent folk were harmed on my account.”

Ewan crossed his arms. “Do ye have so little faith in me, Grace?”

She placed her palm against his chest and felt the strong beat of his heart. “There is no finer man, no greater warrior in all of Scotland than ye, Ewan. That I truly believe with all my heart. But even ye cannae perform miracles.”

“Just watch me, Grace.” Ewan lifted his brow. “I shall never easily relinquish what is mine.”

Stepping around her, Ewan strode from the chamber with a confident swagger. Grace stood alone, her heart stuttering with fear and confusion.

“Mother of God, aren’t we the pair?” she whispered.

Chapter Eighteen

“Are ye sure ye know what ye’re doing?” Alec asked, as Roderick Ferguson rode through the open portcullis, flanked on each side by a monk and a priest.

“He comes under a flag of truce,” Ewan answered, narrowing his eyes at the approaching trio and wondering at Roderick’s choice of escort. He would have expected him to arrive with two of his most seasoned warriors at his side, as a show of strength. Not two men of God.

“A promise of a truce hardly means that Roderick will act with honor,” Alec retorted.

“I know. He’s a man filled with guile. But hearing his terms will give us a chance to decide how to best him and buy us some much-needed time.”

“Do ye think young Duncan was able to slip by Roderick’s troops?” Alec inquired.

“I’m hopeful. It has been hours since the lad rode off and we’ve yet to hear of his capture.”

“Aye, Roderick would waste no time in letting us know our messenger had been caught, and with him, any chance of getting word to our allies.”

Ewan curled his lip. There was but a slight chance that Duncan would reach the McKenna’s in time to make a difference in this struggle with Roderick. Yet they had to try. Duncan was a smart and courageous lad. He had volunteered to ride for help and after a brief debate, Ewan had allowed it. If the worst came to pass and they were defeated, well, at least the truth would be known and their deaths avenged. Brian McKenna would make certain of it.

“We must stall fer time,” Ewan said.

“Then I suppose it is wise to hear what Roderick wants,” Alec conceded.

“I already know what the man wants,” Ewan snarled. “He means to take Grace from me and use her to bolster his own position in his clan. But he willnae take her, at least not while there is breath left in my body.”

Ewan straightened his spine, knowing all eyes were trained upon him. Most of his people had not seen him for nearly a fortnight—all knew he had been gravely ill. ’Twas essential that he appear strong and in command, as they were looking for him to keep them safe. Roderick, on the other hand, would be searching for a weakness.

Roderick raised his arm, demonstrating that he was unarmed, then slowly dismounted. The monk and priest did the same. Ewan approached.

“I’ve come with these holy men on a matter of most importance,” Roderick proclaimed.

Ewan pierced his foe with the full weight of a disbelieving stare. “Ye have an army at yer back that is camped at my gates. That seems more like an act of war to me.”

Roderick grinned. “My men ride with me everywhere I travel.” He lifted his head, then twisted his body, eyeing all those who stood in the bailey. “Where is yer wife? Hiding somewhere within the keep?”

The casual mention of Grace had Ewan itching to reach for his sword and run it through Roderick’s smirking face. But he would not be so easily baited.

“I am here, Roderick,” a female voice shouted.

The sea of people parted, and Grace stepped forward, her head held high.

Sweet Jesus!
Ewan had told Grace to stay out of sight and here she was, parading herself in front of their enemy like a prized catch. Though angry at her disobedience, Ewan also felt a burst of pride at her courage. His wife was no meek lass.

“As this concerns ye, Lady Grace, it is important that ye are present.”

“Ye risk much by coming here, Roderick,” Grace declared.

Roderick tossed a glare in her direction, then postured himself in the center of the bailey. “Good people of Tiree, I have come to yer home in good faith, seeking justice fer my kin. My brother Alastair’s death has long been shrouded in mystery. I have prayed and fasted fer many long months while seeking answers and spiritual guidance, and in my grief I have consulted with these two holy men.

“They, too, have prayed fer answers and by Divine Providence have finally been able to determine the reason fer my unease, the cause of my distress.” Roderick gave a dramatic pause, and then shouted, “Witchcraft!”

There was a loud gasp from the crowd. Ewan could see people exchanging fearful looks as speculation erupted among the masses. Most turned their attention toward Grace, confusion mixed with frightened judgment on their faces.

“What are ye saying?” Grace asked, straightening her shoulders under the heavy scrutiny of all those surrounding her.

The set of Roderick’s mouth hardened and his eyes assumed an accusatory stare. “I accuse ye, Lady Grace, of practicing the dark arts, of using yer unholy knowledge to hasten the death of my brother, Alastair.”

Of all the things Ewan had been trying to prepare for, this was totally unexpected. But the menace in Roderick’s eyes let him know his foe was deadly serious. For the first time since Roderick and his army appeared at the gates, Ewan felt real fear.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Ewan protested hotly.

“Sir Ewan, we ask that ye not make light of such a serious charge,” the priest said with great indignity.

Ewan could not stop himself from taking an aggressive step forward. “My wife is a woman of noble birth. Raised in a convent, devoted to her faith. Who dares to cast such aspersions on her character? What proof do ye present? Where are the witnesses to such a heinous crime?”

Many of the servants and villagers began stomping their feet in support and Ewan felt himself start to calm. This preposterous charge would amount to naught. Roderick’s final, desperate attempt had no proof, no facts. It was bound to fail.

“Witches are too clever by half to leave evidence of their crimes,” the monk said.

“There has been no crime,” Ewan insisted.

“Witchcraft is a crime, an abomination against God and man,” the monk proclaimed. “We must first determine if Lady Grace is indeed a female who freely practices Satan’s vile arts. Father Harold and I have both been trained to recognize this unholy skill in others and have much experience in detecting the witches who dare to live among decent folk.”

“No doubt ye take great delight in wielding this power by frightening and threatening innocent women,” Ewan scoffed.

Father Harold’s face contorted into haughty puzzlement. “Nay, Sir Ewan. We have been called to do God’s work and thus have vanquished evil and saved the souls of hundreds of unsuspecting mortals. We are here to save the good people of Tiree Keep, to protect them and ensure they are safe from witchery.”

“Father Harold speaks the truth,” Roderick said. “We have come to save the innocent. Will ye not aid us in this righteous cause?”

Ewan felt his temper explode. “I willnae. Now get yer arse out of my bailey, Roderick, before I ignore that flag of truce and run my sword through yer blackened heart.”

“True blood shall tell in times of adversity,” the priest cried. “Ye are a man born in sin, Ewan Gilroy, and yer attitude in this grave matter bears witness to yer birth.”

Ewan ground his teeth in frustration. “I say again, ye have no case of witchery against my wife. No proof.”

“Then ye willnae object if we question her?” The priest craned his neck to get a better view of Grace. “If Lady Grace is innocent, then there is nothing to fear. She will come to no harm. In truth, she will clear her name of this most serious charge.”

Ewan refused to mask his disgust. “I forbid it.”

The monk and priest exchanged a guarded look. “We will examine her for a physical deformity or abnormalities to see if she possesses a witch’s mark. And if one is found, we must prick it, to see if it brings her pain. If it does not, then we know it is a true sign of Satan. Ye may be present during the examination if ye wish.”

Ewan’s hand clenched. He imagined his fist connecting with the end of the priest’s bulbous nose and blood spewing far enough to hit the monk and Roderick right in the eye.

“I’ve seen and stroked and kissed every inch of my wife’s lovely flesh in candlelight and sunlight. I can assure ye all, there is no witch’s mark.”

His lighthearted comments brought a nervous laugh from the crowd, yet he could feel their anxiety, their uncertainty. The charge of witchcraft from not one but two holy men was difficult to ignore. Roderick had planned this carefully.

The monk shifted on his feet. “What of Lady Grace’s familiar? We’ve heard tell of a black cat with whom she shares an unnatural fondness.”

Ewan’s head jerked forward. “What? I’ve never seen her with a cat, black or otherwise.”

Roderick extended his arm and spun around in a slow circle. Stopping suddenly, he pointed at one of the maids. Her head was bowed so low Ewan could not see her features, yet he could see the trembling of her limbs.

“Ye there, lass, speak up,” Roderick commanded. “Tell us what ye know of this matter.”

Eyes wide with terror, the maid tried to scramble back into the crowd.

“Ye have nothing to fear,” the monk assured her. “God protects those who reveal the truth.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ewan saw Grace flinch and his heart plummeted.

“I did, in truth, befriend a black cat,” Grace admitted, stepping aside to shield the maid from their view. “’Twas a kitten, actually, and in no way evil.”

The monk eyed her shrewdly. “We will examine this creature also and make that determination ourselves.”

Grace slowly shook her head. “ ’Tis bad enough that ye falsely accuse me. I’ll not allow ye to torture a defenseless animal. Besides, I have not seen the kitten fer weeks.”

Momentarily stymied, the priest and monk looked toward Roderick.

“We could perform a water test,” Roderick offered as casually as though he were suggesting a leisurely ride through the forest.

Beside him, Alec made a strangled cry of protest, bolstering Ewan’s own outrage.

“Nay!” Ewan shouted. “Ye’ll not be tying Grace’s hands to her feet and then tossing her in the loch.”

“But the innocent will sink while the guilty remain afloat,” Roderick insisted. “A sure sign of a witch.”

“The courts and the church disapprove of this method,” Alec countered.

Father Harold shook his head. “It can be used in addition to other evidence gathered by the accuser.”

“But there is more,” the monk added. “Even as we speak of this evil, Lady Grace stands so tall and proud. ’Tis known that witches rarely weep. The mere fact that she does not cry displays damning evidence of her guilt.”

Father Harold tried to take a step in Grace’s direction, but Ewan thrust up his arm and blocked his path. “If ye value yer life, ye will keep yer distance from my wife.”

After viewing Ewan’s rigid gaze, the priest wisely decided against the notion.

“We are not surprised that ye dinnae believe these charges, Sir Ewan,” the monk interjected. “The lass has bewitched ye.”

“Aye.” A flare of malice gleamed in Roderick’s eyes. “It is not uncommon for those surrounded by the demon spawn to be bewitched by their power. Yer passionate defense of Lady Grace naturally calls into question yer own judgment. A witch drains a person of all reason and sense. That could very well be the case in this situation.”

Ewan’s lip curled. His pulse was pounding loudly in his ears, driving his anger to unimaginable heights. Enough! The longer he allowed these men to voice their vile untruths, the greater the possibility that others might believe the charges. Or at least start to question the truth.

His people would need strength and solidarity to survive a long siege. Strife among themselves would weaken their position, which was precisely what Roderick hoped to achieve.

“Ye have said yer peace and spewed yer lies and now ye will leave,” Ewan commanded.

“Nothing has been settled,” Father Harold whined.

“Aye, it has,” Ewan barked out, pulling his sword. “I’ll have my patience tried no further. Ye will climb back upon yer mounts and ride out of here before it gives way. I swear before one and all that I’ll not be responsible fer my actions if ye dinnae heed this warning.”

“We have come under a banner of truce,” the monk cried in a desperate voice.

“Aye, but I can guarantee that ye’ll not be leaving under it unless ye move quickly,” Ewan threatened.

White-faced, the priest and monk scurried away, but Roderick held his ground. “This is far from over,” he declared with a flare of malice in his eyes. “I willnae be denied the justice I seek.”

“Ye seek vengeance, and I’ll not allow ye to satisfy it with my wife, on my land, in my home.” Ewan felt his entire body tighten with rage, then suddenly his head swam with a wave of dizziness.
Damnation!
The aftermath of the fever still held him in weakness, but it would be foolhardy to allow Roderick to see it. Pulling from the dregs of his strength, Ewan announced, “The next time we meet, it shall be in battle.”

The bailey was painfully quiet as Roderick, the priest, and the monk rode from it. The moment they were clear of the gate, the keep was shut tight and Grace finally allowed the breath she had been holding to escape.

Witchcraft? The notion was so preposterous that when Roderick had initially shouted it, she had not believed he was serious. But that emotion was quickly dispelled when the priest and monk had started making accusations and discussing how they would examine her to arrive at their verdict. In a fog she had listened to the ridiculous charges, hardly believing her ears.