Choosing the Highlander (34 page)

Worst of all, his family hadn’t met his wife. Would they hear of the marriage? As of this moment, the only ones who knew were Ewan, who had performed the rites, and Terran, with whom he’d had the chance to speak quietly while Ruthven commanded his men.

“At least you got to consummate your marriage, man,” Terran whispered. He lay on his belly beside Wilhelm, surprisingly unruffled considering the circumstances. “Would have been weeks before Aifric healed enough for bedsport. My biggest regret is not kenning her in a Biblical sense.” His grin fell. “My wife. Christ, Will. Pray for her, will you, that she’ll be all right. And bonny Anice.”

“I shall, brother. I shall.” He wished he could comfort his cousin more, but at that moment a robed man mounted the platform.

“Bishop of Perthshire, do ye suppose?” Terran said.

“No doubt.”

Their supposition was confirmed when Ruthven introduced the bishop with far more flattery than was required.

The bishop read the charges against them, attempted murder of a clergyman and two counts of obstructing necessary purging by the church.

Bile rose in Wilhelm’s throat. This, like the attempted burning of his wife and Aifric, was a perversion of justice. These types of all-too-common atrocities were what he’d wanted to fight against. Who would take up this mantle if not him?

“Is there anyone present with evidence to the contrary?” The bishop presented the crowd with an opportunity to protest the charges, somat Ruthven had failed to do at his gathering.

The question was more commonly asked at the trial rather than the execution, but Wilhelm supposed he should be glad for the concession to procedure. Of course, he wasn’t well known in Inverness, so no one would speak up, but there was no reason Wilhelm couldn’t speak on his own behalf. He did not expect to win over the bishop, especially since he could barely speak for the searing agony in his ribs, but he would be a worthless blight if he didn’t make the attempt.

“I protest,” he called out, his voice weaker than he wished.

Terran spoke up as well. “As do I. We doona deny instigating a skirmish, but we never touched Rat-bum’s priest. And the women we saved from that bastard’s pyres were innocent as wee lambs. I’d start a thousand fires to protect innocent wo—” He broke off with a grunt when Ruthven kicked him.

This got the crowd murmuring.

Wilhelm took a great breath, nearly blinding himself with pain, and prepared to demand a fair trial, but a voice ringing with authority came from the gathered onlookers.

“Release these men. Now.”

He strained to see who the newcomer was, but the bishops robes blocked his view.

“Who demands this?” asked the bishop.

“Magistrate Robert Turstan, that’s who.”

Och,
Lord Turstan was the parliamentarian Wilhelm had wished to speak with at Ruthven’s gathering. He’d been present on the night in question and would ken the truth, that Wilhelm and Terran had acted justly in defense of the women.

“This bus
iness doesna concern the Earl of Inverness,” Ruthven said. “These men carried out their crimes in Perthshire. The bishop and I have it well in hand.”
 

“It most certainly does concern me since you’ve chosen to carry out your execution in
my
city and since one of the accused is
my
son.”
 

What?
 

He and Terran were in no way related to Lord Turstan. Could he mean—was Aifric his daughter? Did he mean Terran was his son by marriage? No. That couldn’t be. Aifric had been from Perth and had told them her parents were poor cottars.
 

Still, his truth sense detected partial truth in Turstan’s assertion.
 

Ruthven scoffed. “Nonsense. I ken this man’s father.” He kicked Wilhelm in the ribs. Pain like lightning crashed over him. “Who also happens to be this man’s uncle—” A grunt from Terran filled the pause. “And I take as much umbrage to him as to these poor excuses for noble stock. I say again. This business doesna concern you.”
 

“Leave them alone!” A feminine voice he knew well shouted the command. Constance!
 

Ignoring the discomfort, he craned his neck to lay eyes on her. There!
 

She wore a velvet gown the color of amethyst and a gray cloak lined with rabbit fur. Her hair was tied back from her face, but he could see it had been darkened somehow. Lord Turstan, a tall man with a cane, held her back from mounting the platform. Her eyes of every color were locked on Wilhelm. They flashed with worry. The urge to comfort her was a living thing in his chest.
 

How was this possible? He’d seen her go with the shopkeeper. She’d disappeared like magic before his eyes.
 

Besides, she was not the daughter of a magistrate. She’d told him of her parents, who lived in a future time. He’d heard the truth in her words. He’d seen her documents.
 

“Easy, daughter,” Turstan said, leading her by the elbow onto the platform. For the benefit of those gathered, he said, “Wilhelm Murray is the husband of my daughter, Contarra Turstan. He is my son by marriage.”
 

“Lies!” Ruthven pointed a shaking finger, he said, “That woman isna his daughter. That’s the witch! I recognize her! Seize her!”
 

Wilhelm’s heart pounded. Apparently, Constance had found an ally in Lord Turstan. But what did she hope to accomplish by showing her face here?
 

“Turstan speaks true!” An aging gentleman came forward from the onlookers. “That’s the earl’s lass.”
 

Wilhelm recognized the lie.
 

“I’ve known Tarra since she was a wee ane,” a woman said.
 

Truth.
 

“That’s her,” the woman insisted, but Wilhelm sensed the lie. “You ought to be ashamed accusing an upstanding lass of witchcraft. Take your falsehoods back to Perth!”
 

Murmurs rose from the crowd.
 

Wilhelm’s head was spinning as he tried to work out what was happening. Had Constance or Turstan somehow arranged for some of the onlookers to help them?
 

Och,
all he wanted was to see his wife safe, but she was here in front of his enemy. She’d put herself directly in the path of danger. He was helpless to rescue her if the bishop called for her arrest. He’d been more at peace when he’d thought she returned to her familiar time.
 

“Any citizen here would vouch for the earl.” Ruthven made a face like he’d tasted somat bitter. “This is Inverness, after all. Your Holiness, you must order her arrest. I doona ken Lord Turstan’s purpose, but he’s clearly protecting a charge of the devil.
 

“That woman is a witch and a spy. I witnessed the proof with my own eyes. Why, she attempted to control my men and I with a hag stone! Every one kens that to wear such a stone is to align oneself with the devil. How shall our great Scotia remain pure if we fail to deal harshly with such evil?”
 

The onlookers shouted mixed messages. “Burn the witch!” “Go back to Perth, baron!”
 

’Twas difficult to determine whether the majority were for or against Ruthven, but it seemed every soul had an opinion. The lawn of the citadel buzzed like a riled hornet’s nest. Even the children cheered, though for what they probably didn’t even ken.
 

Turstan appealed to the crowd. “Lord Ruthven speaks true.” He motioned to the baron as the crowd quieted. He’d gotten their attention by agreeing with his enemy. “He speaks true. Evil must be dealt with harshly, no?”
 

Several of those gathered shouted their agreements. The man had a talent for arguing before many. Would that Wilhelm could have met him under different circumstances. Perhaps he might have been a mentor.
 

“What’s Turstan doing?” Terran asked. “What’s your wife doing with him?”
 

He shook his head, wishing he kent the answer.
 

Turstan spoke into the weighty silence. “Those who embrace evil should be dealt with harshly,” he repeated. “Especially those who put their faith in objects of demonic power. Do you nay agree, Your Holiness?”
 

“Say what you mean,” the bishop growled.
 

“If you would be so kind, gentleman—” Turstan motioned forward a pair of guards in plaids, who strode toward Ruthven.
 

The baron edged behind the bishop. “What’s this about, Turstan?”
 

“I have it on good authority the very man who accuses women of witchcraft for wearing hag stones himself wears one. Men, inspect the baron for implements of demonism.”
 

“Preposterous!” Ruthven sputtered, backing away.
 

When he trod close to where Wilhelm lay, he was sorely tempted to trip the man. But he refrained. He rather enjoyed seeing Ruthven retreating with panic in his eyes.
 

“Your Holiness, ye canna allow this! I refuse to be manhandled!”
 

“Yield to them,” the bishop ordered.
 

Turstan’s guards cornered Ruthven, each grabbing an arm. The bishop himself plucked at Ruthven’s collar, treating the linen none too gently. He froze.
 

Wilhelm couldn’t see the bishop’s face, but Ruthven paled. “’Tis no’ mine. This is the hag stone
that
witch was wearing.” He jabbed a finger in Constance’s direction. “I was just keeping it out of the hands of those who would abuse its power.”
 

The bishop tore somat from Ruthven’s neck and tossed it away. The object skittered along the planks like a dead snake. When it came to rest, Wilhelm saw ’twas a stone the size of a doe’s tail with a woven leather cord making it into a necklace. It landed at Constance’s feet.
 

Wilhelm did not miss how her eyes lit with recognition when she saw it.
Och,
he prayed no one else had noticed.
 

But the moment was fleeting. She quickly returned her gaze to him. They’re eyes locked, and the connection between them went taut as a bowstring. How he loved her! Dare he hope Turstan would succeed in whatever plot he and Constance had hatched? Dare he believe he might hold her again? Kiss her? Have a life with her?
 

“Furthermore, Your Holiness,” Turstan continued as if denials weren’t still falling from Ruthven’s lips. “With all due respect, your area of oversight is Perthshire and her surrounding
counties. As magistrate of Inverness-shire, I have full authority to carry out or stay executions within the county’s borders.”
 

Addressing the onlookers, he said, “It is my ruling that these two men are guilty of instigating, but with fair cause. The beatings they’ve received shall suffice as due punishment. They are to be released at once. It is also my pleasure to place Lord Jacob Ruthven, Baron of Perthshire, under arrest for failure to follow the laws proscribed by the crown regarding the administration of justice
and
for dealing in witchcraft. Officers, if you will.”
 

Turstan’s guards still held Ruthven by his arms. Though he struggled against them, they had little difficulty leading him away.
 

The bishop curled his lip, looking furious to have been dragged to Inverness for this. With a sweep of his robes, he stormed off the platform and disappeared into the crowd. Good riddance.
 

Constance broke free from Turstan and rushed toward him and Terran, knife in hand. Sobs feathering from between her trembling lips, she sawed through his ropes first and then Terran’s.
 

“Honestly, boys,” she said in her English way, now touched with a bit of Scots. “I canna take you anywhere without you causing trouble.”
 

When the ropes fell free, his joints screamed, but he ignored the pain and dragged his wife into his arms. Breathing in her scent, he assured himself she was truly his Constant Rose and not some illusion. When he ran his hands over her hair, his palms came away blackened.
 

“Saddle polish,” she whispered in his ear. At his questioning look, she said, “’Tis a long story.”
 

Terran picked her up and swirled her around, no worse for wear after the beating he’d taken. “I look forward to hearing it, lass. I kent ye were a loyal one. Didna I say to you, Will, that lass of yours is loyal.”
 

Wilhelm chuckled, but pain stole his breath.
 

Constance was there, supporting him as he sat on the platform.
 

While the spots cleared from his vision, he thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a wee monkey in trews leaping onto the platform and running off with the hag stone necklace. He blinked, wondering if he was seeing things, but when he glanced at Constance, he found her smiling and following the monkey with her eyes as it disappeared into the crowd.
 

“Let’s get you back to my house, son.” Lord Turstan stood over him, offering a hand.
 

Wilhelm clasped it. “My thanks, my lord.”
 

“You’ll call me Robert. I hear ye have a judicial act you’re seeking support for. I’d like to hear about it while we break our fast.”
 

With Terran under one arm, helping him walk, and Constance under the other, they followed Turstan to a waiting pony cart. All the aches of his beating couldna keep the grin from his face as he said to his wife, “You are my miracle, lass.”

“I don’t know if I believe in miracles,” she replied, her natural speech low so only he could hear. “But I’m beginning to believe in magic.”

Chapter 29

“What are ye doing out here, lass?” Robert Turstan’s voice came from a window above as Connie stood on the narrow ledge separating the backs of the row houses from a branch of the River Ness. “’Tis no place for a lady. Come inside. Mrs. Felt’s got supper ready.”