"Father Caleb, hello," she said, a little surprised. He gave her an odd little bow and she couldn't help but smile at the fussiness of the gesture.
"Miss Frakes, my apologies for disturbing you."
If anyone looked disturbed, it was him — it took her a minute to realize why he looked so embarrassed, until she realized her spare clothing was laid out on the bed behind her, including her newly washed underthings. For a priest, she supposed, that was as good as seeing a woman naked — so she stepped out into the hallway to talk to him, gently shutting the door behind her and hiding a smile at the look of vivid gratitude on his face.
"You must be busy with the dead," she said softly, detecting a look of worry on his face, and he nodded solemnly.
"Indeed, I have been. The funerals will be tomorrow, but of course the bodies were in need of… some care." His expression was bleak.
She nodded agreement.
"Ah, of course. You — examined them. I did wonder whether you'd attend another gathering tonight? Perhaps you can — share some words of comfort with the people?"
There was nothing comforting about what she'd learned out there on the hillside that morning, but she nodded regardless. Father Caleb was the village's priest — clearly someone who had earned their trust and respect. If he thought her attendance was a good idea, if it were something that could help in some small way… she was more than willing to do it.
But Connor didn't seem to feel quite the same way about her attendance. He came along with her happily enough, walking side by side, but there was a tension in his body as they headed up to the great church at sunset that made her curious. She was tempted to write it off as a symptom of his exhaustion — predictably, instead of getting some much-needed rest, the man had spent the entire day charging around the village, doing what he could to ease the grief and repair the damage of the night before. She could see the weariness in his face. But there was something else there… something in the worried way he kept glancing at the villagers around them who were also walking up to the church for the meeting.
The atmosphere in the church hall was tense and awful. She sat in one of the pews toward the front, grateful to have Connor at her side… she still felt that odd sense of isolation, of not belonging in this place the same way the other people did. Even Kay, who like her had come from another time and place entirely, seemed to fit in better than she did… and was she imagining the sidelong looks she was catching from the villagers? There was hostility here. She tried to ascribe it to grief, but she was beginning to suspect that there was something more going on.
Father Caleb spoke, and his words went some way to calming the people — he gave an impromptu sermon about grief, about death, and about the afterlife. Karen listened quietly, impressed by the priest and the quiet sincerity of his words. It was a beautiful speech… but at the end of it, she saw Connor grit his teeth as he got up to speak.
He gave a short summary of what had happened, of the results of the investigation they'd conducted. There wasn't much information, unfortunately, save for the names of the men affected. There was a woman sitting in the front row dressed head to toe in black. Karen suspected she knew who this was… and the choked sob she uttered when William's name was listed among the dead confirmed it. Sitting by her side was a little boy of maybe three or four years old, tears streaming down his cheeks as he stared up at his mother. William's wife Rosemary, Connor had mentioned her … and his little son Malcolm. Karen felt a lump rise in her throat as she looked at the two of them. She couldn't imagine what the two were going through… or how frightening it must be, not to know what had been to blame for what had taken their husband and father from them.
Connor finished his description of events, and an uneasy murmuring went up among the villagers — a murmuring that revealed fear, as well as anger. They were frightened — of course they were. Such a senseless, random attack with no explanation? But Karen wasn't expecting Rosemary to get to her feet, lifting her chin defiantly even as her body shook with suppressed tears. She was a young woman — maybe twenty-five, if that — though her grief made her look old beyond her years.
"What caused this?" she demanded, her voice thin — but there was a chorus of agreement from the villagers behind her, clearly strengthening her. "What took our men from their beds? What took my William from his work?"
"We don't know," Connor said softly, his face a mask of sadness. "We're doing everything we can to find out."
"I know," Rosemary said unexpectedly, her voice like ice. "I know exactly what happened." She took a deep breath, and raised her voice, and what she said sent a chill down Karen's spine.
"It was witchcraft."
Chapter 24
The room erupted immediately. This had clearly been a topic of hot debate all day — the explosion of noise sounded like about forty arguments being immediately reawakened. Shocked by the volume, Karen listened in vain to the dozens of voices even as Connor shouted for quiet, trying to bring the noise down to a reasonable level again. Some villages were shouting in defense of the idea, saying it was the clearest example of witchcraft they'd ever seen — others were calling them fools and charlatans. Finally, with the help of Father Caleb, Connor was able to get the crowd under control again.
"I'll remind you there are no witches in our village," Connor said firmly.
Father Caleb nodded solemnly at his side.
"We have evidence to suggest that creatures from the Burgh may be responsible — with the help of the scholars of the Sept, we'll be looking into —"
"Look into witches!" someone shouted from the back of the room, and there was a chorus of agreement. Karen scanned the faces of the crowds, feeling sick low in her stomach. This was always a fear when it came to public health — that fear and anxiety would run away with the public, leading them to jump at shadows. It happened with every serious epidemic, in some form or another. She remembered a virus that first came to prominence in Africa, and quickly spread around the continent. For months, people reacted with attacks against the sick people — even those who were merely suspected of having the virus had been attacked. Fear and anxiety had a way of awakening people's deeply-held beliefs… and as the argument raged around her, she realized that witches were a real fear here.
She remembered reading about witch hunts, a long time ago. The fear, it seemed, was twofold — one, of things not yet understood (especially medicine and disease — that had been the subject of the book she'd been reading, in fact) and the other — of women. The knowledge and power of women had always been a threat to patriarchal institutions like monarchies and churches…. and as a result, a lot of misogynistic rumors were spread about evil women, witches, who did harm to those around her. She remembered thinking how grateful she was to have been born in a more civilized time.
Little did she know that witchcraft might be about to become a much more serious problem for her personally…
"What about her?" Rosemary said.
Karen realized with a shock that the woman's tearstained eyes were resting on her. She looked around, feeling the crowd of villagers turn their attention to her, and she shrank in her seat. "Who is she, anyway? She arrived in town a week ago, nobody knows where she came from or who her family is… she started lecturing us about cowpox and telling us how to conduct our business, supported entirely by the Watch…"
"What are you suggesting?" Connor asked, his voice suddenly low and deadly. "I remind you, you're speaking in a public place, about a woman who's done nothing but try to help us. Why, it was Karen who examined the bodies of the dead this morning."
This didn't seem to have the effect Connor was after on the villagers — a low murmur went up, the villagers nudging each other and shooting her hostile glances. Clearly, the idea of a stranger examining the bodies of their dead had not gone over well.
"I think she should be investigated, that's all," Rosemary said primly, clearly aware of the impact Connor's words had had. There was an ugly look on her face wh
en she looked at Karen, but she could see the fear and the grief underlying the anger and spite that seemed to be motivating her. "If she's not a witch, she'll have nothing to hide, isn't that right?"
Connor exploded. "How dare you," he almost roared, his voice echoing from the walls of the church. Silence fell immediately, the villagers all recoiling at the anger on the usually cheerful and friendly watchman's face. "How dare you cast aspersions on a woman who's done nothing but help? May I remind you of every single other time you've collectively decided to let your imaginations run away with you and start levelling accusations of witchcraft? Had the Watch not intervened, you'd have run Old Maggie herself out of town! Old Maggie! Whom among us doesn't owe our life or our health to that woman?"
There was a guilty murmur and a shuffling of feet. Karen was staring at Connor, absolutely shocked by this new side of him… and her heart was fluttering furiously at how oddly attractive she found it. All that rage, all that fury… all to defend her? It was enough to make a girl swoon… if she hadn't been so worried about being hauled out onto the hill for witchcraft that was.
"Every time you've convinced yourselves of witchcraft," Connor continued, his voice low and deadly, "or been led by some con artist or other to that conclusion, the problem has gotten a hundred times worse. For once, I implore you to let the Watch do our damn jobs. Sorry, Father Caleb," he added.
The priest waved a hand, clearly more interested in having the uprising quelled than he was in the mild blasphemy being spoken under his roof.
"Why does the Watch exist? To investigate and protect you from things like this. Supernatural forces. Things from beyond the Burgh. Whether or not you believe in it is irrelevant — call it what you will, demons or the ungodly, we know how to fight it. Trust us. And don't turn on one another," he added sharply. "Accusing random women of witchcraft is an excellent road to chaos. Is that understood?"
There was a resentful murmur from the crowd.
Connor nodded grimly. "Good. This is Watch business, you understand? We've encountered dangerous creatures before, and we'll encounter them again. Leave us to do our work. And if I hear any more talk of witchcraft, you'll have me to answer to, understand?"
The villagers settled down completely at that. The rest of the meeting passed in relative peace — Karen could tell that this flare of anger from Connor had utterly surprised all of them, and she felt a secret glow of pleasure deep in her chest that he'd spoken so strongly in her defense. Could it have something to do with his feelings for her? Ever since Kay had said what she'd said, she'd been working on the theory that he was as attracted to her as she was to him… but she'd still been too shy to actually do anything about it. More evidence filed away… maybe in a few years I'll actually bring it up, she thought with a roll of her eyes.
But as the meeting wore on, she realized that Connor's anger hadn't quite succeeded as much as he might have hoped. Though the villagers were quiet, she could still feel their eyes resting on her when she wasn't looking… that prickle on the back of her neck that indicated she was being watched. And when the meeting was finally drawn to a close, the villagers all hurried out ahead of her, casting suspicious glances over their shoulders as though worried she was going to follow them home and cast a spell on them. Exasperated, but not especially surprised, she lingered in the church, getting a sympathetic smile from Father Caleb as he bustled about tidying the hall up. Connor was deep in conversation with the other men of the Watch — she could tell from the tension in his body how annoyed he was with the villagers.
An awful day, all told, she thought as she walked outside into the gathering dark. Mysterious deaths, rumors of monsters and witchcraft… and she herself a suspect. What was she going to do?
Chapter 25
Karen started walking back toward the inn, wanting to get a good night's sleep, but halfway there she knew in her bones that she wasn't going to be able to get any sleep. She still felt restless and worried, so she wandered the streets of the village for a little while, avoiding eye contact with anyone she walked past… which wasn't difficult, given the suspicious looks they were shooting her. It felt oddly lonely, and she found herself wishing Connor were with her. He had a way of cheering her up… and unlike everyone else in the village, she knew he wouldn't suspect her of being a witch.
Or would he? That was a horrible thought. Had he been avoiding talking to her earlier, after the meeting, because he was worried that she was responsible for the deaths of the men? Was that even possible? Surely not… surely, he knew better than that. After all, he'd defended her so vocally in front of everyone. But her anxiety was creeping in, casting aspersions on her certainty. What if he'd only been trying to convince himself? What if he'd been angry with the suggestion that Karen was a witch because he, too, was worried it was true? He was a sixteenth century soldier, and she'd been very open with him about everything she knew about medicine, about the spread of diseases... what if he suspected her?
The thought was so stressful that she found herself halfway to the church, the last place she'd seen him, before she realized how silly that was — he'd be home by now, probably fast asleep given how exhausted he'd been. She hesitated, almost wanting to go straight to his house, but not wanting to wake him from his sorely needed sleep. Still, her feet took her to his cottage… but she needn't have worried. He clearly hadn't been home yet. Then, where was he?
She found him eventually — on the very hillside where the bodies had been discovered that morning. Thankfully, there was no sign remaining of the corpses — they'd been carefully carried back up to the church to be prepared for burial, and the hillside, lit by moonlight, was clear of anything but grass and heather and the occasional tree. It was by one of these trees that she found Connor, focused deeply on something in his hand that she realized with a start was the sling he always carried at his belt. He hadn't noticed her yet, and she hovered, torn between not wanting to bother him and not wanting to startle him when he was wielding a deadly weapon…
And a frightening weapon it was. He had a pocketful of small stones, which he put into the sling's pouch over and over, whirling it then sending the stone flying toward the tree that stood some distance away. Each time, the stone struck the tree with a solid thunk — even in the moonlight, and at a considerable distance, his accuracy with the weapon was amazing. She watched quietly as he flung stone after stone at the tree, and when his little supply ran out, she cleared her throat softly to alert him to her presence.
"Karen! What on Earth are you doing out so late?" He was clearly pleased to see her, despite his scolding tone.
She smiled, already reassured a little that he wasn't furious with her for being a witch. "I could ask you the same question. Aren't you running on no sleep whatsoever?"
"Had to vent some anger," he said with a shrug, gesturing with the sling in his hand. As she stepped closer to him, she blinked, smelling a familiar scent… and as he noticed her inhaling, he grinned, reaching into his pocket to pull out a sizable flask that sloshed when he shook it. "What's better for a temper than whisky?"
She couldn't help but laugh. "You're a good shot with that for a drunk," she observed, nodding to the sling in his hand.
He pretended offence. "Drunk! I'd need four of these at least to be drunk. You insult my tolerance," he said, taking a deep swig of the drink then offering it to her.
She grinned, accepting it. The idea of a drink sounded amazing right about now. Maybe it would help soothe her ragged nerves a little. She'd always tried to steer clear of alcohol as stress medication — that was a slippery slope she wasn't interested in sliding down — but right now, she decided, she definitely needed it. The whisky was delicious — it burned pleasantly all the way down her throat, setting off a warm glow in her chest that was only accentuated by the way Connor was smiling at her.
"I haven't seen anyone else with one of those," she said, still interested in the sling. "They all have swords or bows."
"Aye, I've gotten my fair sha
re of ribbing for wielding what they call a child's toy as a weapon," Connor agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "But I like it. It's deadly as anything if you're accurate enough — which I am — and it keeps your foe much further away than even a broadsword." He reached into his pocket, then sighed. "A sword doesn't run out of ammunition, though."
"Did you make it yourself?" she asked, curious. Connor sat down heavily on the hillside, stretching his legs out in front of him and inviting her to sit beside him with a gesture of his hand.
"No, no. A merchant came to the village when I was just a boy. Said he was from Greece — saw me with a child's slingshot, complimented my aim and sold me this, the adult version I suppose." He grinned. "I've been practicing with it ever since. I'm better with it than a bow or a sword."
"Maybe I should learn how to fight with something," she said softly, gazing into the sky. It was a clear night after last night's storm, and the stars and moon shone down so brightly that it was almost as bright as day. "Especially if the townsfolk are going to come after me for witchcraft…"
"They're not," Connor said sharply. "Don't you worry about that. The minute any one of them tries something, they'll have a sling bullet right between the eyes." He took another sip of the whisky and handed it to her, gazing out across the hillside. From their vantage point, they could see a little of the town, laid out before them. "They're just frightened," he said softly. "Frightened of death, of danger, of things they don't understand. So, they pin it on you, something else they don't understand."
"Do you?" she said softly, feeling the alcohol loosen her tongue. "Do you understand me? Do you think I'm —"
"Of course, I don't think you're a witch," he said fiercely. "Don't be ridiculous." To her surprise, she felt him throw an arm around her shoulders and pull her close to him, jostling her a little as though to shake the idea right out of her. "You're no witch, Karen Frakes. I know that. And even if you were… you'd never do something like this. I trust that."
Troubled By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 6) Page 10