Flora gave her a dubious look. “Shame on ye, Mistress Gretna. Ye’d tan yer sons’ arses for such a stretching of the rules.”
Gretna chose to ignore that remark. “Of course, I’d ask Graham and Sutherland’s permission first.” Maybe, she silently added. She could sway Sawny to her side much easier than those two. All she wanted was for a stroll outside the wall. Up the mountain a short way. Not far at all. Where was the harm in that? Besides, if she didn’t get a dish of buttered fiddleheads, she’d surely die. “Come. I have to at least try.”
“Are ye sure?” Flora glanced around as though they were plotting a crime.
“Aye. Quite sure.” She could taste those fiddleheads already.
Gretna hurried to the east gate. Graham and Sutherland were most likely in the guard tower at the main entrance, but Sawny usually guarded the gate to the east and should’ve made it back to his post by now. It was just as well. The mountainside to the east of the keep usually offered the most to choose from when it came to fiddleheads because a hearty grove of rowan trees had been planted there when Tor Ruadh was built.
Scanning the wall, she shielded her eyes from the sun. There stood Sawny, apparently discussing a longbow held between himself and another guard. “Sawny!” She waved him down.
He left the bow with the guard and climbed down from the lookout post above the eastern gate. “Aye, mistress?”
Pulling Flora a step closer, Gretna gave Sawny her most beguiling smile. “I came to ask a wee favor.”
“A favor?” Sawny shifted back a step and looked ready to bolt.
“Do ye like tender, spring fiddleheads, Sawny? Browned in a skillet of fat for just a moment or two, then smothered in butter?” Lord have mercy, if she kept talking like that, she’d have her mouth watering so much she’d drown.
“Aye. I suppose so.” Sawny glanced over at Flora, who gave a quick shake of her head.
Gretna closed the distance between them and stole a look toward the gate. “There’s ferns aplenty in the woods just beyond that wall. New greens, ramps, and wild garlic, too.” Assuming as innocent a look as she could muster, Gretna motioned toward the gate with her basket. “Where would be the harm in letting us forage among yon trees for a wee bit? Ye could watch over us from atop the wall, ye ken? We promise to stay within arrow range.”
Sawny snapped his head back and forth. “Nay. Master Ian would have my arse, and when he was done with it, if anything was left, the chieftain would finish me off.” Shaking his head again, he backed up another step. “Graham and Sutherland would be after me, too. There wouldna be enough of me left to pray over by the time all of them got done with me.”
“We’d stay within arrow range,” she promised again. “Right close to the wall.” Determination mounting, Gretna surged forward another pace. She had to have those greens. “The trees are nay even fully leafed yet. Ye’d be able to see us clearly.” She smiled and patted her hair. “I’ll be sure and keep my head uncovered. Ye canna miss this red hair against the greening of the mountain.”
“Nay,” he said, but his denial sounded weaker. “Dinna ask this of me, mistress. What if something ill happened? I’d never forgive myself.”
“Something ill? On this side of the mountain? What could possibly happen?” She jutted her chin upward and glared at him with the same look she used to strike fear into her sons. Sawny might be a man grown, but it would work on him, too.
“Attack.” Sawny stood taller. “What if someone attacked while ye were in the wood?”
“They’d not be close enough to do us harm before we made it back inside the gate. Ye know that as well as I. The east side is so steep, they canna attack from above, nor from farther east. The only way to storm the keep is from the south. I’m not a fool, Sawny. I’ve survived attacks here before.” Gretna sidled closer to the gate. “And there’s naught but one cave on this side of the keep. A small one up the mountain a little way. Word has it that it’s too small to be good for anything, so I doubt any danger hides in its shadows.”
Scrubbing his face with both hands, he let out a frustrated growl. “Why do ye need these greens so badly? There’s food aplenty in the kitchens.”
“Do ye not remember always having to fetch extra pickled eggs and cabbage for Jenny? Had to get her enough to feed the entirety of the Highlands because she couldna get her fill of them?” Gretna waited. Sawny’s defenses were weakening. The fiddleheads were as good as hers.
His shoulders slumping, he stared at her for a long moment, then turned and glared at the gate. He shook his head and threw up his hands. “I yield.” With a stern scowl, he pointed at the gate. “But ye stay close to the wall, and dinna stay out there long. The quicker the better. I’m a dead man if they find out, ye ken?”
“Nothing will happen,” Gretna assured as she hurried forward, waving for Flora to follow.
Chains rattled as the heavy wood gates swung open, and the iron portcullis lifted. Sawny shooed them forward. “If aught happens, and I call ye to come, will ye at least do me the courtesy of listening and hie yerselves back inside?”
“I swear it.” Gretna gathered up her skirts and ran out the gate like a lassie escaping her chores. She and Flora hurried into the trees before Sawny changed his mind.
Flora chuckled. “No wonder yer bairns are such feisty lads. They get it from their mother.”
“Perhaps.” Gretna took that as a compliment. “Look! I knew it! Loads of fiddleheads.” A carpet of ferns grew around the base of several trees, all of them putting up new sprouts. Pulling her small knife from her belt, Gretna started harvesting them. One end of her basket was soon piled high with the green spirals.
“Might there be enough so I could fix some for Hugh?” Flora asked as she clipped off more of the greens and piled them atop the ramps, cress, and wild garlic in her basket.
“Hugh?” Gretna straightened and fixed her full attention on Flora. “Hugh MacElroy?” She’d heard rumors about Flora and the overly short owner of MacElroy’s Sundries but figured it a cruel jest by folk who had nothing better to do than say hurtful things about others.
Flora’s cheeks grew rosier, and she ducked her head. “Aye. I know we’re an odd match. Me, big and clumsy as I am, and Hugh short as a wee bairn, but he’s a dear man filled with loving-kindness.”
Gretna smiled, warmed by the news. “I wouldna say ye’re an odd match at all.” She picked her way around the ferns and reached for Flora’s hand to give it a squeeze. “Kindred souls seek out their other half. When they find their match, they know it. It doesna matter the body that happens to house that soul.” With a stern look, she shook her finger. “But if he ever treats ye ill, he’ll have me to deal with!”
“Mistress Gretna!” The shout came from the path rounding the keep beside the skirting wall. “Ye must come quick!”
Gretna whirled about, the urgent cry sending her heart to her throat. Were they under attack? She’d heard nothing. “What is it?” She and Flora rushed to meet the man trotting toward them.
“Thank the Almighty I spotted ye on my way up the lane!” Lonnie McNaughton, waving both hands and gasping for breath, had apparently run all the way from the village. “It’s Rannoch MacNeilage’s lad, Roddie. Fell to the ground while fetching water. White as a ghost. Foam coming out his mouth and fightin’ away any who try to help him.”
Without hesitation, Gretna handed her basket to Flora, grabbed up her skirts, and turned toward the village, pausing long enough to shout instructions over her shoulder, “Fetch my bag, aye?” Although Lonnie McNaughton had always been close to Colin, first cousin, in fact, he seemed sincere in his panic about Roddie.
Sawny roared from atop the skirting wall. “Nay, Mistress Gretna! Ye must stop!”
Ignoring him, Gretna only slowed enough to pick her way around a muddy patch stretching out from the wall. Poor Roddie MacNeilage had never been a healthy lad. He was the same age as Finn and had suffered from these spells before. She had to get him calmed down before the entire vill
age decided he was possessed by demons and tried to drown him again. They’d nearly killed the wee boy last time. Mugwort seemed to help the lad. His situation was dire enough to make her break her oath to her husband.
She’d not let the boy suffer from the prejudices some of these superstitious villagers had.
The main gate’s horns sounded, blasting out the alarm signaling an attack. Still hurrying along, Gretna scanned the area. Few were about. The closest folks were a pair of men in a cart, driving along at a leisurely pace on the path to the village. She and Lonnie would soon pass them. Surely, Graham and Sutherland hadn’t sounded the alarm because of her leaving the keep?
She rushed onward, glancing over at Lonnie as she swerved around several mud holes. “How long since the boy took ill?”
The man bared his teeth and loomed closer. “Got ye now, witch! Lured ye away from yer safe nest where ye bespelled all yer protectors.”
“What?” Too late, the trap became all too clear.
As she dodged him, Lonnie caught hold of her skirts and threw her to the ground.
Before she could rise and escape, someone behind her yanked a cloth sack over her head. Rough hands grabbed at her legs and arms. Another pair of hands rudely groped and dragged her across the ground. A rope or some sort of cord jammed across her face, parting her teeth and gagging her with the sack.
She tried to scream, fighting as ties wound around her body. God help me. She screamed again, whipping her head back and forth in vain. Did they mean to drown her? Who were these vile people?
“Make sure ye’ve tied that gag good and tight. We dinna want her speakin’ no spells over us, now do we?”
Gretna stopped struggling, terror striking clear to her heart. It was another Neal she knew. But these were her people, too. Her own clan. How could they? That bastard Colin had rallied his blood kin to carry out his revenge.
“Ye didna tell us she was with child,” said a different voice, a man she didn’t recognize. “No trials nor executions are allowed by our laws if they be carrying new life in their bellies.”
“Even if it might be Satan’s seed?” Lonnie asked in an ominous tone.
Grinding her teeth into the gag, Gretna wished she’d killed her former husband in his sleep when she’d had the chance.
“Nay. We wait until the babe is born and examine it close. If both the child and its caul appear normal, the bairn is allowed to live. Then the witch is tried and burned.” The unknown man snorted out a laugh. “Inverness prefers burning to crushing with stones or drownings. Fire ensures the evil is ousted for good.”
They tossed her, and she landed hard against what felt like boards. Probably the cart she’d seen the men driving. A brief silence followed. Gretna strained to hear the conversation above the rattling of the wheels.
“We could try her now, but it’s nay near as easy to get a confession without a bit a torture,” the stranger wheezed, then barked out a series of groaning coughs. “And the witch pricker doesna like to leave Inverness. Says the pits be full of Satan’s whores needing his tests.”
God help me. She prayed Sawny or someone from the wall had seen what had taken place. They’d not been that far from the keep. Aye, she’d broken her word and gone past arrow range, but surely if they had seen what had happened, someone would overtake them soon. She could tell by the hard jolts bouncing her across the boards of the wagon that they’d left the road and picked up their pace.
The thundering of horses closing in all around gave her hope. She pulled in a deep breath, thankfulness surging through her. It sounded like entire herds, coming from more than one direction. Thank the Almighty. The more the better to overcome these fools.
Gunfire split the air. The wagon lurched to a halt, and something hard poked against the side of her head. “Cease yer shootin’ or she dies without benefit of trial.” It was Lonnie again, holding a gun to her temple.
The sharp tip of a knife pricked through the cloth sack covering her face, cutting into the soft flesh under her chin. “We can either slit her throat or shoot her if ye refuse us safe passage. The choice is yers,” said the bored voice of the stranger who had talked about the witch pricker.
Gretna swallowed hard, her head tipped back by the knife. She became aware of loud murmurings all around. It sounded as though they were surrounded by a restless crowd. But how? They’d left the lane and taken to the field for a short way. They had to be somewhere deeper in the glen. MacCoinnich guards followed orders in silence. Who were these people sounding like an angry mob?
“Release her or die,” Graham said.
Relief washed across her. If the damned rope wasn’t between her teeth, she’d sob aloud. Gretna fisted her hands, digging her nails into her palms. Take the chance. Shoot both the bastards. But she knew better. None of them would risk it.
“Ye dare defy us? The royal commission?” said another voice she didn’t recognize.
“We are the army of witch hunters ordained by God and country,” said a third who was also a stranger.
Had Colin actually gone so far as to rally those who traveled across the land, eking out terror in the name of the Almighty and the crown?
The nasally voice she’d first heard now sounded much closer as the man spoke again, “Ye do realize yer doing such will bring undue scrutiny upon Clan MacCoinnich. The highest in our ranks attends court on a daily basis and reports our findings to Her Majesty. We have the royal ear.”
Gretna shut her eyes tighter, wishing she could awaken from this nightmare. If Graham refused to let them take her, the entire welfare of the clan could be at risk—including her sweet sons.
“Who charges this woman?” Graham demanded. “Ye actually take the word of a bastard who faked his death for six years and abandoned his bairns and his wife? Is that the only complaint against Clan MacCoinnich’s finest healer?”
“It’s nay only Colin’s word, though that be good enough, I reckon.” Lonnie bumped the end of the gun barrel against her skull. “I speak for all the Neals fighting to regain our lands while we cleanse it from this evil. I possess signed statements from a dozen or more in the village. One of them even witnessed the witch casting her spells and calling up demons to reside in her own son. Colin plans to return and have the poor lad exorcised as soon as we finish with this one in Inverness.”
A brief pause followed this announcement. A pause long enough for Gretna to count her pounding heartbeats. Her Finn. They intended to hurt her sweet Finn. She thrashed against the thought. A hard blow against her head filled her ears with a muffled buzzing.
Lonnie continued, “We’ll be bringing a priest from Inverness to handle it. It’s obvious this whore of Satan has bewitched Father William. That man’s in league with the devil, too.”
Burning bile churned at the back of her throat. Gretna swallowed hard, unable to believe all this was happening.
“Who are these witnesses? Bastards ye paid?” The contempt in Graham’s voice was plain. “Gold can make anything seen or heard.”
Graham was stalling for time, trying to figure out what to do. Gretna could almost hear the underlying note of panic in his voice.
“Me! I seen her!” charged a familiar voice. “I be one of the witnesses who signed!”
Gretna opened her eyes, squinting through the loose weave of the cloth covering her head. Was that Hattie Neal, Mam Hattie herself? The woman who had shared her roof and helped with her sons?
“I seen her dancing naked with old Scratch during the full of the moon! Even heard her tell the Earl of Hell to take her youngest son as a vessel for his demons. Ye should hear that poor bairn scream on the nights they torment his soul.” Venom dripped from Hattie’s words as she continued, “And so jealous she was of nay being the chosen clan healer, she had old Elena struck dead. Drove a stake right through that good woman’s heart without even being in the room! She’s powerful wicked, she is. Mark my words!”
How could Hattie say such? The explosion from the messenger’s bomb had killed
Elena Bickerstaff, and how many times had Hattie helped her soothe Finn during his fits? Why would the spiteful woman do this?
Then it came to her. Gretna closed her eyes, feeling a complete fool. Hattie Neal was a distant relation to Colin and Coire but related by blood all the same. Old Hattie hadn’t been the same since Colin showed back up, especially after Gretna had rebuffed him. The spinster also hated Ian. What better way to play out her wicked revenge than help Colin with this cruel plan? Hunger for revenge ran strong in that Neal bloodline.
The gun at her head clicked and nudged her skull hard enough to move her head. “What’s it to be, MacCoinnich? My thumb grows tired of holding back this hammer. ’Twould be a shame for it to go off by accident.”
“If ye’re so convinced of her innocence,” said the first man she hadn’t recognized as the knife pricked her throat harder. “Come to her trial in Inverness.” A wheezing laugh followed. “If the Almighty and the courts find her not guilty of the charges, ye can bring her home, and we’ll trouble ye no more.”
“Or we can kill her now,” Lonnie said. “The choice is yers. I must say, a shot to the head would probably be a lot less painful than what’s sure to happen to this wicked whore in Inverness.” The gun shifted again, thumping against her temple. “What say ye?”
Before Graham could answer, the wheezing man coughed and choked so hard the wagon shook. The knife’s tip slipped away from her throat as the stranger fought to catch his breath. The man gasped and groaned. Gretna heard a hard thud, then all went silent.
“He’s dead!” someone called out in an awestruck tone.
The gun remained jabbed against the side of her head. “Ye see? The witch killed him! Do ye still doubt?”
“Burn her! Burn the witch now!” Hattie started the chant, but it wasn’t long until the crowd joined in. “Burn the witch! Cleanse the clan.”
Gretna closed her eyes and held her breath, her heart breaking. How had this happened? She’d only served these people with love and kindness.
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