“He burned her,” Marianne whispered, her heart thumping sickeningly in her chest as the memory of the dream – the vision – flickered before her eyes in a wash of flame and weak winter sun. Dolores looked back at her. “He burned her to ash.”
Chapter 12
They talked until dawn. It seemed to have helped Dolores a lot to unburden a little of the magnitude of what had happened to her – she talked in circles, mostly, repeating important points, so many regrets about things she wished she had done differently, and though there was a lot of repetition, Marianne learned a lot more about her ancestor, and began to formulate a theory about why she had been brought to her.
An innocent, bright, beloved young woman, with her whole life spread out ahead of her, Marianne looked back at what she’d been like at twenty-two years old and almost burst into tears just thinking of her life being cut short so young, being so cruelly executed – murdered, honestly. She was a little amazed that Dolores managed to be as calm as she did, that she wasn’t frothing with vengeance and wrath.
There were people in the village who could have stopped it, surely – couldn’t they have risen up, fought the Inquisition off, demanded a fairer trial? Not that witch trials were exactly known for being fair and balanced occurrences…but weren’t the Scottish meant to be rebellious? She didn’t say any of this to Dolores, of course – it was such a momentous event that the woman had trusted her enough to speak about her lost daughter, she didn’t dare risk making things worse for her.
When the first fingers of dawn light were creeping over the windowsill, Dolores looked up with a start. Their tea was long finished, and they’d put a considerable dent in the plate of leftovers, too – Marianne had been right to suspect that Dolores hadn’t had much time to eat the evening before and gods, didn’t the feast feel as far away as her apartment in San Francisco…
“I need to get to work,” she said, rising to her feet, then almost falling with exhaustion.
Marianne jumped to her side to steady her. “Absolutely not. You need rest. They’ll cope without you for a day, surely, Dolores.”
“No – Margaret will worry, I always do – I always do the bacon, there’ll be no —”
“Shh. I’ll do the bacon myself, if I have to. I’ll go down to the kitchens now and tell Margaret that you’re unwell. I’m sure they can handle it.” She smiled. “I’d be surprised if anyone even gets up before noon, with the amount of drinking and dancing that went on last night.”
This seemed to sway Dolores a little. She guided her to her bed, ignoring her half-hearted protests – and by the time she’d tucked her in, stroking her dark brown hair out of her face, the woman was half asleep. It wasn’t long before she fell into a full, deep sleep that Marianne hoped would be restful and healing. She stood over her bed for a moment, murmuring a prayer to anyone who was listening.
However, sleep wasn’t on Marianne’s agenda. Not today. Not when she still had so many questions. But first things first – she’d made a promise. Blinking the bleariness away from her eyes, Marianne changed out of the night clothes she’d worn the evening before— or had it been that morning? She reached for her phone, then cursed, irritated with herself for that ongoing error. She brushed her straight hair a few times, too, thankful at least for the small mercy of manageable hair. She wasn’t sure what she’d have done with a head full of curls, or even a glorious mane like Audrina’s. Suffered, probably.
On the way to the kitchen, she ran into Cora, who looked as hungover as she’d ever seen her. Her woebegone expression quickly disappeared when she looked at Marianne, though, replaced with an alert look of concern and consternation. “Marianne? You look like hell. Is something wrong?”
“You don’t look especially fresh yourself, my dear,” Marianne retorted, smiling a little, but the joke didn’t do much to allay Cora’s clear worry. “I had a nightmare last night. And a long talk with Dolores.”
Cora didn’t even blink. “Right. I had dreams, too. I’m not surprised that you look like you haven’t slept for a week.”
They were walking side by side toward the great hall, and Marianne stole a glance sideways at Cora, wondering about what made her seem so familiar with the kind of nightmare that had woken her up screaming.
“Dolores woke me up,” she continued, “and then – well, she told me her story, and I’m honestly not surprised I’m here anymore. If anything, I’m shocked I didn’t get here sooner.”
She filled Cora in on the details as they walked the rest of the way to the hall, keeping her voice low in case of listening ears – with the horrible, visceral knowledge of what could be done to women even suspected of witchcraft, Marianne certainly wasn’t interested in being confirmed as a witch by an eavesdropper. For perhaps the first time, she understood the full significance of the time and place she was in – a world where witchcraft wasn’t something to be made fun of, or a strange quirk favored largely by single women with too many cats, but a dark and frightening force that merited all kinds of hideous action from men who claimed to be godly. The fear that settled in her stomach was hard to shake.
They broke off talking when they found Margaret – the woman was sympathetic when Marianne explained that Dolores wasn’t feeling well, and indicated gracefully that her work would easily be covered by another of the kitchen staff. When they moved out into the Hall to talk further, Marianne overheard Margaret instructing a young woman to take a plate of breakfast up to Dolores’s room for her, and smiled. As long as competent women like Margaret were around, no situation – however dire – could truly be hopeless. Maybe she should send Margaret after the witch hunters. She’d set them straight in half an hour and get their kitchens in working order while she was at it.
“I honestly don’t think that woman sleeps,” Cora murmured, clearly thinking along similar lines to her cousin, and the women shared a very welcome laugh that broke the anxiety and dread their conversation had stirred up. But it wasn’t long before the silence crept back in to reclaim its rightful place.
“So, Elena brought me back here – and I think I know why.”
“To look after her mother?”
“No. You’re all doing a fine job of that,” Marianne said, smiling a little at how fondly Dolores had talked about the MacClarans and her life here at the castle. Her dedication to her work was just one small way she showed her gratitude – but she took it extraordinarily seriously. Marianne envied that kind of work ethic.
“Justice, then? To clear her name?”
“Her name is clear. Nobody honestly believed that she’d done witchcraft. Everyone in the village adored her, they knew the trial was a sham – they just didn’t do anything to stop it,” she added, a flare of real anger putting a bitter twist in her voice.
“Then why?”
“Revenge.” Marianne’s eyes burned. “She brought me back to avenge her. To set the Church straight. To show that evil fuck of a priest that he can’t treat innocent women like animals. Less than animals. Even animals aren’t killed for no reason. I have to find him, and I have to kill him.”
“Marianne!” Cora was aghast. “I don’t disagree that he needs to be punished, but you really have to be careful of the way you speak...”
“I’m getting really sick of being careful,” Marianne growled. “Fine. I’ll find him, and bring him to justice, whatever that looks like.”
“Alone?”
“I hope not. Ah, just the man I wanted to see.”
Marianne got to her feet as the doors to the Great Hall opened and Colin MacClaran himself entered, looking a little the worse for wear with his scruffy beard looking even scruffier than usual. He had a plate loaded with bacon and a slightly sheepish expression. One too many ales, perhaps. Marianne almost felt sorry for him, and briefly considered keeping her question for another day – but it was too perfect an opportunity. Here was the Laird, alone, approachable. She could hardly appeal to him for help in a court full of people, could she?
“Good mornin
g, Marianne, Cora,” Colin murmured, polite as always as they approached, though she could see in the despairing slump of his shoulders that he’d been hoping for a quiet breakfast.
The regret twinged again. “Sorry to bother you so early, Colin,” she said, meaning it sincerely, “but I wanted to speak to you, while we can speak in private.”
“Is all well?” he enquired, concern stirring in his eyes.
“Not exactly. I’ve been having dreams – and with Dolores’s help, last night I figured out what they mean. Do you remember the death of Elena Corso?”
He closed his eyes for a moment in all the answer she needed. “Aye. I do. A terrible, bleak day and no mistake.”
“I believe Elena was my ancestor, just as Maeve was Audrina’s and Bellina was Cora’s. I believe she brought me back here to avenge her death. And I need your help to do it.”
She could tell that he was flinching slightly every time her voice rose, and she tried hard to smooth it. He frowned regardless – but she suspected it had less to do with the hangover than it did with what she was asking of him.
“Avenge her death? She was executed by the Church, Marianne – do you propose to have me lead an army to Rome?”
“We don’t need the whole Church. Just the priest who did it, to admit to his crimes and submit to punishment for them.”
“Aye, I remember the priest in question.” Colin’s eyes were clouded. “An evil man, by all accounts. Teodoro, is his name.”
Marianne nodded – Dolores had refused to speak the man’s name, so it was good to have that official piece of the puzzle.
“But Marianne, I cannae just attack a representative of the Church like that. Our peace here is so hard-won, so fragile. And what would I say? How would I justify such an attack? Tell them a woman from the future has returned to seek justice for her ancestor? We only narrowly escaped the last witch hunt that came to our gates. If I do this, we’ll all be burned.”
“You don’t need to mention me. Dolores was there – she knows every one of his crimes —”
“Dolores is a sweet woman,” Colin said dismissively, “but hardly a convincing witness.”
Marianne worked hard to keep her temper from rising – she felt Cora place a steadying hand on her forearm. “But she’s right.”
“It won’t help, I’m afraid. Marianne, I truly am sorry, but I cannae risk the lives and wellbeing of everyone in this county to pursue a single priest for justice.” There was a note of finality in his voice that reminded her of the way he’d spoken to Eamon, sealing his sentence. She felt the rage flare up in her.
“May I remind you that a rapist and murderer currently enjoys all the power and privilege of the priesthood, entirely unchallenged? You’re happy to let that stand?”
“Not happy, but resigned,” Colin said flatly, with that same note of finality in his voice. “I am Laird of this castle. You are a respected and honored guest, but I will not lead my Clan to certain destruction on your command. Please excuse me.”
Leaving his full plate, Colin rose to his feet and strode stiff-legged from the Great Hall, leaving Marianne, frozen with rage, staring after him, completely stunned by how entirely he’d rejected her request.
Now what, Elena?
Chapter 13
Marianne strode up and down the Great Hall, chewing her nails to stubs. Cora, clearly wanting to help, but not sure how, just sat on a bench watching her with worried eyes. It was an impossible situation. She saw Colin’s point, when she worked at it – it was a huge fight to take to a terrifyingly powerful organization. Even in her own time, people thought twice about trying to fight the Catholic Church – let alone these days, when there were few other bodies with such power, influence and control over the common people.
Witches like her had fought against such hegemonic power, she knew – and she began to feel a real kinship with that history, a history that she’d only ever paid an academic interest to before now. But she couldn’t just let this priest go – not when she’d been brought back through time and space in a dying woman’s last desperate act of will. She wondered if that evil priest would appreciate the irony at all, that in putting an innocent woman to death for witchcraft, he’d unwittingly caused her to enact one of the most powerful acts of magic Marianne had ever heard of. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced.
Colin may well have wanted her to just settle down and resign herself to a lifetime here while that priest walked free, but she’d had a lot of experience with stern men who wanted her to behave in certain ways. And all of that experience had taught her how to ignore them and do what she wanted to do anyway.
Cora was with her, even though she wasn’t speaking these things aloud – clearly, her cousin could see the way her eyes were burning, and knew that she wasn’t giving up on her mission for vengeance.
“How can I give up?” she asked her, pleading, praying that Cora wouldn’t take the Laird’s side in this matter. She could do without his support, but if Cora was against her, that was another matter. She had so little family left. “How can I give up, when that poor woman’s dying act was to bring me here to avenge her? How can I just let the man who did that to her – who did what he did to Dolores – just walk free?”
“Are you sure you’re not taking this a little personally?”
Marianne stared at her.
“Just playing devil’s advocate,” Cora said quickly, putting her hands up. “You get very invested in dad stuff, that’s all.”
“Cora, her father – and I don’t even like using that word, because it’s miles more noble than what he deserves – that disgusting rapist forced himself on her mother, ignored her for her whole life, then came back just in time to murder her in case her existence got back to him and damaged his precious reputation in the church! Of course I’m invested!”
“And your father disowned you and tried to cast you out of the family for being a Pagan,” Cora said gently, not backing down. “Just – you have to keep your head on straight. If we’re going to do this, you need to be in control. You need not to take this so personally, because that’s a weakness.”
“We?” Marianne dropped her hands. “If we’re going to do this? You’re going to help me?”
“Of course I’m going to help you, you daft witch,” Cora exclaimed, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands toward the ceiling. “You doubted that, for a second? Bellina was burned alive by the Church for no reason too. You think I’m passing up the chance to get revenge on those bastards?”
“I’ve never heard you talk like that about the Church.”
“I love God. I don’t love the evil that’s done in His name. And this is evil, no doubt about it.” Her eyes gleamed. “Ian will help us.”
“Against his cousin’s instructions?”
“Ian’s never followed Colin’s orders in his life, it’s a miracle he’s not been exiled like Eamon by now,” Cora said impatiently. “He’ll at least be able to point us in the right direction to track down this priest. He’s probably back in Italy by now – that’s where they all slunk off to when we beat ‘em last time.” Her eyes gleamed. “Remind me to tell you that story sometime.”
“I’d love to hear it.” She swayed a little on her feet, suddenly lightheaded – some combination of the relief of Cora’s support and the sleepless night beginning to take their toll. Cora steadied her.
“But before that – how much sleep did you get last night?”
“An hour? Maybe?”
“Go and get some rest. Seriously, lack of sleep’s a killer. I remember when I was having those dreams.”
Cora looked at her for a long moment, then pulled her into a hug – a surprising gesture, but as Marianne put her arms around her cousin she realized how sorely she needed it. She was still hurt and reeling from the revelations of the last six hours, but knowing that she had Cora on her side made her feel strong. Resolute. Ready to hunt down every last fragment of evil in the Church and pull it out by the roots herself,
if she had to.
But first – an enormous yawn nearly dislocated her jaw – some rest. Cora guided her up the stairs, rubbed her back comfortingly, then hurried her into her room and left her to it. She dropped onto the unmade cot, not caring about the rumpled blankets, and fell almost immediately into an exhausted slumber. No dreams woke her this time. Her body seemed to be too exhausted, and her mind needed the relief of a few hours of oblivion. When she came to, the sun was high in the sky above the window, and Dolores was up too, clearly – like Marianne – unable to sleep for too long once the sun was shining. She was sitting by the unlit fire, knitting; the repetitive clicking sounds somewhat soothing in their way. When Marianne stirred, she took a sharp breath.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, Dolores, you were quiet as a mouse,” Marianne murmured, stretching. “I don’t think a herd of horses running through here would have woken me up, anyway.”
Dolores smiled. “I’m glad you slept well.”
“Before I slept, I talked to the Laird. Managed to catch him at breakfast.”
“Yes?” The knitting stopped, abruptly, and Marianne sighed to herself at the bad news she had to deliver.
“He said he won’t help.”
Dolores’s face fell.
Marianne hastened to add, “But all that means is I’m going after him myself. All the way to Italy, if I have to. Whatever’s needed. Elena will have her revenge, I promise you.”
Now panic came into her brown eyes and she leaned forward, her knitting forgotten, reaching out across the room toward Marianne as though she meant to physically restrain her from hunting down the priest. “You can’t. No. It’s too dangerous. You’re not – you don’t know these parts, you don’t know the priest, you don’t… Please, Marianne, you can’t do this.”
Highlander Protected: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 3) Page 8