A silver rod gleamed in midair. Rubies were on either end, sharpened into pointy tips. A reddish glow floated around the instrument, giving it an ethereal appearance.
Lachlan went to touch it, but the gypsy clawed his wrist. “This is not something you can examine, witch hunter.”
With a flick of her fingers, the rod rapidly spun in the air and flew into the mountain wall. Rock and dust flew back at Lachlan and he shielded his eyes. The noise was deafening, the instrument wielded its way through the hard rock, cutting a tunnel. When all was quiet and the dust had settled, Lachlan peered through the opening to see a light at the end. His mount waited on the other side.
He hesitated, blinking with bewilderment.
“Who are you?” he asked, not taking his gaze off the tunnel.
“I am…a friend.”
“How do I know I can trust you…friend?”
The gypsy pulled from her pocket a silver necklace with a black wolf etched in metal. Rhiannon had worn the pendent of the Roberts crest the first time they made love. He had not seen it on her since.
Dropping the necklace into his hands, the woman disappeared as quickly as she appeared. Wasting no time, he ran through the tunnel.
He was coming for the witch whether she liked it or not.
* * * *
Rhiannon sighed with exhaustion. She had spent the evening healing Agnes of her inflicted wounds. It took a lot of her powers, but the midwife soon slept with no discomfort. Agnes told her of the accusations against her and the torture they put her through until she confessed. The king believed she had tried to shipwreck Queen Anne’s voyage, sending devils to climb up the keel of the ship and raise a wicked storm.
Shaking her head, Rhiannon studied the simple midwife; her features were plain and sweet. How anyone could think she was an evil witch was as ridiculous as the charges against her.
She needed to save this innocent woman. She could use her powers to transport her through the dungeon walls, but she had never taken anyone with her before. It took all her magick to transport herself, and she could only go so far. It would not nearly be far enough for Agnes to be safe outside the castle walls.
She needed help from someone outside. Someone who could walk freely through the dungeon vaults and out the gates.
The rustle of keys echoed down the hallway outside and an iron gate opened. Someone was coming. Rhiannon cloaked the chamber in darkness. Whoever came to the door would not see Agnes or the furnishings. Fidgeting with her fingers, she waited nervously.
A key clicked in the wooden door and it swung open.
“I will not sully my fine surcoat with the filth in there,” Grigor’s high-pitched voice grated on her nerves. “Come out, milady.”
Rhiannon hesitated. She did not want to go with the Inquisitor but at the same time she could not risk him seeing Agnes in a comfortable bed.
Against her better judgment, she shuffled out of the dungeon.
Grigor handed her a parchment and quill. “Sign the confession,” he ordered.
“What does it say?” she asked. The candlelight from the hallway sconces was too faint for her to read.
He jabbed the paper with his thumb. “It states you are a witch. Now, sign,” his voice rose.
Her hands trembled while she signed the confession. She wanted to be proud of her heritage, to take that strength and face whatever torture they had planned for her, but she was quickly losing her bravado in the dungeons reeking with pain and death. She must find her dignity and courage, and above all, keep Grigor from implicating her mother.
“Chain her hands so they cannot move,” Grigor ordered.
“Swear you will keep our pledge after I am gone,” Rhiannon said.
The guards roughly turned her and wrapped iron clamps around her hand until her fingers throbbed from the tight constraint.
“As long as nothing happens to me, your family is safe,” he said.
Rhiannon lifted her head to issue a threat when Grigor shoved an iron muzzle in her mouth. The sharp prongs rested precariously on top of her tongue. If she uttered a sound, it would slice into her flesh.
“A wee assurance you will not use your wicked spells on me,” he intoned smoothly.
Rhiannon’s heart raced with panic, causing her to shiver. The movement made the spikes slit into her tender flesh. The metallic taste of blood dripped down the back of her throat and she resisted the urge to throw up. It took all her will to calm herself and relax her tongue.
“This is called the Witch’s Bridle. Apt is it not?” he sneered. “I prefer to cut out your tongue, but we will need it for your confession at the trial.”
She wanted to shake her head, scream in fear, but she could not.
“Take her to the torture chamber.”
Two soldiers grabbed her arms and guided her into another passageway with one door at the end. Red stains marked the floor, and she forced herself to look away. From behind, Grigor followed. A jaunty whistle echoed off the rock walls, mocking her. She knew he had looked forward to this for some time. She only hoped she would not break too soon. Keep her courage as long as possible and not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
They entered an enormous chamber with high ceilings. The walls were lined with hundreds of torture devices made of wood and iron. Rhiannon’s legs weakened, her knees buckling under her weight. The guards tightened their grip under her arms, seeming to anticipate her reaction to the frightening chamber. How many innocent people had they brought down here?
Had poor Agnes suffer from these devices?
Grigor clapped his hands together and the sound made her jump, causing the spike to cut her tongue again.
“Where should we start?” he asked her, rubbing his hands together.
He ran a finger along her jaw line. “The Witch’s Bridle does become you.” Grigor pivoted on his heel and pointed to a contraption on the wall. “Chain her there, lads.”
The guards snaked a long bar under her arms and behind her back, then hooked two chains on either side that dangled from a loop in the ceiling.
“Cut away her clothes,” Grigor ordered, his eyes gleaming with a crazed stare.
Two daggers sliced through her clothing, and the material was peeled away from her body, landing in shreds on the sticky floor. The damp chill of the dungeon caused her nipples to erect and her skin to prickle. Even with the men leering at her naked body, she forced her chin to remain proud.
“Hoist her up.”
The chains linked to the bar constricted and her body lifted off the ground. Taking the full weight, her arms burned as if they were going to rip from her body. Dangling a few feet in the air, she moaned with excruciating pain.
“Leave, leave!” Grigor shoved the soldiers out of the dungeon and slammed the door shut. “Why should they get to see how beautiful you are?”
He walked over with a bucket and threw cold water on her, making her body shiver even more. Blood oozed from her mouth and dripped onto her chest.
“Whore. Even now, you are trying to seduce me.” He smeared her blood over her breasts and rubbed his member through his kilt. He smiled at her and reached up on his toes to flick her nipple with his tongue.
He rolled the taste of her blood around his mouth and sighed in pleasure. “After I am done playing with you…I’m going to fuck you.”
He pulled a dagger from an encasement near the wall and ran the tip of it under her nipple. “Nod your head, if you would like me to fuck you.”
Rhiannon swallowed, her stomach clenched with fear, anger and disgust.
“Nod your head if you want me to fuck you!” he commanded.
The tip of the blade almost sliced into her breasts. She held her breath and nodded.
“I thought you would,” he replied. “My cock is already hard for you.”
A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Who is it?” Grigor snarled.
The door opened and Mary walked through, her eyes widened at the sight of Rhianno
n. She licked her lips and swayed her hips, strolling toward Grigor. “I see you are enjoying yourself with the witch,” she said in a seductive tone, and ran her fingers across his shoulder blades.
“Aye, what do you want?”
Mary circled him and palmed his manhood. “Allow me to ease your discomfort.”
Grigor’s eyes went from Rhiannon to Mary. His yellow teeth showed when he smiled. “Aye, suck me while I cut the witch.”
“My pleasure,” she said and lowered to her knees.
“Argh!” Grigor stumbled back, a knife protruding from his groin. “Bitch!” he yelled and tripped.
Mary quickly rose and ran to the chain at the wall. She loosened it, lowering the bar. The moment Rhiannon’s feet touched the ground, her legs gave way and she collapsed to the floor.
Mary was instantly beside her. “I am sorry, Rhee. I am so sorry.”
Rhiannon looked up and saw Grigor stalking over to them. She moaned, trying to warn Mary but her friend was too distraught to listen.
With a bloody knife in his hand, he stabbed Mary in the back. The shock in Mary’s eyes burned into her memory. Blood gurgled out of Mary’s mouth and she tipped to the side.
Rhiannon scooted back and curled into a ball on the floor. Tears streamed down her eyes, and the spikes cut her tongue but she was numb to the pain.
Mary was dead.
Mary was dead.
The door opened again and another man walked in.
“What has happened here,” an authoritive voice asked.
“Milord Fairbairn, this bitch just stabbed me. She stabbed me!” Grigor explained, shock lacing his words.
“Get rid of her. I will finish the witch’s examination.”
“But I wanted to—”
“Cease your whining man and clean your mess.”
Rhiannon held her eyes shut tight. She could not witness her friend’s lifeless body being dragged away.
Cold water splashed on her body again, shocking Rhiannon into gasping. Two hands pulled her to her feet. Her body shook so much she could not stop the trembling.
Lachlan’s father walked around her, inspecting her naked body. “Your skin is flawless, milady. I was expecting the devil’s mark somewhere…”
He lifted a gray surcoat from his shoulders and draped it around her body. “The king is writing a book called Demonology. He will be most interested in the lure the devil had in seducing your soul.”
Rhiannon did not have enough energy to glare at the man. A bitter desolation stabbed at her heart. Her mind went numb. Her thoughts were of Mary’s last words. She had tried to save her and ended up murdered.
“We will talk on the morrow,” he said and walked out.
Two soldiers returned her to the dungeon vault. They pushed her in the dark chamber and locked the door behind her.
Overwhelming grief made her wanted to curl back into a ball and die.
“Are you well,” a small voice whispered in the dark.
Rhiannon stepped back to where the bed was and sat on the edge, hoping her bound hands faced Agnes.
The bed moved slightly and Rhiannon felt tugging on her wrists. After what seemed like an eternity, the chains were finally unwound from her hands. She rubbed her numb fingers and waved her hand to create the blue ball of light.
Using her powers to unhook the cruel device, it clattered on the floor.
“You are bleeding,” Agnes whispered.
Rhiannon shook her head. Her tongue was in too much pain to talk. She used the rest of her energy to summon her healing powers for her mouth, causing the open gashes to disappear. She only wished she could heal her sorrow.
A fur coverlet fell around her shoulders and Agnes guided her down to lie on the bed. Her body shook from sobs as she gave way to her internal pain. She wanted to be back home where she was safe and protected, instead of this gruesome dungeon of malice and terror.
If her father knew she was here, this place would know the fury of a sorcerer. But she could not let him know, or any of her family. She had to face her fate without endangering her loved ones no matter how dearly she needed them. Lachlan’s handsome face haunted her thoughts. What she would not give to be in his arms. To have him comfort her.
She wiped her moist eyes, remembering how he looked at her when she told him the evil could not be fought. They both knew his heart would feel differently once the hex took place. Though, it did not matter. On the morrow, the day before her twentieth, they would convict her of witchcraft, an act of treason.
And she would burn on the stake.
Chapter Sixteen
Fog rolled through the deserted wynds of Edinburgh like unsettled ghosts. Even his horse seemed eager to find a stable for the night. His father’s high-level building on Chalmers Close emerged from the mist and he released a sigh of relief. He was so tired, his eyelids felt weighed with silver. After seeing to his horse in the nearby stalls, he dragged his feet up the long winding staircase until he reached the top level. The familiar furnishings, large arched windows and high timber ceilings soothed his weariness.
“Where have you been?” a voice came from the shadows.
Lachlan turned to find his father sitting in a chair by the window. The moonlight shone on his ashen face, making him appear like a ghost who materialized from the mist outside.
Dropping his saddlebags near the door, Lachlan ran his hand through his damp hair. “I had a… misfortune.”
“I am disappointed Grigor came back with the witch instead of you.”
Lachlan crouched in front of the fireplace and proceeded to light the dry wood. He straightened and rested a shoulder against the stone mantle. The flames brightened the room, casting an orange tinge onto his father’s stern features.
“Where is she?” Lachlan asked, trying to keep his tone disinterested.
“Who?”
“The witch.”
“She is in the castle vaults.”
His heart raced at the thought of her examination with Grigor. He yearned to ask if she was all right, but his father would be suspicious and wonder why he wanted to know or even cared. Nae, he had to remain aloof.
“If you will excuse me, Father. I have not slept in some time.”
Rising from the chair, he walked toward the door, calling over his shoulder. “Rise early, the noble witch goes on trial at Tolbooth.”
Lachlan pushed away from the wall, his body alert.
The door closed.
Hastily, he cleaned up and changed. He shoved fresh clothes into his saddlebags and grabbed a bag full of silver coins from the bottom drawer. Crossing his arms, he stared out the window. The view of the crag outlined the castle with a few flames twinkling on the battlements. He swallowed hard. Every muscle ached from worry. If Grigor touched Rhiannon in any way, he would kill him.
He swung the saddlebags over his shoulders and took one last look at his home.
* * * *
Lachlan rode up to the first gate of the castle. A bearded guard came out; his bulbous nose dominating his brawny features. “His Majesty has retired for the eve. Perchance, milord may come back on the morrow.”
“I have an important message to deliver. His Majesty would be most displeased if ’twas left until the morn. But if you would not allow me access...”
He pulled on the reins to turn his mount around.
“Nae, milord. If the message is urgent, then by all means enter.” The guard stumbled and waved to the inside soldier. The plain gate swung to the side and then further up the path, the portcullis gate cranked open. Although watched by the eve guards, he received no further objections as he weaved his way up to the royal palace.
Lachlan entered Laich Hall to find the king dancing with nothing on but his crown and white slippers, a male courtier as his partner. Cheers rose when Lachlan walked into the chamber, several courtiers laughed and drank from golden goblets, their naked bodies sprawled on pillows on the floor. In the midst of them was a single woman. Covered by a sheer black cloak, h
er breasts were pleasured by men on either side of her.
Lachlan did not know whether to leave or stay. He urgently needed to talk to His Majesty.
Swallowing the discomfort, he walked toward the king and cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.”
The king ignored him and kept dancing without music.
“Your Majesty,” Lachlan said louder.
The king kissed his courtier on the neck and grabbed the man’s ass, then swung him around and around.
“Lord Lachlan,” a female’s voice called to him.
Lachlan turned to find the lady gracefully rising from the pillows, her perfect breasts swaying with each step. It was hard not to notice her nipples protruding from beneath the cloak, and the v-shaped, black curls at the apex of her thighs. So shocked at seeing her in a state of undress, he did not notice her face and long, midnight hair until she was standing before him.
“Lady Torella, I presume.” He bowed.
Her emerald eyes widened with surprise. “You know of me?”
He did not tell her of Rhiannon’s spell to see the past. This enchanted woman hexed Rhiannon when she was just a babe. The sorceress remained young and beautiful as the day she changed Rhiannon’s life. A fierce anger pooled into his chest. He wanted to force the sorceress to take the curse off Rhiannon, but he was in no position to make a scene in the king’s hall.
“Why are you here?” he asked, his jaw tensed.
She pouted sweetly. “My granddaughter has been very naughty. I have come to see if the king would free her.” The truth of her words did not reach her cold eyes. She was up to something wicked. He only wished he knew what.
Lachlan looked anxiously at the king. He had to speak to him.
“There is no use talking to him now, he is in a state of lust,” she said and ran her finger down Lachlan’s chest.
His skin burned from the trail her finger took and his member sprung to attention, bewitched by the sensual touch.
“Wait in the anti-chamber and I will see if I can bring Lady Rhiannon to you.”
He stared at her with distrust.
She continued in a smooth voice, “Maychance, together, we can petition the king for leniency.”
Witch Hunter Page 12