“Margaret?”
“Alright, little dove,” Margaret murmured, soothingly. “You’ve got to be careful on these uneven stones.”
“Margaret, I —”
“I’ll send one of the girls to set a fire in your room. Don’t fret.” Ever so gently, Margaret brushed a tear from her cheek. “Take heart, little one. We Scots have survived hundreds of years of opposition. You’ve got centuries of rebellion on your side.”
“Thank you, Margaret.” Cora took a deep, steadying breath.
Margaret inclined her head and moved off down the hall, ever graceful. And by the time Cora reached her room — her old room, she found herself thinking of it, a little sadly — there was a cheerful fire crackling in the grate. She kicked off her shoes, climbed into bed … and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter 24
It was a lonely couple of weeks for Cora. After her explosive row with Ian, she didn’t hear another word from him about leaving the castle, for which she was grateful — but he was also extremely distant, courteous in public and friendly enough, but compared to the close intimacy they had used to share, the polite but distant way he was treating her felt unimaginably cold. She would have spent more time with Audrina as a result, but her friend had a lot on her plate — the villagers were understandably stressed by the intrusion of the Inquisitors, who by all accounts were making life a lot more difficult than it needed to be.
Cora rode down to see Peggy a few times as her due date was approaching, bringing her more food when she did, but she was afraid to be caught alone by the Inquisitors, so she kept her visits short and her face and hair covered when she was riding. She also got into the habit of changing horses each time she went, for fear she’d be recognized by Hamish’s distinctive black coat. It seemed to be enough — certainly, she never got caught when she was out and about, which was a small blessing at least.
She caught Audrina in a rare moment of peace and told her the whole story of the fight with Ian, winding up in tears at the end of it — a little embarrassing, to be sure, but if there was anyone in the world she could cry in front of, it was Audrina. Her friend was sympathetic — to both parties involved.
“Cora, don’t be too hard on him. He just wants to keep you safe,” she explained.
“How can you say that! He was happy to leave you here to burn!”
“Honestly, Cora, he was right. If anyone has a good chance of getting through the interrogation unscathed, it’s me. Remember, I’ve handled this stuff before — and I’ve got access to a lot more of Maeve’s memories than you do of Bellina’s. Ian’s not being callous in suggesting you and he leave me behind — he’s being realistic, that’s all. They’re like that, these men — they know how to reduce losses in battle. Sometimes you need to cut your losses, or take risks, to maximize the amount of lives you save.”
Audrina was making a lot of sense, Cora had to admit — but she was still furious at him for suggesting she’d leave Audrina behind. “We go through it together or we run together,” she said now, folding her arms defiantly.
“And we’re sure as hell not running.”
Though Laird Colin held them off for a good long while, it was only a few weeks until the Inquisitors arrived at the castle in person — ostensibly for a short personal visit. Small mercy that Cotswold wasn’t with them. Cora suspected that Lord Weatherby had had a hand in that — he accompanied the two men instead, and there was a rigidity to his posture that suggested he was a little worried about what the Inquisitors were going to say. More to the point — what they were going to do. And how the Scots were going to react. Maeve was a beloved figure in the castle, anyone could tell that — any slight against her, however small, was an insult to the entire population. Weatherby was working hard to keep things civil. It was very possible for this little skirmish to turn into all-out war between the two nations.
Cora and Maeve presented themselves, neatly and conservatively dressed. Cora did her best Good Catholic Girl braids, and Audrina had pinned the bulk of her mane of red hair back into a neat bun. The Inquisitors stared at them without pity — two tall men, almost identical in bearing. The same cold, cruel eyes above sharp, angular facial features and thin, hard lips. Cora wondered if they were twin brothers — or if working for the Inquisition just had this particular effect on people.
“Maeve MacClaran,” one of them intoned solemnly, in accented English, “you stand accused of witchcraft by Lord Cotswold. Do you deny the charge?”
“I do. Again,” Maeve added, but her voice was calm and controlled.
Cora stepped out from where she’d been standing behind her friend and met the Inquisitor’s gaze bravely.
“Cora Wilcox. You stand accused of witchcraft by Lord Cotswold. Do you deny the charge?”
“I do.”
The second Inquisitor’s face was twisted in shock. He seized his companion’s arm and rattled something off in Italian — and while Cora couldn’t understand the words, her stomach sunk to her toes as she heard the name ‘Bellina Corso’ at the end of the sentence. The man opened a satchel at his side and withdrew a piece of parchment that looked like a letter. Attached to it was a charcoal sketch of a woman with dark hair and eyes and a curvy figure — Cora knew without a second glance that it was a drawing of Bellina.
A drawing of her.
The second Inquisitor was suddenly right in front of her, still holding the drawing of her in his gloved hand. He yelled at her in rapid-fire Italian, and though Cora had always thought the Italian language to be incredibly beautiful, it didn’t feel that way anymore. She cringed a little — she could tell that he was questioning her by the rising inflections in his sentences, but she had no idea what he was saying. Helplessly, she looked from Audrina, to the other Inquisitor, to Ian and Colin, who were standing behind them. It was gratifying to see that Ian looked ready to spring to her defense — his hand was on the pommel of his sword and his eyes were burning. Despite their current feud, she was grateful to see him.
The Inquisitor had stopped yelling, and was breathing hard, scrutinizing her face for any sign of recognition. He looked a little nonplussed that she hadn’t responded to anything he’d said — perhaps he’d been trying to goad her, to say things that would have angered Bellina. But while Cora understood Italian in the dreams of her past self, she couldn’t make out a word of it now.
The first Inquisitor murmured something to his companion, and pointed at the letter. Despite not knowing what they were saying, Cora knew doubt when she saw it — a thrill of hope burned to life in her heart. Clearly, her not understanding Italian hadn’t been something they were counting on, and was weakening the case considerably. It helped, too, that the hairstyle in the picture was entirely different to the one she had chosen that morning — a small blessing. The Inquisitors must have written to the men who’d tortured Bellina, and received a description and an image in response. With any luck, they were now beginning to doubt the possibility that a dark-haired woman in Scotland was the same as a dark-haired woman who’d been killed in Italy months earlier.
The Inquisitors finished their whispered conference, and turned back to Cora and Audrina, their faces impassive yet again. The first one spoke — he seemed to be the one who was in charge, of the two of them. Cora was pretty sure he’d been the one speaking in the town square that day several weeks ago, too.
“We will return tomorrow and conduct an initial interview. Do not leave the castle grounds.”
They nodded, then turned and walked out of the keep, closing the huge doors behind them. Cora almost collapsed with relief. But Audrina’s face was grim.
“The interview will be the hard part. We’ve got some planning to do, Cora.”
Chapter 25
They cleared the dining hall to confer about what was to be done — Ian, Colin, Audrina and Cora. Mary emerged from the kitchen with a huge pot of tea and four cups, left it for them on the table and touched her son’s shoulder briefly — he looked up at her in wordless than
ks, and she smiled, eyes full of worry. The moment was interrupted by Donal, who burst in through the door holding a wooden sword and yelling at the phantom Inquisitors whom he was clearly chasing out of the castle for them. Colin chuckled at the antics of his little brother — Mary shooed the boy out into the courtyard, then disappeared back into the kitchen.
Audrina poured the tea for them all. Her face was set, but Cora didn’t miss the way her hands shook, just slightly, as she handed around the cups. It was chamomile tea, calming and soothing, and it fortified Cora in a way she hadn’t even realized she sorely needed. Smiling a dark little smile to herself, she wondered if any Inquisitors would consider the brewing of tea to be witchcraft. Where did it end, honestly?
“We need to get our story straight,” Audrina was saying, warming her hands on the mug. “My story is easy enough — I’m Maeve MacClaran. I have enough of her memories to make that ring true. I was taken by Lord Cotswold, but I managed to escape, wandered the Highlands for a little while, then was found and restored to my husband and my home.”
“Cotswold will counter that,” Colin said thoughtfully. “Claim to have killed you with his own hands.”
“Cotswold can claim all he likes to have killed me — it’s his word against the word of the whole Clan, and it’s common knowledge that he wasn’t mentally well when it all happened. Weatherby will attest to that — I trust him that much. He doesn’t want me executed for witchcraft any more than I do — and I don’t think he believes in it at all, honestly.”
“What about Cora?” Ian wanted to know — he avoided her eyes as he spoke, which sent a pang of sadness through her.
“Cora is my cousin from Skye,” Audrina declared. “She came to stay with us a few months ago because our last midwife was killed by the Inquisition in Italy. The resemblance is a coincidence — and I suggest we all pretend we don’t see it,” she added. She put on a quizzical face. “They look alike? I suppose, now I think about it… Bellina had black hair too, I guess… I don’t know, though...”
“Thank God there’s no cameras,” Cora said, smiling at the rather convincing lie.
“Cameras?” Colin asked.
“Never mind, love. A future invention. Nothing you’ll need to worry about.” Audrina put her hand on her husband’s forearm and shared a secret smile with Cora.
“Okay, so I’m from Skye.” Cora frowned. “I’ve never been to Skye. What if they ask me about my childhood? I’m not great at lying under pressure.”
“That’s not true,” Audrina said immediately. “You reassure your patients all the time, even when things look grim. You put on a brave face when you’re worried. You lie all the time to protect the people around you, Cora — all you have to do is apply that same skill to the Inquisitors, and you’ll be safe.”
“There’s no way we can just — refuse to be interviewed?”
Ian shook his head heavily. “I tried, honestly I did. Had a great long conversation with Weatherby — he’s been a great help, in fact. He’s been through this kind of thing before — had villages subjected to Inquisitors running about, askin’ questions and demanding that witches be handed over. We can refuse to have the women interviewed, true — but in retribution, they’ll launch a full-scale investigation of the entire village and the entire keep. That means everyone’s a suspect.” His face was grim. “Every single person could be interrogated, tortured, hauled out to be burned. There’s no oversight, with these people — if they get a funny idea about you, that’s as good as proof to them.”
Cora thought about the village — the simple, friendly folk she’d met. Some of them had their eccentricities, as did any group of people, and it was all too easy to imagine what the Inquisitors would make of, for example, the publican Maudie and her rather over-friendly ways with the patrons. So often, accusations of witchcraft were just a thin smokescreen for disapproving of other activities. Maudie was a good woman, and didn’t deserve to be tortured or interrogated. Neither did anyone in the village. No, they couldn’t risk having this limited investigation of two people being turned into a town-wide witch hunt. She looked at Audrina, and knew without saying a word that her friend felt the exact same way.
“No,” she said solemnly. “I’ll do it. I’ll answer their questions, and hope like hell I’m a good enough liar to convince them I’m from Skye.”
“I believe in you, Cora,” Audrina smiled, squeezing her hand.
“It’s good you don’t speak Italian,” Colin observed. “They seemed to have their convictions shaken up quite a bit when you just stared at them like that.”
“Thank God,” Cora murmured. “My mother almost made me take Italian in high school…good thing I was more interested in music classes.” She looked up at Ian with half a smile on her face — she’d told him all kinds of stories about her high school music classes — but his face was closed off and she looked down again, a little crushed by the cold front he was putting up. “But someone will need to teach me all about Skye, so I can answer their questions.”
Colin hesitated. “I’ve spent a lot of time there, but I’ve no time to tutor ye, Cora, I’m sorry —”
“I’m from Skye.”
A quiet voice sounded from the back of the hall. Margaret had let herself in from the courtyard, a basket of freshly-picked vegetables for the evening meal under her arm. It was hard to tell how long she’d been listening.
“Born and raised,” she continued, approaching the table. “I can teach you how to speak about the place like a local.”
Cora closed her eyes, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you, Margaret,” she murmured. Colin took the woman’s hand and squeezed it in thanks, and Cora began to feel a spark of hope reignite in her chest. They could do this. The Inquisitors had no proof — no pictures, no evidence at all that Cora and Bellina were the same person. All they had was the word of a known drunk and madman, and some unfounded superstitions. And Cora had the MacClarans on her side — the whole clan, there to protect her and Audrina.
As if on cue, Donal crashed through the door again, tiny wooden sword in his hand, yelling blue murder at the imaginary Inquisitors he was fighting. Mary was hot on his heels, exasperated — she shooed him into the kitchens, then joined the little conference at the table, her eyes full of concern.
“Well? What’s the plan?”
“The girls are going to speak to the Inquisition,” Colin declared, worry in his face but his jaw set. “We’re going to sort this mess out once and for all.”
“I’ll pray,” Mary said quietly, placing her hand on Colin’s shoulder. “I’ll pray that God guide those men to see the right path.”
“And I’ll run ‘em through with my sword!” Donal yelled from the kitchens, followed by an almighty crash.
Margaret took a deep breath. “I’d best go and see what that was,” she said drily. “Cora? I’ll meet you in your chambers later this afternoon and tell you everything I know of Skye.”
Cora nodded, smiling. It was a dark time, to be sure — and it didn’t help that Ian was being so distant. But she had a fighting chance, and for now, that would have to be enough.
Chapter 26
Margaret was a patient but strict teacher. Throughout the evening they spent together, Cora learned more than she thought possible about Skye — about what it was like to live there, the geography, the local landmarks and features. Margaret gave her every detail of her own family, helping her piece together a story that would stand up to all but the closest of scrutiny — she had the names, ages and occupations of several brothers and a sister, parents, even aunts and uncles. They established a timeline of visits to the castle, and even the day and time that Cora would say that she had traveled from Skye to Castle MacClaran. As a finishing touch, Margaret unclasped a brooch from her dress and pinned it to the dress Cora intended to wear to the interview.
“It was made in my village, Sleat,” Margaret told her. “A gift from my father when I came here. It’ll keep you safe, as it has kept me safe.”
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Cora touched the piece of jewelry reverently — it was beautifully crafted from silver, and suited the color of her dress perfectly. The older woman smiled, a rare thing — it changed the stern lines around her eyes to happy ones.
“Thank you for everything, Margaret. This is a great kindness.”
“It’s been wonderful to reminisce about my home,” the older woman replied, the smile turning a little wistful.
“It sounds beautiful. Once this whole debacle is over, let’s make a trip to Skye. You and I, together. You can show me around for real.”
“I’d like that.” Margaret clasped her hand, then rose to her feet. “Get some rest, lassie. It won’t be pleasant, the affair tomorrow, but I have faith in ye.”
But of course, she didn’t sleep well. She tossed back and forth all night, dreaming of cold stone walls and blood running down the back of her throat. The morning came on slowly, and she dressed with the heavy movements of someone going to war. If only Ian hadn’t been angry with her…she knew she would have slept better and easier with him in her bed. Nothing to be done about that now, though. All she could do was straighten her back and brace herself for the coming day. Someone had brought her a plate of breakfast — pastries, her favorite — and she nibbled at them without appetite, despite appreciating the kindness of the gesture.
The Inquisitors were waiting in the hall when she reached it. It seemed that breakfast had been rescheduled — nobody else was about, save Audrina, who was waiting calmly for Cora to join them. Colin and Ian were standing at the back of the hall, both looking powerful and impassive, but Cora knew as well as Audrina did how worried they were about the interview. Audrina took her hand and squeezed it, before the first Inquisitor bade her sit in a chair that had been placed in the center of the hall, a clear area that the tables had been moved away from. It was an intimidating setup, with the Inquisitors sitting behind a table and staring at her — but at least it was in the Hall, where she had so many fond memories of meals, talk and laughter. Why, there on the wall behind her were the marks on the stone that Donal had made when he’d gotten ahold of a metal sword and laid into the wall, claiming it to be an English warrior who had to be vanquished…feeling a little stronger, she took a seat, waiting for her turn to be interviewed.
Highlander Warrior: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 2) Page 14