“That is correct, sir.”
“So how can you be so sure that these women have been innocent?”
“Perhaps they were not,” Bartholomew replied. “But the priest was. And I saw you take his life in cold blood for evil purposes.”
“Ah, yes, this priest. Father Monahan.” Fordun mused, his hands behind his back as he paced leisurely back and forth. “A priest from the village of Henwen, Laird Henwen’s home, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A priest from the wilds of Scotland, which is a country known for its widespread barbarianism and lack of morals. How do you know that I was not destroying a demon that lived within the man and set his body free?”
A murmur of intrigue went up through the crowd, and Morgana felt her stomach drop in a sickening fashion.
“The priest came to you for help, and you killed him,” Bartholomew replied.
“And what did he ask me for help with?” Fordun asked.
Bartholomew stared at him silently for a long moment, his gaze full of pure hatred.
“He asked for your help in removing Morgana from his village, because he felt she had brought death and witchcraft to his people.”
“I rest my case your honor,” Fordun replied, taking his seat once more.
The trial lasted for hours after that, Fordun and Gregor going back and forth questioning Bartholomew. Then, when they finally had no more information to wean from him, Morgana was called to speak. She was not let out of her cell, like Bartholomew had been. And not only she was forced to wear a blindfold, but a guard came to the cell and put her back in shackles.
She knew what Fordun was doing. He was trying to prove to the crowd and the Magistrate just how dangerous she could be when given permission to speak, and according to the crowd’s responses, it was working. Fordun went first, his questioning harsh, and rough.
He drilled her with questions about all sorts of things that ranged from her time with her parents to her running away from him when she was twelve. He made multiple accusations throughout his questioning, urging the Magistrate to believe that if she were truly innocent that she would not have run.
When she was questioned about the day of her parent’s death, it was nearly impossible for her not to burst into tears as she recalled the horrible way they had been murdered. Even with a blindfold on she knew that Fordun was smiling at her twistedly, deriving a sick pleasure from seeing her suffer.
Gregor’s questioning was softer. He asked her to recall how she had come to the village and how she had spent weeks in the village helping his people recover from a life-threatening sickness. She explained how she was able to reside in the church with no issue, and that not once since she’d adorned her neck with a cross did her flesh burn.
By the time he was done, the room had gone eerily silent. When a guard approached to remove her blindfold, she saw that the Magistrate was staring at her in a rather perturbed fashion, and the crowd was watching them with bated breath. She had no idea what was going to happen.
“I believe I’ve heard enough,” the Magistrate said at last, shocking everyone. He looked away from Morgana and over to Fordun and Gregor.
“But your honor, I have more evidence,” Gregor explained, picking up the small black leather book that held all of Fordun’s secrets. He held it above his head, imploring the Magistrate to let him continue.
“No,” he replied, his face turning red from frustration. “I’ve had enough of this garish parade of accusations. I have reached my decision. Once I give my verdict there is nothing more that can be done on behalf of either of you.” He shook his head, his anger welling up over the day’s back and forth.
“This case has made a mockery of not only the court but the church, and all of you should be ashamed for bringing such ill repute to either institution. That being said, I will give my verdict.” He looked over to Fordun, looking more like a disappointed father discipling his son than a man of the high court handing down a sentence.
“The evidence gathering against you is rather damning, Sir Fordun,” he began. “With eye witness accounts gathering against you at a rather alarming rate and the very captain of your guard willing to come forward to speak against you, I find it impossible to ignore the fact that you are no longer representing our great country or our Lord and Savior properly.”
“As the Chief Magistrate of London, and the highest form of court aside from the Queen of England herself, I hereby strip you of your knighthood, and pass your case over to the Church in Rome so they may properly hand down your sentence.”
“This is outrageous!” Fordun yelled, shooting up out of his seat. “I am not on trial! The witch is on trial!”
“A trial that has found both of you damned,” the Magistrate snarled, having enough of Fordun’s outburst.
“Yer honor how do you mean?” Gregor implored. “Please, we’ve proven to ye that Morgana is innocent. Let us take her home, back to Scotland, and ye will never hear from us again.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Laird Henwen,” the Magistrate replied, his tone nearly as harsh as it was with Fordun.
“While I find Sir Fordun no longer able to pass judgement properly I cannot deny that at least one point in his career he has saved our country from many proven witches. The man has been hunting this girl for the last twelve years. Therefore, he clearly had valid reasons to continue his hunt for her. I find the accused guilty of witchcraft, and sentence her to burning tomorrow morning in the square. That is all.”
The Magistrate slammed his gavel down with a rather harsh finality, and Morgana lost consciousness.
Chapter 33
“Come on lass,” Gregor whispered, giving Morgana a gentle shake. “Come back to us.”
Morgana’s eyes fluttered for a moment, and when they finally opened she immediately curled further into Gregor’s arms and began to sob. His heart ached for her as he cradled her to him, and he fought his own tears threatening to close off his throat.
“I knew there was no hope,” she sobbed. “I knew no matter what we did Fordun was going to get me in the end.”
Guilt washed over Gregor in heavy waves as held Morgana. He had promised her that the trial would somehow save her, but now here they were, through it and with no changes made to her dire situation.
Although he had at first been elated over the Magistrate’s sentence for Fordun, his happiness quickly turned to ash when he realized it meant nothing in regards to Morgana’s freedom. He had become irate then, lunging at Fordun from across the room and wrapping his hands around the evil man’s neck.
He would have been arrested and probably burnt himself if it hadn’t been for his uncle stepping in and reminding the magistrate that the English Crown had no authority over a Scottish Laird as their country is not one. It had saved his life, but barely. Now they were all huddled in Morgana’s cell in the dungeon, clinging to the last few hours of her life.
In the cell beside her sat Bartholomew, who Morgana found out had been sentenced to a year in prison before exile. She apologized to him profusely, but he refused to let her take responsibility for his actions.
“It was time to speak up,” he told her, offering her a small smile. “I needed my conscience to come clean.” His gaze hopped over to Gregor.
“I’m sorry that it wasn’t enough,” he apologized.
“Ye did all ye could,” Gregor replied, his voice thick with emotion. “We all did.” He turned back to Morgana.
“I’m not giving up, not until the very end. Do ye hear me?”
In his arms Morgana began to sob again.
“Please,” she begged, “just go. I don’t want you to see me die.”
“Yer nae going to die, lass,” Gregor urged.
“Enough!” Morgana yelled, pushing herself away from him. “Don’t you understand? This is it. It’s over. Fordun may have lost but he won me in this final battle and there’s nothing I can do about it. I tried, the best I could, to live a happy life while accepting mys
elf and it just didn’t work. Please stop trying to give me false hope and just go!”
“Listen to me,” Gregor replied calmly, gripping her shoulders. “Ye can do whatever ye want about this. I cannae change yer mind about anything, but daenae ye dare tell me when it’s time for me to give up and go home. I will keep fighting for yer freedom as long as I can and there’s not a thing ye can do about it. Ye understand? Until the moment ye pass on from this life to the next, I will fight to bring ye back home.”
Gregor stayed with Morgana for as long as he possibly could, but when the jailer came to retrieve him and Jamie he had no choice but to go. He kissed Morgana passionately before he left, and promised he’d see her in the morning.
Back at the inn, he did not even try to attempt sleep. Instead, he fell to his knees beside Zeus and prayed. He prayed not just to God, but to Isabel and Ian. He implored their spirits to guide him to do the right thing. He couldn’t bear to lose another wife, or potential child.
Gregor prayed all night, speaking in hushed tones as the darkness of the night burned into morning. All the while he did so, he kept thinking of the dream he had in Isabel and Ian’s graveyard when the sickness first hit his village. He remembered it clearly, the words blinking brightly in his mind.
Get to the water.
Before too long Jamie came knocking and they went back to the Magistrate’s Office. The crowd had already drawn around the outside execution arena, and they had to push their way through to get to the stage. Morgana was already tied to a stake and guards were piling wood at her feet.
She had been made to change a simple white shift so thin it left little to the imagination, and there weren’t too many in the crowd afraid to share their appreciation for Morgana’s beautiful figure. Their snide jeers angered Gregor greatly, and in irate frustration he punched the nearest jeering man, knocking him out cold.
Ignoring the protests that went up around him, Gregor turned his attention back to the stage. Fordun was present, but there were now shackles around his wrists and he looked less than displeased to be displayed so. Despite his embarrassment though, it was easy to see he was more than thrilled that Morgana was finally going to meet her end.
Morgana wasn’t too far from him, barely eight paces or so, and the guards were stationed even farther from her. If he could cause a distraction he could leap up, cut her loose, and make a run for it in under a minute. Of course, there was still getting out of the city and the country.
But he couldn’t let the idea of helping her escape go. A feeling had risen in him in the last few days, as if everything was all going to work out. Then this morning it was more present than ever, as if stars were aligning, though he didn’t quite understand why.
“What are ye thinking, lad?” Jamie asked, noticing Gregor’s dedicated stare.
Gregor shook his head, still scanning the stage. He wished he knew. But something was about to happen. He could feel it in his bones. At his waist, he reached for his dagger and squeezed the hilt tightly. Despite wanting to keep his eyes on Morgana, his gaze kept drawing back to Fordun.
The crowd erupted in cheers when the Magistrate ascended the stairs of the stage. He was dressed in his finest robes, ready to carry out Morgana’s sentence, and looked more like a flouncing peacock than a man who was about to deliver death. When he reached the center stage, he raised his hands and the crowd went silent.
“We are gathered here today for the most sobering occasion,” he announced, looking somberly over the crowd. “A young woman is being sent to hell for her sins, and a long-time upstanding citizen is to be surrendered to the Church for his indiscretions. Pray, let us all bow our heads to say a prayer for the two troubled souls you see before you today.”
All but Gregor in the crowd obeyed. Instead, he kept his eyes on Fordun. His lips were moving faster now, and his eyes were set on the Magistrate in a bitter fashion. Unease rose in Gregor’s stomach, and he rose to the balls of his feet as the Magistrate finished his prayer.
Suddenly chaos erupted around the stage all at once. Fordun was somehow out of his chains, and like magic the wood at Morgana’s feet sparked and erupted in flames. Gasps and shrieks were heard as Fordun ran toward the Magistrate, a dagger in his outstretched hand.
Gregor watched in slow motion as Fordun leaped through the air at the Magistrate, driving the dagger straight toward the Magistrate’s heart. In an instant he was on the stage, using his strength to pull himself up to the danger. He had his own dagger pulled out of its sheath and before he knew it, it was leaving his fingertips.
The blade travelled in slow motion through the air and landed with a sick thud in the center of Fordun’s chest just a pace or two from the Magistrate. The man stopped in his tracks the same moment Morgana’s screams began to fill the air, and Gregor looked wildly around to see her shift had caught fire. Not wasting any time, he ran to the pyre, and began beating at the flames.
Behind him he could hear the guards coming for him, but he refused to stop. As they grabbed him by the arms and he was being pulled away from her, he began to kick violently.
“Let me go!” he roared, fighting them. Around him the crowd had dissolved into chaos. People were screaming and running for cover from all angles. Through it all though, he could hear Jamie’s voice calling out to him clearly.
“The barrel, lad! Kick the barrel!”
Not even bothering to look, Gregor began kicking his legs again violently. This time they came in contact with something hard, and he put all his weight into pushing himself away from it. The force of his kick drove him away the guards, forcing them to let him go from their grip.
The barrel teetered for a moment, then like a giant wave, it crashed down and flooded over the flames surrounding Morgana. The embers hissed and cried as they were extinguished, Morgana’s cries of relief mixed among the sounds.
For a moment, the world around Gregor stilled. He took a look at the chaos around him and wondered how it could have all unfolded so fast. Fordun kneeled on the stage, lifeless with Gregor’s blade still buried in his chest. Morgana, though still tied to the stake, was no longer on fire anywhere. The Magistrate, though shaken and irate, was still alive.
“Your Honor,” a guard called, looking toward the Magistrate for answers. “What should we do?”
The man looked wildly at the scene that had unfolded in front of his eyes, still not able to believe what had just transpired.
“Send everyone home,” he ordered at last. “Get the public out of here now. Clean up Fordun’s body, bring it to me as well as the Scots and Morgana. We are putting this to rest once and for all!”
Up in the Magistrate’s chambers, Gregor rushed to Morgana to check her over. Her gown had gone up in flames rather quickly, but she only had a few blisters on her feet and lower legs. A second longer and the damage would have been much, much worse.
“Thank God yer alright,” Gregor whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. She trembled in his arms as she let him hold her, but he was thankful to feel it. He’d rather feel her trembling than never feel her again, which was what they were just extremely close to.
“Well, isn’t this a ripe sorry mess,” the Magistrate announced, striding in. “Where is he?”
Gregor, knowing he was referring to Fordun’s body, pointed him to table where the guards had laid him. The Magistrate walked over to the corpse and stared down at it angrily.
“I’ve had many attempts on my life,” the Magistrate mused, taking in the large stab wound. “But no matter how many times it happens, there are still ones that surprise me. I knew he was losing his mind. Rumors had been coming back to us for years of his sick perversions, but I swear to you at one time he truly did hunt witches.”
No one else in the room dared say a word, but instead, waited silently for the Magistrate to say whatever he wanted. It was anyone’s guess as to what was going to happen next, but all Gregor knew was that if he was going to have his life taken away for interfering, he wanted to spend his las
t moments holding Morgana.
“You saved my life, Laird Henwen,” the Magistrate said at last, turning away from Fordun’s body.
“Aye, yer Honor,” Gregor replied, bowing his head. “Luckily I still have good aim.”
“Indeed,” the Magistrate replied wryly, walking over to them. “Very lucky for me and you. I’m in your debt, Laird Henwen, and I think I understand what it is I need to do to get out of it.”
Elation flooded through Gregor as he took the Magistrate’s outstretched hand. He couldn’t believe his ears. Beside him, Morgana nearly fainted in relief, and behind them Jamie let out a sob of joy.
“Laird Henwen, it is time that England put Sir Nigel Fordun and his legacy to rest along with his body. As Magistrate of this city I hereby officially pardon your betrothed, Morgana from any and all crimes brought against her on behalf of Nigel Fordun and anyone from his company.”
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