The Hiring Fair

by Laura Strickland

  “For mercy’s sake, would you have me against my will?”

  “I will take you any way I can get you, mistress.” His gaze moved from her hair and down her face to her throat and bosom dispassionately. “A curious thing—you are not even that beautiful, one feature taken after the other. Yet all together you are the most alluring woman I have ever seen. I must have you at any cost. If that is not magic—black magic—tell me what is.”

  “I ha’ never practiced black magic.” But she wanted to now, at this moment. She wished to strike this man down where he stood, unleash a power that might destroy him.

  Outside the window the crow cawed again.

  “Yes? And do you wager anyone will believe that? Will you bet your life?”

  Annie shrank in his grasp.

  “Your death will be painful,” he grunted. “There will be torture first—I can promise you that. I will also make sure all those you care for are destroyed before you—those beasts you value so highly, along with that ugly little maid and your deformed servant. A favor to the world, that. And your husband—ah, what shall I do to him? That depends on the choices you make.”

  “You are vile!” Annie spat.

  Something dark flickered in his eyes. “That opinion will change when you feel me—a real man—between your legs, witch. You will scream my name, and not in fear.”

  “If you truly believe me a witch, why are you no’ afraid of me?”

  “Even a witch can be forced to obey if a man is strong enough, and uses the right discipline. Like all women, you are meant for but one purpose.” His grip on her arm tightened still more cruelly. “You can prevent these ills from befalling your beasts and servants. Only come to the laird’s bedchamber with me now, and I will contrive a way to find you innocent.”

  “The laird’s bedchamber?” Annie faltered.

  Randleigh tossed his head. “I am laird here, as good as. I have all his power, and everyone must heed me. Why should I not take you in his bed? Over and over again.”

  “You do no’ want me this way, under duress.”

  “I have said I want you any way I can get you, preferably naked, with that glorious hair loosed all around you.” He flicked her with another glance, up and down. “But I need not force you; you will give me consent.”

  “I will no’ bow to your demands, I would no’ be so foolish.”

  “Shall I then send my men to your house with orders to clear out and slay all the creatures there—the cats, the fox, those vicious dogs, and the owl—all witch’s familiars?”

  Annie’s eyes widened in horror. “Nay, please not that.”

  “You have the power to prevent it. You need but say the word.”

  But she belonged only and forever to Tam Sutherland.

  The crow cawed a third time. Almost simultaneous with it there came a great pounding at the front door, audible even here in the quiet parlor.

  Randleigh spat, “That, I do not doubt, will be your husband. Make up your mind swiftly, woman, or will you watch him pay the price?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Give my wife over to me. She has done naught wrong.” Tam spat the words while struggling to keep hold of his emotions, a near-impossible task.

  He had borrowed the neighbor’s horse—much faster than poor Old Rake—though the man, afraid of getting on the wrong side of the factor, refused to come with him or assist in any other way. A theme, that, among Annie’s friends and neighbors who had failed to speak up for her at the market.

  Now Tam stood in the entry hall, having forced his way, breathless as if he’d run the whole distance. Three men faced him—the same three who had taken him prisoner last time, and him unarmed save for his rage and determination.

  All the way here his resolve had strengthened; he would not fail Annie as he had his parents, not even at pain of death. What was a man, after all, if he could not stand strong for the woman he adored?

  And he did adore Annie with his every breath and each beat of his heart. His blood coursed through his veins for her sake.

  Upon that thought, the door across from him—that which led to the parlor—opened. Ned Randleigh stood there with Annie caught hard in his hands.

  Tam’s heart leaped. He stepped forward, and all three of Randleigh’s henchmen bristled.

  “Annie! You are unharmed?”

  She nodded stiffly, but he did not believe her. She looked terrified, her cheeks pale as milk, dark eyes glittering. Even from this distance he could see how her heartbeat stirred the green fabric of her bodice.

  She spoke in a voice rough as a crow’s squawk. “Go home, husband. Do no’ make this worse than it has to be.”

  Worse? How could it be worse unless they tied her to a stake? And did she truly expect him to walk away from her? He would not, could not.

  Randleigh said with a sneer, “Heed your wife’s advice, Sutherland, while still you can claim your freedom. The priest has been summoned. This woman will stand trial and answer the charge of witchcraft leveled against her.”

  “Leveled by whom? You? She is no witch—you know that as well as I do.”

  “Think again. She has the necessaries needed to cast spells, both on her person and in her home.”

  “She has done naught but seek to aid her neighbors—”

  “She has conjured defiance against me and thus against her laird. There must be a cleansing.” Randleigh leaned toward Tam. “Fire. It is the means of choice.”

  If possible, Annie went still whiter and swayed as if only Randleigh’s cruel grip kept her on her feet.

  Harshly, Randleigh went on, “This woman and her mother before her have a long history in this district of practicing the dark arts. So far, out of mercy, I have turned a blind eye.”

  “Mercy!”

  “Yet I can no longer do so. Get you back to the dung heap from whence you came, Sutherland, unless you would die in her place.”

  Tam would, gladly. He knew he would trade all the days he had left on this earth to spare Annie one moment’s pain. But he could not be foolish about it, spend his chances in anger and lose once again.

  His gaze met Annie’s, and it felt as if she spoke to him without words, inspiring a hundred images: her climbing the steps of the platform at the hiring fair; the compassion with which she tended those who came to her; the laughter in her face when she played with her dogs; the passion in her eyes when she reached for him, Tam—a host of gifts he’d not known he received, at the time.

  How might he repay her for all of that?

  “When will this trial begin?”

  “As soon as the priest arrives. Until then, she will be held with great care and watched closely, insuring she can cast no spell and so free herself.”

  “Watched by whom?” Randleigh himself, Tam did not doubt.

  “Leave that to me,” Randleigh replied; horror and warning both clawed up through Tam’s belly.

  “When will Father Alban arrive?”

  “It is not Father Alban. I have sent for a man of my acquaintance.”

  Another shred of Tam’s hope died. He met Annie’s terrified gaze again and read her thoughts there. Doomed. Even if the priest Randleigh summoned proved just and fair—a doubtful premise at best—he would likely not arrive before nightfall. That left the night stretching ahead, a night with Annie at this man’s nonexistent mercy.

  Tam lifted his chin. “I demand you let me speak with my wife alone.”

  “You demand?”

  “As her husband, I ha’ that right.”

  “You think I do not recognize your marriage as false? She barely knew you when she took you to her bed.” Randleigh eyed Tam up and down. “Perhaps by now she has inducted you into her dark arts.”

  “If aught be a sham, ’tis your authority here. You use it like a weapon over these folk—well, no more! They shall rise up together and speak against you.”

  “Those craven wretches? You saw them at the market. Tell him, mistress. Tell your husband how many of your neighb
ors are likely to speak for you when the priest comes. Nary a one! If any does speak at her trial, Sutherland, it will be against her.”

  “Out of fear,” Tam retorted. “If they want to stay in their homes, if they hope to keep their families safe, they will bow to you.”

  “Go home, Sutherland, and await the cleansing fire. Or better yet, leave the district and save yourself.”

  “I will no’ leave here until I speak wi’ my wife alone.”

  Randleigh opened his mouth to refuse, but Annie spoke before he could.

  “Allow me to speak wi’ my husband as he asks, so I may dismiss him from me—the better, Master Randleigh, to consider your offer.”

  Dismiss him? And what offer was this? Tam could just imagine.

  Randleigh gave Annie a hard stare before he pushed her back toward the parlor. A crook of his head summoned Tam also.

  “Ten minutes,” he granted. “And yes, woman—if you know what is good for you, you will get rid of him.”

  ****

  The door shut behind Ned Randleigh, and Annie tumbled forward into Tam’s arms.

  Ah, by all that was sacred, she’d feared she might never touch him again. And she would trade more than her safety if it meant he might hold her, even for ten minutes.

  She wanted to burrow into his warmth, into the illusion of safety he lent, yet there were so very many things that needed to be said. Randleigh was right—Annie needed to send Tam away from her, release him from whatever bonds of loyalty might tie him to her, and so allow him to save himself.

  But she gazed up into his eyes and forgot everything save how she felt for him, a truth real and vital to her as her own breath. She’d not expressed those feelings in words, but perhaps he knew—he must have felt it in her caress, in the joy she took when they joined together. Aye, it must be so, for he reached at once for her lips as a drowning man might reach for air.

  And Annie tasted so much in his kiss: strength, courage, devotion, and one thing more.

  She wanted to linger there, pass forever in the completeness of his embrace with his tongue stroking hers. But she fought her way up, caught his face between her hands and gazed once more into his eyes.

  “Tam. He is right, I am undone. You maun go—save yoursel’.”

  “You think I would? Nay, lass—if you are here, I am here also, live or die. For I love you. Love you. Do you no’ ken that?”

  Annie’s knees went weak and she closed her eyes for an instant on a wave of pure bliss. Only Tam’s arms kept her upright. “And I love you, Tam Sutherland. I scarcely ken why it has taken me so long to tell you so.” She gave a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “But I think I always loved you, from that first moment.”

  “Aye, when our eyes met in the crowd. And then you climbed onto that platform and said your piece, and I knew you for a madwoman, far too grand and wonderful for the likes o’ me. But I knew I would do anything—aught at all—to stay by your side. I would yet.”

  “Fools that we were, not speaking the words to one another. And it takes this—” Her voice broke.

  “List to me, Annie. There maun be a way to win you free.”

  “There is. He has named his price: me in his bed, and then he will find me innocent.”

  “You canno’—”

  “Nay, not after lying wi’ you.” She kissed him again, fierce and hot. “I belong only to you, Tam—body and spirit. Yet he has told me he will harm all I hold dear unless I relent—you and Sonsie, each of my animals. That is why you maun leave me. Go back home, bundle them all up, and take them away somewhere he cannot find them. If I know they—and you—are safe, I can endure anything.”

  “Lass, lass—you ken what he did to Kirstie.”

  Annie did. She swallowed back her fear. “Aye, but it may no’ come to that.” She gazed deep into Tam’s eyes. “Once I know all of you are safe, I can take another path.”

  “What path?”

  She licked her lips. Even speaking it felt abhorrent. But she lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “There are dark forces upon which I might call.”

  Tam’s eyes widened in dismay. “Nay. Nay, Annie lass! That goes against all you are. Do no’ let him force you into being what he accuses.”

  “But I must defeat him, and I ha’ no other weapon.”

  Desperately, Tam told her, “You ha’ the light—that which I ha’ felt dwells within you. Use that, Annie. So I do implore you.”

  “I ha’ tried.” Wildly, Annie shook her head. “But it has no’ protected me, or those I love.”

  “Lass, what is it you say your mother taught? That which you put out into the world returns times three. You have shed so much light just in the time I ha’ known you. You maun believe it will return to you now.”

  She kissed him again, a third blessing. “Gift me now my peace of mind, Tam. Go from me and let me know you, Sonsie, and Jockie are beyond his reach.”

  “You expect me to walk from here and abandon you? Fail you even as I failed my ma and da?”

  “You can never fail me.” Tears now fell freely from Annie’s eyes. “Take with you from this terrible place my light and all my love. I entrust you with both. Keep them safe for me.”

  “Annie, I beg you—do no’ take this path you contemplate. Do no’ betray yourself.”

  “What other course have I?”

  “Trust me,” Tam replied. “And trust the light.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Folks still lingered at the market, gossiping about what had occurred and speculating over Annie’s fate. They stirred with renewed interest when Tam arrived, and gathered around him in a knot.

  He had already stopped at Kirstie’s croft and sent Jockie over to help roust Sonsie and the animals and get them to safety. He did not know where they might go—surely Kirstie’s would prove no safer than Annie’s farm, but the lad seemed to grasp the peril and had gone at once.

  Tam tried to imagine the scene—Sonsie no doubt frantic, Jockie leading Old Rake away at a hobbling gait. They would have to leave all Annie’s herbs and simples—evidence for Randleigh to use against her—and naught to be done about it.

  Now he faced the remnants of the crowd, Annie’s friends and neighbors, and prayed the law of three might prove true.

  “I come to you on behalf of my wife, Annie MacCallum Sutherland, who has been seized under the charge of witchcraft!”

  His voice clove the air of the market and struck every tongue silent.

  “Most of you know her far better than I—you ha’ had that great privilege. For she is a fine lady with a kind and generous heart, the best I ha’ ever met. I will warrant there is no’ a one of you here she has no’ helped some way. I say to you now, ’tis time for you to help her in return.”

  Those in the group stirred again and stole uneasy glances at one another. None spoke.

  Tam began singling out those he knew. “You, Stephen. I ken for a fact she helped tend your new bairn, and your wife in such a bad way. And you, Rory MacBain—has she no’ been treating your wife’s aching joints?”

  “Aye, well,” MacBain spoke up, “I repaid that debt when I accompanied her to Edinburgh to see Laird Ardaugh.”

  A woman said, “Mistress Annie has been good to us, aye, and her mother before her. But I’ve no wish to get crosswise of the factor. He will surely clear us from our home if I do, and me wi’ wee bairns to protect.”

  “And so, will you sell your soul to him? Deny your conscience?”

  “Aye,” called a man, “if I ha’ to. Would you no’ do the same, Sutherland?”

  He would in an instant, for Annie’s sake. But he called back, “List to me, I ha’ been where you stand, up north. I was tossed from our home of generations.” He held up his hand. “It cost me dear, and not only in what you see. But I learned from that. There comes a time when a man—or woman—needs to stand up against the injustice and fight back.”

  “Stand up?” cried yet another man. “And fight how? We are at the mercy of that bastard
. The laird does no’ care for us; your wife traveled all the way to see him, and it made no difference.”

  Another woman took it up. “’Tis the laird who has set that terrible great beast upon us.”

  “So you will let Annie Sutherland die?” Tam could scarce believe it. “Let him torture her first, and subject her to what you women know right well? She who has ne’er done aught but shed goodness on you all?”

  His listeners stirred still more uneasily; some hung their heads.

  “If we go and speak for her,” one fellow said, “he will mark us and we will be the next to feel his ire.”

  “Be a man, for God’s sake!” Tam retorted, despair laying hold of his heart. “Or lie forever beneath the factor’s heel.”

  A cold wind swept across the market. As if it broke some spell, the people there turned away and began to move off, some gathering their unsold wares. Stunned, Tam stood, desperate to hold them and not knowing how. He’d been so sure Annie’s touted law would hold, that her goodness would come back to her.

  But these folk avoided his eyes and went. At last only a handful of people remained—three women and two men who approached him.

  “I am Archie MacFey,” said one elderly fellow. “Your wife brought mine a great deal of comfort before she died. I would repay that. What can I do?”

  “Have you a horse?” Tam asked, a faint spark of hope igniting within him. “Old Rake has come up lame, and I need someone to go to Oban to fetch Father Alban.”

  The man shook his head, but the other, who proved to be Rory MacBain, said, “I will go fetch the priest.”

  “Aye,” Tam agreed, “the sooner the better. Father Alban will speak for her, but he canno’ come soon enough.”

  Rory nodded and jogged off, leaving Tam with a poor army indeed—one old man and three women, one of whom stood weeping quietly.

  “The rest of you, if you ha’ the courage, come with me to the laird’s house and speak up for her. He means to stand her before a magistrate, but ’twill no’ be the same man who heard my case—he will make sure this time ’tis the fellow who is in his pocket.”