The Hiring Fair

by Laura Strickland

  That might take some time, but meanwhile to what would his Annie be subjected? He shuddered to think.

  “I will go wi’ you,” said MacFey, but the women exchanged terrified glances.

  I need an army to free her, Tam thought, and beseeched every power he—and Annie—knew. Send me an army.

  ****

  It took Annie—shut away in the same strong room where Tam had been held—far too long to stop shaking. All her courage had drained away, and her hands, knees, and teeth shuddered uncontrollably. She sat on the floor, as there was no other place, and held herself tightly—since there was no one else to hold her. She reached for strength that seemed slow to come.

  Instead, intense longing for Tam filled her heart, and horrifying thoughts crowded her mind. Would she see Tam again? Perhaps at her “trial,” which would be nothing but a sham. She believed he would come to support her. But he would then have to witness her humiliation and pain.

  She needed him now. She needed his warmth and wit and the strength upon which she’d come to rely. And aye, she did rely upon him more than ever she’d dreamed she could. How had that happened so quickly and completely?

  He loved her. She had that one comfort to carry to her grave.

  Aye, but what might come before her death terrified her. Torture, piercing, burning with irons, pain—she’d heard what happened in the past to those accused of witchcraft, most of them probably innocent women using their knowledge of the natural world to help others.

  Like her.

  She had never understood, while growing up, just how much Uncle Dennis’s relationship with Laird Ardaugh protected her and her mother. The two men played chess or cards together; they exchanged books, and had long discussions about philosophy.

  But Uncle Dennis had gone, and the laird, no longer in residence, would not see her. All her protectors had flown.

  Save Tam. And what could he do for her, one man alone?

  He loved her, she reminded herself yet again. And that must prove comfort enough, a great strength no matter what came.

  She needed to save herself.

  Yet Tam had begged her not to use the one weapon available to her. As had her mother, who now dwelt in the other world.

  What to do?

  She got to her feet and began pacing in the limited space even as her teeth continued to chatter. She knew how to reach for the darkness; it hid among the folds of the light with which she’d worked so long, its strong opposite, always waiting for her to choose it. The light, she knew, could accomplish wondrous things; the darkness must be every bit as powerful.

  Could it defeat Randleigh? A whisper of knowledge told her so. And should he come to her in this barren place tonight, demand that which she’d granted only Tam Sutherland, she might not be able to keep herself from using it.

  That frightened her most of all, for in her heart she did not want to be that which Randleigh branded her.

  “Help me,” she breathed and heard a flutter at the window that spun her around.

  Very nearly dark—she could see little but a movement there. She narrowed her eyes, and the bird gave a raucous cry, loud in the small room. A crow!

  Wee Crow. She heard her uncle’s voice again, repeating what Tam had said.

  Trust.

  “Please, Uncle. Do not leave me here alone. And do not let Tam endanger himself.”

  Better she should die in agony than allow Ned Randleigh to take out his ire upon Tam.

  As if in answer, the bird dropped down into the room.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “What do you mean to do, just?” Aged Archie MacFey, who strode at Tam’s side, peered into his face. Evening had fallen over the land, a beautiful gloaming that caressed the hills and gathered along the roadway, belying the turmoil in Tam’s heart.

  With the arrival of night, would Randleigh stay his lecherous advances on Annie? Tam feared not.

  To old Archie, he said, “I intend to offer yon factor a bargain. He may no’ accept, but it might serve to distract him and keep him occupied.”

  For one night—this night. And Tam could only hope a miracle accompanied the morning.

  Archie shot him a curious look. “What will you offer?”

  “Myself.” The only thing he had, and a poor enough substitute for Annie. But God—or the powers, as Annie called them—knew it had all his love behind it. And love had to count for something.

  He’d begun to believe love was the only thing that did count.

  And in that case, he and Annie had made a great and wonderful difference in each other’s lives. Never had he guessed when he watched her climb the steps of the platform back at the hiring fair what she would come to mean to him, or that he would one day be willing to sacrifice his own life for her sake.

  But aye, perhaps his heart, far wiser than he, had always known.

  “Aye,” said Archie almost as if he heard Tam’s thoughts, “you love your wife. And I ken fine what it is to love a woman. I would ha’ traded my own life willingly to spare my Ciara the pain she endured before she passed. Your wee wife was able to bring her the only ease she knew. What cared I if ’twas gained through draughts or a wee spell or two? You ken, in the old days magic lived all over this land. ’Twas in the water; it breathed o’er the hills. And those who wrought it were nay slain but held above them all. What ha’ we come to, lad, in our ignorance?”

  “Perhaps,” Tam proposed, surprising even himself with the observation, “’tis because we ha’ turned our backs on the magic of our land these terrible things befall us. The land shrugs us off—wi’ the factors’ help.”

  “Perhaps so. But the land, lad—the land will always tak’ us back again. ’Tis we maun shrug off the likes o’ the factor.”

  ****

  “Wee Crow.”

  Surely, Annie thought, she had fallen asleep or swooned, in her extremity—surely she dreamed. Her uncle Dennis could not be sitting beside her in the tiny room, looking just as he had before his death. He could not be speaking to her, either, but the crow had transformed into what could only be an image of him.

  “Uncle Dennis? How is it you come here?”

  “You called for help; when you call, Wee Crow, the natural world can only answer.”

  “You—you are dead.”

  “Tell me your mother taught you better than that! There is no death, not so long as the light endures. There is only transformation. I am in the breeze, in the flame, in the wave—and in the crow.”

  He smiled, and a strong current of reassurance flowed through Annie. But she said, “If you ha’ come to help, then tell me what I may do. Randleigh will be here soon to demand his price for my life.”

  Dennis nodded. “He will. Shameful man, his greed rides him and gathers darkness within. Soon he will be able to see no light.”

  “How am I to turn him away this night? He is stronger than me—”

  Dennis smiled again. “No one is stronger than you.”

  “He will threaten all I hold dear…Sonsie, Jockie, my precious beasts—Tam.”

  “Ah, Tam. Do you not wonder why he came to you? Like all the others, he came for healing—nay, not just to his hand. He came so he could rediscover his valiance in love. That, my dear Wee Crow, he is about to do. He finds it by putting you before himself. And is that not a wondrous gift to give?”

  “Aye.”

  “Would you not be willing to sacrifice yourself in order to offer him that opportunity?”

  Annie thought about it and frowned. “I would. But I would far rather we might be allowed to live peacefully in that love. I do no’ see a way.”

  “Wee Crow, where is your faith?”

  Annie laid her clasped hands against her breast. “It is here, inside. Uncle, I could defeat Randleigh if I reached for that power I ha’ never yet used. I can feel it just waiting for me.”

  “It is always there,” Dennis admitted.

  “Why should I no’ then grasp hold of it to protect those I love?”


  “If you do, you will lose part of yourself.”

  “So shall I do if I let Randleigh use me this night. And did you no’ just speak of sacrifice?”

  “Lass, there is a man even now on his way here who brings you that gift of which we speak, his heart wrapped in brilliant courage. I ask again, will you steal from him the chance to make you that gift?”

  Annie thought on it. “Nay, Uncle. But it terrifies me to think of him risking himself for my sake.”

  “Ah, and you would rather risk losing part of your soul, for his?”

  The lock on the door rattled; the wraith that was Annie’s uncle transformed back into a crow that flapped up to the window. The door opened, and Randleigh stepped in even as Annie struggled to her feet.

  One look into the factor’s face told her she would no longer be able to put him off. He had come for what he’d desired from the start, and she with but one weapon.

  Dared she use it when everyone she loved bade her not? Should she submit to the dark lust she saw brimming in Randleigh’s eyes? Would that buy her time? Should she instead seek to gather the light and make a shield that might endure a while, until Randleigh’s cruelty broke her down?

  “It is time, mistress. I will wait no longer.”

  He shut the door behind him and carefully locked it before dropping the key into his breast pocket. The room had become very nearly dark, only a trickle of dying daylight coming from the window where the crow still sat. Or did it? Was Annie alone?

  She began to gather her forces—sadly depleted by fear and grief—and form a wall of protection around herself. At the very least she did not want to experience this horror, feel Randleigh inside her where only her Tam had been, suffer the same abuse he had dealt poor Kirstie.

  She lifted her hand to him palm outward, and he stopped his advance.

  “Ah, so you would employ your filthy magic against me, would you? But I shall tame the witch this night. By morn you will be crawling to me. Consider this: only your acceptance of me stays the slaughter of those beasts you value. Fight me or seek to harm me with your magic, and I will dispatch my men at once to your farm.”

  Annie threw back her head. “And if I should strangle you where you stand, so you canno’ call to them? If I should stop the breath in your throat?”

  “Then you will surely burn as a witch—not a magistrate in this land but will serve the sentence.”

  Annie looked into his eyes and believed him.

  He smiled. “Take off your clothing, woman. I have waited long enough to see all of you.”

  Light tingling in her fingers, Annie bowed her head. Help me, she prayed again.

  With a sudden flutter, the crow flew down from the window, a swooping shadow that dove for Randleigh’s head. The wild flapping of its wings seemed to fill the tiny room, and Annie, ducking instinctively, raised her arms to shield her face. But the crow had a single target: cawing deafeningly, it pounced on Randleigh and tore at him with its talons, striking him again and again until he fell to the floor, cursing and scrabbling for the key in his pocket.

  “Witch!” he cried as he at last succeeded in working the lock and crawling through the door. “You shall pay—you and your fiendish familiar.”

  The door slammed even as Annie started toward it; she heard the lock turn. The crow, having held the darkness at bay, flew back up to the window and away into the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Dawn broke just as Tam and Archie MacFey reached the laird’s house, the pale light seeping across the sky and striking the gray stone. The place, all shut tight, had a bleak look, and alarm traveled through Tam even as he knocked at the door.

  He could sense danger here, discord and darkness. He exchanged glances with MacFey, who shrugged uncomfortably, as if he too felt it.

  Tam had to pound long at the door before anyone came. At last a manservant pulled it open and peered out at them.

  “What is it?”

  “I wish to see the factor.”

  “He is indisposed.”

  The apprehension in Tam’s heart increased. What, just, did that mean? Did Randleigh linger even now with his Annie?

  Outrage made him plant his good hand on the flat of the door and force it open. “I will see him, understand? I do no’ care what he is about.”

  The young servant—perhaps a footman—backed up uncertainly. Tam and Archie stepped in.

  “Wait here.” The servant hurried off, leaving them standing in the chilly gloom of the entry, where Tam promptly stretched his inner senses. Annie was here—he could almost feel her—but where? In the strong room where he, Tam, had been held? And was she alone?

  He discovered somewhat to his surprise that all his shame and fear had flown; shame at having failed to defend his parents and fear he would fail Annie now. He could not fail. He might have arrived too late to save her from Randleigh’s vile touch, but he would free her somehow. Because nothing could stand against the sheer power of his love for her.

  He knew that now. Annie had so taught him, the one true power was love.

  The footman reappeared and told them, “This way.”

  Ned Randleigh occupied the parlor where they had been before; seated behind the big table where the magistrate, Belfour, had sat, he surged to his feet when Tam and Archie came in.

  A man transfigured, however—he looked like he’d battled with someone wielding a sharp knife. Long gouges raked both cheeks and scored his forehead, trailed up into his brown hair. Several furrows intersected his eyes, so fresh they had not yet closed, and blood trickled out like pus.

  “What has happened to you?” Tam wondered aloud.

  “That is none of your affair.” Randleigh’s voice grated in his throat.

  “Where is my wife?”

  Randleigh’s face twisted still further, and his lips worked before he spoke. “That vixen—the witch! She did this to me.”

  “She?” Tam stared, incredulous.

  “Her familiar. She must have summoned it. I will send my men to her house and destroy every one of her damned familiars.”

  Archie gasped, and Tam stepped up to the table. He glared across it at Randleigh, letting his anger show.

  “Listen to me, factor: you have got what you deserve, all the evil you ha’ done coming back upon you. Annie had nought to do wi’ it. I am here to tell you: release her!”

  “Oh, are you?” Randleigh drew back.

  Tam’s gaze ranged over the factor’s wounds. “Would you truly risk further antagonizing those who protect her? Let her go.”

  “I will not. I cannot!”

  “You must, or suffer still more.”

  Randleigh clenched his fists on top of the table. He slanted an ugly look at Archie MacFey. “Why are you here, old man?”

  “I come to speak for Mistress Annie, to declare she is no’ what you claim. There are others who will also come and speak to the magistrate and the priest of her goodness. Would you truly appear the fool before them all?”

  “I cannot release her,” Randleigh repeated, and gestured to himself. “Not now. I must save face.”

  A mad laugh threatened to bubble up in Tam’s throat. Too late for that.

  He leaned toward the factor. “You do no’ wish to deal further with my wife. I tell you what you will do, if you wish to save face, and do it now before anyone else arrives. Release her and arrest me in her place. Say she has been found innocent but you ha’ discovered the true culprit, the true threat, the influence attempting to turn her mind—me.”

  Randleigh stared at Tam in consternation. “Folk will never believe that.”

  “They will. They know little about me and ha’ no ties to me, so will no’ seek to protect me. You may do your worst: flog me, torture me to win a confession, put out my eyes, burn me—I do no’ care so long as you henceforth leave her in peace.”

  Archie MacFey gasped again, and Randleigh reared back like a balky horse. “You would give yourself up for that wanton vixen?”

  �
�Willingly. But she is neither wanton nor a vixen. She is my wife. Tell everyone I misled her, and vent your spleen on this flesh.” Tam did laugh then. “Save your face.”

  “Master Sutherland.” Archie laid his hand on Tam’s arm. “You canno’—”

  “Do you no’ see, Archie, he has no power over me?” Not so long as Tam had Annie’s love. He had but one desire: to spend himself now in return for that love.

  He waved his injured hand. “Make a spectacle of it, if you wish, your bold statement against witchcraft. Invite all the tenants, let them see me suffer. But you will release her now, this moment, and vow ne’er to harm her again. That is the bargain on the table—the only bargain.”

  “You are mad,” Randleigh breathed.

  “I am not. Give me your agreement, Ned Randleigh. But remember you one thing—every evil act, all the hurt and harm you put out into the world, will return upon you times three.”

  “You curse me!” Wildly, Randleigh turned to Archie MacFey. “You hear him.”

  “He does hear me, factor. You’d better arrest me for it.”

  Randleigh stared into Tam’s eyes and encountered complete conviction.

  “Guards!” he bellowed frantically. “Here to me!”

  ****

  “You are free to go.”

  Ned Randleigh did not look Annie in the eyes as he swung wide the door of her prison. She gaped at him in shock and emitted but one strangled sound. “Eh?”

  “Leave. Your presence is no longer required.”

  Annie stared at the factor’s half-averted face while her heart rose on a surge of hope, only to fall again sickeningly. Streaked with blood and gouges inflicted by the crow’s beak and talons, his countenance betrayed little. Yet he must be toying with Annie, letting her think she might get away before slamming the door on her again.

  She drew an aching breath. “How is this? Why are you releasing me?”

  “The true culprit has been seized.”

  “Culprit? What is that you say?” After all the hours of confinement, Annie’s wits did not move swiftly enough. Had Randleigh perhaps captured the crow?

  Randleigh did look at her then, a stare of hate so sharp it stabbed her.