The Hiring Fair

by Laura Strickland

  “He has bought your freedom. Would you rather stay and die with him?”

  “He? Who?”

  “Go home. And I would suggest you pack up your mangy animals and your halfwit servants and leave the district while you can.”

  Trembling from head to foot, Annie stepped out of the strong room. With Randleigh a mute presence at her back, she went through the silent, gloomy house to the front door, seeing no one on the way. Only steps from freedom, she paused.

  “Tell me who—”

  Randleigh reached past her, which brought him far too close, and hauled open the door.

  “I know now why the two of you are together and why you prefer him to me. I shall exorcise the evil in him—and perhaps in so doing chase it from you also.”

  “Who?” Annie demanded again, but her heart knew—impossible, terrifying! For Randleigh could accuse her of preferring only one man.

  “Nay. Nay, tell me ’tis no’ true.” She actually reached for the detested Randleigh as if she might shake the words from him.

  “Your dark master.”

  “Do you speak of my husband? You have arrested Tam?”

  “Ah, so you name him. Another admission for the priest when he arrives.”

  “The priest? You mean to put Tam Sutherland on trial for witchcraft?” Annie’s knees did fail her then. She sank to the floor, but Randleigh, seizing her arm, dragged her up again and thrust her through the open doorway. Beyond, she saw one of her neighbors, Archie MacFey, waiting.

  “Nay,” she begged Randleigh frantically. “Take me instead. I will do aught you ask—go to your bed, give you all of what you ha’ wanted from me. Only let Tam Sutherland go.”

  “Harlot witch,” Randleigh sneered, and slammed the door in her face.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “My fault, it is all my fault.”

  Sitting at her own table, before her a steaming mug of broth she dared not touch, Annie could do nothing but lament. Sonsie had forced the broth on her, but she knew if she took so much as a sip she would lose it again just as quickly.

  Sonsie now bustled around the room, spending her agitation by doing senseless chores while Annie’s animals clustered near her—Ruff pressed close to her side, wee Ella in her lap, even Mairi the fox huddled at her feet. Sol had not taken his yellow eyes from her since her return. Her relief at seeing them all not withstanding, Annie took small comfort.

  Archie MacFey still remained on the farm, now outside helping care for Old Rake, who had been led back into the byre. Archie had walked her home and explained to her what Tam Sutherland had done.

  Sacrificed himself for her. Traded his life for hers, purchased her future and taken on all the pain Randleigh meant to inflict—Randleigh’s cruelty, masquerading as justice. She’d comprehended that the moment the words your dark master fell from Ned Randleigh’s lips. And in that instant she’d felt Tam’s love wrap around her like a living shield, woven by his valiant heart.

  Had ever a man loved as Tam Sutherland loved? Had ever courage burned so bright? She sat, while the animals cuddled around her and Sonsie chattered nervously, and remembered it all.

  The first glimpse she’d caught of him at the hiring fair, the instant spear of attraction that passed through her when their gazes met. The surge of wild hope in her heart when she wondered if she might have him for husband, before she saw his hand and forced herself to dismiss him as too poor a candidate in Ned Randleigh’s eyes.

  Dismiss it as she would, fate had brought her and Tam together, or perhaps something far more vital and immediate than fate—the light by which Annie lived.

  She remembered the first time she had touched him, the first time their lips had met. And the night, in her bed, he had claimed her for his own, trading a part of himself to her even as she gave herself to him without reservation.

  How could the darkness—even that Ned Randleigh harbored—defeat so much light?

  Yet she knew that good and fine people had been falsely accused and slain before now. Could she honor this choice Tam made and accept the grand gift he presented her, resign herself to never touching him again or gazing into his eyes, inhaling his warm scent? She could be certain of only one thing.

  The darkness might rear up against the light. It could never defeat the love.

  Her love for Tam Sutherland, she knew, would endure forever, as would this selfless act of his. If he went to his grave, her heart went with him. And if she lived she might breathe air, work with her hands in service to others, and do her best to carry on; she would never love any man but Tam Sutherland.

  ****

  “I maun be there.”

  Annie had come to that conclusion sometime during the endless night when she contemplated ways she could—and could not—assist Tam. She’d once again considered fighting darkness with darkness, but her heart knew Tam had made his sacrifice to keep her from that path. What should she give him save her support?

  Her friends and neighbors seemed to agree. They had started arriving just after dawn and now gathered in her house and yard, their attitudes much changed from what they’d been at the market.

  Some of that might be due to the tale Archie MacFey had told over and over again, declaring Tam’s courage and his belief in his wife’s goodness.

  Or perhaps the night had dealt with people’s hearts as it had Annie’s; mayhap they too had begun remembering the light her mother had shed like kindness, a tradition Annie had striven hard to continue.

  But she must be her own woman now, follow her own heart.

  “Mistress,” Kirstie said earnestly, “I do no’ think it a good idea for you to go and witness what will happen at the laird’s house.”

  “Aye,” several men agreed.

  They had, many of them, brought word of what Randleigh planned for this day: a public questioning of Tam Sutherland, heard by magistrate and priest, the finding of a sentence, and public execution either by axe or flame.

  “Aye,” Archie echoed his neighbors. “That young man has a valiant heart—to that I can attest. But he will no’ want you to witness his suffering.”

  Suffering. As if Tam Sutherland had not already suffered enough on her account. What would it be now? Hot irons? Knives?

  Annie looked around the room wildly at her friends, neighbors, and beloved animals. Sol had flown out the window just before daylight and not returned, no doubt sensing the incipient arrival of so many. But the rest of the animals stood by her, wee Ella—so bonded with Tam—whimpering.

  She lifted her chin. “I will be there and pay tribute to this great sacrifice he makes for my sake. I would appreciate any of you willing to come with me.”

  Perhaps a miracle would still occur, and they could prevent this travesty.

  But aye, it would require a miracle.

  In the end, Rory MacBain took her in his cart, everyone else, including Ruff, trailing along. They moved down the roads to the laird’s house under a lowering sky, and the sun drifted higher and higher in the east, shedding red like a gout of blood.

  A terrible bad omen that, as Annie knew, but she spoke a prayer as she rode, fervently suing protection not for herself but for the man she loved.

  For as she knew, one man’s bad omen could prove good to another at odds with him. So might it be.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “This is the accused, one Tam Sutherland,” Randleigh announced as Tam was led into the room. The laird’s parlor, which the factor seemed to have adopted for his own, was now occupied by several men.

  Tam blinked at them. After the near-dark of the strong room, even the gloomy parlor seemed too bright. He’d spent the night—his last in this world?—with thoughts of Annie, garnering strength for what must come, and could fair feel her with him, her love a living presence.

  It gave him courage even now, when he saw what awaited him.

  A priest, though not Father Alban, and another man who could only be the afore-absent magistrate, not Mr. Belfour with whom Tam had found fav
or last time.

  Aye, and what had he expected? Randleigh could not afford to lose this time. He must—in his own words—save face before all the folk he lived to subjugate. Such men as he thrived on the fear and respect of others.

  Tam would show him neither.

  He eyed the two men meant to pass sentence upon him, and they scrutinized him in turn. The priest had a pale face and thin hair that barely covered an arched dome. His eyes moved nervously, and Tam wondered of what he might be afraid. God? Damnation? Ned Randleigh?

  The magistrate, by contrast, looked florid and overfed. Surely it must be too early for him to have started drinking, yet his eyes appeared bleary and bored.

  No hope of justice here, then—nor mercy.

  Had Tam truly hoped for any?

  “He does not look much like a great warlock,” the magistrate observed.

  “Often they do not,” contributed the priest. “That is how they trick and seduce others. If he is what you claim, Master Randleigh, he will have the Devil’s mark upon him.” His pale tongue poked out and wetted his lips. “Have him take off his clothes.”

  The magistrate gave the priest a sideways stare, but Randleigh only said, “Not here, Father—outside. A crowd gathers even now. Let them see that I carry this out properly, let them witness the triumph of righteousness.”

  A crowd? For the first time, Tam’s hard-won courage wavered. Not Annie, let it not include Annie! He could not bear for her to witness his pain.

  The priest took a step nearer. “You say he cursed you?”

  “So he did, Father. Wished all manner of evil down upon me.”

  “Is this true, man?” The magistrate addressed Tam directly. “Do you so confess to being a practitioner of the dark arts and a servant of Lucifer?”

  “I do not.” To Tam’s own surprise his voice sounded steady. He summoned up a picture of Annie’s face in his mind: her smile, the passion in her eyes when he came to her.

  If he protected her now, his life would be well spent.

  “Aye, so,” said the priest. “Let us begin. He shall scream his confession before ’tis done.”

  ****

  The crowd in front of the laird’s house had grown restless. They milled about, eyed the stone façade of the mansion, and muttered to one another.

  Annie, trying not to succumb to the sickness that gripped her, felt strung tight enough to break. She could sense so many things: the emotions of those around her, including Kirstie, Jockie, Archie, and her other supporters; the darkness that virtually breathed from inside the house.

  The beat of Tam’s heart, still linked with hers.

  What would she feel if that heart stopped beating? Would hers cease also in sympathy?

  She bent her head and whispered a prayer, suing the powers of the air, fire, water, and earth for protection—not of her but of Tam. As she now saw all too well, it was one and the same.

  No sooner had she raised her circle than the door opened. A man in a black frock coat stepped out first—a priest, but not Father Alban. Next came two guards, pistols at their sides, and then…

  Annie’s heart leaped with hopeless, helpless love and pride. For Tam Sutherland came with his head high, his gaze steady even though they had bound his hands behind him—och, pity his poor, broken fingers! But they would do far worse to him this day, before it ended.

  She blinked back a rush of tears; she would not let Tam see her terror. For he moved with the same natural dignity that had marked him at the hiring fair. And she refused to insult such courage with weakness.

  She willed him to look for her, to see her, and his gaze swept through the onlookers until it located her. Emotion shone clear then in his eyes—consternation? Gladness? Perhaps both tangled together.

  My love, she thought, and his head lifted higher still.

  My love.

  Behind him, nearly overlooked by Annie, came Ned Randleigh and another man, who had a round, flushed face.

  Randleigh stepped to the top of the stone steps which edged a wide porch—wide enough for this vile pantomime he played—and spoke.

  “It is well you have all come. No doubt many of you know that a viper has been nesting in our midst, stealing good will and working evil. This individual feigned a fair and helpful demeanor all while plotting against us.”

  Randleigh’s eyes, just like Tam’s, swept the crowd until they found Annie; he focused on her with satisfaction.

  Aye, and he would pay her back for spurning him by harming that for which she cared most in the world.

  Randleigh raised his voice still higher in a victorious howl. “Witches still exist among us! I am here to tell you so; the great witch trials of the past did not serve to eradicate them all. Only ask your priest!” He swept the black-clad man forward with a wave of his arm but did not let him speak. “Righteousness will serve to obliterate the darkness.”

  If only it would, Annie thought, stifling a sob. If only it would.

  “This man”—Randleigh pointed at Tam—“is a powerful warlock. Since his arrival here, he has been busy poisoning the district, and he has admitted his guilt—”

  “That I deny!” Tam threw back his head and shouted.

  Randleigh spun to face him; the two men glared at one another in a contest of wills Annie felt where she stood.

  “He will be brought to admit it here before you all,” Randleigh amended. “Our magistrate will pass sentence upon him, and the good father, here, will carry it out. Justice will be done this day.”

  Tam Sutherland would die. Because for all his bright courage he stood in Ned Randleigh’s power, and Randleigh would see this thing done.

  Annie wanted to fly forward, to rail against Randleigh—to sacrifice herself even as Tam had done for her. The look on Tam’s face stopped her, held her, reminded her that this great act, his gift to her, came of his love. But och, she could not bear to stand and watch.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and again began to pray, prayed as she had never done before.

  “Seize him!” Randleigh’s hated voice interrupted her prayer, and the crowd stirred and muttered. “Strip him down. Bring the irons.”

  Nay—nay, not that. Annie had heard tales of men and women writhing as the heated metal met their flesh, and in the end confessing to anything—anything—just to make the agony stop.

  Please, she prayed.

  A loud rattling came from well behind her as a cart turned in off the road and entered the yard. The crowd parted to make way for it as grass parts before a strong wind, but it could not come far for all the bodies in the way. Eventually the driver drew the horse to a halt and the passenger beside him got to his feet, surveying the scene.

  Father Alban.

  Annie’s heart leaped on another surge of hope. Could the priest do something to stop this madness?

  “Father!” Annie cried, and the priest found her with his gaze. He then looked to the steps where he considered Randleigh, Tam, and his fellow clergyman in turn.

  “In the name of God, what goes on here?”

  “We are trying a witch,” answered the other priest. “And no concern, Father, of yours.”

  “If that does not concern me,” Father Alban announced, descending from the cart, “I do not know what does.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The breath Tam had been holding left him in a rush when he saw Father Alban, and for the first time hope stirred in his heart.

  Though Tam doubted the priest had approved of his marriage to Annie, the man now looked angrier than a hive of bees and full of righteous intent. He issued from the cart and swept to the foot of the steps as people moved aside respectfully.

  The other priest stepped out and met him at the edge of the porch. “You are not needed here,” he told Father Alban. “This is not your patch or your parish.”

  “If it is yours, brother, you should be ashamed of yourself. A witch trial? Are we not more enlightened than that?”

  “Evil is evil and must be scotched wherever
it is found.”

  “This man is not evil.” Father Alban pointed dramatically at Tam. “Nor is his wife. I have known her from a wee lass—”

  Randleigh stepped forward. “You do not know everything, Father. He has admitted his sin to me privately and will now do so before all.”

  Father Alban looked Tam in the eye. “What say you to this, Tam Sutherland?”

  Tam lifted his chin higher. “That my wife is a good and innocent woman. If anyone shall be prosecuted for witchcraft here today, it will be me.”

  “That is what I thought,” said Father Alban. He turned on Randleigh with still more heat. “I know what you are about, man. Even in Oban we have heard the stories. You cannot protect yourself by seeking to harm others.”

  “You know nothing, priest, as to what my responsibilities are. Laird Ardaugh left me here in his stead with all his authority. I shall so act. Now step back out of the way, unless you wish for my men to restrain you as well.”

  The people in the crowd shifted uneasily, and Father Alban bristled. “You would not dare—”

  Randleigh nodded at his men who guarded the steps. “Seize him.”

  The onlookers gasped. Several men started forward, which carried Annie nearer Tam. She gazed into his face, yearning.

  “I will stand here,” Father Alban halted them all, “and observe. I will report to the bishop all that transpires here today. God’s will be done!”

  As if on cue, the skies opened and a cold rain streaked down, making those gathered exclaim again. In mere moments, everyone in the yard became soaked to the skin.

  Just as if the very elements lamented this travesty, Tam thought.

  He steeled himself as Randleigh’s men took hold of him and the factor turned to focus that gaze, colder than the rain, on his face.

  “Set the brazier beneath the overhang and prepare him. His dark arts will not delay our work here.”

  Randleigh’s men grappled with Tam and tore the shirt from him, disregarding his bound hands. The crowd shifted forward as one. A strangled sound came from Annie’s throat.

  Tam dared not look at her now. If he did, he feared his longing would get the better of him and undermine his hard-won resolution.