Highlander Warrior

by Rebecca Preston

  Audrina looked like she was carved from stone. Every inch the Highland queen that she’d become, she drew up through her long, graceful neck and met the Inquisitors’ eyes squarely. They started with a few simple questions — name, age, and so on — which she answered in a clear, commanding tone. Then the questions began to get uncomfortable.

  “How long did you stay with Lord Cotswold at his castle?”

  Audrina’s nostrils flared a little. “I was held captive for several weeks.”

  “How many weeks?”

  “I lost track of the time as a result of the torture and assault to which I was subjected.”

  The Inquisitor was entirely unmoved. “How did you escape?”

  “I was released.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I wandered until I got my wits back. My mind had been damaged by Lord Cotswold’s torments.” Her voice was still calm and commanding, though Cora could see the muscles tensing in her throat as she fought back her rage and her sadness.

  “How many children have you?”

  “Two,” she replied, hesitating for a moment, clearly confused by the sudden change of topic.

  “When will they be baptized?”

  “They have already been baptized,” she snapped, losing composure a little.

  “By whom?”

  “By our parish priest.”

  “Do you take confession?”

  “Every Sunday.”

  “We will speak to your confessor.”

  Cora opened her mouth, outraged at the implication that a priest would willingly tell a third party the details of a woman’s confession — but she controlled herself. This was all bait, all goading. They wanted the women to get angry, to slip up, to say or do anything that could be used against them. Cora took a deep breath and settled herself. Audrina had clearly gone through a similarly rapid thought process, as Cora saw her lean back against the hard back of her chair and met the Inquisitors with a freshly reapplied mask of civility and composure.

  “Have you ever practiced witchcraft?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever performed unholy rites upon the townsfolk?”

  “No.” Her jaw tightened.

  Cora wanted to shout that the only ‘rites’ that had been performed were simple healing medicine — but she remembered the way the soldier had cried out that day that Cotswold had barged into the castle. The soldier had meant well, but in trying to explain, he had caused infinitely more problems for Cora and Audrina. She resolved not to make the same mistake. Audrina could handle this by herself; Cora just needed to trust her friend’s judgment.

  “Is it true that the easternmost tower of the castle contains supplies dedicated to the practice of witchcraft?” This was the second Inquisitor, leaning forward — the one who had shouted at Cora the day before. She recognized him, despite how similar the two men looked.

  “No.” Audrina was ice cold.

  “We will search it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Lord Cotswold claimed he killed you.” The second Inquisitor, staring her down.

  Audrina returned his stare politely, and Cora wondered why she wasn’t speaking — then realized it wasn’t a question. They had been counseled by Lord Weatherby not to give away any more information than they absolutely had to — even one small mistake would be enough to undo them.

  “Did he?”

  Audrina looked at him for a long moment. “No,” she said, and Cora could hear her suppressing the urge to make a more sarcastic response.

  “Are you calling Lord Cotswold a liar?”

  “I think Lord Cotswold may have been confused. When he confronted me here, a year ago, he was in poor health. Perhaps he confused me with another of the Scottish women he killed. There were many.” Her voice cold and composed.

  The Inquisitors exchanged glances with one another. They asked a few more questions, circular, wandering things — but it was clear enough that they had not gotten anything useful out of Audrina. Cora was bursting with pride for the way her friend had handled the questioning — she was so strong, so brave, so wise and powerful there in the chair. Audrina had always had the dignity of a queen, and now she had proven it once and for all. Cora could see the pride in Colin’s eyes, too, where he stood impassively with his cousin against the wall.

  “You may go,” the first Inquisitor said finally, with a flick of his hand. “We will question your priest, your confessor, your husband. But first. Cora Wilcox.”

  A lump in her throat the size of the Isle of Skye, Cora stood on trembling legs and made her way to the seat. As Audrina rose, she made brief eye contact with Cora — it was the only gesture of support she could make.

  Cora took a deep breath, sat down, and faced the Inquisition.

  Chapter 27

  “Bellina Corso,” the Inquisitor stated flatly.

  Heart pounding, Cora met his gaze and tried to channel some of Audrina’s dignity and repose. Wait. Just wait. Give them nothing at all unless they ask for it.

  “Have you ever gone by the name Bellina Corso?”

  “No.” That, at least, was the truth.

  “Have you ever been to Italy?”

  “No.”

  “A village named Valle Piola?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have family in Italy?”

  “No.”

  “Where is your family?”

  “Here. And in Skye.”

  “Who is your family?”

  “Maeve MacClaran is my cousin. My parents are Fiona and Albert Wilcox.”

  They asked a series of probing questions about her family, her childhood and her upbringing in Skye. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to know too much about the island or its various villages — the little information she gave them seemed to satisfy their curiosity. Thank God for Margaret, who had prepared her well with all kinds of useful details that only a true story could possibly have.

  “Who taught you witchcraft?” the second Inquisitor asked suddenly, and she blinked, thrown off a little by the suddenness of the question.

  “N-nobody,” she stammered, just a little, and the look of triumph that flickered through his eyes sent a chill through her.

  “Who taught you witchcraft?”

  “Nobody.”

  “What was the nature of the spell that saved you from burning alive?”

  “I have never been burned,” she replied.

  He barked another question, his inflection unchanged — this one in Italian. She looked from him to his compatriot, who gazed back at her impassively, and spread her hands in a gesture of confusion. He swapped back to English.

  “How were you saved from burning alive?”

  “I wasn’t,” she tried, confused.

  He leaned closer. “Then how are you here now?”

  “You have me confused with another woman,” she tried desperately. “I have never done witchcraft, never been set alight—”

  “Why have you forsaken God?”

  “I haven’t!” she cried, voice rising despite her determination to stay calm.

  “Liar. Why have you forsaken God?”

  Her heart was pounding and she was starting to feel dizzy under the onslaught of interrogation. They’d been in the room for what felt like hours — she missed the sunlight, missed the breeze on her skin, just wanted to go outside for a minute…her eyes fell to the floor, to the cold stone that made up the floor, and for a moment it merged with Bellina’s memory of the cell she’d been tortured in and tears welled up in her eyes.

  The second Inquisitor was questioning her in Italian, over and over again. With a sick lurch of her stomach, she realized that the questions he was asking — though she couldn’t understand them now — were exactly the same questions as had been asked of Bellina in her dream. Over and over again, the same question, with a blow to the jaw every time an incorrect answer was given — she could almost feel the sharp, sickly pain of her fractured skull throbbing in tandem with the angry syll
ables of Italian.

  “Please,” she whispered, but the Inquisitor only raised his voice, questioning her over and over. He was standing, now, looming over her, and she shrank down into her chair despite her determination to be brave. Were her hands on her knees, or tied behind her back? Were those tears running down her face, or blood from the wounds they’d inflicted to try to draw the truth from her? They’d never stop — they wouldn’t stop until her spirit was broken along with all her fingers, until they’d cut her tongue right out of her mouth and flayed the skin from her body — one hand clutched desperately at her throat, looking for a necklace that wasn’t there, and instead found the brooch. The brooch that Margaret had given to her, with a blessing. The brooch that would keep her safe. But could anything keep her safe from these men, men with their sticks and knives, men who were lighting a bonfire to set her ablaze?

  “Pater noster,” she whispered, barely audible, waiting for the pang of pain from an injury that had been done to another body, in another place and time. “Qui es in caelis. Sanctificetur nomen tuum...”

  By the time she had finished the prayer, the Inquisitors had fallen silent — and when she murmured ‘amen’, she looked up and saw the first man mouth it along with her. The second one, still standing, looked dumbfounded. She took a deep, steadying breath and straightened her back again, beginning to come back to her senses. The Inquisitors were conferring, now, speaking to one another in low quiet voices.

  “The interview is over,” the first one said tersely.

  Cora let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “Confine her to the dungeons.”

  Chapter 28

  Cora stared around the tiny cell she was restricted to, still not quite believing what was happening to her. Audrina had followed them all the way down to the dungeons that she hadn’t even realized the castle was endowed with, arguing vehemently for any other arrangement — Cora to be restrained to her chambers, to a room somewhere else — anything but the cold, drafty spaces beneath the castle. But all to no avail — the Inquisitors didn’t want her to be comfortable, she knew with grim certainty, they wanted her to be frightened, and stressed. The more stressed she was, the more likely she’d break under their questioning.

  Well, to hell with all of them. She wasn’t going to break just because they wanted her to. The cell wasn’t even that bad, all things considered — it certainly wasn’t as cold as the one from her nightmares, and the absence of torturing figures in dark clothing was certainly a plus. It wasn’t spacious, but that made it warmer. There was a long stone bench along the south wall (she’d made sure to keep her bearings as they descended — she refused to lose track of where she was) that she supposed was meant to be used as a bed. Over by the far wall, there was a pail — she didn’t really want to think about what that was intended for. Mercifully, it was at least empty. The dungeons hadn’t been used for quite some time, Audrina had told her through the bars once their captors were satisfied she was restrained. The MacClarans had had no need to take prisoners for quite some time.

  Well, here she was, a prisoner. The Inquisitors left a man downstairs to guard her — he wasn’t dressed like them, but he seemed to be in their employ as a guard. Ian had said that the Inquisitors had a staff that traveled with them, not necessarily the devoutly religious, but people with no roots or reasons to remain in one place. The man was small and unassuming, but he kept a sharp eye on her visitors and his hand on his belt, where the key to her cell was kept. Cora had briefly entertained the idea of breaking out of the cell and running off into the night, but where would she go? No, she’d been given the opportunity to run away, weeks ago — and her decision on that matter had almost destroyed a relationship she cared very much about. She was staying put. Now, as always, she knew it was the right thing to do. All she could do was pray that the Inquisition went favorably for her, and that she would eventually be released.

  Maybe then she could mend her relationship with Ian. Bigger miracles had happened, right? And it was a comforting thought at a time when the rest of her life wasn’t especially comfortable. She allowed herself to disappear into fantasies — the Inquisitors releasing her and clearing her of all charges, Ian sweeping her into his arms and forgiving her for not running away with him in the first place…a wedding, with all their friends and families there, Audrina and her infant daughter in matching bridesmaids dresses…

  Audrina kept coming and going, bringing down blankets and pillows to ensure she’d be comfortable double — and triple-checking that she had been given enough to eat and drink. At this rate, Cora joked with her, she’d be the only woman in history to gain weight during an imprisonment.

  “Go up to bed,” she instructed finally, catching Audrina swaying a little with weariness. “It must be well past dinner time. You need your rest if we’re going to have another experience like today in the morning.” The Inquisitors had left once they were satisfied that Cora was safely locked up, and said that they would confer overnight and return in the morning for another ‘discussion’.

  “You’re mad if you think I’m leaving you down here all night alone,” Audrina challenged her, her eyes blazing.

  “You’re mad if you think I’m letting you!”

  “What are you going to do about it, exactly? You’re locked up, remember?” Audrina tapped meaningfully on the bars.

  Cora ground her teeth. “Audrina, please. I’m okay. Please go up and get some sleep. Do I have to remind you you’re still on the mend from a pretty traumatic birth? I’m not going to get any rest at all if I’m worried about you.”

  “And I’m not going to be able to sleep if I’m thinking about you chained up down here all by yourself.”

  There was a cough from the shadows, and both women whipped around as Ian MacClaran stepped forward, looking a little bit sheepish.

  “I have a solution.”

  Audrina gave Cora a meaningful look — they’d had long discussions of the feud between Ian and Cora — then smiled sweetly at Ian. “You’re a good man, Ian MacClaran. I’ll see you in the morning, Cora, my love.” She kissed her cheek through the bars then made her escape, leaving Cora and Ian standing in awkward silence with the impassive jailer standing by.

  “You really intend to stay here all night?” she asked finally, not looking at him.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Yes. I’m not leaving you alone down here. Wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”

  “Oh. So you’re just being polite.”

  “Cora, you stubborn woman —” He shot a glance at the guard, then back at her. The look meant that they couldn’t speak openly — they had to be careful not to mention anything that would contradict her story about being from Skye. She gave an imperceptible little nod. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I suggested what I did. You were quite right to chastise me. It was cowardly.”

  She nodded, a little pleased to hear it — then Audrina’s words echoed in her memory, reminding her that Ian wasn’t the only one to blame in the situation. “I’m sorry, too,” she admitted, grudgingly, but knowing as she spoke that it was the right thing to do. “I was very harsh with you. You were only trying to keep me safe — trying to protect me, like you promised. And it was a reasonably good idea.”

  “Just not one you would’ve gone along with in a million years.”

  “Exactly.” She laughed a little, finally looking into his hazel eyes and feeling a great welling up of admiration for him, gladness that they’d cleared the air between them — and a new twisting anxiety in her stomach at how truly awful it would be to lose him. “Ian — what if they — what if they put me to death?”

  His jaw tightened. “They won’t. They won’t, love. They’ll know you’re innocent. They’ll have to, if they’re truly men of God.”

  That didn’t help Bellina, she thought — but of course she couldn’t say it, not if she didn’t want the guard to pass it on to the Inquisitors and have her burned before the sun was up. But Ian knew what she was thinking — he rea
ched through the bars and took her hands, positioning his body as close to hers as he could despite the obstruction. He was close enough to have taken her into his arms, if the bars hadn’t been there keeping them apart — she smiled a little, but there were tears in her eyes, and he gently brushed one from her cheek and caressed the side of her face.

  “Cora Wilcox,” he said, very deliberately. “You are the bravest, kindest, most stubborn, most forthright, most clever, skilled, hard-working, and beautiful woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Nobody on God’s green Earth could stop you from doing anything you set your mind to, and whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that I love you.”

  The litany of compliments had brought a stronger and stronger blush to her pale cheeks, and at the final declaration she ducked her head, overcome, dizzy, smiling widely enough to hurt her cheeks despite the miserable surroundings and the awful situation she found herself in.

  “Ian MacClaran,” she murmured in an echo of his rather formal statement. “You have picked a truly unromantic time and place for this kind of declaration.” He laughed ruefully. “But here, before the eyes of God, the rats, and this armed guard, I will say that I love you too, and I very much hope that I am not burned at the stake tomorrow —” he laughed again, a delighted grin spreading across his handsome face — “because I would much rather spend it planning our wedding.”

  His eyes widened. “Truly?”

  “Truly.” She hesitated. “Don’t tell anyone just yet. I don’t want to jinx it.”

  “It’ll be our secret,” Ian murmured, pressing his body against hers through the bars — she sighed, trying to draw in as much of the warmth of him as she could. “Until you’re cleared of all charges, and we’re able to start planning our lives together. And until then — I’m staying.” He reached into his pocket and revealed a deck of cards and a set of dice. “I’m here for the long haul. We can play games until you’re tired, and then you can sleep in that ridiculous mountain of blankets that Maeve’s brought you, the madwoman, and I’ll still be here when you wake up. Promise.”