“Wait!” she said, her face suddenly alight in the semi-darkness. “It is not the tribunal we need to convince of your innocence. It is King James.” She paced the confines of the small cell. “Would you say King James is a learned man? A logical man?”
Lachlan’s frown deepened. “Aye. He is.”
“Then we need to appeal to the logical side of him. Make him see through the preposterous charges my father and others have brought up against you.”
“And how do you suppose we do that?” Lachlan asked.
“With counter evidence.” She smiled. “I will dispel every charge, one by one by finding those who have given evidence against you and reversing their claims. Starting with myself.”
“You did not testify against me.”
“Not yet, but that moment will come and soon. Mark my words.”
He stood and shuttered as pain rippled through him. “I don’t understand.”
“They say you tried to sacrifice me at Ravenscraig Castle. I intend to submit to an examination by someone who can confirm that I am still a maid.”
“Nay, Elizabeth. I will not have you humble yourself in that way for me.”
He saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Do you wish to live?”
“Aye.”
She stared at him, and the bleakness in her gaze was almost too much to bear. “I don’t know what else to do. If it helps you to be freed from this place, then it will be worthwhile.” She drew a deep breath as if to maintain her composure. “I do not want you to die, not in this way.”
“Elizabeth,” he said, and ignoring the pain, he took her into his arms. She tensed for a heartbeat before she relaxed. “I have no intention of dying.”
“Finally, we agree on something.” Despite her attempt at humor, her eyes still held fear as she touched his rough, unshaven jaw then pushed up on her toes and kissed him tenderly.
He gathered her closer, and much to his surprise, she deepened the kiss and molded her body to his. He blocked out the pain, focusing instead on the feel of her, the taste of her. The moment stretched before them. He seized it, used it to show her what she meant to him, in case he never got the chance to tell her anything more. He wanted her to know how much he needed her, wanted her, desired her. He reveled in the heat, allowing the warmth to heal his skin. He wanted so much more, but it was the wrong time, the wrong place.
Easing back from the kiss, he lifted his head and looked down into dazed brown eyes filled with desire. He knew a moment of intense satisfaction that he would hold dear in the minutes, hours, and days ahead to give him strength.
The sound of a throat clearing hauled his mind from his thoughts. Looking up, he saw the younger of his guards at the door neither of them had heard open.
“’Tis time fer ye tae leave, milady. The others will be arrivin’ soon and I dinna want tae lose my job.”
Elizabeth stepped back. Chill morning air filled the space between them and Lachlan shivered involuntarily. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, but he knew he had to let her go. “Whatever you decide to do, you must proceed carefully. Speak with Reid. He will know how to help. Promise you will.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
He watched her go. Watched the door close slowly behind her. As soon as the latch slid home, he sagged against the wall for support. While in Elizabeth’s presence it had taken everything inside him to be strong, brave, unshaken.
He’d thought he’d known what fear was before—the shiver down his spine, the knot in his stomach, the metallic taste on his tongue. But those old experiences were nothing.
The fear inside him now was a living, breathing thing, which crept into every cell of his being like a macabre specter threatening to plunge him into eternal darkness.
He curled his hand at his sides, fighting the fear, willing it away. He dragged in a breath past the constriction in his chest. He was going to die, here and now, either in the torture chamber as John Swinton crushed his bones to gain a confession, or at the end of a noose. All that stood between him and death was Elizabeth.
Lachlan swallowed a lump in his throat. To survive the next few days he needed internal strength and faith and hope. He squeezed his eyes shut, battling the pain with everything inside him. Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. The thought came out of nowhere, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, and that faith was his for the asking.
“Help me,” he whispered, wishing God would hear his simple prayer, but not expecting him to. God never answered his prayers. Why would he start now?
Chapter Fourteen
Clouds filled the morning sky so Elizabeth could not judge the hour as she hurried past the Old Parish church on her way to the Nungate Inn. She’d been told Laird and Lady Douglas had taken a room there. It was urgent she speak to them before Lachlan suffered any more.
The streets had been relatively quiet up until she turned a corner at the market cross and came upon a crowd. Their excited chattering grew louder the closer she got to whatever they were gathering around. She had to shift her steps left and then right, finding gaps in the throng to make any kind of progress forward.
At the next open space, she craned her neck to see what was happening. That’s when she saw it—the gallows with a single long rope dangling down, waiting for its next victim.
The crowd parted then, giving Elizabeth a better view. At the base of the gallows stood two women—one older, and the other about the same age as herself. Both of their faces were nearly as pale as the white linen hoods covering their hair. They wore brown dresses made from coarse wool with a white collar and cuffs. The executioner on the platform walked slowly back and forth before the crowd, raising his arms, inciting them to cheer all the louder as another man below forced the older woman up a ladder, making her climb toward a platform above.
The first woman’s legs were visibly trembling, no doubt with fear, as she tried to hoist herself up. Without warning, the man below pushed the old woman upward so violently she stumbled onto the platform. Unable to stop herself from falling, she slammed against the wood with a cry of pain.
Elizabeth stood motionless, and her breath caught as the crowd laughed and jeered in response. The poor woman had obviously been accused as a witch. From the bruises on her face and neck, she had clearly suffered some kind of torture as well, just as Lachlan had. And now that she’d been found guilty, she would be hanged.
The executioner on the platform jabbed at the old woman with his boot. “Get up, Witch!”
With considerable effort, the gray-haired woman finally gained her feet only to be jerked forward until she was forced up on to a stool and the noose was slipped over her head.
A row of dignitaries was seated on the right side of the platform, and the old woman’s gaze shifted to them, searching their faces before moving on to the crowd. There was no malice in her expression, only surrender, and perhaps a touch of serenity at the realization that all her suffering would soon be at an end.
When the woman’s gaze landed on Elizabeth, her heart stumbled. Never in her life had she felt so powerless as in that moment. There was not a thing she could do to help the woman without great cost to herself. Elizabeth returned her gaze, hoping the woman could read the sympathy she felt.
A glimmer of a smile came to the old woman’s lips before she bowed her head, staring at her feet.
One of the dignitaries rose and held up his hand, seeking silence. “Good people,” he shouted. “We are here today to witness the just punishment of this woman who made a pact with the Devil to carry out his evil designs here on earth.” He gestured toward the old woman.
“Ye witches! Ye loathsome creatures!”
“Burn the witches! Burn them in hell-fire!”
The man held up his hand to silence the cries erupting from the crowd. When they fell silent, he read the charges against her. “Agnes Quarie, these are the charges of
which you have been declared guilty. You are guilty of consulting with a known witch. Guilty of abusing the people and cursing the same, especially Grissel Thomson’s bairn that he was born with a clubbed foot. Guilty of laying a curse on Ellie Knox’s hens that they laid no more. Guilty of possession by the Devil.” He turned to Agnes. “Do ye have any last words, Agnes Quarie?”
She lifted her head and spoke, but her words were drowned out by cheers from the crowd. Before she could finish, the stool was kicked out from beneath her.
“She’s dancin’ to the Devil’s song now!” As her feet kicked and jerked, the crowd jeered and whistled their approval. Finally, her slight body went limp and her tongue protruded from her mouth. Slowly, her slack body turned in a half circle in the soft breeze, then twisted back again.
With tears in her eyes, Elizabeth watched as two town guards on the platform stepped forward to take Agnes down. After she was examined by the doctor and declared dead, the guards carried her remains to the pyre to be burned.
Before Agnes was tossed into the flames, the next to be hanged was forced up the ladder and onto the platform. The blonde-haired woman’s beautiful face was filled with fear as she stepped onto the stool Agnes’s feet had last mounted.
Once again, the charges were read by the dignitary. “Isobel Craig, you are guilty of bewitching three men with charms and witchcraft.”
The charges were harsh and ugly as they were carried away by the morning air. The poor girl on the platform would be hanged simply because she was pretty and had spurned the advances of three men. Elizabeth’s throat tightened and her tears fell all the harder now. Where was the justice in all of this? Agnes and Isobel could have been just as innocent of the charges against them as Lachlan was, yet no one seemed to care.
Before the stool was kicked from beneath her, Isobel’s lips moved slightly as though she was saying a prayer, which ended swiftly as the stool tilted. As her body was removed from the noose, a magpie flew from a copse of bushes nearby and settled on the crosspiece of the gallows. It uttered a dry, throaty rattle three times before it flew off again.
“See!” A man in the front of the crowd shouted. “The Devil comes for his own.”
The crowd responded with jeers as the two guards tossed Isobel’s body into the flames. Elizabeth shifted away, not wanting to watch as a great pall of smoke filled the air. But because of the dense crowd, her progress forward was slowed and she couldn’t help but notice the flames of the pyre leapt higher and higher as the women’s hair caught fire and their skin blackened. The stench of burning flesh overpowered all else and it was all Elizabeth could do to keep from retching.
Drawing shallow breaths, she focused her sight on the distance, even as her stomach twisted at the hissing sound, like rashers frying on a griddle, which followed her as she struggled to leave the gallows behind. By nightfall, all that would be left of the two women would be a pile of ash.
Elizabeth shoved her way through the crowd now. She had to get away from the reminder of what might yet happen to Lachlan if she couldn’t find a way to set him free. Relief filled her at the sight of the Nungate Inn ahead. She was breathless from running when she finally threw open the door and burst into the common room.
Several gazes turned her way when she entered—some of those gazes filled with fear, others with disgust before they turned away. At the patrons’ responses, Elizabeth looked down at her clothing to see they were not only dusty from her race through the village, but also streaked with blood from her time in the cell with Lachlan.
She lifted her chin, ignoring her disheveled state. She glanced around the crowded chamber in the low light, searching for Reid and Lucy. She spotted them in a corner with three other men, one whom she recognized as Cameron Sinclair. She hurried over. “I must speak with you, Laird Douglas.”
Reid’s chair scraped back as he stood to face her. His features filled with surprise then horror.
“Good heavens,” Lucy gasped beside her husband. “What has happened to you?”
“I bribed the guard at the tolbooth to let me in to see Lachlan. I waited for hours until they finally brought him.” Her voice caught. “If he stays there much longer, they’ll kill him from the torture alone.”
Reid stood and took her hands in his. “Come, join us, Elizabeth.” Reid offered her his chair. He pulled another over from the table next to them and sat. “I’d like to introduce you to the men who can help Lachlan.”
*
King James frowned as he looked about the sparsely furnished chamber where his men had bade him to meet them this morning. Could they not have chosen a more elegant setting? Something worthy of a king? But then again, this was a clandestine meeting. No doubt to make an appeal for him to release their accused brother-in-arms. His gaze moved to the men gathered around the small table: Reid and Quinn Douglas, Cameron Sinclair, Malcolm Hamilton, Rhys Elliot, and Alexander Ross. The only one of the seven who was missing was currently in gaol, charged as a warlock.
“Be quick about it.” James scowled at the remaining six of his Magnificent Seven. “Why have you interrupted my day for such a meeting?”
Reid Douglas stood, then offered a stiff bow. “I respect that Your Grace is a very busy man, therefore I will not ramble on and on about the reasons you should release my cousin, Lachlan. Instead I will simply put forth that as your humble servant, the seeker of your justice, and the keeper of the kingdom, that you should drop all charges against Lachlan Douglas and place him into our care. A failure to do so could jeopardize your relationship with all those gathered here.”
Fury flashed through King James, so hard and fast, he felt dizzy with it. He thumped his fist on the table. “You dare to challenge my authority?”
Reid Douglas never broke eye contact, but the wrinkles around his eyes seemed to deepen. “In this matter, aye, for we know Lachlan to be innocent of all charges against him. And if you are honest with yourself, so do you. Donald Ruthven and his clan fabricated every situation for their own benefit in order to retaliate against both you and the Douglases.”
At his words, King James lost his hold on his anger. Why had he ever agreed to his wife’s suggestion that he betroth Lachlan Douglas to Elizabeth Ruthven? Any attempt at peace had obviously gone far astray.
Reid continued to stare him down.
“What would you have me do? God, Himself, urged my mother to pass the Witchcraft Act into law. There is no punishment too severe for any man or woman who is found guilty of practicing or abetting witchcraft in all its forms, sorcery, necromancy, fortune-telling, or healing. All these are punishable by death. I cannot defy my God.”
Beside Reid, his twin brother’s brows pulled together slowly. “It is not God’s will that innocent people be tortured and murdered. It is yours,” Quinn Douglas said.
James’s anger spiked once more. “Mind yourself, Douglas.”
“Your Grace, we are not asking you to empty your gaols,” Reid said with a look of reprimand at his brother. “Just as we all fight for you, in search of justice, we ask that you look a little deeper into these charges against Lachlan. Do not accept them at face value. Ruthven followed Lachlan and Elizabeth from the moment they left Falkland Palace, seeking to engage in battle in order to stop Elizabeth from becoming a Douglas. That he chose not a battle of swords, but a battle of misdeeds and misdirection should be enough to give you pause.”
“I will not suffer obstinacy, Laird Douglas.” The king frowned at each man seated around the table. “Not from any of you. If you defy me, you might find yourselves in a cell alongside your brother-in-arms.”
“Lachlan is falsely accused,” Alexander Ross said. “To a man, we will swear on a Bible to attest to his innocence.”
“That is all well and good, but the charges still stand. Lachlan is accused of sorcery. It matters not that Ruthven is the instigator of it all,” the king replied.
“It matters to us.” Cameron Sinclair stood and, with fury in his eyes, he drew his sword, setting it on the ta
ble in front of King James. “And, since you refuse to see reason, I will be the first to break my vow of allegiance to you.”
Rhys Elliot followed Cameron to his feet, setting his sword beside his brother’s. “If we all breach our vow of protecting you, how well would you fare among the den of vipers who reside in your court?”
“Without us at your side, you will not be safe.” Malcolm Hamilton stood and set his sword beside Cameron’s.
Then both of the Douglas twins stood, followed by Alexander Ross, until all their swords lay before the king. “We stand together or not at all.”
The reality of their actions hit James like a blow to the chest. He struggled to his feet, staring them down. “I could strip you of your rank. I could seize your assets.” Spittle formed at the edges of his mouth.
“Of course, you could,” Reid Douglas agreed. “And you could be skewered by a dagger on the street outside this meeting place if you leave here without protection.”
King James gaped at the man. He’d never felt such a confusing jumble of rage and fear. His head was spinning with the thoughts, possibilities, fears of what might happen to him without his personal guards. “I could banish you from this country.”
“Aye,” Reid continued, “and the moment we are gone, your enemies will converge, hiding in every shadow. You won’t be able to eat, drink, walk, or sleep without fearing who you can truly trust.” He shrugged. “The choice is yours, after all . . . you are the king.”
The truth crept over King James. He realized the significance of what Reid Douglas said. There had already been several attempts on his life. He’d been kidnapped and held prisoner as well by none other than the Ruthvens. He looked about the room at the men gathered before him. He had chosen all of these men for a reason at one time—they were unequalled in strength, courage, and spirit. It was those same qualities they portrayed to him right now all for the sake of protecting one of their own.
A Temptress in Tartan Page 14