Page 42 of A Temptress in Tartan

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.