Page 50 of Much Ado About a Scot

Xander bolted for the door. He had to get to Isobel before Alaric’s men did. It took four guards to restrain Xander, and yet he still struggled. Only his brothers-in-arms were able to convince him that fighting Isobel’s arrest would only make matters worse for her. As soon as the king arrived Xander intended to petition for her release.

*

As daylight surrendered and a hazy gray settled across the landscape, Isobel turned her attention back to Freya and Jamie. The cook held the little boy in her arms as he leaned over to stir the Scotch broth simmering in the pot hanging from the hook over the fire.

Isobel smiled at the pair as she prepared thick slices of bread to go along with their soup. She had started to slice yet another piece when the crash of a door stalled her movements. Muffled voices sounded, then a shout before six men invaded her kitchen.

Freya clutched Jamie to her chest and stepped back into the recess beside the hearth. Isobel stepped forward, trying to hide them from view. She hitched a shaky breath. “What do you want? Why have you burst into my home?”

“We’ve come fer ye, Lady Seaton.”

Four of the men she did not know, but the other two she recognized as the Sheriff of Haddington and Otis Jenkins from the village. “Whatever for?”

“To take you to the tolbooth where you will be questioned and put on trial.”

“On what charge?” she asked, her voice giving away none of her fear.

“The charge of witchcraft.”

Isobel gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Nay!” Freya stepped from the shadows. “Isobel is nae witch. She’s a good person. Ye ken this tae be true, Sheriff. Who accuses her?”

“Otis Jenkins was the first, but no one listened to him until none other than the Earl of Bothwell named you as a witch during his pretrial questioning.”

Freya put a hand on Isobel’s arm. “How could he name her as a witch? She’s done nothin’ wrong.”

Otis Jenkins narrowed his gaze on Isobel. “Yer charged with spellin’ yer husbands tae death with the use of wax effigies, fer makin’ it rain durin’ the fire, and fer callin’ on yer familiar tae attack Bothwell. He still has the wounds on his face tae prove it.”

A fresh wave of sickness rushed through her. These were the charges she would have to defend herself against? They were ridiculous. And yet, panic clawed at her, closing her throat so she could scarcely breathe, filling her eyes with tears she refused to shed. She wouldn’t give her accusers the satisfaction of seeing how scared she really was.

“Thank you, Otis. Let me handle this matter, if you will.” The sheriff sighed. “I don’t want to do this, milady. But it is my task to take you in for questioning.”

Swallowing the bitter taste of fear, Isobel calmly nodded. She turned to Freya. “You and Jamie stay here. I won’t have either of you touched by any of this madness.”

Freya hugged Jamie to her chest. “Aye, milady.”

“I love you, Jamie. Never forget Mummy loves you,” she said, placing a cold hand upon his soft cheek. Then, more scared than she’d ever been, Isobel allowed the sheriff to escort her outside and then onto his horse. She was grateful he at least honored her by placing no restraints upon her hands and feet. He knew her well enough to know she would cooperate. But somewhere in this process, she knew she would have to fight back if she were ever going to see her son again.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and the taste of fear was sharp and bitter on her tongue as they made their way into Haddington. Her thoughts shifted to the one man who might have the power to save her. She’d been upset when she’d discovered Xander had lied to her about who he was, but in the end his very connections to the king might be her only chance to escape a horrific death. Once placed on trial, not many of those accused of witchcraft were cleared of the charges. Only a fierce warrior could stand between her and this threat.

Would he even know she’d been taken? Fear clawed at her chest, scraped her throat as she silently pleaded for the one man who could save her.

Xander!

Chapter Nineteen

After a brief reading of the charges against Isobel and an even shorter questioning, it was decided she needed further incentive to admit to her crimes. She was taken to the Haddington tolbooth and locked in a cell.

That was all Isobel remembered before the torturous walking had started. The church had decreed that suspected witches were to be kept awake because during the hours of sleep, the Devil may easily enter their bodies and exert his power. The goal was to make the accused disoriented and confused so they might confess to their crimes more easily.

Never before had Isobel understood more fully why so many of those who were captured simply confessed to the accusations against them. Many were not as physically prepared for the torture as she was, after years of manual labor on her farm. But even she could feel herself wearing down.

A wave of nausea swept over her as she shuffled across the floor. She kept moving, dragging her feet across the flagstone floor in the dark cell that was her prison. Guards supported her on either side as she continued the relentless walking that she had done for days now. Or had it been weeks? She no longer knew. Her guards changed with regular frequency, so much so that she no longer marked the passage of time by their comings and goings. For they walked her both day and night, with no rest, no food, and only the occasional sip of water.

She no longer asked for water because the very act consumed all her strength and her words were slurred as though she had taken too much wine. She lapsed into a light sleep as the guards pulled her along the flagstones, no longer able to keep herself awake.

The next thing she was aware of was water being thrown in her face. The shock jolted her awake and she shivered as the icy liquid slithered down her neck and bodice. The putrid stench of decay filled her senses and a wave of nausea followed. The cell was brighter, she realized, turning her head toward the source of that light. A single torch hung upon the wall, its flames desperately trying to keep the darkness at bay. Once her nausea passed, her memory returned.