Page 52 of Much Ado About a Scot

“Your Grace,” Xander said and made a bow, as did his brothers.

King James stepped into the chamber and stared at Xander intently. “I came as quickly as I could when I heard Francis was in custody. Malcolm escorted me safely after meeting my traveling party on the road. Finally, after all these years, I shall see my cousin pay for all he has done to challenge me and my authority.” The king smiled. “It is good that he was apprehended in Haddingtonshire. For we know how to deal with witches here.”

Xander could hold himself back no more. “Your Grace, what about Isobel Seaton? Shall she be released into my care?”

The king’s smile faded as he gazed at each of the men before him. “All of you seem to petition me for leniency when it comes to the women in your lives.” He came fully inside the chamber and moved to the table, and lifting a mug of wine near him he took a deep swig before he flung the rest into the fire where it hissed and spat in the flames. “There is no punishment too severe for any man or woman who is found guilty of practicing or abetting witchcraft in all its forms. It is my God-given right to see those who defy the law are punished and put to death.”

“Isobel Seaton is no witch. She was accused by your cousin to punish me for capturing him.”

The king’s neck reddened. “I know better than anyone what lies Francis is capable of fabricating.” James turned to his men, moving before them, scrutinizing their faces for what it was hard to say—loyalty, belief, disdain? “I am done having the seven of you tell me how things will be with regard to my witch trials. Isobel Seaton will stand trial alongside my cousin.”

Xander’s hand found the hilt of his sword as his anger swelled. Rhys clamped his hand over Xander’s, stopping him from drawing the weapon.

“Your Grace,” Rhys said, “we understand your need to stay true to the laws of this land, but wouldn’t it be a kindness for past service rendered if you allowed Alexander to at least see his wife?”

“His wife?” King James’s eyes bulged. “You married the chit?”

Xander nodded stiffly. “You said to do whatever it took to see the task was finally done.”

The king’s dark brows came together. “Her death will reflect poorly upon you, Alexander.”

“And upon you, Your Grace.”

The king threw a glance at Reid Douglas. “You are free with your thoughts, Douglas.”

Reid’s features remained unyielding. “I only speak the truth.”

The warmth of solidarity with his brothers eased the anger within Xander. They were forcing the king to once again bend to their demands.

King James cursed under his breath then straightened. “I will demand that the bailiff allow you to see Isobel whenever you want. And I will look over the charges against her. If there is anything irregular, I will root it out.” He turned to look at Malcolm. “Now, will you take me to Hardgate Manor with all due haste? After our travels, I find I am need of much refreshment and rest.”

Malcolm bowed. “I would be delighted, Your Grace, after we stop by the tolbooth to speak with the bailiff.”

“Get on with it then,” the king said, then continued to mumble under his breath as he and Malcolm left the chamber.

Xander followed behind. Now that the way was clear, nothing would keep him from seeing Isobel.

*

“Isobel . . .” A familiar voice drifted in and out of her thoughts. “Wake up, my love.” The voice became more desperate. “What have they done to you?” Pain and sorrow lingered in the words.

Her eyes fluttered open, drawn to the sound. Where was she? The darkness around her was now a mixture of golden light. She squeezed her eyes closed as she rolled over onto her back. Stinging pain seared her. She drew a sharp breath and held it until the pain dulled to a throb, then she exhaled.

As light as a feather, someone’s fingers touched her cheek. “Dear God, you are covered in blood.” The voice was raw, anguished. The fingers left her to be replaced by something cool and soothing. Gently it pressed against her forehead, then down her check. The scent of comfrey and rosemary came to her instead of the putrid smell that had surrounded her for days.

Isobel opened her eyes to see Xander bending over her, bathing her face and neck with a cloth that was colored with blood. She looked down to see the bright red splotches of blood that stained what was left of her chemise, her arms, and her legs. The witchfinder had pricked her everywhere, urging her to confess. “Alaric . . .” Her throat was raw. It hurt to speak.

“He will not hurt you any more, Isobel. I will see to that.”

Careful to limit her movements, she looked around the cell. Someone had replaced the rotting straw in the cell with sweet-smelling, fresh straw. “Did you do this?”

He nodded. “It breaks my heart that you have suffered so many injustices because of your association with me.”

Isobel eased herself slowly and carefully to a sitting position. “This is not your fault. Bothwell was already at Dunbar Manor before you ever arrived. If not for you, my farm might have burned to the ground along with all those who reside there.”

“I lied to you . . .”

“I forgive you for that.”