If I do not see him, how can I tell him that I love him?
Placing her head upon her knees, Laoghaire felt despair, so deep, so vast, it was unlike anything she’d ever before experienced. It was then she realized that Galen was the love she’d always imagined. Always hoped for.
If he dies, my heart will turn to ash.
“And there is nothing I can do to help him,” she muttered, still reeling from the shock of having been accused of such a grave crime.
But she was even more shocked by the treachery that gave birth to the false charge. And the only person who could defend her—her husband—was lying in a dark stupor.
Surely, I am dreaming.
And if she wasn’t dreaming, she was at a complete loss to comprehend why Dame Winifred would have made such a patently untrue charge against her. She could understand why Father Giroldus would accuse her of witchcraft—had it not been for her, the cleric would still be living the good life at Castle Airlie—but Laoghaire was mystified by Dame Winifred’s enmity toward her.
Does she hate me because the king ordered me to marry Galen?Granted, if it’d not been for the royal decree, Dame Winifred’s daughter would have become the countess of Angus.
“But why hold me responsible for that?” Laoghaire murmured as she tried to make sense of it all.
Perhaps her hatred is due to the fact that Galen and I finally forged a bond with one another.
The irony, of course, was that any injudicious exclamations she made in those early contentious days of their marriage would undoubtedly be used as evidence against her. Even if she publicly proclaimed her love for Galen, the vindictive matron would simply claim that she was feigning affection in order to save herself from being found guilty of witchcraft.
And what of the priest? Are he and Dame Winifred conspirators?Or is it mere happenstance that Father Giroldus is now the prior of St. Dunstan’s?
While the answers eluded her, Laoghaire knew the cleric would prosecute her without mercy. Moreover, she feared that whatever she said before the court would matter naught.
For they have already damned me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“ . . . then, on the evening before the earl fell into his dark stupor, I happened to walk past the tent he shared with the countess. Whereupon I overheard the earl say, ‘You have bewitched me, lady wife.’”
Unable to hold her tongue, so great was her outrage, Laoghaire exclaimed, “‘Overheard?!’ Don’t ye mean to say that ye were eavesdropping?”
Favoring her with a disdainful glance, Dame Winifred stood tight-lipped in front of the court, appearing like an otherworldly bird of prey in her starched white wimple.
Father Giroldus, clearly relishing his role as court’s inquisitor, said, “And you are certain those are the exact words that you overheard?”
Prodded by the priest, Dame Winifred confirmed the charge with a vigorous nod of the head. “As God is my witness.”
At her wit’s end, Laoghaire rolled her eyes toward the massive barrel-vaulted ceiling of the assembly hall. An expansive chamber—with a double row of aisles supported by ornate stone columns—the room was illuminated by the light that poured through three sets of double-arched windows; in front of which the abbot sat on a high-backed chair. Laoghaire had been made to stand in the center of the hall, and fanning behind her—forming a semi-circle—stood the black-robed monks of St. Dunstan’s.
’Tis as if a pack of ravenous wolves have gathered at my backside, awaiting the signal from their leader to take me down.
One of the monks, a pointy-nosed young man with a fringe of lank blonde hair encircling his tonsure, was bent over a small writing table, his quill scratching furiously across a sheet of parchment as he recorded the proceedings.
Just as she suspected, Father Giroldus had acted with a swiftness that was breathtaking. Shortly after trece, Sheriff Simon Blàrach and two of his deputies had forced her to accompany them to the main entrance of St. Dunstan’s Church, whereupon she was formally accused of witchcraft. From there, she was taken to the assembly hall, located within the abbey’s chapter house. The trial then immediately commenced, with the charges against her read aloud, and the first witness summoned.
Thus far, all who’d been called to testify against her had made outlandish claims, which were cleverly twisted by Father Giroldus. When the abbey gatekeeper gave evidence that she threatened him with grave bodily harm after he refused to open the gates and allow her entry into the monastery, the cleric took it upon himself to proclaim, “The accused would have resorted to witchcraft had the gatekeeper not obeyed her command.”
Even the detestable sheriff testified that she threatened him with the evil eye, forcing him to take her to Galen’s encampment. And though—in a fit of pique—Sir William de Graham had pushed his way to the fore and strenuously claimed that no such threat was ever made, the damage was already done.
Despite her dire situation, Laoghaire had been given one piece of news that filled her with hope: Galen was alive, although his condition had yet to improve.
Still in the process of questioning Dame Winifred, Father Giroldus next inquired about Laoghaire’s behavior at Castle Airlie.
As though she’d been waiting for that very question, Dame Winifred pushed out a long-suffering sigh. “Since the day she first arrived, the countess has been a constant source of wickedness.”
“‘Wickedness?’ What would compel you to say such a thing?” the priest prompted.
