“On her wedding night, she refused to let her lord husband consummate their vows,” Dame Winifred answered, although she made no mention of how she came by such knowledge.
“Do you suppose that is because she was already betrothed to Satan?”
“I cannot rightly say,” the matron demurred, only to remark in the next breath, “but it put Lord Angus into such a foul humor that he left the castle the very next day, and it was nearly a fortnight before he returned.”
“We will now turn our attention to more recent events,” the priest announced with a self-important air. “As I understand it, the countess pursued the earl when he was summoned by the king to a Martinmas council.”
“And I can attest that he was greatly vexed by her arrival,” Dame Winifred asserted. “Indeed, I heard him say that the countess could flay a man alive with her tongue.”
“An act that only a witch can perform,” Father Giroldus hastened to elaborate. He waited until the excited whispers that ensued in the wake of that disclosure had sufficiently died down before he continued and said, “What reason did the countess give for her unexpected arrival?”
“She claimed to have had a prophetic vision in which she’d seen the earl’s death.”
At hearing that, Father Giroldus sanctimoniously crossed himself.
Biting back a disgusted exclamation, Laoghaire inwardly seethed. Most of Dame Winifred’s testimony had been gleaned through eavesdropping, the individual pieces cunningly woven together to make her appear guilty of sorcery.
“And is that the extent of the countess’s wickedness?” Father Giroldus next inquired.
With a discernibly smug expression, Dame Winifred shook her head. “I once overheard Lady Angus tell her maidservant that she wears an amulet around her neck. She claimed that it was given to her by a Druid magician named Laoghaire Odhar Fiosaiche, the very sorcerer for whom she was named. Moreover, according to her kinsman, this Druid was even present at her birth.”
Gnashing her teeth, Laoghaire was sorely tempted to publicly curse both the matron and the priest, so great was her frustration.
Without telling a single lie, the woman has just damned me to the pyre.
Her courage flagging, Laoghaire sucked in a deep breath. Despite the evidence being egregiously misconstrued, she could see from the abbot’s horrified expression that he believed every accusation Dame Winifred had put forth.
Finished questioning the matron, Father Giroldus approached Laoghaire. He stood so close, she could see the faint tracery of broken veins that splotched his cheeks. Unnerved, she watched him with a wary eye; as one would watch a dangerous beast on the prowl.
“’Tis said that the devil’s trull is possessed of red hair.”
“Am I now to be punished for the color of my hair?” she bristled, taken aback by Father Giroldus’s ludicrous remark.
When her query went unanswered, Laoghaire felt a sudden panic; the color of her hair was something over which she had no control.
“Is it true, Lady Angus, that you gained knowledge of the future through demonic means?”
Laoghaire hesitated before answering. Of all the charges laid at her door that was the only one which had the whisper of truth to it; insofar as shehadseen Galen’s death in a prophetic vision.
“’Twas nothing demonic about it,” she finally answered. “What is more, I have no knowledge of demons, nor have I ever sought such knowledge.”
“That is a blatant lie,” the priest said matter-of-factly. “Everyone present knows that prophetic visions are spawned by the devil.”
Flabbergasted, Laoghaire’s jaw slackened. Second Sight—thetaibhse—was considered part of the natural order in the Highlands, and was not deemed the least bit demonic.
“’Tisn’t true,” she protested in a raised voice. “Second Sight is a gift from God, not a magical skill solicited from the devil.”
“Second Sight, as you call it, is an evil abomination. That you would dare to claim it as a gift from the Almighty amounts to heresy.” Turning to the monk who’d been tasked with taking notes of the proceedings, Father Giroldus said, “Record that the witch has attempted to use her evil cunning to convince this court that she is innocent of witchcraft.” Instruction given, the priest pivoted toward the abbot. “The countess of Angus is the devil’s handmaid, and we must be on our guard so we are not lured into her demonic web.”
“I concur,” the abbot replied with great solemnity. “But I am keen to learn more about this magical amulet that she keeps on her person.”
“As am I, lord abbot.”
All but gloating, Father Giroldus held out a meaty hand, wordlessly demanding that Laoghaire relinquish thegloine nan Druidh, the circular blue stone that she always wore around her neck.
With the greatest reluctance, Laoghaire slipped a hand inside her tunic and pulled forth the amulet. Knowing it would be taken from her by force if she failed to comply, she surrendered it to Father Giroldus.
The priest cocked his head to one side while he slowly dangled the blue stone from its golden chain. “Did you use this witch’s stone to cast the dark spell upon Lord Angus?”
