Could they have devised a more agonizing way to kill me?
Still pacing, her ears pricked at hearing a dog bark in the distance. Somewhere much, much closer she heard the squeal of a rat as it scurried in the shadows.
“I don’t know which is worse,” she muttered. “Having to sleep with the dead or the rats.”
“I would think the rats.”
Startled to hear a woman’s voice, Laoghaire immediately stopped her pacing and spun toward the stone stairs that led to the church above. At seeing Melisande Jardin standing on the other side of the chamber—holding a cloth satchel in one hand and a leather costrel in the other—Laoghaire’s eyes went wide.
Appearing ill-at-ease, Melisande stepped closer. “I have brought you food and wine.”
“Thank ye.” Taking the proffered items, Laoghaire wondered at the other woman’s motive for coming to the undercroft.
Has she come to gloat?
No sooner did she think that than Laoghaire discarded the uncharitable thought, able to see from Melisande’s troubled expression that she took no joy in being there.
After sparing the gloomy chamber an appraising glance, Melisande said, “I am appalled that an earl’s wife would be so ill-treated.”
Laoghaire simply shrugged as she set her provisions on the sarcophagus. “I have fared well considering the dire charge leveled against me. But I would have ye tell me about Galen,” she said, abruptly changing the subject.
“By the grace of God, he still clings to life.”
Relieved, Laoghaire blinked back grateful tears. Not wanting the other woman to witness her emotional reaction, she busied herself with opening the cloth satchel. Snatching hold of a hunk of bread, she tore off a piece and stuffed it into her mouth, too hungry to be concerned with the niceties of proper etiquette.
“The monks must think I can conjure a plate of food out of thin air,” she said mockingly before she reached for a wedge of cheese.
“We both know that you are no witch.”
Stunned by what she just heard, Laoghaire stopped chewing as she stared at the other woman. All along she had assumed that Melisande was aligned with her mother.
Perchance I misjudged her.
As though she could read Laoghaire’s thoughts, Melisande continued and said, “The trial was naught but a travesty. That said, you were clever to demand trial by combat.”
“More desperate than clever,” Laoghaire admitted.
“Be that as it may, I have been informed that the sheriff, Simon Blàrach, has agreed to stand as the court’s champion.”
“I’ll wager it took little to persuade him,” she snickered. Unwittingly, she’d made an enemy of Sheriff Blàrach, and he would undoubtedly exact his revenge with a gleeful heart.
Quickly proving to be a fount, Melisande said, “Because tomorrow marks the feast of St. Theodore, for whom the abbot is named, judicial combat will take place the day after.”
Sweet Mary! That means that Iain could possibly arrive in time to defend me!
Too overcome to speak, so great was her relief, Laoghaire slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a giddy sob. Granted, ’twas naught but a sliver of hope. But that was far more than she’d had previously.
“Sir William de Graham would make a worthy champion, do you not think?” Melisande shyly suggested.
“Aye,” she agreed. “However, I prefer that my brother, the laird of Clan MacKinnon, champion my innocence. None can best him in battle, and that weasel Blàrach will quickly regret taking up the sword.”
Assuming Iain arrives in time to defend me.If no champion was forthcoming, the original sentence would immediately be carried out and she would be burned at the stake.
Despite the crypt’s shadowy light, Laoghaire suddenly discerned a change in Melisande’s countenance. There was a noticeably sheepish expression on the other woman’s face—her cheeks flushed, her eyes downcast. Intuiting that the real reason for the visit was about to be revealed, Laoghaire stood silent, waiting.
“I have a confession to make,” Melisande said at last, wringing her hands together. “But before I do so, I must secure your promise not to seek reprisal against my mother.”
Taken aback by the caveat, Laoghaire made no reply. She already knew that Dame Winifred orchestrated her treacherous plot in the wake of Galen’s unexpected illness.
