Not only had she received no word as to Galen’s condition, but when she earlier begged the two deputies for any news that they might have, both men refused to answer her pleas. Although they took great delight in informing her that she had until the seventh hour to find a warrior to champion her cause; otherwise, the pyre would be lit.
Ignoring the large crowd of onlookers who’d gathered to witness the spectacle, Laoghaire peered at the sundial that was affixed to the right of the church door. To her escalating terror, she could see that the seventh hour was only thirty minutes away.
And Iain has yet to arrive at the abbey.
It dawned on her then that she was being led from the world of the living to the land of the dead.
Jostled rudely by the crowd, she tripped on the hem of the long, white linen chemise that she’d been made to wear. When she gracelessly pitched forward, she was unceremoniously jerked back onto her feet.
“Make way for the condemned!” one of the deputies shouted.
On hearing that strident order, the throng parted, like the sea in the old biblical tale, and Laoghaire caught her first glimpse of the pyre which had been erected in front of the church. Comprised of a dense pile of saplings and kindling, there was a sturdy pole thrust into the middle of it. Affixed to the stake was a small platform, just large enough for a person to stand upon.
Horrified, she gasped aloud.
The sheriff, Simon Blàrach, garbed for battle in chain mail with a sword belted around his waist, stood waiting by the pyre. Turning his head, he peered at her with a pitiless gaze. A slant of sunlight struck the metal nasal on his helmet, and she thought it made him look like some grotesque gargoyle.
I am surrounded by monsters.Moreover, she could feel the heightened excitement that emanated from the crowd as they pressed closer to her.
“You are to wait before the pyre!” one of the deputies barked at her, gesturing with a gauntleted hand for her to assume the commanded position.
After she complied with the order, Laoghaire looked out onto the hate-filled faces of those who’d gathered to watch the execution. She was taken aback to realize that most of themwantedto see a woman burned alive. She was the day’s entertainment, and she suspected that many would derive immense pleasure from the gory scene, cheering and cackling as her ashes rose into the sky and were scattered with the wind.
If only I were a witch, I’d haunt and bedevil every last one of them. Drive them all into an early grave, I would.
Just then, the church doors swung wide open and a procession of chanting, black-cowled monks emerged from the sanctuary. At the head of the column a monk slowly swung a censer, filling the air with a thick, cloying fragrance. Following directly behind him, another monk held a silver crucifix aloft. Their arrival instantly silenced the crowd.
Appearing the very image of solemn, Christian humility, the monks made their way to the pyre, whereupon they positioned themselves in two rows, with Abbot Theodore standing prominently in front of them.
Once the chanting concluded, Father Giroldus broke away from his robed brethren and approached her.
“I suppose ye’ve come to cast the first stone,” she taunted, knowing full well that of the two of them, the rotund priest was the evildoer.
“Only a witch would mock the words of our Savior,” Father Giroldus snarled, his lips twisted in an ugly sneer. Then, in a loud voice that reverberated across the forecourt, he said, “Laoghaire de Ogilvy, countess of Angus, do you have a champion for your cause?”
She glanced anxiously at the sundial, and was able to see that time was fast running out. “He will be here soon,” she answered with more conviction than she felt. “The seventh hour has not yet arrived.”
“But rest assured, itwillcome.”
“And ye can’t wait, can ye?” she retorted, able to see that the priest had a lust for fire. “The last thing ye want is for my champion to arrive and to prove my innocence at the tip of a sharp sword.”
“The court proved that you serve Lucifer, and no champion will be able to disprove it.”
“Then, light the pyre and be done with it,” she muttered, the words spewing from her lips uncensored. But even in that moment of defiance, Laoghaire knew that she didn’t want to die.
I want to live out my days at Galen’s side. And to spend each night wrapped in his embrace.
“I am not entirely without compassion,” the priest had the gall to tell her. “Should you make a full confession, you will be offered the benefit of strangulation prior to the pyre being lit.And by renouncing your sins, you may go to your death certain in the knowledge that you are worthy of God’s mercy.”
“I’ve committed no sin,” Laoghaire said adamantly. “Therefore, I have nothing to confess.”
The throng—which by now had formed a tight circle around the pyre—suddenly began to shout, “Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”
The heartless chant rang in her ears. A hideous death knell.
“Aye, burn me!” Laoghaire shouted back at them, refusing to show any fear. “’Tis a beautiful day for a bonfire.”
“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”
