“How did the clergy discover you?” he asked. “Did your sister tell them? And were the old sisters tried as well?”
She shook her head. “Auch. Nay. Morna was glad for a bit of hope. As was Ivar. They’d have never said a word before it became a common tale. It was the smithy’s wee son. He couldna sleep for the guilt he felt, so he went to the kirk, to confess. Only it wasn’t our Father MacRae who was there to accept his confession that day. It was another. Someone who had no ken of the clan. Our Father MacRae would have known I was not a witch, knowing the sisters as he does. He would never have reported me to others. O’ course I canna blame the wee laddie. I should have never sought his help. I only thought he might like a bit of excitement, ‘tis all.”
“So, what happened at the trial?”
“The bastard that came to try me only asked the boy to repeat his story. No one was allowed to speak for me. Then the jack-n-apes conferred with the two priests he’d brought along with him. They found me guilty and pronounced a sentence of death.”
“I must admit, I’ve never heard of a witch being buried alive. Is this something they do regularly in Scotland?”
“Nay. Nay. That was Monty’s doin’. He’s got a fine temper for a man with no red to his hair. And he would not allow the kirk to kill his sister, even if she was the troublesome sort most days. So he took advantage of the fact the bastard had only sentenced me to death, and announced to one and all that it would be up to him, as laird, to decide how I would die. He chose to bury me alive, for he thought he could dig up underneath the cairn and get me out.
“But the church’s bastard was not a stupid man. He agreed to allow the burial, but he insisted the tomb be built upon stone. He was right pleased with himself. Thought we’d all bemarchin’ up to the quarry, to bury me in the rocks there. But he hadn’t noticed the dais in the great hall. There was stone floor aplenty there. And even though it meant the hall would become a graveyard, Monty avowed my tomb would be built there, and that he would do the building himself.”
She laughed and leaned forward with a devilish grin.
“Ye should have seen the bastard’s face when he realized he’d been outplayed. Purple as a turnip, he was.”
“Does the man know Monty got you out?”
“Heaven forefend!” She fell back again. “If he knew, he’d have been trailing behind me more than half-and-a-year now. But no. I was told he hadn’t stayed more than a week, watching Monty all the while, waitin’ for the mortar to set the stones. And when he went, he left his guardsmen behind to make certain no one broke into or out of the tomb until it was clear I was dead. When Ossian took me away, the bastards were still standing in the great hall, waitin’.”
“But how did Monty get you out if the priest was watching him for a week?”
“The moment the last stone was set in place, Ossian and Ewan, our other cousin, began chiseling from beneath the dais. The stone was more than a foot thick. It took the pair of them twelve days. And all the while, Monty kept up a commotion in the hall, so the kirk’s henchmen couldna hear the pounding.”
“And all you had for comfort was a torque and a rosary?”
“Oh, aye. The torque is still inside.” She grinned. “But I’m afraid the rosary didna last long. It was the second or third day the beads went flying this way and that. I regretted it, of course, every time I stepped on one. And eventually, I ate them just to save me feet.”
Gaspar laughed in spite of himself. And Isobelle laughed with him.
The candle sputtered against the wall, reminding him of the coming night. If he were going to convince her there were no true witches in the world, the time was at hand.
However, though he tried half a dozen times to order his words, he couldn’t think of a way to say them that wouldn’t offend. Finally, he admitted that he didn’t want to deny her the belief that her sister and her lover would be reunited in some way. She had suffered horribly in a tomb made by the hand of her own kin, suffered for the superstitious nonsense of two old women, and he hadn’t the heart to tell her she’d suffered for nothing.
That she still suffered for nothing.
Heaven help him, but he was not ready to end that suffering.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The following day, their arguing practice went well. Too well.
He’d baited her with unreasonable statements; she hadn’t so much as sniffed at the bait. In fact, she’d responded as Gaspar would expect a circumspect mouse to respond.
He’d twisted his Latin to prove that God had placed women on earth to reproduce men, and that they were a beast not to be trusted; she’d cheerfully bowed to his better knowledge of the language and his interpretation of the scriptures, for her small mind would never accommodate such immense thoughts.
He’d ordered her to celebrate the hours while lying prone on the cold floor. She’d thanked him for helping her appreciate how soft and warm she would find her bed if he saw fit to allow her to sleep in it.
He’d been furious!
“You cannot have learned so quickly,” he said, after Icarus had left for the night.
“Of course, my lord,” she said meekly. “As a woman, I must try yer patience sorely. But I can only promise to apply myself better on the morrow, aye?”
“Cease!”
She wrapped her plaid tighter around her shoulders and pulled a fold of it up to cover her hair. “What is it ye wish me to cease, my lord? Forgive me if ye’ve already explained it and I’ve forgotten.”
