“I’ve had no dealings with magic, or witches, or wizards!” Kenna snapped, closed her eyes, and slowly blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Sean. ’Tis just that I’m so weary of being accused of participating in witchcraft.”
Shaking her head, she lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I never truly believed sorcery existed. I believed the label ofwitchwas merely a tool, used by those in powerful positions tae control the rest of us. A convenient way tae arrest and be rid of troublemakers. Then, once accusations of witchcraft began, it seemed neighbor began accusing neighbor over any grievance, real or imagined.”
She looked up, confusion clouding her eyes. “Before today, I’d never heard of, or considered, the possibility of magic being used for something good.”
Settling deeper into the sofa, Sean considered her words. “Mayhap those who practice good magic for honorable reasons, have no need tae shout it tae the world.”
Despite all she’d said, he still couldnae see a clear path to solving a problem he dinnae completely comprehend.
“I want tae help ye, lass. But I dinnae ken all that’s happened tae ye. Tae yer family. Tell me about yer mither, yer sister, and how ’tis that ye alone, came tae beherewhen ye so clearly dinnae wish tae be. And ’twas no’ achieved by witchcraft.”
For several seconds, Sean dinnae ken she intended to tell him anything, but finally, Kenna took a deep breath. Released it. “Do ye ken much of the sixteenth century?”
“No’ much.” Sean considered what little formal education he’d had. His mither had taught him the basics. Reading. Ciphering. What bits of history she kenned. Everything else, he’d learned the hard way, as he’d grown. Although he had picked up a few things through conversations with The 79, over the centuries.
“Ever hear of the witch hunts that took place around the end of the sixteenth century? 1597 to be exact.”
“Nae.” Sean shook his head. “Only some vague references to witches in general, as a lad. More tae keep me in line, I ken, that any actual facts.”
Kenna scrubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “There was a woman… Margaret Aitken, from Fife. Somewhere along the line, she was named The Great Witch of Balwearie. She’d been accused of witchcraft and arrested. Under torture, she pled guilty, but managed to escape execution by claiming the ability to recognize other witches. She became the court’sidentifier. A job she took tae heart,” Kenna grimaced. “She became quite prolific in her accusations.”
The mixture of pain and bitterness in Kenna’s voice tore at Sean’s heart. What horrors had she seen, or experienced, to feel such anguish? He worried over what she might be trying to go back to.
“Women were rounded up like livestock, with naught more than a nod or a pointed finger from Mistress Aitken. Especially those who had recognizable talents of one kind or another. Like my sist—” Kenna’s voice broke.
Helpless to help her, Sean laid a hand on her forearm, and waited.
“—my sister, Elanor.” Finally, a slow, tender smile curved Kenna’s mouth. “Such a wee sprite of the thing she is, with a gift tae charm animals that would astound ye.” Kenna glanced up worriedly. “But ’tis not witchcraft Elanor uses. ’Tis the love she has for them. And they, for her.”
Kenna shifted her gaze to her lap, but Sean kenned what she really saw was centuries removed from this small room.
“Elanor can calm an animal with naught more than the sound of her voice or the touch of her hand. She has such gentle ways. She’d die before harming even the smallest creature.”
Hearing the love and longing for her sister, in Kenna’s voice, set Sean’s hopes at odds. How could he ask her to stay whenher heart so clearly belonged to her family?
“My mither has a gift for kenning which herbs and treatments can best relieve a particular ailment,” Kenna continued. “People come tae her from all over. Most see her as a healer. But Margaret Aitken identified her, my sister and me, and nine others in our township as witches without ever comin’ tae our village tae see that wasnae true.”
“Andye?” Sean asked, softly. “What did she accuse ye of doing?”
Kenna lifted a shoulder. “Compared tae my mither and sister, I’ve barely any talents at all. Just the odd ability tae find water underground with naught but a branched stick. I’d recently helped a neighbor after they’d dug tirelessly—and uselessly—in several places, for a well.”
She pulled her hand from Sean’s, lifted her hair from her neck and tossed the heavy mass back as if trying to toss away the absurdity of her tale. “So many innocent women, helping where they could and harming none, were suddenly accused of witchcraft and hauled off tae Aberdeen for trial, imprisonment and ultimately, a pyre. All with naught more to prove their guilt than the evil pointing finger of Margaret Aitken.”
Shoving off the sofa with a vengeance, slowed slightly by her sore limbs, Kenna stalked awkwardly to the window. “Why be given such talents if fate uses them tae set ye in the path of evil people, like her? And what possesses otherwise sound-thinking people tae believe such lies?”
“I ken if history teaches us anything, ’tis that hysteria is highly contagious,” Sean offered. “Yer mither and sister… They were taken, then? Tae Aberdeen for trial?”
“Aye.” Kenna crossed her arms, hugging her elbows. “They herded all of us, twelve innocents—two of which were young girls—ontae carts in the dark of night, tae be taken tae trial. ’Twas terrifying, and so cold. We couldnae do more than huddle together, shiver, and listen tae the drivers taunt us with the cruel details of what lie ahead.”
Confused, Sean tried to fit the pieces together. “Butye?Somehow ye ended up here, instead? How? What of the others?”
The look of devastation on Kenna’s face heightened his concern, even before she spoke.
“ ’Twas after midnight when we passed by the kirk. My mither, Elanor and I, and two others were in the last cart. Suddenly, my mither shouted tae the driver that leeches were crawling from his shirt. She used a feather from a handmade necklace Elanor had given her, tae make his skin crawl.”
Sean shifted to the edge of the sofa, watching Kenna closely. She seemed unaware of the rug bunching beneath her feet as she shuffled and twisted.
“When the driver stopped and scrambled from the cart, frantically clawing at his shirt tae try tae bat the things away, my mither shoved us from the cart and hurried us toward a gate in the kirk wall.”
