“We must go, my lady.”
Julianna nodded at Alec, who seemed as reluctant to accompany her to the great hall as she was reluctant to leave the room where she and Roger had lain in bed before dawn and held each other so tightly…
“If my brother doesna arrive today, then some accident must have befallen him and good riddance tae him.”
“Or mayhap he changed his mind after having time to think—”
“Och, lass, you dinna know him like I do,” Roger had broken in gently, lifting his head from the pillow to stare at her. In that moment, his brown eyes had darkened to an even deeper hue, and he had seemed about to say something to her only to sigh and lay his head down again. “Let us sleep for a while longer, Juli. We’ll know soon enough what the day will bring…”
Julianna sighed now, too, and followed Alec into the hallway, her gaze flying from the closed door to Elspeth and Breda’s room to Aran’s…all of the children napping.
She and Roger had spent as much time with them as they could, the girls’ bright laughter chasing away the shadow from their father’s eyes if only for a while, and Aran’s improving vigor so wondrous to see—
“God in heaven, please may the bishop discern lies from truth,” Julianna repeated under her breath in a fervent prayer as she accompanied Alec down the tower steps and across a foyer tracked with wet footprints.
She nearly slipped on the damp floor, Roger’s captain reaching out to grab her arm until she steadied herself, the mounting clamor in the great hall making her face flush with nervousness.
She heard William’s impatient voice raised to the servants to hurry bringing in food…as if he were the laird and not Roger…and then her husband’s vehement curse, no matter in the presence of the bishop.
She had no more reached the entranceway when she heard William shout out, “There’s the witch herself, Julianna de Vescy! Or so the English wench was known before she beguiled my brother into marrying her and became Lady Douglas—”
“By God, William,silence!”
Roger’s enraged roar had made Julianna jump as she felt all eyes upon her, her heart racing. She wouldn’t have moved another step if he hadn’t strode toward her and taken her by the hand to lead her into the great hall.
For the first time ever, Roger’s fingers felt ice-cold to her, which made her glance up at him, his expression hardened as if in stone.
She hadn’t heard anyone say her family name since their wedding at Dumbarton Castle—and now it sounded so strangely foreign to her.
Roger hadn’t introduced her to anyone here by that name, either, but only as Lady Douglas, and she hadn’t given it a moment’s thought…until William’s taunting outcry.
“Roger, did you tell your brother about my family?”
Julianna felt his strong fingers stiffen, but he only shook his head and led her toward the chairs before the fireplace where William sat on the bishop’s right.
She started when a gaunt-looking Evander skirted around her and Roger as if he had just learned of William’s arrival and raced from the chapel, his breathing labored, and took the empty seat on the bishop’s left just as she and Roger stopped before them.
“Bishop Francis…my wife, Lady Julianna Douglas…andnowitch in spite of whatever lies you’ve heard from my brother.”
Julianna had never felt anyone look upon her with such wide-eyed dread as did the rotund cleric, his fleshy chin trembling.
William, meanwhile, seemed to stare at her as if seeing her for the first time…a smug smile curving his lips as if he harbored some secret, his gaze shifting to Roger.
Julianna felt his fingers grip hers now so tightly that she winced, and he cast her so troubled a look that she squeezed his hand back, utterly confused.
“So you haven’t told her, Roger…though you’ve known all along since you learned her name was De Vescy, aye?”
A roar of such rage broke from Roger that Julianna cried out in shock as he lunged to grab William from his chair and throw him bodily to the floor.
At once a half dozen of the bishop’s men rushed to grapple with Roger, who had drawn his sword, and it took all six of them to pull him away from William.
Some of Roger’s men charged toward the melee, too, including Alec, though Roger stopped them with a look from intervening, while an ashen-faced Evander helped William rise to his feet.
“Bishop Francis, we will finish this madness—now!” Roger demanded, his eyes ablaze with fury. “I request a wager of battle against my wife’s accuser—my brother William Douglas. We will let God decide Julianna’s guilt or innocence by who is left standing and who is slain!”
“What of Horas?” William countered, glancing from Roger to the stunned bishop, who had risen shakily from his chair. “You havetwoaccusing that English bitch of witchcraft—”
“The healer is dead by his own hand,” interjected Evander, crossing himself.
