It was nearly dark when the rain slowed. Angus stood in the doorway of his cott and stared out at eager folk hurrying back and forth across the square, piling bundles of sticks and straw at the foot of the stake that they’d set up for Fia MacLeod. Soon they’d go to fetch her, drag her here, bind her, and burn her.
It wasn’t right. She’d not be able to defend herself against her captors, as wee and delicate as she was. He’d done what he could, and he hoped it was enough, that she’d understood him. If not—he shifted uneasily—he had asgian dubhin his belt. He’d cut her throat, give her a quick, merciful end before the flames reached her. He would not let any woman suffer, especially one he wasn’t entirely sure was a witch, despite the evidence.
Several women sat with Annie, consoling her, discussing the burning, waiting for it, their eyes hard and cruel and certain. They’d regret it, come morning.
“She’s evil,” Effie said. “How long must we wait? I say if the rain doesn’t stop soon, we stone her.”
“Aye,” someone else hissed. “We’ll cut her heart out and burn that.”
Angus looked around at the familiar faces of friends and neighbors, sinister in the firelight, and felt a shiver rush over him. These same women had accepted Fia MacLeod’s kindness just days ago. And now . . . He looked at his son, still pale and hollow eyed, wrapped in a plaid, leaning against his mother’s side the way he used to as a bairn. Had Fia done this, harmed his child?
If Dair were here, he’d not allow such a thing. But Dair was gone, dead, perhaps, most certainly mad as a stoat, and this time for good. He felt a pang of grief and shut his eyes against it, mourned his captain, his friend, his chief.
“Da?” Alex tugged on his plaid, and Angus put his arm around his son.
“Aye, lad?”
“I need to speak to ye.”
Angus ruffled his hair. “Aye. We’ll go fishing when—” He paused. “Tomorrow.”
“It will be too late,” Alex insisted. “Can ye come out to the byre?” He tugged his father down and whispered. “It isn’t her fault—Fia’s. She didn’t make Robbie and me sick, or kill Alan’s cow.”
Angus led him outside. “Now, what’s this about?”
Alex kicked at the straw. “Me and Robbie found some mushrooms in the hills. Rob thought they looked good to eat, so we picked them and brought them back with some blackberries to eat in Alan’s byre. Rob ate them, but I didn’t like the taste. I threw mine over the fence to the cow.”
“Mushrooms?” Angus stared at his son. “Ye ate poison mushrooms?”
Alex began to cry. “I didn’t mean to harm Mistress Fia, or to knock her down. I was afraid to speak when folk called her a witch. Father Alphonse says it’s so, and Ma, and Rob’s ma too. Is she?”
Angus put a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. “No. She’s just a lass, and a kind one. Never be afraid to speak the truth, lad, no matter what. It’s your honor, your duty. Do ye understand?”
Alex nodded. “Must I tell them now?”
Angus considered. “No. They’re angry now, not likely to listen. We’ll wait until morning when cooler heads will see reason.”
“But the rain’s stopped,” Alex said, and Angus looked out beyond the thatch. So it had.
“I’ve got to go to the castle. Go inside to your mother, lad. Shut the door and don’t come out.”
“Can’t I come with you?”
“No, lad. I’m not certain what I’ll find. Keep yer mother safe.”
Angus waited until his son had slipped inside the cott and shut the door before he set off for the castle.
Behind him, the chant began. “Bring the witch, burn her!”
He started to run.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
“I smell smoke,” Meggie said, gripping John’s arm as they returned to Carraig Brigh. They’d ridden out, watched for ships along the coast, searched a dozen empty cotts and shielings. Meggie went from angry indignation, threatening to kill the pair of them when she found them, to sobbing as she imagined the terrible fate that must have befallen her sister.
“Probably Ina’s cooking,” John muttered in response to her comment, tired, hopeful they would find Dair and Fia in the hall, enjoying a hot supper and a dram. He was worried too.
He helped Meggie off her garron at the stable door, but she grabbed his arm as Angus came across the bailey, his face grim. “Something’s not right,” she said, her eyes wide, her nose twitching like a rabbit’s. “Angus Mor, have you seen my sister?”
