Chapter 13 #2
What might her actions do to William? What might he suffer for her strange ways or an accusation of witchcraft? Might he be held accountable for her? He was Ailith’s husband, after all.
Eoghan’s gaze held Betris’s. She was not incorrect in her assessment of Ailith, regardless of any unfounded accusations of being pagan, fae, or a witch. What had this one woman done? And how was it possible that she, one woman, had wreaked so much havoc?
‘Twas more than Kendrick, he slowly realized. Betris’s reasoning appeared accurate. Her pain might rise from Kendrick’s death, but her anger and need for revenge came from the death of so many in their clans, and Eoghan couldn’t deny those grave losses. His harrowing emotions were shared by many.
And if Ailith was willing to wreak so much havoc on those clans, what might she do to William? To his very soul?
He had heard the rumors, more gossip than Betris had, probably. This writing William’s wife did, that was new knowledge, but it only added to the fire that burned in his mind and his belly.
Eoghan also had heard of the rumors about how it was Ailith who found the exact way for the MacIntoshes and MacDougals to sneak onto the defended outcropping at Dunnottar and overwhelm the king.
It was Ailith who behaved strangely and worried about these small plants that she carried around the Highlands.
And it was Ailith who had bested a burly Keith swordsman in defense of the peculiar woman from Eire.
More than all of that, Eoghan knew something few others did.
He had watched William with Ailith and knew how obsessed his dearest, oldest friend and cousin seemed with his new wife.
The words ensorcelled and enchanted had made rounds before the wedding, and William had readily agreed that he was entranced by his wife.
Ensorcelled. Enchanted. Eoghan could not get those words out of his head.
William’s wife might be a changeling or pagan witch, no matter what the Church or the abbots or priests or even local chieftains believed.
His own abbot had warned the Grants about people with such titles.
Witch or not, Ailith was dangerous. Her actions and behaviors would eventually get William injured or killed, and his soul cursed along with it, and William’s mind was too muddled by Ailith to see it.
Even Eoghan hadn’t seen it then. Not truly – he had been drinking and feasting, as his sister implied. Yet Betris had seen it. His worry for William stewed in his belly, churning into anger and fear.
He came to the slow realization that he had to save William from Ailith and her absolute control over him.
He had to save the clans from her and her pagan ways, as his abbot claimed.
Alba was no longer the druid, pagan land of the past, and even more importantly, Ailith must be held accountable for all she had done.
“Eoghan?” Betris’s voice wavered as she spoke, waiting for his answer.
“Ye are correct. She has bewitched him. What do ye want to do next?”
Betris breathed out as she rubbed her finger against her chin. “I had thought to meet with Abbot Graham at the kirk today. If he feels ‘tis a concern as well, then we should seek out Laird James. A chieftain would have more command over this.”
Eoghan shook his head slowly. His desire to protect his dearest friend and cousin overwhelmed all other thoughts.
“Mayhap, but James will never seek to harm the MacDougals,” Eoghan explained.
“Their alliances are far too strong, and he has great affection and close ties to William’s family.
Nay. Stick with the abbot, and if he believes in our claim, she can be tried under the banner of the Church.
Then I’ll gather some men and retrieve her myself. ”
The mid-sized wood-and-wattle church fell under the purview of Abbot Fergus Graham. Eoghan didn’t care for the man overmuch, as he spoke of nothing other than his Christian ways and the blessings of following the Christ figure. It made having a conversation with the abbot difficult.
Eoghan could not recall the man ever speaking about the fae or pagans or witchcraft in particular, but he had urged the Grants and other nearby clansmen and women to leave behind their false gods to follow the one true God, and that if they did not, they would burn in Hell.
That place sounded like a darker, more horrible version of the pagan Otherworld, but Eoghan had decided against mentioning that to the holy man.
The abbot might accuse him of not following God.
A dark interior enveloped them when they entered the wooden doors of the low-roofed church. Not the more magnificent kirks found in more populated parts of the Highlands or farther west and south, where St. Ninian had done his holy work, but large enough for the Grant clan.
Abbot Graham stood at the altar, folding white linens in the dying light of the day. He had come to the eastern hills of Alba as part of the church’s efforts to continue the spread of Christianity, especially in light of the flood of pagan Norse and Danes to the eastern seaboard.
To Eoghan, Abbot Graham assumed the mantle of conversion to personally eliminate the blight of paganism. If anyone, he would be the one to offer a solution to the Ailith problem.
His bald head looked up when the squeaking door announced their entrance.
“Eoghan? Is that ye? What brings ye to the kirk at this hour? Do ye want to join in the liturgy of hours for vespers?”
If it meant sitting quietly for hours with a bowed head in front of the crucifix over the altar, then he was not interested. He shook his head.
“Nay, Abbot. Betris has a concern that we felt we must bring to ye.”
Graham’s eyes narrowed at the shadowy form of Betris behind him. “What concern? Is it regarding the Church?”
Eoghan stepped to the side, but Betris hovered behind him, speaking around his arm.
“It may be, Abbot,” Betris said in a shaky voice. Eoghan doubted the man had heard her, yet he must have heard something because he moved in front of the altar, the hem of his hooded robe dragging on the stone floor.
“What issue do ye bring before God, my child?”
While his words may have been intended to encourage her to speak, his tone of voice did not.
“Go on,” Eoghan urged her.
Betris shifted next to her brother, clinging to him.
“’Tis a problem in the Highlands, Abbot. One that might concern a changeling.”
The abbot lowered his pointed nose toward her.
“Ye know that the truly faithful dinna believe in such things. The druids and their old ways have fallen into naught more than stories. The one true God is gaining here in the Highlands has shown that such things dinna exist, and the faithful know this.”
“What of a pagan witch, then?” Betris added with sudden boldness.
That information grabbed Graham’s attention, and his eyes widened with interest. “Continue, my child.”
“One that seems to alter the actions of those around her and has caused the demise of many? Her name is Ailith MacDougal, wife of the ensorcelled William MacDougal.”
Eoghan stood next to Betris, his hand on her arm for support as she made her claim about Ailith to the church official. Graham rubbed his hands together, and the more she spoke, the more tense the lines of his face became.
“I dinna care for this news. Aye, the Gordons have remained untouched by many of the trials in the Highlands as of late. Yet as a MacDougal, her pagan interests are more problematic,” he told Eoghan.
“Problematic?” he asked.
The abbot nodded, and his hands wrapped around the dangling ends of his rope belt.
“Aye. If she is a witch, that will need to be determined, but with the ties to the Vikings?” He clicked his tongue.
“The MacDougals, they are close kin to many Vikings, Norse and Dane pagans who deny the perfection of God in favor of their own false idols. Their chieftain is the son of a pagan! They have set the conversion of the Highlands back centuries, and the bishops are none too happy. And neither am I. How am I to keep the Church active in the Grant lands and surrounding towns and clans when these Vikings idolaters harbor witches and deny the glory of Christ at every turn?” The pitch of his voice rose as he lectured.
Eoghan and Betris shared a fretful look as his fingers played along the leather-bound edge of his sword hilt.
The abbot’s eyes narrowed again. “What else?”
“Her husband, William, is a cousin and dear friend of mine. He is a Christian, and he married Ailith in a proper ceremony in a kirk, blessed by a priest. But he, too, is a grandson of the Danes. He has their blood in his veins.”
“And now he is married to this pagan witch. Do ye fear that he might be led astray? Or lead his clan astray?”
With a tight swallow, Eoghan nodded. “I dinna believe ‘twill happen, yet I now worry. Once my dear sister pointed out everything I had been blinded to by the very nature of my friendship with him.”
Graham pursed his lips. “And ye say he is ensorcelled by his wife? ‘Tis the word ye used?”
Betris lifted her chin as if this final piece of information was the tipping point. “Aye. No’ only others, but her husband himself has said as much.”
Graham fell silent for several moments as he assessed this information.
The hold of the church in the Highlands was tenuous at best, and his bishops were not truly interested in any suggestion of witchcraft.
Most believed it foolish – that only those who weren’t true believers fell to the old fae stories or the lie of someone being a witch, that God did not permit such things.
They demanded that priests and abbots focus on conversion instead.
The issue, as Graham saw it, however, was that pagans and their witches prevented those conversions.
If the higher authorities in the Church did not see it, at least Graham did.
And he would not allow anyone to deter him from his task of converting all of the Eastern Highlands. It was his Godly duty, after all.
He glanced toward the open door, where the gray light of gloaming filled the narthex.
“Then ye have more to worry about, no’ only for his health, but for his very soul. She should be questioned at the verra least. And if her answers align with your accusations, then she should be punished and imprisoned. Can ye retrieve her on the morrow? Do ye know where she will be?”
Eoghan looked to Betris for an answer.
“I canna be certain, but she mentioned attending her new friend, another accused witch, who lives north of Mowtie near one of the old, pagan stones,” Betris told him.
Eoghan nodded his agreement as his fingers gripped his sword hilt. “’Twould be easier to find her there than challenge Drumoak in an effort to claim her. I will bring a few men and find her on the morrow.”
The abbot dipped his chin. “Bring her to the village here, and put her in the pit for the night. She will be more likely to confess after a night in the pit.”
Betris and Eoghan shared another glance with each other.
“The MacDougals will not care for that. After her interrogation, they will prefer to pay the fine and have her returned straight away,” Eoghan argued.
Abbot Graham leveled his hard gaze at Eoghan.
“Then we will have to make sure her punishment is no’ one they can easily pay. She must pay, and we will make certain the punishment fits her crime.”