Chapter Seventeen
Ailith awakened shivering to a narrow shaft of sallow light. It was daybreak. The drizzly mist from the night before had ceased, and now a pale sun strained to breach the clouds.
At least I won’t have to face all this in the rain, she thought as she blinked her eyes.
Whatever this was.
As she stretched and tried to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulders from shivering and sleeping in a loathsome pit, she had concluded that listening to her dream woman seemed the most prudent course of action.
The dream Romani had not led her astray yet, and Ailith vowed to follow her sage advice again.
But if she wasn’t to fight, what was she supposed to do?
She got to her feet and stretched again. Two heads appeared above the grate, blocking the weak sunlight.
“Ailith!” Seocan called. “How do ye fare?”
Maybe her brother had a plan for the morning. She twisted her neck from one side to the other.
“As well as can be expected for sleeping in a hole.” She glanced down at the plaid wrapped around her. Mairi’s fine weaving was a filthy mess, caked with mud on both sides and rumpled beyond measure. “I canna say the same for Mairi’s plaid, however.”
Seocan clicked his tongue. “A problem easily resolved with soap and laundering. Ye, on the other hand –”
Daniel tapped Seocan on the shoulder as he gazed past his chieftain.
Seocan turned his head to see what caught Daniel’s attention.
Seocan’s face tightened as a dark mask overtook his bright features.
With his damp, unruly russet hair and narrow eyes, he reminded Ailith of the photos of devils and demons in old artwork from her history texts.
She easily guessed who had their attention.
Seocan turned his gaze back to her. “The abbot comes with William’s kin. A small crowd follows, but no’ nearly as large as I had worried about. If I dinna miss my mark, this is the work of a few errant fools, no’ the clan and no’ James Grant.”
That news relieved her a bit. The last thing she wanted to be was the cause of more divisive strife among the clans – she had already done enough of that when besting the Keith man. And she still had no idea what the consequences of that combat would be.
In truth, Ailith had presumed that the Kieths had a vengeful hand in Eoghan dragging her to the village, yet she had not heard an inkling of such conspiracy. She craned her neck to look above, trying to see what was going on.
Eoghan and another man shoved Seocan aside to unlock the grate as Seocan unleashed his fury on him and the abbot.
“What in God’s kingdom do ye think ye are doing with my sister? The sister of a chieftain and the wife of a MacDougal? Your accusations are weak and misguided. When have clans or the church taken such harsh actions against an innocent lass?”
“Innocent?” the abbot shouted back above her.
“She has been accused of being a pagan, a witch using her powers against those in the Highlands. Most pagans keep to themselves and their kind, yet your sister has the gall to rise above her station and use her position to ensorcell the Gordons, the MacDougals, and the other clans!”
Ailith cringed at the word ensorcell. That word again. How could one stupid verb cause her so much grief?
The grate lifted open, and Eoghan’s irate face pressed into the pit as he lowered a knotted rope. “Grasp it. ‘Tis time to face your judgment. Ye’ve done enough to tempt William and risk his blessed soul. I’ll no’ let his soul be damned because of ye.”
The man wasn’t making sense to Ailith. A damned soul?
“Ye can try,” she snapped back as she grabbed the rope. Eoghan easily dragged her upward and out of the pit.
Her sheer pleasure at the rush of fresh air and the sensation of openness and freedom reinvigorated her. She cut her gaze to her left – limited though that freedom might be with Eoghan glaring down at her and the abbot standing in the middle of the crowd.
Eoghan slipped his knife from its sheath and held it near her neck. Her breath caught in her chest.
Was he going to kill her without giving her or her brother any chance to defend her?
“Gordon! Stay your hand! Let the abbot say his peace!” Eoghan shouted.
Ailith then noticed both Daniel and her brother had drawn their swords to threaten the abbot, who stood unmoving and looking down his beak-like nose at them.
Seocan swiveled his head, and upon seeing the weapon at Ailith’s throat, narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. His sword arm shifted slightly.
“Drop your weapon, Eoghan. Dinna threaten the lass before we have the chance to prove her innocence.” Seocan lifted his head and looked at the small crowd around them. “Or is this what the Grants do? Slay innocent women without cause or reason?”
His accusation was a biting one, and several people bowed their heads to avert their eyes. Ailith noted Betris in the crowd, which counted fewer than had been in the village the night before.
Mayhap that meant most Grants didn’t agree with this rabid abbot and his accusations? Or didn’t care for her treatment?
Betris, unlike those clansmen and women standing next to her, did not drop her gaze. Nay, her brown gaze was sharp, a sword striking directly at Ailith.
Have I offended her so much? Ailith asked herself. Is her jealousy or the rumors about me so great that she would go this far to get back at me? Or is there something else motivating her?
At that moment, Ailith wondered if Betris had been sorely wounded in some way, and Ailith’s name had been tied to it. Had she lost a family member or a loved one at Dunnottar? That could be an explanation for her extreme actions.
Seocan and Daniel sheathed their swords as the knife left Ailith’s neck.
“Ye’ve made a horrible mistake,” Seocan continued. He wasn’t quite shouting, but the tone of his voice left no question about his ire. “If ye believe she is a pagan witch, we will pay the fine and take her home. She will never return to your lands. That I can promise.”
He said it not to discourage Ailith from ever returning, but as a warning of what would happen to the Grants if they tried something like this again.
Ailith couldn’t help herself. She cut a hard glare at Betris, a sour smile tugging at her cheek as if to say See? All this for nothing.
Never had Ailith been so grateful to have someone on her side, especially this brother she had only known for a couple of months.
He was defending her to the very end, and warm relief rushed through her chilled body.
William might be absent, but at least her brother and Daniel had not abandoned her.
The thought of William struck her hard, and she hopelessly scanned the crowd to see if he had come for her.
No sign of his tall body or bright face. Her chest clenched until she struggled to breathe.
He’s no’ coming, a tiny voice in the back of her mind spoke up.
“Her punishment is no’ a fine,” the abbot intoned with his false sense of authority.
A ball formed in Ailith’s throat, and she gaped at the abbot.
What? He was going to throw her into a dungeon?
She flicked her panicked face to Daniel, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He would not let that happen to her.
“She is far too dangerous and must be imprisoned for life to protect us all.”
The crowd tittered and buzzed with this information, and Ailith’s mind spun. Locking up pagans or witches for life? When had that started? Was the church doing that in 900 CE?
Several Grants were kin to Danes and Norse and those yet unconverted to the Christian religion!
Locking them up was a horrible and far-fetched solution and would only drive further divisions among the clans.
No one, no clan, no chieftain with kin or connections to the Danish and Norse settlers would agree to such a punishment.
The chatter grew louder and attracted not only her attention, but the attention of her brother and Daniel, Eoghan, and the frowning, self-righteous abbot. Seocan and Daniel grabbed their swords again, stepping closer to Ailith as the crowd slowly parted.
Someone was riding into the impassioned village.
Ailith rubbed at her grainy eyes as Eoghan stiffened next to her. Surely, she had to be seeing things.
But she wasn’t imagining it, especially because of another rider behind the first, the orange-haired woman who clung to a pale, creamy white horse with a deathly grip and poor riding form.
Something glinted in the pale sunlight as the man on horse approached, shining red against his dun-colored clothing.
A brooch!
The garnet shimmered as red as the sea at sunset. The Luckenbooth she gave William for their wedding!
The man on the first horse was William. Her William.
Tall and broad, with his wild blond hair blazing in the bright sun.
As if he were an extension of his horse’s namesake, Lugh, William rode into the village resembling the mighty Celtic warrior-god, ready to rain down destruction.
Only instead of the Celtic spear and shield, he bore his sword on one hip and his large knife on the other.
Most frightening was his iron face, hard, focused, and ready for battle, in whatever form that battle might take.
A second man rode next to him while poor Teagan bounced along on Bonnie Bride behind them both.
Another wave of relief washed over Ailith. She might not know exactly why William was here, but if he came with Teagan, then it had to mean something good for her.
It had to.
Good girl, Bonnie, Ailith complimented her horse silently. She guessed Teagan had ridden the horse to retrieve William, and the sweaty, weary-looking palfrey had performed as promised.
Ailith bit her lip to stop herself from shouting out to them, yet she didn’t need to. His ferocious gaze landed on her filthy, abused form, and the terse lines of his face grew impossibly harder.
He wasn't just angry, he was furious. Nay, beyond furious to a realm of anger for which Ailith had no words. She had never seen him in such an infuriated state.