Chapter 23 #2
They sat in silence for a time, their fingers clasped, listening to the sounds of footsteps on the boards overhead.
She had no sense of the size of the cellar.
She’d only seen it briefly when they’d been brought down.
There was the stake they were tied to, near the back of the cellar, a table against one wall, and some boxes and casks.
She couldn’t remember seeing any alternative means of entry.
Isobel fell into deep thought, wondering how Lillian MacDonell had felt near the end.
Had she any time for thoughts or regrets?
Isobel realized she was more fortunate than her mother, for she had Philip with her.
Lillian had died alone, unable to say good-bye to her husband and children.
Alan hadn’t even known Lillian had been taken until it was too late.
Philip’s fingers tightened on hers. “Isobel,” he whispered, “listen to me very carefully. You must tell them you’re with child.”
“What?”
“They won’t burn a pregnant woman—they wait until she’s delivered of the child. It will be months before they can prove ye’re lying…if it even is a lie. Enough time for your uncle to come.”
Isobel said nothing. He only spoke of her, not of himself. She couldn’t bear that his situation was so hopeless. Anger suffused her. What good was her magic if it couldn’t save them? Why show her a future she couldn’t change?
“Isobel, promise me you’ll tell them.”
“And who am I to say the father is?”
“If you say it’s mine, you’ll have my father at your service.”
“But our child will be a bastard.”
His hand tightened on hers. “Not if we handfast.”
Tears spilled down Isobel’s cheek. They didn’t even know if she was pregnant. It all seemed such a horrible, horrible waste.
“Promise me, Isobel MacDonell, that your plight is trothed to me, and we’ll marry proper afore a pastor when this is over.”
When this is over. Isobel could barely speak through her tears, but she managed a strangled, “Aye.”
“Say it, Isobel,” he urged, his fingers squeezing painfully, his voice urgent.
“I promise, before God, that I plight thee my troth—but only because I love thee more than my own life.”
Philip sighed, and his fingers gentled on hers.
Isobel soon understood his sense of urgency.
The pounding of footsteps overhead had grown louder—as if there were many more people above them.
Then there was the sound of a key in the lock, and the door swung open.
Isobel was behind Philip, so she couldn’t see anything, but she knew it was the elders, with their verdict. Her fingers clung to Philip’s.
Philip faced the cellar stairs and door.
Isobel was behind him, facing a moldy stone wall.
In the light of the lanterns she was able to see the cellar’s interior.
Her heart sank. She sat on a dirt floor.
All four walls were of stone. They were completely underground. Not a door or window to be found.
“Philip Kilpatrick, you are sentenced to be worried by the neck until dead and your body burned at the stake tomorrow morning. Isobel MacDonell—”
“Mistress MacDonell,” Philip interrupted, “pleads her belly.”
The was a heavy silence and some feet shuffling, then, “I see. And who is the father?”
“Her husband.”
Another pause. “She is not yet wed to the earl of Kincreag.”
“Nor will she ever be. She plighted her troth to me but a few minutes ago. We’re handfast and she is my wife. Send word to Dougal Kilpatrick to collect his grandchild when he is delivered.”
“There were no witnesses to this handfasting.”
“You’re witnessing it now. Did we plight our troth, Isobel?”
“Aye, we did,” Isobel answered readily.
There was another long pause.
“Once she is examined,” the elder said, “and your claim confirmed, your father will be notified.”
The group shuffled out, taking the light with them.
They sat in silence for a long time, Isobel too frightened to think or speak.
Out of the darkness Philip suddenly spoke.
“Know this, Isobel MacDonell. I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you, I think—but I did not lie when I said I was afraid of you.
I’ve been a fool and a coward, and if I could go back…
” He trailed off and after a moment his voice came back to her, stronger, “If I could go back to that morning at Lochlaire, I’d never let you walk out on me. ”
“And I vow that I’ll never walk out again, Philip.” She would have said more, but the lock jangled again.
Isobel had expected her “examination” to take place in a private room somewhere, so she was shocked when an old woman was brought down to the cellar.
She shoved her filthy hands up Isobel’s skirts and groped around.
Isobel cried out in mortified pain once and Philip’s fingers gripped hers reassuringly.
When the old woman straightened, she said, “She’s a virgin.”
“What?” The word exploded from Philip and the entire stake shuddered as he tried to lunge at someone.
“That’s a bloody lie!” The cellar door slammed, plunging them back into darkness, but Philip lit a blue streak of swear words.
From that Isobel gathered her “examination” had obviously been funded by Colin.
Even if she was pregnant, Colin had no intention of letting another rival be brought into the world.
“It’s all right, Philip,” Isobel said. “I’m not afraid to die.”
He said nothing, but she heard a shuddering sigh in the dark.
“I’m just sorry you’re tangled up in it. You didn’t do anything but what my father asked of you, and now you have to die because of it.”
“I would gladly die protecting you.” Their fingers twined tighter. “At least we don’t face this alone.”
“What will happen?” Isobel asked. Though she’d read about witch burnings and heard the gossip, living in England half her life, she’d never seen one.
“They will send a man down—the executioner—to strangle us. He’ll bring a witness. It’s a merciful death, not having to burn alive.”
Isobel nodded into the darkness, hoping they strangled her first and knowing Philip hoped the same. She didn’t want to be alive even a moment without him.
“So they’ll just tie our bodies to a stake and burn us?”
“Aye, they’ll sew us up in a shroud. At least that’s what they usually do.”
Isobel thought of her mother and how they’d shown her no mercy. She had not been strangled first, and it had taken her an agonizingly long time to burn to death. But still, the thought of being strangled and shoved in a sack brought Isobel no comfort.
Neither of them slept that night. When the key in the lock sounded again, hours later, they both stiffened. It couldn’t be morning already! Isobel wanted to scream. She was not ready to die yet. Just a few more moments.
Several sets of footsteps echoed on the cellar steps, one ominously heavy. The footsteps stopped in front of Philip. “Colin,” Philip said, his voice strained and rough. “Have mercy, man, let her go. She did naught to you or anyone.”
“Mercy is not mine to give, brother. I’m only here as a witness, to be sure the deed is done.”
They’d brought lanterns down and Isobel turned her head, straining to see what was going on behind her.
She saw the executioner. He laid several implements out on a wooden table near the far wall.
He wore a black leather mask over his head, and when he turned, she saw small holes had been cut for the eyes.
“What’s he doing here?” Philip asked, contempt lacing his voice.
“Och, Mr. Kennedy paid for the privilege.”
Isobel heard the soft scraping footsteps before she saw him. Then Ewan Kennedy was before her, staring down at her with his close-set eyes.
“You tried to ruin my life, witch. I’m here to make sure you’re good and gone. It’s not unheard of for families to pay the executioner to stick some other corpse in the shroud.” He leaned down so his face was close to hers. “It ain’t going to happen this time.”
The executioner was standing in front of the table now, watching. Ewan nodded at him. “Ye can do her first. I want to watch.”
Philip jerked savagely at his bindings, muttering something incoherent.
The executioner started forward, but Colin said, “Wait. One of the elders sent something…laudanum.” Then to the executioner, “Give her the laudanum. She’ll not be in pain at all then, aye? You see, Philip, I’m not completely heartless.”
“Oh, you will be when I’m through with you,” Philip growled.
Colin tsked. “Still making threats—to the very end.”
“Laudanum?” Ewan said. “She doesna even deserve to be worried first. She tried to ruin my life. My wife still wilna lie with me.” And then he spat on her.
The executioner knelt beside Isobel, his back to Colin and Ewan, blocking out Ewan’s hated face.
Isobel looked at the huge mask, through the eyeholes, for some sign of justice.
Dark blue eyes peered back at her, laugh lines crinkling beside them.
A frisson of surprise ran through her as she became certain this was a good man before her, despite his awful job.
“Give Philip the laudanum, too,” she pleaded.
“Here you go, lass,” he said. “Just you drink up.” But he pressed nothing to her mouth. In fact, his hands moved swiftly to the pole between Philip and Isobel. She felt the nick of a cold blade on the back of her hand, drawing blood.
But she didn’t move. The eyes that stared into hers were familiar. She caught the subtle raising of his brows through the mask’s eyeholes, then he straightened and turned.
“It’ll take a bit for the laudanum to work,” the executioner said, and went back to his table to wait.
Isobel kept her hands behind her, as if they were still secured. They were still trapped. The rope that secured them both to the stake was still there, wrapped twice about their upper torsos. But their hands were free. Philip gripped her full-handed.
Ewan was still talking to her, but Isobel’s blood pounded in her ears so she could barely hear. The executioner was a friend. This was not the end.