Chapter 23 #3
Ewan squatted beside her. “Are you feeling sleepy yet, witch?”
Isobel blinked at him, trying to look groggy.
She didn’t know what the plan was, but then neither did Philip.
Was she to use her freed hands, or wait for the executioner to do something?
Her heart continued hammering insistently in her throat, her body tense and ready to spring at the slightest signal from the executioner.
“Why don’t ye kill the redshank so we can get on with the lass,” Ewan said.
Philip released Isobel’s hands. “What did he say?” Philip asked, his voice deathly quiet.
There was a scrape of a boot, then Colin’s voice was close, too, as he squatted down beside Philip.
“Oh, that’s another thing Mr. Kennedy paid for.
A wee bit of fun with Mistress MacDonell afore her worrying.
” There was a long pause, then, “I was going to pass, myself, as I dinna fancy witch quim…” Colin’s face appeared before her as he leaned around, his eyes traveling over her body and lingering on her breasts. “But I just might reconsider.”
The entire pole moved as Philip surged forward, his hands on Colin’s throat.
They were still attached to the pole and it shuddered with a splintering crack as Colin struggled to escape.
The executioner ran forward, and their bindings were cut.
Someone’s head slammed into Isobel’s, and she tried to scramble out of the way.
Philip and Colin rolled about on the floor.
Ewan tried to hop over them, making for the stairs.
Isobel was still on the ground, but she snagged the edge of his cloak, jerking him backward. She still had no idea what their plan was, but she knew well enough that Colin and Ewan could not leave the cellar, or the whole town would be breathing down their necks.
Ewan turned and kicked at her. Isobel caught his foot, throwing her weight on it. He tried to shake her off, but she held tight. The edges of her vision began to fragment. “No!” she cried, but she couldn’t let go, and before she knew it, a vision was upon her.
Ewan was trapped. The thick homespun of the sack sucked into his mouth every time he tried to breathe.
But still he could get no air. He just sucked in more smoke, making his throat raw and his eyes water.
The smell of pitch surrounded him; the oppressive heat grew thicker until it licked through sack, frying his skin like pork fat.
Ewan shook her off. Isobel blinked, back in the dank cold of the cellar. Philip had subdued Colin and the executioner guarded the cellar door. Ewan looked between them, then turned and grabbed Isobel by the hair, dragging her up in front of him.
He drew a small dirk from his belt and held it to her throat.
Philip came closer, looking between Ewan’s face and the knife. “Drop the dirk, or it’ll go bad for you, I vow it.”
“Let me out, or I’ll slit her gullet,” Ewan said.
The executioner removed his mask. It took Isobel a moment to recognize him; without his beard he looked quite different. “If we let you out, you’ll bring the whole village down on us,” Fergus said. “So that doesna make much sense, does it?”
“I won’t,” Ewan said, but they all knew he lied.
The knife pricked into Isobel’s skin. They were at an impasse. Ewan would not give up his only bargaining tool, and they could not let him out of the cellar alive. So Isobel did the only thing she could, considering the circumstances. She was sure her mother would have approved.
“I’ve seen your future, Ewan Kennedy,” Isobel said, her voice low and trembling.
“What?” he said, distracted.
“You will not go unpunished for your crimes.”
He grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back so more of her neck was arched and exposed. “Shut up!”
“Isobel,” Philip said, a warning in his voice. His eyes pleaded with her to stop, but she could not. She could smell Ewan’s fear—the sharp tang of sweat. The blade trembled against her throat, and his stale breath beside her face shuddered with each labored exhalation. She was scaring him.
She continued, “I saw you…your mind is thick from the drug…you’re not sure what is going on at first, except that you can’t breathe because of the smoke.
It will almost kill you, but not quite, not before you realize it’s you burning rather than the witches.
It’s the fire that finally does it, burning through your shroud—”
“Shut up!” He yanked her around and hit her. Pain exploded in her head. The moment the knife was gone from her throat Philip sprang at him, knocking Isobel aside. She rolled out of the way and struggled to her feet. When her head cleared she saw Philip standing over the limp body of Ewan Kennedy.
He turned, catching Isobel as she flew into his arms. He grunted when she squeezed him hard.
She drew back. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your burns.”
He pulled her back against him and held her tightly, his face buried in her hair, his muscles quivering.
“There’s time for that later,” Fergus was saying. “For now, we’ve got to do something with these two.”
Philip broke away from Isobel reluctantly and looked down at the men on the floor.
“Colin is dead.” He leaned down, pressing his fingers to Ewan Kennedy’s neck.
“He’s still alive.” He stared down at his brother’s body silently.
Finally, he turned to face them. “Three men came in, so only three men can go out.”
Fergus gave Isobel a meaningful look. “Well, that’s going to be something of a problem, methinks.”
“No—Ewan is small for a man. Isobel can wear his clothes. I’ll wear Colin’s. And you…you can go as yourself. But first, we’ll make sure Mr. Kennedy doesn’t wake up.” He took the vial of laudanum and, grabbing Ewan by the nose, poured it down his throat.
After they exchanged clothes with Ewan and Colin, Philip said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Isobel followed him to the stairs, but Fergus hung back.
He grabbed one of the shrouds he’d brought with them. “The elders of Hawkirk expect a burning in a few hours, and their executioner is indisposed. If they dinna get their burning, there’ll be trouble.”
Philip gave him a curt nod.
“There’s horses at the edge of town,” Fergus said, leaning down to fit the shroud on Ewan. “Take them and ride. There’s a burn to the east and a hillock just above it. Wait for me there.”
Philip nodded tightly, and they started up the stairs again.
“Mistress MacDonell—wait.” Fergus came to her, his dirk out and Isobel felt a moment of fear. He removed Ewan’s cap from her head and cut off a hank of her hair.
He looked down at it, then back at her. “I’ll sew it into the shroud so it’s hanging out. Then they’ll be no questions.”
Isobel’s nod was jerky. She stuffed her hair back into the cap and, taking Philip’s hand, left Fergus and the cellar behind.
They waited for Fergus on a distant hill.
The sun rose and was soon followed by two trails of smoke climbing into the air above the buildings of Hawkirk.
Isobel sought Philip’s hand as he stood beside her.
He squeezed it, his face grim. An hour later Fergus joined them, his face smudged with soot and his eyes hard as stone.
They spurred their horses east, back to Wyndyburgh.