Chapter Eleven #2
The heat seeped into the soles of her feet. Moira was amazed that she could feel the heat, suffered from the discomfort of it, yet felt no true pain. She wondered if her mind was somehow refusing to acknowledge the agony her feet had to be suffering.
When she stepped onto the cool dirt at the end of the path, she stared down at her feet.
She was surprised to see no smoke. For a moment she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing.
A quick look at the bed of rocks and coals revealed that they were indeed hot.
The red glow, fed by the fires in the pit beneath the rocks, sent out a frightening light.
She awkwardly sat down even as the priest rushed over to look at her feet.
Moira looked with him and nearly gaped. Her feet still felt uncomfortably warm, but there was no sign of an injury.
Father Matthew roughly brushed dirt from her feet and looked again.
Even as he glared at her, someone untied her wrists.
A moment later Tavig was at her side, pulling her into his arms. Mary and Robert also crouched near her, staring at her feet in amazement.
Moira realized she had passed the cold-eyed priest’s test.
“Her innocence has been proven,” said Tavig, glancing at Father Matthew.
“She moved too quickly,” the priest said, then glanced around nervously as an angry murmur rose from the crowd.
“The test is done,” said Geordie, who then looked at Jeanne. “The mon was right. We were used to soothe a whore’s stung vanity.”
Moira pulled away from Tavig a little as the anger of the crowd turned on Jeanne. Jeanne protested her innocence, reiterating her accusations as the villagers encircled her. The priest quickly moved to join in the condemnation. Moira had the chilling feeling that Jeanne’s life was in danger.
“Tavig,” she said as he helped her to her feet, “I think they mean to kill her.”
“There is naught we can do about it,” he replied.
“Aye,” agreed Robert. “I think ye and the lass would be wise to flee from this place,” he advised Tavig.
All four of them started back to Robert’s house. A scream from Jeanne caused Moira to hesitate, but Tavig urged her to continue. The moment they were back in Robert’s cottage, Mary urged her to sit down, then bathed her feet. Robert helped Tavig collect up their belongings.
“We should have helped her,” Moira whispered, looking at her feet one last time before donning her hose and boots which Robert had rescued from the church.
“Some of the woman’s own kinsmen were in that crowd,” said Robert. “They fled as soon as the fury of the people turned against Jeanne. ’Tisnae right, but the four of us cannae halt them. See to your own safety, lass.”
“Jeanne tried to have you killed,” Mary reminded her.
“I ken it.” Moira shook her head. “I still dinnae understand how I could walk over those things and suffer no more than a stinging from the heat.”
“I should like to tell ye that ye have been proven innocent by God Himself,” said Tavig.
“But ye cannae.” She smiled faintly as she stood, picking up the sack she would carry. “Dinnae worry about saying so. I truly cannae believe God has the time to guard a wee lass’s feet.”
“Nay, probably not. All I can think of is that the calluses ye were so ashamed of have proven their worth. Ye have tough wee feet, dearling. Aye, and I noticed ye had somehow gained a fine coat of dirt on the bottoms of your feet.”
She grimaced. “I was terrified. I was awash in sweat, right down to the soles of my feet. ’Tis odd, I found the dirt clinging to my feet an irritation.
I guess it is a good thing that I had neither the time nor the wit to scrape them clean ere I began my walk.
At first I thought my mind simply refused to accept my injuries, but I have looked closely, and there are no injuries. ”
“Nay, none. The dirt and the calluses worked as weel as any boot, mayhap better. We have to go now.”
They thanked Robert and Mary even as they hurried out the door. Moira could hear the crowd and started to look back toward the church, but Tavig would not allow it. He pulled her along the road in such haste she had no choice but to keep a very close eye upon where she stepped.
His sense of urgency began to infect her.
She felt her insides knot with fear as she stumbled along behind him.
As they stepped into the wood at the far northern edge of the village’s fields, she began to relax only to cry out softly in fear as a man called out Tavig’s assumed name.
Tavig pushed her behind him, drew his sword, and turned to face the man in one clean, graceful move.
When the shadowy figure moved into the moonlight, Moira began to relax again.
It was only one man carrying a bundle and towing a goat.
She felt Tavig ease his tense stance and knew she was right to think that there was no threat.
“Iain,” Tavig said, nodding curtly at the older man. “I fear your daughter has gotten herself entangled in something she cannae get out of.”
“I ken it. She is dead. As I hurried to meet ye I saw her hanging from the tree in the square.”
“I am sorry.”
“Ye have naught to be sorry about. She tried to have your wife killed. Aye, I will grieve. She was of my flesh, but the lass has spent most of her short life rushing toward just such an ending.”
“How did ye ken where to meet me?”
“I was going to Robert’s cottage to meet with ye there, but saw ye preparing to flee. I was sure ye wouldnae leave by the road ye came in on so I hurried here. I couldnae let ye disappear again without seeing you.”
“But why?”
“To give ye this.” Iain held out the bundle he carried, placing it into a frowning Tavig’s arms.
Moira did not need to see the stunned look on Tavig’s face to know exactly what was swaddled in the bundle of cloth he held.
She had already guessed. A small voice in her head told her she did not want to know any more, but as Tavig tugged open the swaddling, she moved closer to get a better look.
Although there was only a shadowy light of the moon, she bit back a cry as she looked at the baby’s face.
The child carried Tavig’s mark. Jeanne had borne Tavig a child.
“It cannae be…” Tavig began, his voice weakened by shock.
“Aye, it can and it is. ’Tis your son, and I am giving him to you.”
“Iain, I mean no insult, nor do I wish to speak ill of the dead, but Jeanne…”
“Was a whore. I ken it. She has been so afflicted since her first flux.”
“So how can ye be so certain this child is mine?”
“The eyes,” Moira whispered.
“Aye,” agreed Iain. “Your lassie has the right of it. The boy has those black eyes of yours, lad. When Jeanne birthed him, I waited to see the color of his eyes. I had hoped they would match one of the lads in the village so that I could get her wedded off. There isnae a mon here who has those eyes. That bairn is your son, born of your flesh.”
Tavig stared at the child, who stared right back at him.
He wanted to deny any kinship, but he could not.
Even if the boy did not have his eyes, Tavig’s instinct told him that the child was his.
The moment he had looked into the baby’s face he had been sure of it.
He glanced at Moira, silently cursing when she refused to look his way.
Although holding his son had already filled him with a strong sense of possession, as well as a vast array of confusing and conflicting emotions, he cursed the fates for bringing him the child now.
“Iain, I am traveling on foot and have at least a week’s journey ahead of me. I cannae take the bairn. He is of your flesh, too.”
“I ken it and I will sorely miss the wee lad. He is a good bairn, quiet as weel as strong. I cannae keep him. I have eight of my own, a wife, and her widowed sister’s family to feed.
I am a poor mon, lad, and weel ye ken it.
And, think on this, my Jeanne was his mother.
If he stays here he will pay dearly for that as he grows into a mon. ”
“How old is he?”
“Eight months, nearing nine.”
“His name?”
“He doesnae have one, I fear. Jeanne had the mad idea that ye would wed her once ye kenned she had given ye a son, so she was leaving the naming of him for ye to do. I told her ye might take the lad, but that ye would ne’er wed her.
” He shrugged. “She wouldnae heed me. I wouldnae mind hearing how the laddie fares from time to time.”
“Ye will be told. I swear to it.”