Shannon Drake - The Queen's Lady

He reached into his sporran, seeking a few gold coins, which he cast down before the two who had spoken. “Buy more pigs,” he said to the embittered matron. “And you,” he told the man. “Perhaps there is some medicine that you can buy.”

They scrambled for the gold coins, clutching them. The pastor stared at him.

Gwenyth rode forward, staring down at the pastor before turning to Rowan. “She cannot remain here,” she said. “If she is so despised,” she said softly, “they will take your gold, then try her again tomorrow, and we will only have delayed her execution.”

She was right.

He looked down again at the pastor. “I will bring this woman, Liza Duff, to my homestead, where she may serve in my household. Should we find there is truth in your accusations, she will be brought to Edinburgh to stand trial before the proper authority.”

He wasn’t sure he needed to have added the last; his gold and status seemed to have turned the tide in their direction.

“That sounds a fair and solid proposition. She will no longer be here to torment the tenants of this village,” the churchman said.

“See her brought down,” Rowan said. “Now.”

“And,” Gwenyth added quietly, “see that she is given a decent dress for traveling, and I believe we will need a horse.”

Rowan stared at her, surprised but also amused.

The pastor began to protest. “We’re to pay to see that a witch lives?”

“Laird Rowan has just cast before you a sum more than ample to purchase a horse and a few pieces of clothing,” Gwenyth said pleasantly. “Even after purchasing many pigs and the services of a decent physician.”

There was silence. Then the men nearest the pyre set about releasing the young woman from the stake.

As the ropes holding her upright were released, she started to fall. Gwenyth was instantly off her horse, racing forward. While the men might have handled her roughly, had they deigned to help her at all, Gwenyth showed an admirable strength mixed with gentleness, allowing the young woman to lean against her as she moved back to the horses. She looked up at Rowan. “She can’t ride alone. And we need to be on our way, I believe.”

Before someone changes his mind.

He could see the last in her eyes, though she did not speak the words aloud.

“A horse,” he said firmly. “For when she regains her strength. And clothing.”

A horse was brought, a bundle given to Gwenyth, and then the pastor and his flock all stepped back. Again Gwenyth looked at him, and Rowan could read her eyes. The girl would indeed need to regain her strength before she could ride on her own. They would lead the animal meant for her use until she could handle a horse on her own.

If she even knew how to ride.

If not…they would take the horse anyway.

He dismounted, took the young woman—who was looking at him with dazed and worshipful eyes—and set her upon his horse. He would have assisted Gwenyth to mount—as their guard of armed men continued to wait at a discreet distance at his command—but she was too quick, and was back on her mare before he could offer his help. “In future, take care what justice you decide to mete out on your own, pastor,” he warned very quietly. “I will be back this way.”

With that, he rode to Gwenyth’s side, the “witch” sitting before him like a limp rag doll.

They proceeded at a walk, lest any haste cause a change of heart and incur pursuit—something that he could see Gwenyth understood from the glance he cast her way—until they were well past the eyes of the villagers.

“Now let us put some distance between us,” he ordered once they had passed the limits of the village and, as they hadn’t yet reached the rocky tors of the true Highlands, they were able to make good time. Strange winds and early cold were bedeviling Scotland that year, but the wicked ice and snow had not yet fallen, and that too, helped them as they rode.

Finally he reined in near a copse of trees close by a small brook, lifting a hand to the others. The small party halted.

“Ooh, me aching bones,” Annie protested.

Gavin dismounted, helping the ungainly woman from her perch.

“They’ll nae be a pursuit, Laird Rowan,” Gavin said, shaking his head, his disapproval for the village obvious.

“I agree, Gavin,” Rowan told his man. “But it’s always best to get a distance from the scene of any trouble.”

After dismounting, he was careful to lift the girl down slowly. Annie, clucking in concern, went to help her, as did Gwenyth.

“Some wine, please?” Gwenyth said, looking to the men.

“Aye, my lady, immediately,” Dirk, one of the other guards, assured her.

Rowan set the woman on the soft pine-needle-covered floor of the copse, her back resting against a sturdy tree. She stared at Gwenyth, and Rowan thought his charge indeed looked like some angel of mercy come to earth, for in the dim light, with rays of sun arrowing through the canopy of branches and leaves, her hair was shimmering as if it were spun gold, and her eyes were alight with compassion. She had a leather skin of wine, and brought it to the young woman’s lips.

“Sip slowly,” Gwenyth said softly.

Liza did so, staring at her all the while. And when Gwenyth took the skin from her, lest she choke or become ill from too much too soon, she said, “God will bless you, for I am innocent, I swear it. Old Meg was not angry about her pig. She believed I cast a spell to seduce her wretched lout of a husband. I am innocent, before God, I am. And I owe you my life and my deepest loyalty forever,” she vowed brokenly.

“Well, let’s get you strong again…and into some decent clothing. You may use those trees over there for privacy,” Gwenyth said.

“I’ll be helpin’ the lass,” Annie assured her, and the two of them walked deeper into the copse.

Gwenyth knew Rowan was staring at her, and she flushed. “I believe she is innocent,” she murmured. “I find it ridiculous to believe that God has granted some people the powers to simply look upon another and cause evil.”

He sighed. “Ah, lass. You’d be surprised what evil can exist merely in the mind.”

“That woman is no witch.” She paused, then said softly, “Thank you.”

Would I have stopped such an obvious injustice had you not been with me? he wondered.

“I did as you wished today,” he told her, “because I don’t believe the trial was justly conducted or that the pastor had the right to condemn her to death. Such a grave penalty is held for the higher courts to dispense. But, my lady, I am sorry to say that people have often been put to death for the crime of witchcraft. Whether you believe in it or not, it is punishable by execution, for it goes hand in hand with heresy. And I will remind you again that the very queen you so adore believes in witchcraft, as does Lord James. As a rule, I believe the Stewart clan holds a belief in curses and hexes.”

She smiled. “Laird Rowan, you are, I know, a well-read and learned man. I know, as you do, that there are some who believe themselves able to create dolls, prick them and draw blood from others. Those who think they can brew up herbs and make magical potions. But you surely know, as well as I, that most of those accused of such evil craft are nothing more than healers who know the potency of certain herbs and flowers. Evil has too often been done to those who would do their best to help others, all because of what men believe, rather than what is known.”

“Be that as it may, if you brew a potion, you risk being accused of witchcraft, which means a pact with the devil. And heresy,” he said wearily.

“It is such foolishness—”

“It is the law.”

She nodded and said flatly, “Thank you. Our discussion has been most enlightening.”

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