Page 45 of The Story of his Highland Bride
“Is that what happened to ye?” Jackson swallowed, tasting blood in his mouth. “Did a lass break yer heart? Is that why ye wishto see them all burn? I ken it’s nothin’ to do with the Lord, for the Lord wouldn’ae stand for murder so foul. Is it nae in the commandments that ye shouldn’ae murder? What else can ye call it, Father, when ye give these lasses nay trial?”
Lennox jumped down from his horse. “And ye give them somethin’ to drink, to make ‘em say whatever ye want ‘em to say. Jane told me. She kenned it was a herb—I cannae remember the name, but she kenned of it because she uses it to soothe those in pain and help them to sleep. Ye gave the same thing to her, and after all the beatings and torment ye made her endure, she couldn’ae refuse drinkin’ it.”
Shock rippled around the remaining soldiers who answered to the priest’s whims. Though it had seemed like they were endless, there only appeared to be ten or so left standing; the rest were scattered around the forest, either unconscious or dead.
“He lies!” Father Hepburn shouted, shaking a fist at Jackson.
Jackson ignored him, addressing the last ten villagers instead. “Have any of ye ever witnessed a trial?”
A few of the men and women shook their heads, while confused whispers of “nay” drifted through the night air. Worried looks were exchanged, and a few had the decency to look shamefaced.
“If ye let this tyrant continue his ways,” Jackson said, his voice growing in strength despite the loss of blood weakening his body, “ye’ll watch yer sisters and wives and nieces and maithers and daughters burn to ash at the stake. He willnae ceaseuntil they’re all gone, so they cannae tempt his eyes anymore, flauntin’ what he cannae have, cannae touch.Histemptation is the sin, nae whatever these lasses are supposed to have done!”
Another ripple of confused shock made its way around the sparse group.
“Look behind ye, if ye need proof.” Jackson stabbed a finger back toward the woodland. “This “man of faith” is so concerned with murderin’ lasses—nay, murderin’onelass, in this instance—that he doesnae care how many others die in pursuit of it. He doesnae care about killin’ his own Laird. He’d see every last one of ye fall if it meant he dinnae have to look upon another lass he cannae have for himself!”
Father Hepburn turned a livid shade of purple, his pointing finger shaking violently, while his mouth opened and closed but not a sound came out. Clearly, Jackson had opened a vein of truth, and all the villagers standing nearby could see it with their own eyes. The holy, righteous, devoted priest looked as guilty as a thief with stolen jewels in his hands.
“It is… a wicked lie!” the priest protested, in a strained, high voice that only made him seem guiltier.
Lennox stepped in. “Jane doesnae want to return to Falkernside to aid ye all, as she has done for years, because of this man! He harmed her, he tormented her, and he tortured her in ways that I cannae speak of without wantin’ to punch him in the face. Her crime: healin’ ungrateful folks who still willnae stand proud to defend her.”
“Jane McBride is a wretched slattern!” Father Hepburn barked. “When my throat was sore, I called upon her. She touched my neck, caressed her fingertips across my skin, and when I but touched her hand to thank her, she slapped me for it!Sheis the wicked temptress!Sheis the witch and the sinner!”
Lennox snorted. “Ye dinnae touch her hand, ye vile beast. Ye touched her in an unseemly manner! And when ye wouldn’ae cease,thenshe slapped ye.”
Words began to float around the glade, rising up from the villagers. Jackson listened closely, though his ears were pounding with the desperate rush of his own blood.
“That’s what the other lass said, but I dinnae believe her,” someone muttered.
“Aye, it’s what Maureen said an’ all, when he came for her daughter. Everyone thought she was just sayin’ it because she was the lass’ maither,” murmured another.
The women of the group, who far outnumbered the men, all began staring at Father Hepburn, as if seeing him for the first time. And it appeared they did not like what they saw. Gradually, in turn, the remaining men turned their attention to the priest, their hands tightening around the hilts of broadswords and dirks.
“Now, ye mustn’t listen to these men!” the priest urged, putting his hands up. “He is on the side of the devil. He is trying to fool ye into believing wicked words.”
John Walker sniffed. “Aye, but I daenae think he is. Ye’ve lied to us.” He took a menacing step toward the priest. “Ye told us that Jane was already dead when she was cut down from the stake, and that’s why she wouldn’ae be returnin’ as our healer. And ye never told us about nay herb ye gave these lasses. I always thought they looked queer, lollin’ about, and… after thinkin’, I ken that Jane couldn’ae be a witch. If she couldn’ae, I might very well be wrong about the others ye’ve tried to burn.”
“Be truly righteous,” Jackson urged, interjecting. “Take yer faith into yer own hands and seize that man! He’ll receive a trial—a kindness he dinnae give to his victims. And if he doesnae emerge victorious from his trial, as I suspect, he’ll have himself a taste of his own fire.”
For a moment, the villagers looked at their Laird with expressions he could not read. Then, to his overwhelming relief, they all broke into a run at once, charging at the priest with their weapons raised. Perhaps, there would not be any need for a trial, after all.
“Lennox?” Jackson gasped, his sight blurring.
He felt his friend’s hand upon his arm as he fell to the ground. The priest’s fate would have to remain unknown, for darkness swept in, carrying Jackson away from the conscious world with one last thought whispering in his fading mind:Nae yet. I cannae die yet. I promised her I would wait.
25
An icy kiss coaxed Eloise’s eyes open. Her eyelashes fluttered, weighed down by tiny snowflakes that had settled on the fine hairs. Overhead, thick clouds scudded across the sky, threatening more snow to chill her bones and send her to an early grave if she didn’t get moving.
Aching all over, she grabbed the drystone wall that ringed the inside of the cairn and heaved herself to her feet. Even in the woolen cloak she’d taken from the castle, and the peacoat beneath, she shivered violently.
How long was I out?Brushing the snow from her eyes, she glanced around at the ancient burial site, looking for any other sign of life. But the Clava Cairns were empty. No one had come searching for her, though she had to admit that the inside circle of the cairn was a pretty good hiding spot. Too good, perhaps.
With every morsel of strength and willpower she had left, she put one frozen foot in front of the other, shuffling her way acrossthe historical site. She had a vague notion of where to go, but her mind was as frozen as her limbs, making it hard to think. Still, at least there weren’t any starlings, staring at her from the rings of stones.
Reaching the path at the farthest end, remembering the two gnarled oak trees that marked the entrance, she touched the ridged trunks in gratitude and pressed on into the forest beyond.
