Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“Enough. Al of ye take yer leave before I change my mind,” the sheriff said impatiently. Raising a hand to her brow, Ali squinted in the dul , midday sun, her eyes unaccustomed to even the dimmest of light after a night spent in the windowless cel beneath the squat building she now exited. The guard shoved her down the rickety wooden staircase, and she fel to her knees.

“On yer feet,” he growled.

Using the bottom step for leverage, Ali hauled herself up, her legs trembling. She wiped her damp palms on her thighs. Her beautiful sky blue gown was torn and streaked with dirt. She heard the din of excited voices, and self-con sciously touched the tangled mess of her hair, lowering her hand at the sound of the man’s derisive laughter. He grabbed her arm, his grimy fingers biting into the flesh of her upper arm. He dragged her around the corner of the building—the marketplace was jammed with people. They lined the wal s of the surrounding buildings ten deep.

“There’s the witch! There she is!”

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A rock whizzed by her ear and struck the wal behind her. Ali fought against the same sense of defeat that had al but consumed her during the long, cold night on the mudpacked floor without blankets or food. Her resilience, her strength to face whatever they might do to her, had slipped from her then. As she did in her cel , she cal ed on her memories of Rory, and her love for him, to give her the strength to fight. She had too much to live for to give up now. Ali lifted her chin and walked defiantly into the center of the square. Someone shouted out her name, and Ali searched the angry faces of the crowd. Her gaze froze on the wooden stake just beyond the fringe. She forced herself to look away, then spotted Mrs. Mac, Cook, Janet, Maureen, and several of the girls from the kitchen, relieved to see Mari was not among them. Their kind, caring faces blurred before her, and she swal owed past the lump in her throat. The guard jerked her arm and hauled her in front of the sheriff, who sat behind a smal wooden table. He kept his eyes glued to the piece of parchment on the desk. “We await yer accusers.”

One by one the onlookers’ heads turned and Ali looked to see what drew their attention. A smal contingent pushed their way through the curious spectators, and Ali’s mouth dropped when she saw who led the way—Moira MacLean. But of course, what did she expect? The priest, the one who’d accused Mari and Ali once before, fol owed close behind.

The sheriff rose to his feet with a smile of welcome and assisted Moira to her seat on the narrow bench. She thanked him, batting her eyes at the man. He looked be

mused as he walked back to his stool, and Ali groaned. Moira shot her a haughty look. “Yer circumstances have changed much since last we met, Lady Aileanna.” Brushing 298

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a dainty hand over her magenta gown, Moira’s upper lip curled in a sneer she made certain only Ali would witness. Out of the corner of her eye, Ali saw Cook and Janet hold Mrs. Mac back. Ali knew how her friend felt. Her own fingers itched to wrap around the little witch’s neck. Anger battled with fear, and won.

“The truth wil win out, Moira, and I’l be anxious to see how you explain your part in this to Rory.”

The other woman’s composure slipped, but was quickly replaced with a disdainful smile. “I’m certain he’l under stand given the evidence. In al good conscience, I had to come forth.”

The sheriff cleared his throat. “Lady Graham, yer brought here on charges of witchcraft. How do ye plead?”

She held his gaze until he lowered his. “Not guilty, and as al are innocent until proven guilty, I ask you, Sheriff, what is your proof ?”

The sheriff blinked and looked from Moira to the priest. His voluminous gray robe swirling, the little man jumped to his feet. “She struck me down in defense of a witch.”

“Those charges were addressed by Lord MacLeod and al were dismissed.” Ali didn’t look at the priest, giving her ful attention to the sheriff instead.

He stroked his beard. “Is this true?” Although he had brought her there to stand trial, Ali was beginning to think the man at least would be fair. A glimmer of hope flickered to life inside her. Al she had to do was stay strong and hold her ground.

“Aye, but the trial wasna’ fair.”

“Ye had yer chance, Priest. The only reason ye bring charges against Lady Aileanna is because she shamed ye in front of the people fer stonin’ an innocent child,” Janet Cameron cried out.

“Aye . . . aye.” Several of the others from Dunvegan agreed loudly.

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“Quiet! Did ye stone a child?” the sheriff asked.

“She was no’ innocent with her red hair and eyes of two colors. ’Tis the sign of a witch.”

“The sheriff has red hair. Are you accusing him of being a witch?”

The priest glared at Ali. “Ye see, ’tis what she does. She twists the truth. ’Twas the same at Dunvegan.”

The sheriff blew out an impatient breath. “Sit down, Priest.”

Moira patted the distraught man’s hand and rose to her feet. “Although it pains me to say, Sheriff, there is no doubt this woman is a witch. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, and crocodile tears slid down her flushed cheeks. “I was to be married to Laird MacLeod, and this woman, she bewitched him. Cast her wicked spel s on him, she did. I was a witness to it al .”

“No, Moira, what happened is Rory final y came to his senses and saw you for who you real y are. You’re more of a witch than I’l ever be.”

For a brief moment al the hate Moira MacLean felt for Ali shone in her eyes, but she was quick to conceal it. “I have other witnesses, Sheriff, if you’l al ow them to speak.” Not waiting for the man’s response, she motioned to someone in the crowd behind her. Two men and a woman stepped forward, unwil ing to meet Ali’s eyes, and her heart sank. They were gaunt, their legs thin and bowed with obvious signs of starvation, and Ali knew they would do anything for money.

“Say yer piece.” The sheriff waved his hand and or

dered, “Speak up.”

“I . . . I saw ’er dance naked under the moon with the devil himself.”

There were gasps of outrage, and Ali would have laughed if not for the fact they appeared to believe the woman. 300

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“Aye, ’twas what I saw as wel ,” one of the woman’s com

panions said. “And ’twas after that my cow dropped dead.”

“Aye, and the water in the wel turned blood red.”

“Do ye have anythin’ to say fer yerself, Lady Aileanna?”

the sheriff asked, his expression grim.

“I’d like to question the witnesses.”

Moira and the priest looked at each other in obvious dis

tress.

The sheriff scratched his head. “’Tis an unusual request, but I’l no’ have Laird MacLeod sayin’ ye were no’ given a fair trial.”

“Thank you.” Ali turned to her accusers. “You do realize when you give evidence at a trial you’re swearing to God to tel the truth?” She paused to let her words sink in. The priest once again jumped to his feet. “What right does she have to invoke the name of the Lord?”

“I wasn’t. I’m simply stating a fact, is that not true, Sheriff ?”

“Aye.” He gave her a tight nod. “Ye may go on.”

“Did Lady MacLean offer you money for your test . . . to speak against me?”

“Nay,” the oldest of the three was quick to say. The other two bowed their heads.

“Tel him,” Moira shrieked. “Ye tel them I gave ye no money or—”

The sheriff came to his feet and shot an angry look at Moira and the priest. “I doona’ like to be played fer a fool.