William swallowed hard, his hand tightening on his daughter’s, his gaze lighting on a tall, thin man in black robes. He was not a Highlander. He wasn’t even local.
“Good day, my lord Strathwick.” He looked down his long, sharp nose at Deidra, his lips wrinkling slightly. “I am Luthias Forsyth, former witch-finder to the king. I trust you are well rested and ready for our first session?” He spoke pleasantly, as though this were a social call rather than a prelude to torture.
William’s guts clenched. They were in serious trouble.
Chapter 18
Luthias Forsyth stared at the witches before him. A tall, brawny man—a Highland chief—and a child. He sighed. Force was not allowed to induce children to talk. And children were the easiest to question. But there were rules in place, and Luthias always followed them, even when he didn’t agree with them. A village elder stood at his shoulder, whispering advice to him. Luthias silenced him with a look.
He would extract the information from the prisoner in his own manner. In Edinburgh, he’d spent time in the king’s service as a witchpricker. Since the commission of 1592, which gave individuals the power to try and execute witches, he’d found his services in great demand across the country. But he’d never agreed with the kirk’s commission. Common men could now try witches and burn them. God had called on him to leave Edinburgh and travel through the country, offering his services—for a fee—to any village in need of an experienced witchpricker.
A man of his vast experience certainly didn’t need a village rustic interfering in his work, telling him how to induce a witch to talk. The interrogation of witchesshould only be undertaken by a professional such as himself. There were steps to be followed. Witches never acted as you expected them to. The only thing they could be counted on to do was lie.
The wizard continued to stare at him, his face expressionless, the child hiding behind his legs. He was a formidable man, tall and muscular. Though his inky black hair was liberally salted with gray, he was neither old nor feeble. Luthias would need muscle to conduct this interrogation.
Luthias removed his soft wool cloak, hanging it on a wooden peg. He smoothed his hands over his thinning hair and palmed the front of his robe. Eyes closed, he took deep, soothing breaths. One must always be calm and in control of one’s faculties when confronting one of Satan’s minions. They had such power.
He motioned to the burly villagers serving as guards. They brought the wizard to the table and forced him to sit. He did not appear frightened as he looked Luthias over curiously. The bold perusal sent a flash of anger through him that he fought to stifle. The devil was insolent and sought to intimidate him. This was nothing new. It was only the beginning of yet another battle between Luthias and the devil. It was God’s will. God permitted evil—though he did not wish it—for the perfecting of the universe.
And Luthias was God’s tool, just as the instruments of torture were merely Luthias’s tools for achieving his ends. It was a hierarchy that Luthias rejoiced to be a part of.
The wizard spoke. “Why are you keeping a child prisoner?” His arm encircled the child, holding her to his side. “She has done nothing.”
Luthias did not answer. He poured a measure of witch broth from the flagon on the table and offered it to the wizard. “Prithee, drink.”
The wizard peered into the cup as though it were poison. “What is it?”
“It is the witch broth.”
“Witch broth?”
“Aye, it was made from the gathered ashes of a witch after she was burnt at the stake. It will prevent you from casting a spell upon me during our session. Go on. Drink up.”
The wizard would not take the cup from him. When Luthias pressed it at him, he swiped hard, knocking the cup from Luthias’s hand and spilling the precious brew in the dirt. He glowered, completely unrepentant, as if Luthias were beneath contempt. Furious heat suffused Luthias’s face. “I think me this session will be long and tedious.”
“Let the child go. She is innocent.”
“That is not what I was told. I was informed she communed with animals.”
The wizard’s expression gave away nothing. Luthias scrutinized the wizard and his witch-child. Perhaps he could make use of the wizard’s concern for the child.
“Mayhap I will release her. If you cooperate.”
The wizard’s jaw bulged. “Verra well.”
Luthias withdrew the parchment from his robes. He unfolded it. “William MacKay of Strathwick,” he said, looking at the wizard over the top of the parchment, “it says here that you cure all manner of sickness.”
Strathwick nodded, his eyes hard, implacable.
“How is it you came by these miraculous powers?”
“It is merely a knowledge of plants and herbs. Nothing more.”
Luthias sneered. “The Lord cures our bodies through fasting and prayers, not through weeds.” He studied Strathwick’s impassive face. “That is the papist way of things. Be you a heretic as well as a witch?”
“Is there a difference in the eyes of men such as yourself?”
Luthias gritted his teeth and decided on the direct approach. “Who seduced you into witchcraft?”
