She gazed up at her husband, unblinking.
Philip wished the man would stop blathering about witchcraft. It was clear witchcraft was involved; but as Isobel had helped, not harmed, he hoped that detail would be overlooked. It would not ifEwan Kennedy didn’t shut his mouth.
Ewan whirled suddenly, his finger stabbing the air, straight at Philip. “It’s them that did this! They were here when Laurie and Roger disappeared—remember?They were here!And now look! They’ve led us straight to the body, trying to pin the blame on me! They knew where the bodies were because they killed them! Now they want to ruin me! They are redshanks, dammit!”
Stephen exchanged an alarmed look with Philip, dropping his shovel and gripping the butt of the dag tucked into his belt. Philip grabbed the handkerchief from Isobel’s hand and tossed it away. She sagged against him, her lashes fluttering down.
Ewan came forward, his face red with fury. “And what do ye plan to do wi’ that lassie when yer done with her, eh? Rape and kill her, too?”
Isobel murmured something.
Philip leaned his head near her lips. “What did you say?”
“She scratched him…his neck—three long scratches. Roger hit him with a tree branch, across the back. He’ll be bruised still.”
Philip straightened, his arms circling Isobel protectively. “Remove your ruff, sir. Your stepdaughter scratched your neck when you attacked her. And Roger Wood struck you across the back with a branch. If these things are not true, you’ll be unmarked.”
The elders turned to Heather and Ewan. Ewan faced his wife, his eyes bleak. And Philip saw it there, in her eyes. The war. She knew her husband was marked, knew his life was in her hands. Philip also understood she’d known all along what Ewan was doing—knew, and chose to ignore it, to remain ignorant. He saw the decision in her eyes.
Before she even spoke, Philip sent a warning glance to Stephen and Fergus.
“My husband bears no marks on his person. I see him unclothed every night—his skin is clear as a babe’s.” She turned her hard gaze on Philip. “It’s true—she disappeared the same day these men passed through town.”
Ewan’s eyes closed, his shoulders sagging.
Isobel’s head moved against Philip’s shoulder. He looked down. She frowned, trying to push against him. Her lips were tinged with blue. “Not true. She lies…why is she lying?”
One of the elders stepped forward, his hand out to Philip. “Would you come with us, Sir Philip? We’d like to ask you some questions.”
“We’ve answered your questions,” Stephen said, his dag leveled at the elder. “If you have any more, I suggest ye direct them to Ewan Kennedy. We’ll be leaving now.”
Fergus had also drawn his dag. Philip slid his arm under Isobel’s knees and swung her into his arms. They backed out of the trees. No one tried to follow, though Ewan, back in possession of his wits, yelled that they couldn’t just let the murdering redshanks get away.
They jogged back to the brewhouse, Isobel’s head thumping against his shoulder. “Get the horses,” Philip said. “We have to hurry—when they get their wits about them they’ll come after us with more than we can fight.”
Philip rushed into the tavern and took the stairs two at a time. Isobel mumbled something again, but he didn’t have time to listen. He placed her on her narrow bed and went around her room, stuffing the few things she had brought into her leather satchel. He hesitated, wondering if he should just leave her therewhile he gathered the rest of their things. Instead he picked her up again, carrying her to the room he’d shared with Fergus and Stephen. He started to lay her on the bed when her hand caught at his jack.
“Philip,” she whispered, her lids half-opened. “Hediddo it.”
He laid her gently on the straw-stuffed mattress and pushed the damp hair from her face. She was so cold. It frightened him. Only corpses were so cold.
“I know,” he said.
With obvious effort, she opened her eyes fully, focusing on his face. “I am a witch.”
“I know.”
Her other hand came up, gripping his with surprising strength for how weakened she was. “I’m not evil—I vow it. I’ve never seen the devil. I don’t—”
He hushed her, squeezing her hand in response. “Christ, Isobel, I ken. I ken.”
She searched his face. “You don’t want to burn me?”
“Bloody hell, no!” He pressed his mouth to her cold damp forehead. “No, no, no.”
The door burst open. Philip jerked around. Stephen was there, breathing hard. “Let’s go! They’ve come back from the wood. We haven’t much time.” Stephen hurried around the room, grabbing things and stuffing them into the canvas sack. “Fergus has the horses outside—but if they mean to grab him, there’s not much he can do alone.”
Philip stood, hefting Isobel in his arms. “Leave the rest—let’s go.”
