His fingers tightened on hers. “You were verra brave to come forth like that.”
She shook her head, tears blurring the dark. “No, I’m a coward—I couldn’t bear to watch them hurt you. Perhaps if I’d just waited, we’d not be here.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m glad you mentioned the earl. They might not care about burning a knight, but they’ll think hard before burning a countess.”
“Do you think that will save us?”
He was quiet for a long while, then he said, “I think it will stall your burning, aye. Time enough for your uncle and the earl to hear of it and come.”
Isobel understood what he didn’t say. It wouldn’t stop them from burning Philip—and the fact of it was, shewasa witch, and countess or no, she was in deep trouble.
They sat in silence for a time, their fingers clasped, listening to the sounds of footsteps on the boards overhead. She had no sense of the size of the cellar. She’d only seen it briefly when they’d been brought down. There was the stake they were tied to, near the back of the cellar, a table against one wall, and some boxes and casks. She couldn’t remember seeing any alternative means of entry.
Isobel fell into deep thought, wondering how Lillian MacDonell had felt near the end. Had she any time for thoughts or regrets? Isobel realized she was more fortunate than her mother, for she had Philip with her. Lillian had died alone, unable to say good-bye to her husband and children. Alan hadn’t even known Lillian had been taken until it was too late.
Philip’s fingers tightened on hers. “Isobel,” he whispered, “listen to me very carefully. You must tell them you’re with child.”
“What?”
“They won’t burn a pregnant woman—they wait until she’s delivered of the child. It will be months before they can prove ye’re lying…if it even is a lie. Enough time for your uncle to come.”
Isobel said nothing. He only spoke of her, not of himself. She couldn’t bear that his situation was so hopeless. Anger suffused her. What good was her magic if it couldn’t save them? Why show her a future she couldn’t change?
“Isobel, promise me you’ll tell them.”
“And who am I to say the father is?”
“If you say it’s mine, you’ll have my father at your service.”
“But our child will be a bastard.”
His hand tightened on hers. “Not if we handfast.”
Tears spilled down Isobel’s cheek. They didn’t even know if she was pregnant. It all seemed such a horrible, horrible waste.
“Promise me, Isobel MacDonell, that your plight is trothed to me, and we’ll marry proper afore a pastor when this is over.”
When this is over.Isobel could barely speak through her tears, but she managed a strangled, “Aye.”
“Say it, Isobel,” he urged, his fingers squeezing painfully, his voice urgent.
“I promise, before God, that I plight thee my troth—but only because I love thee more than my own life.”
Philip sighed, and his fingers gentled on hers. Isobel soon understood his sense of urgency. The pounding of footsteps overhead had grown louder—as if there were many more people above them. Then there was the sound of a key in the lock, and the door swung open. Isobel was behind Philip, so she couldn’t see anything, but she knew it was the elders, with their verdict. Her fingers clung to Philip’s.
Philip faced the cellar stairs and door. Isobel was behind him, facing a moldy stone wall. In the light of the lanterns she was able to see the cellar’s interior. Her heart sank. She sat on a dirt floor. All four walls were of stone. They were completely underground. Not a door or window to be found.
“Philip Kilpatrick, you are sentenced to be worried by the neck until dead and your body burned at the stake tomorrow morning. Isobel MacDonell—”
“Mistress MacDonell,” Philip interrupted, “pleads her belly.”
The was a heavy silence and some feet shuffling, then, “I see. And who is the father?”
“Her husband.”
Another pause. “She is not yet wed to the earl of Kincreag.”
“Nor will she ever be. She plighted her troth to me but a few minutes ago. We’re handfast and she is my wife. Send word to Dougal Kilpatrick to collect his grandchild when he is delivered.”
