“What?” he said, distracted.
“You will not go unpunished for your crimes.”
He grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back so more of her neck was arched and exposed. “Shut up!”
“Isobel,” Philip said, a warning in his voice. His eyes pleaded with her to stop, but she could not. She could smell Ewan’s fear—the sharp tang of sweat. The blade trembled against her throat, and his stale breath beside her face shuddered with each labored exhalation. She was scaring him.
She continued, “I saw you…your mind is thick from the drug…you’re not sure what is going on at first, except that you can’t breathe because of the smoke. It will almost kill you, but not quite, not before you realize it’s you burning rather than the witches. It’sthe fire that finally does it, burning through your shroud—”
“Shut up!” He yanked her around and hit her. Pain exploded in her head. The moment the knife was gone from her throat Philip sprang at him, knocking Isobel aside. She rolled out of the way and struggled to her feet. When her head cleared she saw Philip standing over the limp body of Ewan Kennedy.
He turned, catching Isobel as she flew into his arms. He grunted when she squeezed him hard.
She drew back. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your burns.”
He pulled her back against him and held her tightly, his face buried in her hair, his muscles quivering.
“There’s time for that later,” Fergus was saying. “For now, we’ve got to do something with these two.”
Philip broke away from Isobel reluctantly and looked down at the men on the floor. “Colin is dead.” He leaned down, pressing his fingers to Ewan Kennedy’s neck. “He’s still alive.” He stared down at his brother’s body silently. Finally, he turned to face them. “Three men came in, so only three men can go out.”
Fergus gave Isobel a meaningful look. “Well, that’s going to be something of a problem, methinks.”
“No—Ewan is small for a man. Isobel can wear his clothes. I’ll wear Colin’s. And you…you can go as yourself. But first, we’ll make sure Mr. Kennedy doesn’t wake up.” He took the vial of laudanum and, grabbing Ewan by the nose, poured it down his throat.
After they exchanged clothes with Ewan and Colin, Philip said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Isobel followed him to the stairs, but Fergus hung back.
He grabbed one of the shrouds he’d brought with them. “Theelders of Hawkirk expect a burning in a few hours, and their executioner is indisposed. If they dinna get their burning, there’ll be trouble.”
Philip gave him a curt nod.
“There’s horses at the edge of town,” Fergus said, leaning down to fit the shroud on Ewan. “Take them and ride. There’s a burn to the east and a hillock just above it. Wait for me there.”
Philip nodded tightly, and they started up the stairs again.
“Mistress MacDonell—wait.” Fergus came to her, his dirk out and Isobel felt a moment of fear. He removed Ewan’s cap from her head and cut off a hank of her hair.
He looked down at it, then back at her. “I’ll sew it into the shroud so it’s hanging out. Then they’ll be no questions.”
Isobel’s nod was jerky. She stuffed her hair back into the cap and, taking Philip’s hand, left Fergus and the cellar behind.
They waited for Fergus on a distant hill. The sun rose and was soon followed by two trails of smoke climbing into the air above the buildings of Hawkirk. Isobel sought Philip’s hand as he stood beside her. He squeezed it, his face grim. An hour later Fergus joined them, his face smudged with soot and his eyes hard as stone. They spurred their horses east, back to Wyndyburgh.
Chapter 24
The crowd at the White Hare Inn in Wyndyburgh was Isobel’s first clue that something was amiss. Villagers huddled outside, peering in the windows and through the door. Philip made a hole for them, dragging Isobel along by the hand.
There were shouts of greeting inside as half a dozen lads hurried over to say hello. As Philip introduced them, Isobel realized this was Stephen’s family—the legitimate side.
The oldest, a dark-haired, fetching lad elbowed Philip, gesturing to the window with a tankard of ale. “Ye’d think they’d never seen an earl before.”
Philip followed his gaze. “Likely they haven’t.”
“Well, they’ll not be satisfied soon—he hasn’t left Stephen’s side since we arrived.”
Philip’s hand tightened on Isobel’s. “He’s alive?”
