Page 90 of Warrior’s Lady

"Do not draw your weapon," Camden said coolly. "I'd like nothing better than an excuse to slit your throat."

"You'll regret this," the bishop snarled.

"Why should we regret setting things to rights?" Rhiannon asked, pulling Violet into the safety of her arms before lifting the Charm Stone from the bishop's hand.

The bishop growled, then twisted toward the Council, careful to avoid thrusting himself into Camden's blade. "This little girl is the witch here, not that woman," he tossed a bitter glance Rhiannon's way.

The chamber exploded in an uproar. The members of the council at the table turned to speak to each other. But Camden kept his eyes firmly on the bishop. "You've been exposed. Your plans for the Stone will never come to fruition."

"You're wrong." He shook his head. "It's my fate to become the next Archbishop of Glasgow. The Council will side with me. You will suffer because of my mother's accusations against you. And that little girl will hang, just like her mother."

Violet clutched Rhiannon's skirt in her hands, burying herself in the green fabric. "Don't let them hang me," Violet gasped.

"You will not hang, Lady Violet," Rhiannon reassured her, stroking her golden curls. "Members of the Council. Please, hear me out."

The room settled into silence.

"Can someone bring me a mug of ale from the barrel near the hearth?" One of the young women she'd helped survive the plague brought her a mug filled with ale. "Thank you, Mary Anne."

The young woman curtsied. "Milady."

Rhiannon embraced Violet. "One more time, will you treat the ale?"

At Violet's nod, they approached the councilmen at the head table. The oldest councilman followed behind them. "The Charm Stone brings the wondrous gift of healing." Rhiannon set the mug on the table and handed the Charm Stone to Violet.

"Lord Camden Lockhart explained to me that only those who are Lockharts through marriage or by blood can use the Stone." At Rhiannon's nod, Violet dipped the coin into the amber-colored liquid three times, then swirled it to the right.

As Violet treated the ale, Rhiannon prayed that without someone saying an incantation, the Council could not rule Violet's actions as witchcraft.

Violet withdrew the coin and dried it on her dress. "The ale, when it is consumed by someone ill, will help that person to heal." Violet extended the mug toward the councilman near them, then handed the Stone back to Rhiannon.

He merely frowned into the mug. "How do I know the ale is safe to drink? How do I know I won't get the plague from drinking the liquid?"

Rhiannon took back the mug and took a sip herself.

Still he remained silent, scowling at the mug she'd returned to him. Rhiannon splayed her hand in a gesture encompassing the room. "All of these people drank from the treated ale. Now all are healed. Have you known anyone to survive the plague before?"

The councilman grasped the mug and sniffed the contents. "Very few are lucky enough to survive the disease." He brought the mug to his lips and drank. He frowned at the contents. "The ale tastes like any other."

One of the councilmen at the table stood. "Bishop Berwick, what kind of madness have you involved us in? What we witnessed was not witchcraft. No incantation was said. Witchcraft involves incantations and curses. The Charm Stone calls upon God's mercy. Would you have us deny His miracles?"

"No, that's not it. She—" the bishop objected, then stopped short at the prick of Camden's blade.

The other men of the council stood. "We've heard enough here today."

"What about the man's abuse of me?" the bishop's mother cried over the roar of voices that filled the room once more.

The oldest councilman turned to the woman. "Domestic matters are not our concern. We gave you our ear because of the seriousness of the charges you made against the man. And of those your son made against his niece." He narrowed his gaze on the woman. "Show me one bruise the man inflicted upon you and I will charge him with this crime."

The woman sputtered. "Well, I … give me a moment," she said, pushing back the sleeve of her brown silk gown.

The councilman shook his head. "We are done here." He turned to address the room. "All the charges are dropped against the Lockharts. You will retain possession of the Charm Stone. And should the people of this land ever need its healing properties, may we call upon you?"

Camden lowered his sword. "It would be an honor, sir."

The councilman turned a black look on the bishop. "As for you and your mother," he said, signaling for the other members of the council to come forward and restrain the two by the arms. "I have decided to transfer your services to a needy parish on a remote isle in the Hebrides. You leave on the morrow."

"The Hebrides?" the bishop gasped. "We will perish that far from civilization."

"Or find penance," the councilman said.

"No! We must stay and fight," the old woman cried. "You will be named archbishop, Harold. It is your destiny!" She was still protesting as she and her son were hauled out of the castle.

With the threat of the bishop gone, Camden sheathed his sword. He offered the councilmen a respectful bow before he turned to Rhiannon.

Slowly, he drew closer until he took her hands in his own. "Can you forgive me for what I did to your brothers?"

A flicker of pain crossed her face. "That they are dead saddens me. No one deserves to die so violently."

"I regret—"

She brought her finger to his lips, silencing him. "No regrets. You told me once before that we should concentrate on the here and now."

He held her gaze, hoping that she could read all the love and sincerity in his eyes. "Stay with me. Marry me on the morrow as we'd planned. The future is ours if we take it. If you can forgive me…?"