Page 94 of Sins of the Highlander

“Sheath your blade, friend. The quarrel is no’ with you,” Lachlan said smoothly. A priest peeked around the doorjamb and then scuttled in behind Drummond. “We war no’ against flesh and blood but against the powers of darkness itself.”

Stewart’s sword didn’t lower one jot. “What nonsense is this?”

“Tell him, Father,” Drummond said to the priest.

The priest glanced at Elspeth’s father then hastily averted his eyes. Instead they fastened on her. “Elspeth Stewart, ye stand accused of the sin of witchcraft, of consorting with the devil and leading others into the grave errors of sorcery and magic. Ye must answer for yer crimes. Arrest her.”

“By God, ye will not!” her father bellowed and slashed at the men who tried to approach.

“Stewart, your men are dead. Ye canna hold out against so many,” Lachlan said. “If your daughter is innocent, I promise she will come to no hurt.”

The accusation of witchcraft was as good as a conviction, and everyone in the room knew it. Her father didn’t back down, flailing away at all comers.

“Father, no!” she shouted. “I will surrender, Lachlan. Call off your men.”

“I forbid it, Elspeth,” her father said.

“Ye have naught to say in the matter.” She broke free of her mother’s arms and ran to stand before the priest.

“Disobedient to parents,” the priest muttered, and she realized she’d given him another bit of evidence against her.

“Drummond,” her father said as his sword clattered to the floor, “I’m begging ye. Dinna do this thing.”

“The trial will commence as soon as the witnesses arrive. Tomorrow probably, Father Kester assures me,” Lachlan said. “For your own safety, ye and Lady Stewart will remain under guard in this chamber. Once the court’s decision is reached, ye’ll be free to go.”

“And what of Elspeth?” her mother sobbed.

“I’ve a chamber in the tower for her for now,” Lachlan said. “’Tis quite comfortable, with a window that opens onto the bailey.” He marched her out of the room and then hissed into her ear, “Ye’ll have a good view of the stains left on the cobbles by MacLaren’s wife.”

***

He hadn’t seen her in so long, it took Rob a moment to realize who it was that appeared overhead in the thatch. Fiona wavered before his eyes and then sank slowly to the floor, her long gown fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. She halted her descent before the tips of her bare feet brushed the cold flagstone.

Fiona drew near his bedside. She smiled, and the room brightened around her.

“Lazing in bed when ye’re needed elsewhere.” She reached out to cup his cheek, and for the first time in all his lovely dreams of her, Rob couldn’t feel her fingertips. “What are ye doing, my daftie man?”

“Daftie man,” he repeated, though he realized his lips hadn’t moved. “Ye always called me so. Ye must have known I’d come to this. D’ye ken they say I’m mad in truth now? Mad or witched.”

“Aye, but ye’re no’ mad. Nor witched either,” she said. “The one caring for ye now has slipped a net o’er your mind. She spoons it in each time ye wake.”

He turned his head and saw Margot Beaton as though through a thick mist. The lass was propped in a chair, her head lolling to one side, her mouth gaping in sleep. A cup balanced on her lap.

“Aye, that’s it,” Fiona said when he frowned at the cup. “Dinna accept another drop. There’s one who needs ye, and ye’ll be no use to her wandering among the poppies.”

“Who needs me?” He wouldn’t stir a muscle for Margot Beaton, whatever her need.

Fiona settled a hip on his bedside, but the feather tick didn’t sink an inch under her weight. “Elspeth Stewart, of course.”

“Ye know of her?”

She smiled sadly. “Aye, Rob, I know she has your heart in her keeping as I used to.”

“Ye still do,” he said.

“I know that too, but there is a great divide between us. I canna hold on to ye anymore. I must let ye go.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead. Her lips were light as angel’s breath on his skin. “And ye must let me go.”

He knew she was right, but his chest still constricted.