Page 96 of Sins of the Highlander

Chapter 33

In the chamber from which Fiona MacLaren had leaped to her death, Elspeth spent a sleepless night. No doubt that was Lachlan’s hope. Perhaps he also hoped she’d make a similar choice to end her own life.

Very few who were accused of witchcraft were acquitted. She could hardly be blamed for wanting to escape burning, but Elspeth purposed in her heart not to follow Fiona’s path.

It wasn’t that she feared damnation if she chose suicide. She didn’t believe God was as vindictive as His creatures. Wherever Fiona’s spirit now bided, Elspeth didn’t think the manner of her death had anything to do with it.

But losing his wife to suicide had disordered Rob’s mind. If Elspeth were to make the same choice…She feared what another similar loss might do to him more than she feared the flames.

Normina, the silent serving woman, appeared with a breakfast tray. Elspeth’s stomach roiled so, she couldn’t touch a mouthful. Normina helped her with her hair and made her as presentable as possible under the circumstances. Then she was left alone.

Elspeth knelt at the little private altar near the window and prayed. In silence, she started pleading for her life but found her prayers drifting away from herself and her straits. Her thoughts turned to Rob and her parents and how her trial would affect them. As she prayed for those she loved, a curious peace descended on her, and her fear lessened to a manageable level.

Still, the rap on the door made her flinch. Lachlan Drummond entered the room before she could rise.

“Praying, Elspeth? A very touching scene,” he said. “Might turn the judge’s heart to be kindly disposed toward you. Pity only I saw you kneeling.”

She rose with all the dignity she could muster. “It’s what God sees that matters.”

Then she walked past him to the guards who were waiting outside her door to escort her to trial.

The court was assembled in the Dining Hall, the largest room in Drummond’s stronghold, to accommodate all the onlookers crowding the space. The many tables had been cleared away, but the benches lining the walls were crammed with Lachlan’s retainers.

The dais at one end of the room was dominated by a man in a rich surplice. He was seated behind a table draped with velvet embroidered with liturgical symbols. Elspeth recognized him as the priest who tried to conduct her interrupted wedding. He owed his living to Lachlan Drummond. She could expect no leniency from him.

Below the judge, Father Kester, the priest who’d accused her, was seated beside Mrs. Beaton and a couple of the serving girls from Caisteal Dubh. If they were gathered here this quickly, it could only mean this accusation had been made with plenty of advance planning.

Her parents were nowhere to be seen.

Neither was Rob, though she could hardly expect him here in Drummond’s stronghold.

Elspeth was ushered to a straight-backed chair directly before the judge’s seat.

Mrs. Beaton was the first to be sworn to truthfulness and made to testify.

“Elspeth Stewart, by means of sorcery most foul, did bewitch my Lord MacLaren into stealing her away from her wedding to Lord Drummond,” she said.

The judge nodded. “I myself was present at the time, and it did seem an act of lunacy. Is the MacLaren here to confirm that he was acting under compulsion?”

“No, Father,” Mrs. Beaton said. “He is confined to his bed with an unnatural sickness. It came upon him suddenlike the morning after Elspeth Stewart left Caisteal Dubh. She witched him again, I’ll warrant.”

Elspeth’s hand flew involuntarily to her chest. Rob was sick. If he was ill enough to be bedridden, he wouldn’t have led his men in battle. Her vision of his and her father’s deaths couldn’t have come true. She’d fled for no reason.

Mrs. Beaton glared at her. “No doubt she cursed him to keep him from testifying against her here.”

A chorus of murmurs and nods greeted this pronouncement.

“Is there any other evidence of witchcraft to which you can attest?” the judge asked.

“I heard her call Hamish Murray’s name before she was introduced to him, which could only have been because a demon whispered the name into her ear,” Mrs. Beaton said. “And Nessa and the other girls tell me she bears the wound of the devil’s pitchfork upon her body. And the devil always marks those who consort with him.”

“Ye’ve no’ seen the mark yourself?” the judge asked.

“Weel, no, but if ye make her strip off her clothes,” Mrs. Beaton said with a practical shrug, “I expect we’ll find it’s there.”

This suggestion was greeted by lewd calls of encouragement from the men gathered. The judge rapped his gavel for order.

“Lady Elspeth, do ye admit to the mark, or do ye wish to disrobe to disprove Mrs. Beaton’s assertion?”