Page 38 of Highland Fire

“Moira is no witch,” Tavig bellowed.

“Gag him,” the priest commanded, nodding when the men holding Tavig hastily obeyed. “Now.” He looked at Moira. “What are we to do with you?”

“I believe ye have already decided, so why torment me with your questions?” Moira replied.

“Ye are resigned to your fate?”

“Nay, but I see the futility of arguing my innocence. Ye have all gone deaf to the truth. Ye havenae even checked the truth of what Jeanne claims I have done to her. I willnae add to your macabre fun by pleading for my life.”

“My goat is dead,” Jeanne said, stepping forward. “I cannae prove how it died, but I can prove how she has afflicted me. I am covered with spots and sores.” She yanked up her skirts to reveal a vivid rash on her legs, the red patches broken here and there by ugly open and oozing sores.

“I hope ye didnae have that when ye bedded down with my husband,” Moira mumbled.

“Ye gave it to me. It appeared after I tried to aid Tomas, to pull him from your devilish clutches.” She rushed forward, yanking up Moira’s skirts despite Moira’s struggles, and pointing to a small mole just above Moira’s knee, said, “And there is the devil’s mark. She has others. I saw them in Robert’s cow shed, for she was naked.”

When Jeanne released her skirts, Moira kicked the woman in the knee. Jeanne screeched with pain, then moved toward Moira again. One of the two men guarding Moira shoved Jeanne away. Geordie curtly ordered another man to hold Jeanne. Moira prayed Jeanne’s actions would not prompt a public search for witch’s marks. She did have several more moles and birthmarks. Since the priest deemed her guilty already, a search for witch’s marks would only serve to embarrass and shame her.

“It seems to me ye have no more than one lass’s word against another’s,” said Robert.

“True,” agreed the priest, never taking his gaze from Moira. “I believe we need a test to see who speaks the truth. An ordeal would bring us the truth we need. There are many to choose from.” He spared only a brief glance for Tavig who cursed beneath his gag, struggling violently in the hold of his guard.

Moira fought the fear that welled up inside her. Quite often a person put through an ordeal proved his innocence only by dying. Ordeals were always painful, ranging from tossing a bound person into the water, declaring him innocent only if he sank and usually drowned, to holding a piece of red-hot iron on one’s hand and needing to come away uninjured to prove one’s innocence. The theory was that God would protect the innocent from harm. Moira had always felt that God had far better things to do. She did not really wish to have her somewhat scandalous opinion proved correct.

The way the priest kept staring at her as he mulled the problem over made Moira uneasy, very uneasy. It was difficult to hide her fears with his cold eyes fixed upon her. There was nothing to be read on his thin, angular face and Moira found that lack of expression unsettling.

“We dinnae have the tools to do as we must,” he finally said.

“What a shame,” Moira drawled, idly wondering when she had become so sharp-tongued.

“I believe we have enough to prepare a reasonably successful ordeal, howbeit.”

As she listened to the priest order some of the men to clear a place in front of the church and heat rocks, Moira knew she grew pale. She could feel the blood seep from her face. A quick glance at Tavig showed him looking the same. She was not sure what she was going to be forced to do, but if it included hot rocks or coals, it was not going to be pleasant. Clearly it was going to be one of those ordeals that required her to do something dangerous and somehow come through it unscathed. She knew she was innocent, but had no confidence in an ordeal proving that.

When the priest ordered two men to take off her boots and hose, a soft cry of alarm escaped her despite all of her efforts to be brave. Now she knew why the men were preparing a bed of hot coals and rocks. The hard-eyed Father Matthew wanted her to walk over them to prove her innocence. When she completed her torturous walk and her feet were badly burned, he would be able to have her executed with a clear conscience.

As two men started to drag her out of the church, Moira decided she was tired of pretending to be brave. She struggled, dragged her feet, and called her captors every vile name she had ever heard. The priest walked behind, scolding her in a dull, pious voice for her language and lack of faith. Moira wished she could get free and hit him, then hastily apologized for what might appear to be blasphemy. In her brief prayer for forgiveness, she included the wish that God would have a closer look at one particular priest who did not seem to behave in a very Christian manner.

Once in front of the bed of coals, Moira lost her last grip on her courage. She looked around at the crowd of people in front of the church. Tavig was slumped in the hold of his captors, one of them having struck him over the head with a small club to put an end to his violent struggles. Robert and Mary tried to talk sense to their friends and neighbors. The looks on the faces of the villagers revealed how uncertain they had become, but they still made no protest. Jeanne was clearly savoring every moment.

“Now, witch, ye must walk the length of this,” the priest said, pointing to the heated bed of stones.

“’Tis clear that, although ye offer me an ordeal to prove my innocence, ye have already decided on my guilt.” Moira shook her head, inwardly hoping that the relatively calm tone of her voice distracted everyone enough so that they would not notice she was awash in sweat. “Ye have already tried and judged me. This is but a way to add to my pain.”

“Walk. If ye can get to the other side and your feet reveal no injury, then God has proclaimed ye innocent.”

“When God is done proclaiming my innocence, I hope He takes a long look at some of the ones who claim to work in His name.”

She took a deep breath, shaking free of her captors’ light hold. A rousing Tavig cried out when she took her first step onto the smoldering path she had to walk. Since her hands were still bound, Moira knew she would risk falling if she moved too swiftly. She suspected the priest would declare the test invalid if she ran and would force her to do it all over again. She kept her gaze fixed resolutely on the end of the red-hot trail.

The heat seeped into the soles of her feet. Moira was amazed that she could feel the heat, suffered from the discomfort of it, yet felt no true pain. She wondered if her mind was somehow refusing to acknowledge the agony her feet had to be suffering.

When she stepped onto the cool dirt at the end of the path, she stared down at her feet. She was surprised to see no smoke. For a moment she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. A quick look at the bed of rocks and coals revealed that they were indeed hot. The red glow, fed by the fires in the pit beneath the rocks, sent out a frightening light.

She awkwardly sat down even as the priest rushed over to look at her feet. Moira looked with him and nearly gaped. Her feet still felt uncomfortably warm, but there was no sign of an injury. Father Matthew roughly brushed dirt from her feet and looked again. Even as he glared at her, someone untied her wrists. A moment later Tavig was at her side, pulling her into his arms. Mary and Robert also crouched near her, staring at her feet in amazement. Moira realized she had passed the cold-eyed priest’s test.

“Her innocence has been proven,” said Tavig, glancing at Father Matthew.

“She moved too quickly,” the priest said, then glanced around nervously as an angry murmur rose from the crowd.