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‘You take the bitch in. She can serve here at Dunslair.’
‘I cannot, and you have a duty to care for your wife. You cannot leave her homeless and staving, so I command you take her back.’
‘Command all you like, but if you make me take her back, I'll have her burnt, for a witch.’
‘A witch!’ Rory felt the atmosphere in the room shift at the very mention of the word. Gasps and then a snake of whispers slid around the room.
‘Aye, a witch she is, for she’s put a hex on me.’
‘And how is that?’ said Rory scornfully, rolling his eyes. He had to make light of this man’s foolishness, or there would be trouble.
‘She has cursed me. She’s evil. My cock won’t stand any more when she is near. She has unmanned me.’
‘You are talking nonsense, man.’
‘Nonsense, is it? Look at her.’ He grabbed the back of Monnine’s neck and tore her hair off her face. ‘Look at her eyes. She has the sign of the Devil in her eyes.’
Monnine looked up at Rory. Her eyes were lovely, a warm amber, dark around the irises. They were unusually pretty, and he found it hard to pull away from them and then Logan’s voice intruded.
‘See the black mark in the left one, ‘tis the shape of a forked tail, a sign of the devil. Look.’
Indeed there was a mark as Logan described, twisting into the myriad of colours in her iris, but it was just a whim of nature and nothing more. If you went looking for evil in those eyes, you could find it, but all Rory saw there was resignation. In this woman’s mind, she was already dead or wished she was.
Fear and superstition were engulfing Scotland. In Edinburgh, women were being dragged into the square before the castle to a baying crowd and strangled for witchcraft. Their minds were so broken by weeks of torture and imprisonment that they would confess to anything for their suffering to end.
Logan’s accusation may be implausible, but he saw fear on the faces of the onlookers in the hall and even Meyrick Campbell, a young man of about Conall’s age who should have known better, made the sign of the cross, with several other people following his example. Ignorance ruled many in this part of the Highlands, and it seemed some people were eager to embrace this man’s accusation as the truth and condemn without hesitation. In this way, the man’s lie was a murderous one. If he couldn't get rid of Monnine through the law, Logan wanted her dead in the most dreadful way.
Hate rose up in Rory, but he kept the anger out of his voice and spoke calmly. ‘She has unusual eyes, to be sure. I would call them lovely even, but I see no evil in them.’
‘Aye, you see no evil in anything with a cunny,’ said Logan Blythe bitterly.
Rory heard the scrape of a blade against Conall’s scabbard and put a hand on his arm quickly.
‘Careful now, Logan,’ replied Rory through gritted teeth, in a voice like a growl. His tone had Logan swallowing hard, for Rory had a reputation as a man you did not want to cross.
‘Forgive me, Laird, but that’s not all.’
He suddenly pulled down Monnine’s bodice, exposing the top of her breasts. He grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and thrust her forward towards Rory. She did not resist, just let him do as he would, as though she were a rag doll and there was no life in her at all.
‘Look, look at it.’ Logan pointed to the side of her breast and a small raised brown lump. He pinched it hard, causing the woman to flinch. ‘Tis a teat for suckling Satan’s imps. Clear as day, she has the mark of the Devil.’
‘Take your hands off her.’ Conall appeared beside them. He had pulled free his plaid and, pushing the man roughly off, he draped it around the woman to cover her shame.
Logan glowered at them both. ‘The devil sits on her shoulder. I can feel him, smell him.’
‘If you can feel the Devil so keenly, maybe it is you who should be burned for a witch,’ shouted Rory, rolling his eyes as he looked about the room, smiling at his clansmen. ‘And as to your troubles abed, I recommend you partake less of the whisky and ale which has probably robbed you of your ability to sire an heir. It happens to the best of us, does it not? Some nervous laughter ensued. ‘Especially to a worn-out old fellow like you,’ he said, pointing to Logan.
There was more laughter at his words. He could feel some of the tension easing. ‘You should find yourself a much older wife who won’t wear you out. I can recommend a good whorehouse where they can guarantee to raise the oldest and most tired of men.’
‘But she is a.…’
‘The mark is a common blemish, nothing more.’
Rory went over to Monnine’s father and spoke quietly in his ear. ‘This man is cruel to your daughter. The marriage is a failure so be decent and save her from this fool.’
‘I’ve five more daughters at home, and I’ll not take her back into my home, not with the Devil’s mark on her. Already my cows won’t milk, and they say a two-headed calf was born hereabouts and I know that the miller has a wound that won’t heal and .…’
‘You can’t believe that is your daughter’s doing. She is your own blood,’ hissed Rory, but he knew the worm would not budge.
