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‘I know a place that Conall took me to. I think I can remember the way, but we must get some horses, food and such, and I must tell Father Boyle where we have gone.’ She began dragging Monnine. ‘Get away from the loch. We are out in the open here. They might see you and your hair. Cover it. Hide nearby, deep in the bushes, and I will come back as soon as they are gone or as soon as I can slip out unnoticed.’
‘I can’t let you risk that, Kenna, not on my account.’
‘Tis no risk, and I’m quick and quiet. I will be back in no time. Now go and hide.’
Monnine shrank back into the undergrowth, and Kenna headed back to the castle, and it seemed to take her an age. She was so tired from running, and the wind was coming right at her, so she had to practically bend double to push onwards. She had no time to lose. Surely Conall and Rory would think of a way to deal with that awful man. But they might be some time hiding out, so she needed food and plenty of it. She was sure she could remember the way to the hunting lodge, and very few people knew of it, buried as it was so deep in the woods. But would poor Monnine ever be safe with this charge hanging over her head?
Rough hands came out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind. An arm came around her throat. She screamed, but it was lost over the howling wind, and then a hand covered her mouth. Kenna fought to get free, but his grip was too strong, and she was dragged back into the trees.
‘Quiet or I’ll hurt you,’ he rasped into her ear, breath foul, nails digging into her cheeks where he clamped her mouth tight. Kenna was dragged deeper into the woods, further from Dunslair and safety while her breathing became harder. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.
‘Is it her?’ Kenna recognised that voice, and her legs went weak under her. The man holding her spun her around, and she stared up into the face of the witchfinder. He was on horseback, flanked by the men she had seen in the yard. ‘Blonde, pretty, she fits the description.’
The man let go of her mouth and held up her hand triumphantly. ‘See her finger.’
‘Aye, he’s twisted it, as he’s twisted her soul,’ said the witchfinder triumphantly.
‘What are you doing? Let go of me. I’ve done nothing wrong.’ Her voice sounded so small, so far away.
‘Blind and gag her. I’ll not have her put a hex on us.’
‘Stop, please, I am wife to the Laird’s son. You can’t do this.’
‘You are accused of being a whore to the Devil, and trust me, lass, I can do this.’
A strip of cloth was forced into her mouth and pulled painfully tight and a sack placed over her head. Kenna tried to swallow, but fear gripped her, and she couldn’t. She was hoisted upwards onto a horse, its flanks warm and wet against her legs where her skirt rode up, and then someone got on behind her. As the horse moved off, she tried to grip on with her legs tight, so she was not thrown painfully against the saddle. She thought she might be sick. If she was, they would let her choke on it. She was sure of it.
A bony arm clutched her tightly around the waist, and then his mouth was against her ear. When he spoke, in her mind’s eye, she could see his pock-marked cheek pressed against hers through the sacking. ‘You are shivering, girl. Don’t fret. Soon, we will be lighting a big fire to warm you.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In his chamber, Rory paced back and forth before the fire. Half undressed for bed, he was growing cold in just his breeches, but he found he could not rest. Instead, he wanted to scream and rage and break things. How on earth had he allowed this to happen? If only he had been here to stop it, and then that poor girl would not be lost to them. Conall had gone off to try to discover her along with Murray and Duncan, who insisted he stay behind to guard Dunslair. Necessary though this was, Rory hated feeling helpless. He wanted act, to do something, anything to stop this anger and frustration raging in his head.
A light tap at the door broke him out of his thoughts, and when he opened it, Monnine stood there.
‘I don’t want to be alone. Please, may I sit with you?’
What fresh hell was this? Must she torture him with her beauty even now? Rory looked up and down the passageway. There was no one around, so he quickly ushered her inside.
‘It is my fault,’ she sobbed at once. ‘I brought all this on you when I came here. I bring bad luck, I should have gone and left you in peace, and now I have doomed Kenna.’
‘Hush Monnine, don’t.’ It could have been Monnine that the witchfinder took. She could have been wrenched out of his life, and Rory couldn’t bear the thought of it.
‘They will hurt her. They will try Kenna for a witch, and they won’t let her go. They never let you go.’
‘Duncan and the others have gone after them, and Conall will never allow any harm to come to her, I am sure of it. It is fortunate you saw them take her in the direction of the road south. At least we can guess that Edinburgh is their destination.’
‘But they have a two-day head start on Duncan.’
‘Aye, but they won’t be travelling fast, not if they have taken other unfortunate women with them to be tried. We can only hope that is the case and that we are looking in the right direction. We have put the word out to discover where they’re heading. And thank goodness they didn’t take you too.’
‘But they’ll burn her for a witch, Rory.’ Monnine had never said his name before. It sounded strange to his ears.
‘Kenna will soon be back with us, where she belongs, safe and sound. Come here, closer to the fire. I’ll get a dram to warm you.’
For some time, they stood in silence, staring into the flames, sunk in misery. Rory glanced over at Monnine and saw tears sliding down her cheeks. ‘How lovely she looks, even in her sadness,’ he thought. Rory reached over and took hold of her chin, and wiped the tears away with his thumb.
‘Life is so cruel,’ she said.
