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‘Yes, yes, get on with it,’ snapped the judge.
‘To my eternal shame and damnation, I love her still, but it is all for nought. This woman is not worthy of my love. She is not worthy of your mercy, for I have come to know that she is a she-wolf, a whore and a sorceress.’
***
Meyrick was warming to his subject. On and on, he went, telling all that Kenna had seduced him, taken his free will and his conscience from him, until his desire for her consumed him, until he was her slave and completely under her power. Restrained by the guards, all Conall could do was stare at Kenna’s stricken face, his eyes locked on hers, willing her to be strong.
Meyrick was describing exactly how it felt to fall in love with Kenna, for when it had truly hit him, Conall had felt the same thing. Love did consume you. It took the man you once were and tore him to shreds and then put a new man in its place, a better, stronger, kinder one. But it had not taken all of the old Conall. One thing remained - his dark anger, and as Meyrick continued spouting his bile, his words of condemnation falling one after the other like poisonous rain, cruel, vile, filthy, that anger uncoiled in Conall and became a blind rage.
‘When Kenna Moncur was brought to Dunslair by Conall Campbell, a known lecher and seducer,’ Meyrick spat, ‘I pitied her for she was alone and defenceless, at his mercy, or so I thought. In truth, it was the other way around. I made it my business to look out for her but little did I know that she was already using Conall to connive her way into marriage to a wealthy clan, something far loftier than the suitor her father had arranged. She had long since abandoned him for richer pickings. She was lying with Conall when she came to me at night, inducing me to lie with her too, offering herself to me, exposing her nakedness before me.’
This drew gasps from the crowd and lewd comments directed at Kenna.
‘That is a lie,’ screamed Kenna.
‘Weak with lust, I gave in to her sinfulness again and again. When we copulated, she would cry out incantations, summoning the Devil, feeding his evil with her sins.’
‘No, I did not. It’s a lie. Meyrick, please, stop…please Meyrick.’
Conall punched and fought his way free of his captors and reached the front of the room to stand next to his father.
‘I wish to speak. I must be allowed to speak in defence of my wife.’
‘No,’ shouted Meyrick. ‘He is under her power. He will say whatever she wants him to say.’
Duncan took a step forward and put his hand on the hilt of his sword, and Conall heard the scrape of swords being drawn around the room.
‘Very well, speak if you must,’ sneered the judge.
‘Kenna has lain with no one but me. She was a virgin on our wedding night. Give me a bible, and I will swear on it by all that is holy. She has only lain with me since.’
‘She has turned his mind with her dark arts. He can’t say that for certain,’ screamed Meyrick.
‘Oh yes, I can, being such a lecher and seducer of women…your words Meyrick. I know the difference between a maid or not, and I was the first I tell you. Kenna is good and kind and was naïve enough to think this liar was her friend. He may well be telling the truth when he said he loved her, but she never returned that love, and now it has twisted him into this pathetic, lying wretch you see before you. He is unwanted and unloved, barely even a man at all. Meyrick is a snivelling dog in the pay of Ross Moncur, who is but a murderous bastard, who imprisoned me and tortured and starved me. Kenna set me free, saved my life and….’
‘Oh, enough of this blather,’ drawled Braxfield. ‘You are obviously in thrall to her pretty face, for why else would you marry the daughter of a man who imprisoned you, from a ruined, impoverished clan? Such a union brings dishonour to your family. Continue,’ he said to Meyrick
Conall looked over at his father. Duncan’s face was unreadable, and all he did was shake his head. What did he mean? Were they lost then? Was there not some argument they could put forward if they were allowed to speak? Surely his father would not allow himself to be shouted down like this?
‘Witches are notorious for having familiars, are they not,’ drawled Meyrick, ‘foul creatures summoned from hell to do their bidding. Kenna has familiars. I have seen it.’ He paused for effect. ‘She runs with hares in the fields, the Devil’s creatures.’
The rabble gasped as one.
‘Everyone knows they are the Devil's familiars. She runs with them, I say, and she set one to spook a man’s horse, to make it fall and kill him because he dared to name her as a whore. You think she is innocent, for she is so fair. Look at her face, how beautiful it is. What man would not melt at such a face? But think on this. Would the Devil come to you as an old, withered hag? No, this one has a face and body a man wants to gorge on. Kenna Moncur was born to a cursed clan and is the Devil’s seed. She doomed her poor mother and unless you burn her, that curse will fall on you. You will all be cursed too. Everyone in this room is going to hell unless she dies.’
There was uproar in the court, people screaming and gasping, hands to their faces in horror, many making the sign of the cross.
‘Enough, enough I say,’ bellowed Lord Blaxfield. ‘I have heard enough. The evidence of guilt is damning. The Bible tells us ‘thou shall not let a sorceress live.’ Prepare yourself, Kenna Moncur, for you are hereby found guilty of witchcraft and, for your sins, you will hang at dawn tomorrow. May the good Lord have mercy on your soul.’
This could not be. It could not end like this. He had to do something. Conall drew his sword and shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Quiet.’ There was so much rage in that voice that everyone hushed. ‘If it pleases the court, I would speak.’
‘Nothing you say will change anything. The witch is guilty and sentenced. Consider yourself lucky to escape her clutches and all the evil she would have brought down on you.’
‘You want a life, Lord. You can have one. Take mine. I will hang in her place.’
The whole room became as quiet and tense as the grave. This was something they hadn’t seen before. Pleas for mercy, confessions dripping with hate from those condemned, curses flung out or tearful begging from those desperate not to die, but not this.
‘Hold your tongue, Conall,’ snapped Duncan.
