Page 37 of Highland Fire

“Neither can you, dearling.”

“Mayhap not, but ’tis only me they are accusing. They would cut ye down to get to me, and I would still be taken. I decided I didnae really want to see ye die in some fruitless display of gallantry.”

“Which he may still try,” said Jeanne, stepping closer yet being very careful to stay out of a glaring Tavig’s reach. “I think he needs to be secured somewhere so that he doesnae try to set her free. She could yet use her spell to draw him back to her.”

“What are ye going to do with her?” he demanded as his wrists were tied behind his back.

“We will take her to the priest,” replied Geordie. “Father Matthew will ken what to do with her.”

Moira glanced toward Mary and Robert. Robert was frowning, and Mary had gone quite pale. It did not seem to Moira that they felt her chances of acquittal were very good. She had the sinking feeling she was about to meet a man who held tightly to superstition. The ease with which Jeanne had convinced the villagers that her wild accusations were true was also worrisome.

“We had best take her to the priest now,” Jeanne said. “We cannae risk her using her skills to escape.”

“’Tis late,” said Geordie. “The priest will be abed. I dinnae think we ought to wake him.”

“He will be pleased to be roused for this. Doesnae he always warn us about the devil’s allies? Now we can show him how vigilant we are.”

“More like what complete fools ye are,” said Robert, and he glared at Jeanne. “The priest also warns us to beware of whores, yet we havenae dragged ye before him for judgment yet.”

“She has ye all bewitched,” screamed Jeanne. “We will take them all to the priest.”

Jeanne marched to the door, urging everyone to follow. As Moira was dragged along, she glanced up at the loft. Robert and Mary’s five children watched in terror as their parents were toted away, but they obeyed their parents’ command to stay put. She then looked at Tavig. He appeared even more furious than the cursing Robert did. Moira knew that, whatever happened, Jeanne would pay for her trickery. She just wished she could find some strength in that knowledge. She had the feeling she would need all the strength she could muster.

Chapter Eleven

One look into Father Matthew’s cold gray eyes was all Moira needed to realize she would find no mercy from this man. It was hard to see if he believed any of Jeanne’s wild claims, but he was savoring the chance to flex his clerical muscle. Moira had the sinking feeling he saw in her a chance to enhance his prestige within the church.

“Ye cannae believe this foolishness,” Tavig cried. “The only one accusing my wife is no credible witness.”

“Ye cannae weaken the strength of the charge of witchcraft by attacking the victim of it,” the priest replied in a low, emotionless voice as he walked around Moira, his long robes sweeping along the rush-strewn floor of the tiny church.

“The only thing Jeanne is a victim of is her own vanity. She uses ye, all of ye, to wreak vengeance. Ye persecute an innocent to placate a scorned woman’s anger.”

“And why should Jeanne feel scorned?” Father Matthew asked, barely glancing at Tavig.

“Because I wouldnae take her to bed.”

“And ye accuse our Jeanne of vanity? I think ye suffer greatly from that sin.” He took a handful of Moira’s bright hair and let it slowly fall from his fingers. “Red hair. The mark of the devil.”

“That is just more foolishness. Many a person has red hair.”

“I have long believed that we are too lax in our vigilance in this land. The devil is allowed too free a rein.”

“’Tis Jeanne’s vicious tongue that has been allowed too free a rein. For God’s sweet sake, think of whom ye are heeding.”

As Tavig valiantly tried to discredit Jeanne and thus weaken the validity of her accusations, Moira watched the woman. Jeanne did an excellent job of displaying hurt and shock, as if each truth Tavig uttered about her was no more than vicious slander. Her eyes revealed her true feelings, however. In Jeanne’s eyes was the glitter of triumph.

Glancing around at the villagers only raised Moira’s hopes a tiny bit. They were heeding Tavig. Many of them began to look uncomfortable, sending Jeanne some very unfriendly glances. Mary had said that Jeanne had bedded nearly every man in the village, and they were obviously recalling that. If the looks on their faces were any indication, they were also recalling a great deal more about the woman they had so blindly followed, things Jeanne probably wished forgotten. No one made an effort to renounce his support of her claim, however. It was clear to the dimmest wits among them that the priest was ready, even eager, to fight a witch. Although they had all begun to change their minds, their fear of the priest kept them silent.

“Silence,” Father Matthew yelled, glaring at Tavig. “Ye give me many a reason to doubt Jeanne’s word, slandering her with every word ye utter.”

“’Tis no slander, but the truth,” Tavig snapped.

“Yet ye give me no reason to believe ye o’er Jeanne. Is the accused witch not your wife?”

“Aye, Moira is my wife. That doesnae lessen the truth of what I am saying.”

“Nay? Ye would say anything to save her. ’Tis part of the bewitchment. Ye should be more cautious, my lad. Ye have been carnal with a witch. That carries as heavy a penalty as being a witch.”