Читать книгу The Queen's Lady - Shannon Drake - Страница 10

GWENYTH WAS STUNNED.

She couldn’t believe that Mary would send her away. Of course the queen had her ladies, her Marys, but Gwenyth had believed that Mary depended on her for her friendship. As well, they had just arrived. Surely Mary needed her for her knowledge of Scotland.

Though she realized she was being presumptuous, Gwenyth told her thoughts to the queen. “I can’t leave you now. You need me with you.”

At that, Mary smiled. “Please, Gwenyth, have you no faith in me? I have been away since childhood, but I am extremely well-read, and I am also fortunate to have my brother James to advise me in all things. I intend to move very slowly and carefully. I’ll be journeying to many cities within the country soon, so I can meet more of my people. Gwenyth, I am not sending you away. I am placing the dearest desire of my heart in your hands.”

That was a staggering thought.

Elizabeth was more than a decade older than Mary. She had taken the throne at the age of twenty-five, after bearing witness to turmoil, battle and death for many years. She had even been incarcerated—in royal conditions, it was true, but incarcerated nonetheless—because there had been times when her older half sister, Bloody Mary Tudor, had feared a Protestant uprising. In time, Mary had died a natural death and Elizabeth had duly taken the throne. She was neither young nor naive, and she had gained a reputation as a powerful and judicial monarch. Mary of Scotland still believed in the heart—in her emotions—in the belief that wishing could make things right.

“I fear you set a task before me that I may not be adequate to achieve,” Gwenyth said.

“I ask of you what I can ask of no other person. Gwenyth, it will not be for so long. A few weeks in the Highlands, a few weeks journeying south, perhaps a month in London, and then you will return. You are perfect for what must be done. I am not expecting an official reply from Elizabeth. I am seeking merely to lay groundwork for the future, for all that the ministers and ambassadors hope to accomplish.”

“What if I fail you?”

“You will not,” Mary said, and that was that.

They were due to leave after services on Sunday.

Mary had already informed Laird Rowan of her intent, something that, Gwenyth was certain, sorely aggravated him, as well. Surely he could not welcome the task of being responsible for her safety. Her determination to attend two services, both the Catholic Mass and her own Protestant rite, was intended at least in part to irritate him, as it would no doubt make their departure later than he had intended.

However, her plans went immediately astray.

She had wisely known she mustn’t attend the great kirk in Edinburgh where the fiery John Knox was the preacher, so she rode out with several other Protestant members of Mary’s court to the smaller, very plain chapel that lay just a few miles to the southwest of the city.

The minister’s name was David Donahue; he was a man of about fifty, and appeared to be soft spoken and gentle. But as he began his sermon, Gwenyth knew that she was in trouble. He was what the Marys laughingly called a pounder.

From the moment he began his vindictive tirade against the taint of Papists in the land, he was pounding his lectern. And he stared straight at Gwenyth as he did so. Then he pointed at her.

“Those who worship false idols are blasphemers! They live in blasphemy, and they are like a curse upon this land. They are akin to the witches who call upon dark evil and rancor and death.”

Shocked at first, Gwenyth sat still. But as his words reverberated, she stood.

She pointed at him in return, seething with fury. Her mind seemed to be moving at a maddened pace; she wanted to choose her words carefully, but that proved impossible, for she was inwardly burning, as if she were about to combust.

“Those who believe that God is their friend, and their friend alone, who dare to think He whispers what is right and wrong in their ears alone, they are the taint upon this land. None of us knows for a fact what His divine purpose may be. Those who condemn others and see no fault in themselves, they are dangerous and evil. When a land is blessed with a monarch who sees clearly that no one will know God until called before Him, who wants to allow her people to see goodness as they will, then the inhabitants of that land should bow down and be grateful. Sometimes, I fear, it may well be a pity that she is so kind and wise that no blood will be spilled.”

After she finished speaking, she stared at him for a moment longer, then swung around and stumbled over her neighbors in her haste to exit the pew.

The whole congregation reacted with shocked silence. She felt it keenly as she walked with as much dignity as she could muster down the aisle.

Just as she was about to exit the church, she froze, for fierce pounding was coming from the podium once again.

“Satan’s witch!” the reverend bellowed.

She turned. “I’m very sorry you think so, reverend, for you have impressed me as being a servant of Satan yourself,” she said with far more calm than she felt.

“This will stop now!”

Gwenyth was stunned when she saw Laird Rowan Graham rise from a pew toward the front of the church. He stared at the reverend, then at her. “There will no casting of vindictive accusations by any party within this house of God. Reverend Donahue, speak to our souls, but do not let the pulpit become your venue for personal attack or political arousal. Lady Gwenyth—”

“He attacked the queen!” she raged.

“And he will no longer do so,” Rowan declared. He turned back to the reverend. “Our queen shows nothing but tolerance for other beliefs and encourages the Scottish Kirk. She has asked only to be left to cleave to the religion she has known since a child. She will never tell others what they must feel or believe in their hearts. Let us respect her mind and steadfastness, and worry about our own souls.”

Gwenyth could only imagine how all the parishioners would be talking that evening. At the moment, however, they were all simply sitting, shocked and perhaps a bit excited, as they awaited the next lines of the scandalous scene unfolding before them.

But the show was over, Gwenyth thought with relief, as she virtually stumbled out into the day. Amazingly, the sun was shining.

She hurried along the broken stepping stones that led from the church and wound between the long rows of graves, both ancient and new. At the low wall that enclosed the church-yard, she paused, grasping the stone for support, gasping for breath.

The next thing she knew, brisk footsteps were heading her way. She looked up and saw without surprise that Rowan had followed her from the church.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” he demanded heatedly.

“What was I doing?” she repeated incredulously. “Reverend Donahue was attacking your queen.”

“And many ministers throughout the land will be doing so for some time to come. She is a Catholic. When Scots embrace something, they do so with a reckless abandon, and such is their feeling now for the church that bears their country’s name. You are but adding flame to a fire that already burns far too high. You attend Mass with the queen, then come to this church.”

“I have chosen the Protestant faith,” she said indignantly. “I attend Mary when she goes to Mass because I am sworn to accompany her wherever she goes.”

“She would understand if you did not.”

“It would show a lack of support for her choice.”

“You would show that you honor hers but have made your own.”

“You’re telling me every man, woman and child in this country is a Protestant?” she said. “So suddenly? It is but a year since the edict went through. What are we, then, sheep? Does no one think for him or herself? This morning we honored the Church of Rome. Tonight we honor that of Scotland. Tomorrow, good God, will we begin worshiping the goat gods of the ancient past? You, Laird Rowan, did nothing to speak up in defense of the queen.”

He folded his arms over his chest, staring down at her and shaking his head. “Do you think I have the power to force people to change their minds? Should I have demanded to meet an elderly white-haired preacher in the churchyard for a duel?”

“You should have spoken up.”

“And added fuel to his fire? Don’t you see? He wants a fight. If you ignore those who would degrade Queen Mary, you give them nothing with which to support their savage anger.”

“He pointed at me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“You should have listened quietly and pretended to find his words unworthy of response.”

“I can’t do that,” she said flatly.

“Then it is good that we are leaving.”

“Are you such a coward, then?” she asked, still seething as she looked up to meet his eyes.

She saw them narrow with a fury he nevertheless controlled. “I am not young, and I am not reckless. I know the mood of the people. I know that trying to silence a minister at his pulpit will only make him cry the louder, and his cries will then enter into the souls of his congregation, for they will believe his words. Your outburst will be seen only as proof of what he said. There are others inside who would have spoken later, quietly and with thought. They—and I—would have said the queen is proving herself to be a font of kindness, justice and the deepest concern for her people. Our measured words would have echoed far more resoundingly and effectively than your angry retort.”

She looked away. “He called me a witch. How dare he?”

Rowan sighed deeply. “If we can all rise above what is said by those who seek to disrupt the country with their own fanaticism, all will end as it should. The queen will not be swayed from her stance, I am certain. And, yes, there are other Catholics in the country—that is what angers men like the reverend. They fear there will be a revolt, an uprising.” He hesitated. “Pray God, Mary does not continue her quest for a marriage with Don Carlos of Spain.”

Gwenyth stared at him, deeply troubled. She had thought Mary’s contemplation of marriage to the Spanish heir was not known—even by James Stewart. She shook her head. “She has stated that she believes a union with a Protestant in her own country would be best.”

“Let us pray, then, that such all alliance comes to pass. It will be best, however, if she establishes her own rule first. Now, there is your horse,” he said, pointing. “Let us return to Holyrood, then depart for the Highlands.”

He caught her hand and led her to her mare, Chloe—who had indeed headed back to the stables after the ill-fated hunt. She might have chosen another mount after what had happened, but Gwenyth was resolute that she and Chloe would become a team. She could hardly blame the horse for its fear; the boar had certainly given her cause for terror, as well.

She didn’t need assistance to reach the saddle, but as he was determined to give it, she decided not to opt for another argument.

“You did not defend me or the queen,” she accused him again, as he mounted and rode up beside her.

“I defended you both,” he told her curtly. “I am responsible for you.”

“You do not have to be responsible for me. I am quite capable of being responsible for myself.”

She was surprised when he offered her an amused smile. “Really? In that case, I think perhaps you are a witch.”

“Don’t say that!”

He laughed. “It was intended as a compliment—of sorts. You have the ability to sway and enchant—and certainly to create a whirlwind.”

He kneed his horse, moving ahead of her. She seethed, wishing she could drag the reverend out by his hair and tell him that he was small-minded and evil. She was equally angry at Rowan, and dismayed that she must now be in his company for days. Weeks.

Months.

“I think I should speak with Queen Mary once more before we depart,” she said as they reached Holyrood.

“Oh?”

“We shall surely kill one another in the time that stretches before us. I must ask her again to release me from your company.”

“Do your best,” he told her. “It certainly slows me down to have you in tow.”

It was true, and she knew it. It didn’t matter. Something about the offhand way he spoke made her long to rip his hair out.

“You could speak to her, too,” she reminded him.

“I tried.”

“You didn’t try hard enough.”

“Lady Gwenyth, I have been on this earth several years longer than you. I know how to go to battle, with a sword—and with words. I have learned when it is best to retreat, so that battle may be waged again. I’ve studied the history of this country that I love so dearly. I am not reckless, and I know when to fight. I have lost my argument with the queen. You are free to take up arms again. I, however, wish to be gone within the hour,” he told her.

Gwenyth tried. She found Mary in the small receiving chamber, where James was reporting to her about the sermon Knox had given that day. The man hadn’t accepted her or her ideals, but he had admitted from his pulpit that she was keenly intelligent and clever—misguided, and therefore still a thorn in the country’s side, but a ruler they must ever try to sway to the True Belief.

Mary seemed amused. And her smile deepened when she saw Gwenyth. “Ah, my fierce little hummingbird,” she said laughing. “Ready to battle the entire Church of Scotland in my defense.”

Gwenyth stopped in the doorway, frowning. How had word gotten back so quickly?

Mary rose, setting her embroidery aside, and walked forward to hug Gwenyth. “I will miss you so dearly,” she said, drawing away but still holding Gwenyth’s hands.

“I needn’t go,” Gwenyth said.

“Yes, you must,” Mary said. She flashed a glance at James. “Perhaps it is particularly important that you leave now.”

“I but defended Your Grace,” Gwenyth said.

“You are ever loyal, and I am grateful. I, too, am furious with the zealots who are so blind that they cannot see beyond their own narrow interests. But were I to forcibly silence them, I might well create an uprising, so I will just let them speak and hope to create a climate in which they are forced to silence themselves. Now, are you ready for your journey? Are you anxious to see your home?”

No, Gwenyth thought, she was not. She had neither father nor mother left to her, only a strict, dour uncle to whom duty meant everything in the world. Her home was a crude rock fortress virtually surrounded by the sea. The people there fished, eeled and tended a few rugged sheep for their livelihood, or eked out a living from the harsh, rocky earth. Usually they were happy. They had families, loved ones. In her uncle’s eyes, however, she deserved no such frivolity; she had duty to occupy her. Angus MacLeod was surely loved by the fierce John Knox.

“I am anxious about you, Your Grace,” she said.

Mary’s smile deepened. “I am blessed, truly. You must go.”

Gwenyth admitted to herself that she was not going to win the argument. Rowan had known it. Now she was going to have to hurry to be ready by his deadline. And she would not allow herself to be late, to give him any opportunity to wear that look of irritated, forced patience because of her.

“Then…adieu.”

“You’ll return quickly,” Mary assured her. “It seems long, but it will not really be so.”

Gwenyth nodded. They hugged, and then she was startled when Laird James came over to say a warm farewell to her. He was not a man prone to easy displays of affection, she knew, and she was pleased when he awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Go with God, Lady Gwenyth. You will be missed.”

She smiled and thanked him. Then she fled the chamber before the tears she felt welling up in her eyes could spill. This was life, she told herself brusquely. When Mary had been but a child, she had been sent overseas, without her mother, to meet the man she would wed whether she liked him or not. Women were sent from place to place constantly to honor marriage contracts—and often, it was as if they had been sold to horrid beasts.

Her heart froze for a moment. Customarily, despite the fact that her father’s title was hers, her great-uncle Angus had the power to decide her future. She could only thank God that because of her position at court, Mary had to approve any plan for her life.

Mary would never force anything heinous upon her. Would she?

No. Even now, Mary had but sent her on a journey to feel out the chance for a friendship with her cousin, the powerful English queen. She had never forced her will on any of her ladies.

Except now. Then Gwenyth chided herself for the uncharitable, even traitorous, thought.

In her room, the little private chamber she so loved, she found a middle-aged, slightly stout woman awaiting her. She had cherubic cheeks, a warm smile and an ample bosom. “My lady, I’m Annie, Annie MacLeod, actually, though any relationship is certainly quite distant.” She grinned, a rosy and cheerful expression, and said, “I am to accompany you and serve you, if you will grant me the honor.”

Gwenyth smiled. At last, here was someone who seemed to be nothing but cheerful and nice—and glad to be with her.

“I am delighted to have you, Annie.”

“I’ve sent your trunk down to our small caravan. I am ready, my lady, when you are.”

So this was it.

She had dressed for the long day’s ride when she had headed to the kirk, expecting to leave feeling refreshed and blessed by the word of God. Instead…No matter, will it or nil it, she was ready.

“Annie, it is time. We need to be on our way.”

She closed the door to her sanctuary within Holyrood. It was with a heavy heart that she hurried down the stone stairs and out to the courtyard where the packhorses, the small retinue of guards—and Laird Rowan—awaited.

AT LEAST THE LADY GWENYTH was not an elderly or sickly ward, Rowan thought. On his own, he could easily make fifty miles in a day. If he’d had to move with a coach and a great deal of baggage, he would have been slowed almost to a stop. As it was, the Lady Gwenyth had shown herself pleasantly capable of packing lightly. The cheerful woman chosen to accompany her was far greater a burden, actually, albeit through no fault of her own. She was a decent enough horsewoman, comfortable on her placid mount, but as she had not spent endless hours in the saddle before, Rowan was forced to stop regularly so they might stretch their legs, sup and rest.

On his own, he might have made Stirling on that first day. With the women, he thought it best to spend his first night at Linlithgow Palace, which sat almost midway between Edinburgh and Stirling.

At the gates, he was greeted by an armed guard, recognized and welcomed. The castle steward, knowing Gwenyth’s name and position, was both curious and charmed. Though they had arrived late, he and Gwenyth were ushered into the massive great hall, while their four-man escort was shown to berths above the stables, and Annie and his man were brought to the kitchen to eat and then given beds in the servants’ quarters. He and Gwenyth stayed awake talking with the steward, Amos MacAlistair, for the robust fellow was fond of telling how Queen Mary had been born at the palace, though alas her father had died just six days later. Rowan watched Gwenyth as she listened, rapt, smiling, as the old man talked about Mary as an infant. Rowan decided the day had gone well—especially considering the morning. He and Gwenyth had kept a polite distance for the long ride, and he hoped they could keep moving on in similar harmony.

The next evening was equally fine, for they were greeted by the steward of Stirling Castle, and accorded equal consideration and respect. Gwenyth seemed to love Stirling, and, indeed, the castle was impressive and the town beautiful. People whispered about their arrival in the streets; Gwenyth smiled as she saw the townsfolk, calling out greetings. She was, he had to admit, a charming unofficial ambassador for her queen, even here.

It wasn’t until the next afternoon, when they were on their way to the Highlands, that the journey took a foul turn.

They had come to the small village of Loch Grann, though the loch was really no more than a small pool. As they rode along, nearing the village, they could hear shouting.

Gwenyth, who had ridden abreast with Annie most of the way, trotted her mare forward to reach his side. “What is the commotion?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

She kneed her horse and rode ahead of him.

“Will you wait?” he called in aggravation.

Following Gwenyth, he passed several charming cottages, a kirk and the unimpressive building that passed as the thane’s manor here, and then reached the village center, where a narrow stream trickled through.

Gwenyth had reined in, horror evident on her face.

He immediately saw why. The shouting was coming from a mob of townspeople, urged on by what appeared to the local thane’s men-at-arms. The object of their derision was a young woman bound to a stake, with faggots and branches piled at her feet. She was stripped down to a white gown of sheer linen; her long dark tresses were in sad tangles; and the look on her face was one of utter defeat and anguish.

“They are going to burn her!” Gwenyth exclaimed in horror.

“She has probably been convicted of witchcraft, or perhaps of heresy,” Rowan informed her.

She looked at him, those immense golden eyes of her alive with indignation. “Do you believe in such ridiculousness?” she demanded.

“I believe that even your precious queen believes in it,” he said softly.

“But…tried here?” she demanded. “Not in Edinburgh? By what law? Whose law?”

“Local, I daresay.”

“Then you must stop them.”

He had to wonder what he would have done had she not been with him. He was frequently appalled by the harshness of the Scottish laws. As a lad, he had seen a young man hanged at St. Giles in Edinburgh, his crime no greater than the theft of a leg of lamb. His father had told him sadly then that such was the law; he could not stop the execution.

He did not believe in superstition, or that certain women had the evil eye, and before God, he certainly did not believe it was possible to make a pact with the Devil. But there were laws….

“Do something!” Gwenyth cried. “Please, Rowan, they are about to light the fires.”

“Hold, and watch at the ready,” he told Gavin, head of their escort.

She had never before called him by his given name, Rowan realized, and in her eyes there was nothing but honest and sincere entreaty. Emotions, he thought; they become the downfall of us all.

He spurred his horse forward, a display of power as he raced through the townspeople to confront the churchmen. “What is this mockery of justice?” he demanded angrily. “What right have you to impose the sentence of execution?”

As he had hoped, the size and evident breeding of his horse and the colors he wore indicated his association with the royal house. Most of the crowd fell back in silence, but one black-clad minister stepped toward him. “I am reverend of the kirk here, my laird. She has been duly tried and found guilty.”

“Duly tried? What manner of court do you have here? Is it authorized by the queen?” Rowan demanded.

“It was a local matter,” the man protested.

He looked around. The crowd had remained silent. The only sound came from the young woman at the stake, who was sobbing softly.

“Release her,” he said quietly.

“But…but she has been tried.”

“By no proper court. In a matter of life and death, according to the dictates of both law and conscience, my good man, you surely know you should seek higher authority.”

The pastor looked more closely at Rowan, noted his colors and the presence of his armed escort, and took a small step back. “You are Rowan Graham, Laird of the Far Isles?” he asked uneasily.

“Aye. Sworn to the Stewarts of Scotland.”

The pastor arched a brow. “The French Stewart?”

“The Queen of Scotland. And I have long ridden at the side of James Stewart, Earl of Mar, the greatest law of our land, our regent following the death of the queen’s mother.”

A woman stepped forward. She was middle-aged and stout, and despite the set look of her jaw, he felt sorry for her. She was worn, looking to be a bitter woman whose life had held little joy.

“Ye do nae understand, great laird. She looked at me. Liza Duff looked at me and gave me her evil stare, and my pig died the next day,” the woman said.

A man found courage and joined her. “My babe took sick with the cough after Liza Duff looked at me.”

“Did no one else look at you?” he queried sharply. “Good people! Life is God’s domain. Do you so easily feel it your right, without seeking the highest authority in the land, to condemn any woman or man to so heinous a death because misfortune has befallen you?”

He reached into his sporran, seeking a few gold coins, which he cast down before the two who had spoken. “Buy more pigs,” he said to the embittered matron. “And you,” he told the man. “Perhaps there is some medicine that you can buy.”

They scrambled for the gold coins, clutching them. The pastor stared at him.

Gwenyth rode forward, staring down at the pastor before turning to Rowan. “She cannot remain here,” she said. “If she is so despised,” she said softly, “they will take your gold, then try her again tomorrow, and we will only have delayed her execution.”

She was right.

He looked down again at the pastor. “I will bring this woman, Liza Duff, to my homestead, where she may serve in my household. Should we find there is truth in your accusations, she will be brought to Edinburgh to stand trial before the proper authority.”

He wasn’t sure he needed to have added the last; his gold and status seemed to have turned the tide in their direction.

“That sounds a fair and solid proposition. She will no longer be here to torment the tenants of this village,” the churchman said.

“See her brought down,” Rowan said. “Now.”

“And,” Gwenyth added quietly, “see that she is given a decent dress for traveling, and I believe we will need a horse.”

Rowan stared at her, surprised but also amused.

The pastor began to protest. “We’re to pay to see that a witch lives?”

“Laird Rowan has just cast before you a sum more than ample to purchase a horse and a few pieces of clothing,” Gwenyth said pleasantly. “Even after purchasing many pigs and the services of a decent physician.”

There was silence. Then the men nearest the pyre set about releasing the young woman from the stake.

As the ropes holding her upright were released, she started to fall. Gwenyth was instantly off her horse, racing forward. While the men might have handled her roughly, had they deigned to help her at all, Gwenyth showed an admirable strength mixed with gentleness, allowing the young woman to lean against her as she moved back to the horses. She looked up at Rowan. “She can’t ride alone. And we need to be on our way, I believe.”

Before someone changes his mind.

He could see the last in her eyes, though she did not speak the words aloud.

“A horse,” he said firmly. “For when she regains her strength. And clothing.”

A horse was brought, a bundle given to Gwenyth, and then the pastor and his flock all stepped back. Again Gwenyth looked at him, and Rowan could read her eyes. The girl would indeed need to regain her strength before she could ride on her own. They would lead the animal meant for her use until she could handle a horse on her own.

If she even knew how to ride.

If not…they would take the horse anyway.

He dismounted, took the young woman—who was looking at him with dazed and worshipful eyes—and set her upon his horse. He would have assisted Gwenyth to mount—as their guard of armed men continued to wait at a discreet distance at his command—but she was too quick, and was back on her mare before he could offer his help. “In future, take care what justice you decide to mete out on your own, pastor,” he warned very quietly. “I will be back this way.”

With that, he rode to Gwenyth’s side, the “witch” sitting before him like a limp rag doll.

They proceeded at a walk, lest any haste cause a change of heart and incur pursuit—something that he could see Gwenyth understood from the glance he cast her way—until they were well past the eyes of the villagers.

“Now let us put some distance between us,” he ordered once they had passed the limits of the village and, as they hadn’t yet reached the rocky tors of the true Highlands, they were able to make good time. Strange winds and early cold were bedeviling Scotland that year, but the wicked ice and snow had not yet fallen, and that too, helped them as they rode.

Finally he reined in near a copse of trees close by a small brook, lifting a hand to the others. The small party halted.

“Ooh, me aching bones,” Annie protested.

Gavin dismounted, helping the ungainly woman from her perch.

“They’ll nae be a pursuit, Laird Rowan,” Gavin said, shaking his head, his disapproval for the village obvious.

“I agree, Gavin,” Rowan told his man. “But it’s always best to get a distance from the scene of any trouble.”

After dismounting, he was careful to lift the girl down slowly. Annie, clucking in concern, went to help her, as did Gwenyth.

“Some wine, please?” Gwenyth said, looking to the men.

“Aye, my lady, immediately,” Dirk, one of the other guards, assured her.

Rowan set the woman on the soft pine-needle-covered floor of the copse, her back resting against a sturdy tree. She stared at Gwenyth, and Rowan thought his charge indeed looked like some angel of mercy come to earth, for in the dim light, with rays of sun arrowing through the canopy of branches and leaves, her hair was shimmering as if it were spun gold, and her eyes were alight with compassion. She had a leather skin of wine, and brought it to the young woman’s lips.

“Sip slowly,” Gwenyth said softly.

Liza did so, staring at her all the while. And when Gwenyth took the skin from her, lest she choke or become ill from too much too soon, she said, “God will bless you, for I am innocent, I swear it. Old Meg was not angry about her pig. She believed I cast a spell to seduce her wretched lout of a husband. I am innocent, before God, I am. And I owe you my life and my deepest loyalty forever,” she vowed brokenly.

“Well, let’s get you strong again…and into some decent clothing. You may use those trees over there for privacy,” Gwenyth said.

“I’ll be helpin’ the lass,” Annie assured her, and the two of them walked deeper into the copse.

Gwenyth knew Rowan was staring at her, and she flushed. “I believe she is innocent,” she murmured. “I find it ridiculous to believe that God has granted some people the powers to simply look upon another and cause evil.”

He sighed. “Ah, lass. You’d be surprised what evil can exist merely in the mind.”

“That woman is no witch.” She paused, then said softly, “Thank you.”

Would I have stopped such an obvious injustice had you not been with me? he wondered.

“I did as you wished today,” he told her, “because I don’t believe the trial was justly conducted or that the pastor had the right to condemn her to death. Such a grave penalty is held for the higher courts to dispense. But, my lady, I am sorry to say that people have often been put to death for the crime of witchcraft. Whether you believe in it or not, it is punishable by execution, for it goes hand in hand with heresy. And I will remind you again that the very queen you so adore believes in witchcraft, as does Lord James. As a rule, I believe the Stewart clan holds a belief in curses and hexes.”

She smiled. “Laird Rowan, you are, I know, a well-read and learned man. I know, as you do, that there are some who believe themselves able to create dolls, prick them and draw blood from others. Those who think they can brew up herbs and make magical potions. But you surely know, as well as I, that most of those accused of such evil craft are nothing more than healers who know the potency of certain herbs and flowers. Evil has too often been done to those who would do their best to help others, all because of what men believe, rather than what is known.”

“Be that as it may, if you brew a potion, you risk being accused of witchcraft, which means a pact with the devil. And heresy,” he said wearily.

“It is such foolishness—”

“It is the law.”

She nodded and said flatly, “Thank you. Our discussion has been most enlightening.”