Page 9 of Flanders’ Folly (The Curse of Clan Ross #7)

9

WITCH HUNTING WITH FRIENDS

* * *

T he rain came down like icy needles, soaking into Flanders’ woolen cover despite the tight weave. It was fitting, this weather, because it mirrored his mood to a fine point. Relentless rain, relentless rage, relentless sorrow.

The trail was little more than a ribbon of mud and pine needles winding through the trees not far from their own watchtower. But each step forward brought him and his sword closer to the Rat Laird. And closer to rescuing Brigid’s sister. It was the least he could do for her now.

A long two hours after they left Todlaw, they left their horses hidden in a copse of trees on the southern slope that faced the enemy’s fort. From their vantage point, it was clear to see that the witch-hunting party was searching west and north. More than a hundred torches flickered inside the tree line and moved in slow, steady waves. And on the distant mountain, men on horseback moved south, hemming in woman and animal alike.

How had they not found her by now?

Flanders soothed his nervous horse with a pat and a quiet word, then turned to Robert and Mael.

“Keep yer chins down,” he warned. “If anyone recognizes me, this will be over before it begins.”

Robert adjusted his wet covering to keep his face further away from the dripping edge. “No one here kens my face. And Mael’s known to them. We’ll get through. Ye just follow behind us like an obedient laddie, aye?”

Mael nodded, his face pale with worry. He hadn’t planned to return at all, so it was a brave service he did now. Hopefully, they wouldn’t come across any man who suspected him, and if they did, perhaps the excitement of the day would make them forget.

They moved carefully down toward the main road, picking their way through the mud and underbrush. The rain had lessened to the odd drip and a fine mist that muffled their footsteps, but Flanders’ heart pounded loudly enough to betray them. He forced himself to breathe slowly, evenly, as they reached the edge of the trees and stepped calmly across the wide road.

A voice called out sharply, and three soldiers appeared from the west, torches sputtering. “Who goes there?” demanded the lead man, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Mael stepped forward and pulled back his hood enough to be recognized. “Only me. Mael. Come to join the hunt.”

The soldier’s expression softened with recognition. “Aye, a familiar face, then, but who are these two?”

“Friends from the south. Eager to see a witch burn. They were too late for the first.”

The soldier eyed them briefly, then nodded. “Then they’ll have to help find her first. Can’t be long now. She’s surely cornered.” He gestured to the west and north, then he and his fellows moved back to watch the road from the shelter of the trees.

Flanders clenched his jaw against the fury that threatened to escape from his mouth and forced himself to walk steadily in the direction they’d been given. He kept his eyes fixed on the muddy ground until they were well out of sight, resisting the urge to slit all three throats.

A woman’s scream stunned them to a stop. From due north, it had come, followed by the sound of a hundred men rushing through the forest in that direction. There would be a mob, soon, full of men who would recognize him.

He nodded to Mael. “Go. See what ye can learn. We’ll wait here, or very near. Return to us if ye can.”

Without hesitation, their devoted spy hurried off toward the scream, along with half the mountain. Staying put and not rushing to Bella’s aid was torture, but he could help her better if he weren’t taken in chains himself.

He and Robert moved deeper into the trees to avoid notice. When they heard others moving close, they inserted their swords into shadows and bushes, pretending to be searching. Each moment dragged slowly as they strained to hear.

God’s ears, what is happening?

A second, piercing scream shattered the air. This time, from well to the east.

Men shouted and the cacophony of breaking branches shifted that direction, along with the sporadic flicker of distant torches.

Robert frowned his way. “Are they huntin’ more than one woman, then?”

Flanders immediate thought of Thomas and Torquil, but neither of those screams had come from a man. The question was, had they come from a woman?

He replayed the sound in his head. There was something odd about it. Like unto a woman’s scream, aye, but there was something familiar about it.

A trait akin to a sound he’d heard before…in those very woods. The cry of wee plants as they grew at an unnatural pace.

“The scream,” he breathed. “It’s magic. Muir magic. Bella must still live.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “How can ye be sure?”

Flanders smiled grimly. “I’ve heard that sound before, when the sisters made the plants grow. She’s using her magic and the forest, to confuse them. If I had to guess, I would say that was the sound a tree makes when forced to grow very fast.”

Robert nodded slowly, clearly trying to believe him. “Clever lass.”

Flanders moved to a spot where he could watch the hunters moving. The men further up the mountain were closing in. The trap was closing in. There couldn’t be much ground left uncovered.

How had they not found her?

“She’s sent them north,” he said quietly. “Now west. And none believes she’s gone south. So…”

“The lass is east?”

“And what is east?”

Robert’s expression cleared. “Gallabrae.”

“Aye. She’s still inside the palisades. They’re looking in the wrong place.”

* * *

Without another word, they moved swiftly toward the fortress, keeping to the shadows of the trees. The closer they came, the greater the activity. Twice they changed direction to avoid meeting another hunting party head on. At one point, they dared not take another step until they took stock of the danger.

Not twenty feet away, three men spoke clearly, one of them recounting the missing witch’s mad dash across the stream the night before. Another man claimed he’d seen her leap straight from the ground to the top of a tree. The third said he wouldn’t sleep until he’d watched her burn and the danger was gone.

If Bella was inside the fort, the first two were lying. She’d never left. And if the third wished for a peaceful sleep, Flanders would be happy to oblige him and every other coward in Stephan’s ranks.

One of the three caught sight of them. “Oy! Ye there, show yer faces!”

Flanders lowered his chin slightly, as did Robert. Their hoods shadowed their features, but they watched the enemy carefully and stepped forward as if complying, their every muscle coiled and ready to strike. For a heartbeat, Flanders thought the soldier was looking straight at him and a fight was inevitable—but no, the man’s focus jumped to someone moving up from behind.

A smaller man shouldered past him. It was Mael.

After a moment’s hesitation, the soldier relaxed. Their spy kept walking as if he’d hardly noticed the trio. Flanders and Robert fell into step behind.

Without pause, Mael led them to the palisade wall, then south to the corner, and around to the front gate. Flanders thought it best to keep his head down and trust the man—then he was suddenly incapable of coherent thought when his attention caught on the massive black muddle just east of the gate.

No sign of a wooden stake, but clearly, this was where they’d murdered Brigid. Acrid smoke still lingered in the air along with the trace of sulfur and something more bitter that he couldn’t identify. And though he braced himself for the smell of burnt flesh, there was none of that left. He didn’t want to look, but how could he not?

His eyes jumped to the center of the charred debris, but there was nothing left but a smoldering stump. The rest had been burned flat, leaving a shallow circle of blackened rubble. He could only imagine how hot it must have burned and prayed Brigid had been aware of none of it. Perhaps that blackness from her vision had been some sort of witch’s blessing—to lose consciousness before the worst befell her…

He was fooling himself, of course. He’d witnessed such death sentences before. Even those who fainted were revived again…by pain…until the smoke took them.

He turned his head away lest tears fill his eyes and cause trouble.

The gates stood open, but as the three of them neared, they closed again.

Mael stepped forward with impatience and pounded the hilt of his dagger on a metal brace. “Oi! Open the gate!”

A guard at each corner leaned down for a look. “Get back out there,” one called. “She’s not found yet!”

“We were ordered to return,” Mael shouted.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“We complained. Been searching all night, haven’t we? So, they called us women and ordered us back to the fort to tend the bairns. We have no choice,” Mael grumbled as if he’d been condemned to muck out the privy houses.

The pair above them burst out laughing and opened the gate without another thought.

“Clever man,” Robert muttered, and hung his head as if he too had been assigned to an odious duty.

As soon as they were clear, the gates swung closed behind them and a giant port bar fell across them and landed in the cradles with a thud, reinforcing the fact that they were, for good or ill, in the belly of the beast.