Page 50

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Fynhallow, Orkney

December 1594

ALISON

Mr.Addis comes to fetch me from the dungeon, and I wrap my hands around the bars and pull myself to my feet before he can tug the chains or force me. If I am to die, I will face the flames without duress. For so long this has been my greatest fear, leaving my children alone. And now they have neither their father nor their mother to look after them, and yet I will not let them believe I fear it.

“Come on then,” Mr.Addis says. I look him over, wondering if he has no remorse, or conscience. I sense he is eager for the stake, that perhaps he has helped to build it, relishing the death that is to come there.

Father Colville is waiting in the atrium, his hands clasped and his head turned to the light.

“Madam,” he says mildly. “The carriage awaits us.”

It is a relief to step outside the castle into the December sunlight, strong and portentous. A crowd has gathered to watch me, the usual call of the chapel bell and the voices in the marketplace stilled as they stare, rows of them. Father Colville climbs up beside the driver while Mr.Addis locks me inside the carriage.

“Drive through the streets,” I hear Father Colville say, and I know he wishes to make a show of me to the people of Kirkwall, letting them see that the evil that has lived among them is now to be wiped out, burned this day at the stake.

A loud cry of jeers rises up and the carriage is pummeled with stones. None of the stones reach me, though several find their way through the bars of the carriage door, landing at my feet. After a while, I do not hear the clanging of the stones against the bars or the cry of witch! , for my mind has swept me off again to other places, other times in my memory, rendering them with bright sounds and sharp colors, as though I have traveled there—my marriage ceremony in the small chapel to the east of Gunn. A bright June morning, as crisp and golden as today. How handsome William looked, his face unmarked by care, in the cloak he wore at the trial. I had thought at the time that he wore the cloak because it was his finest garment, because he wished to look smart, but now I think he wore it for one reason only: to remind me of our wedding day.

···

A crowd meets us at the shore of Fynhallow. Bishop Sinclair, Bishop Vance, Father Colville, David, Mr.Addis, John Stewart, and Earl Patrick. Agnes is there, though she won’t meet my eye. Elspeth, Angus—families who have lived with us on Gunn since I was a girl. They are somber. No name-calling or throwing of stones, but they watch silently as I am led along the cliff.

My mother is not here, nor is Beatrice or Edward. Perhaps he has done as I asked and left the islands, heading to Edinburgh.

And there is the stake, and the hooded executioner, holding a belt. The sight of it makes my heart lurch, all the calm I had before wearing thin at this stark reminder of what is to happen.

I must not fear. I must not .

The crowd follows us, a gathering of fifty. I see David among them, and my heart lifts.

In my pocket, I carry the piece of slate with the Triskele symbol. It is a message without words, a symbol, just like Beatrice drew on the shell to me. I have a plan: to pass on the slate to David Moncrief. He is the only one who could interpret the message. And he is perhaps the only one who can do what the message asks.

I wait until I am near enough until I drop it close to his feet. My heart is in my mouth. What if someone sees that I have deliberately passed him a message? What if David does not see it?

When I reach the executioner, I glance back at David, who is bending now, lifting the slate. I have drawn a sun with an arrow facing west, and above is a crown. It means, deliver the truth to the king, but as I see the look of puzzlement on his face my stomach drops. Perhaps I have mistaken his loyalties.

In which case, all is lost. Orkney will fall, and our deaths will be for nothing.