Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“ I t is no’ like Samhain,” Rabbie yelled over the bedlam of the Halfway House.

“Nae,” Rory agreed, scanning the crowd for pickpockets as William had instructed him to. They were standing against the far wall, and in any other circumstance would have drawn much attention. Two hulking strangers often did. But as it was, the rabble was completely concerned with itself, and Rory couldn’t help but feel that the men were moving in waves much the same as water in the sea.

“I miss it,” Rabbie shouted in his ear. Rory nodded stoically. Samhain had always been his favorite gathering of the year, and there was surely always too much to drink, but he couldn’t remember a time when the Laird had allowed bawdy women and gambling in the great hall. That had always been reserved for later, in the stables. Samhain had always seemed a more somber affair than the one he was witnessing now.

“William says it’s no’ like this in the finer towns,” Rory shouted back over the deafening, raucous laughter. “He says there’s something about the wild backcountry that brings it out in them.”

“Ha,” Rabbie said, folding his arms over his chest. “The wild backcountry seems to bring out something in all of us.” Rory turned to look at Rabbie, knowing his meaning, but his brother was resolutely watching the crowd.

“Rabbie,” Rory started to say, but then Rabbie pointed at a well-dressed man at the nearest card table and the wanton woman with her hand in his waistcoat pocket. Rory was there in a few strides, lifting the woman easily from her spot behind the man’s chair, grabbing her up by her back and under her knees. She was so startled that she dropped the coins in her hands, which clattered to the floor.

“I say,” the man said angrily, rising when he heard the commotion, but when he realized what had transpired, his eyes went wide. “Lydia,” he said, accusatory.

“Oy,” she grunted, trying to break free from Rory, who set her down on the floorboards gently. The man knelt down and picked up a single gold wedding band on a chain, which was lying amongst the scattered coins. “I was only ‘aving some fun,” she said, backing up. Rory was prepared to hold the gentleman back if he tried to swing at Lydia, even if she were the guilty party. But the gentleman surprised Rory by sitting back down in his seat, the coins scattered below his boots.

“Take the coins, then,” he spat, and Lydia fell onto her knees and snatched them up. When she retreated to the back of the tavern and Rory turned to leave, the gentleman shot out a hand to stop him. “Thank you,” he said quietly while looking at his cards. “There are some things a man is willing to part with, and some that he isn’t.” Rory nodded, though the man still didn’t look at him, and walked away, wondering idly if there was someone at home, wearing another gold band, waiting for him.

“We’re going to have trouble with that one,” Rabbie muttered, gazing over at Lydia, who was sidling up to another man in the back.

“Aye,” Rory said, catching William’s eye behind the bar. William nodded almost imperceptibly, and Rory returned the gesture. Mr. Bell, who was sitting at the bar in front of William, raised a glass of cider when he saw Rory. He took his brimmed hat from the stool next to him and motioned Rory over.

“Rory Miller,” Mr. Bell said, slapping him on the back when he drew close. “I see you’ve made a friend in Gideon Strauss.”

“Is that his name?” Rory asked, looking back at the curious gentleman at the card table.

“Yes,” Bell said, nodding vigorously. “He’s a solicitor for some Lord or another, here to record land agreements or some such. Ho, how is Miss Lydia? Have you ruined her for all men now, with your great charm?” Bell winked.

“Not for ye and yer many charms, I imagine,” Rory replied, and William laughed quietly.

“Here,” William said, sliding him two glasses of whiskey.

“I thank ye,” Rory said, nodding to him and Mr. Bell before taking up the glasses and delivering them back to Rabbie.

“Slainte,” Rabbie said, taking his glass and throwing it back.

“Slainte,” Rory replied, doing the same. How many times had he and Rabbie said that word and drank to each other’s health on Samhain? He was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude, that he and Rabbie were together on such a night, his favorite night of the year, and that they were free. He had a crushing desire to confess everything to Rabbie, but as he looked into his brother’s green eyes, he knew that it was unnecessary.

“I know,” Rabbie said loudly over the din.

“Ye do?” Rory asked, feeling weak.

“Aye,” Rabbie said, and he put a strong hand on Rory’s arm. “I am with ye,” he said. “Always with ye, Rory.” And though he could see the reluctance in Rabbie’s eyes, Rory smiled tiredly in thanks.

“Rose,” Amity called excitedly when she spotted her, and the Clintocks made room for Mercy and Amity by the bonfire. Mercy couldn’t help but notice that Cailean stayed back a few feet.

“I love All Hallow’s Eve,” Theo said, sighing. The crowd was growing in the field behind the Halfway House as more and more offerings were thrown into the fire.

“We’d better be getting on soon,” Clara said, adjusting her spectacles. “You know how they get.” Mercy looked at Rose and Theo’s companion pointedly. “The men,” she clarified weakly. “Your uncle wouldn’t like it,” she said at last.

“There are still children about,” Rose argued as two boys ran past, playing at sword fighting with sticks. “And Uncle John isn’t here,” she added petulantly. The two continued bickering, but Mercy’s attention was drawn to Amity, whose eyes were fixated on the bonfire. Her brow furrowed in what looked like concern.

“Amity?” Mercy asked. Amity’s eyes remained trained on the flames. “Amity,” Mercy repeated, touching her sister’s arm. Amity jumped.

“Yes?” Amity squeaked.

“What is it?” Mercy asked, and Amity shook her head slowly.

“I’m not sure,” she said, biting her lip.

“Perhaps we should take a turn and go to the cider table,” Clara said loudly as people pushed her from behind. Everyone wanted to be closer to the bonfire, and the women were in a most envious position.

“Fine, fine,” Rose sighed, capitulating. She took Amity’s hand in hers and pulled her along through the crowd before Mercy could press Amity any further. Mercy shrugged and followed them, then stopped suddenly, remembering Cailean. She searched for him in the illuminated faces. White teeth shone and eyes glittered, but Cailean was nowhere to be found. She frowned and turned, moving aside as a group that was blocking her path to the cider table pushed forward. She had lost Amity and the Clintocks, but it was no matter. She knew where to find them. She furrowed her brow, worrying about Cailean, then let out a small laugh. Cailean wasn’t nearly as big as Rory or Rabbie, but he was an intimidating giant all the same, and quite a charismatic devil when he wanted to be. She needn’t worry about him, she reminded herself as she worked her way towards the outskirts of the crowd.

“What’s so funny?” a voice breathed into her ear, and ice flooded her veins. Before she could look back at Teague’s face, he had grabbed her by the throat and was hauling her backwards, her boots dragging in the dirt.

Her hands went up to his and she clawed at him, trying desperately to release his grip so she could breathe. She felt her vision getting spotty and, in a panic, tried to ask him to stop, but her voice was just a gurgle. It was getting darker and darker as he pulled her farther from the bonfire, and she realized she had no idea where she was. She didn’t spend much time in town, mostly at the Halfway House, trying desperately to bring her father back home so that Granny wouldn’t beat her, and later in life, at the homes of people who needed healing. She realized with a sinking feeling that the sounds of the crowd were growing dimmer.

“I’ve found our witch, men,” Teague called out suddenly, and Mercy flinched when she heard drunken cheers. “A real witch,” he continued as he dropped her on the ground, “to be burned at the stake.” Mercy gulped in air and twisted on the ground, her lungs fighting harder than they’d ever fought. Her throat burned and her head swam.

“Today of all days, witchcraft shall be punished,” she heard a man slur. Shouts of agreement met his words, and then Mercy smelled smoke.

“This vestal,” Teague roared, “has chosen to commune with the devil. I have seen her work myself. Mr. Samuels, from down the road, went to her with a corpse of a wife, and came back with a hearty maiden with flushed cheeks.” Mercy, in her weakened state, still remembered David Samuels and his wife Mary, who was suffering from scurvy. She had prescribed rosehips, and the woman, whose diet had consisted mainly of bread and porridge, had improved rapidly.

“Burn her,” someone screamed, and the sounds of tin cups clinking tolled her fate. She was lifted up roughly and her hands were tied behind her back with rope. A man beside her waved a burning branch in her face and suddenly the faces of her captors were lit up like terrors in a nightmare. To her horror, she recognized at least two of the seven men. She stared hard at Mr. Collins, who had come to her with a cough not a year before, and Mr. Jenkins, whose daughter had birthed her first child into Mercy’s hands two years prior. When Teague and another man she didn’t know pushed her roughly towards a stake in the ground, Mr. Jenkins frowned.

“It’s all in good fun, Teague, yes?” he asked.

“All in good fun,” Teague returned, his voice poisonous.

“Take care,” Mr. Collins said, alarmed yet obviously drunk. He blinked hard. “You’re hurting her.”

“That’s the idea,” someone called out, and laughed. Mercy didn’t recognize him. She knew that her only hope lay in the hands of two very intoxicated men whom she’d helped long ago.

“Tie her up,” a man shouted, grinning. Mercy glared at him, still trying to catch her breath, as another man took her from Teague and pushed her roughly to a wooden post. Her feet crunched over sticks and leaves.

“I’ll tie her,” someone said behind her, then Mercy heard an “oof” as he was shoved away.

“I will,” someone else said, taking great pleasure in passing a rope tightly under her breasts.

“Let us watch the witch burn,” Teague yelled, and three cheers rang out. “Light the fire,” Teague bellowed at the man holding the fiery branch, and the stranger nodded with glassy eyes and bent down, touching the flames to the dry leaves at Mercy’s feet.

“Stop that,” Jenkins shouted, stomping at the flames that were licking at her ankles. Mercy cried out when one of the men threw Jenkins to the ground. Then the fire grew in earnest, and she knew that it was all around her, behind her, burning the bottom of her skirts. Though her eyes were watering from the smoke, she could still see Teague’s delighted smile, mouth turned up in gruesome glee. She wanted to scream at him, curse him, but then he disappeared. Above the crackle of the fire, she heard him grunt and swear, then heard the sound of fists against flesh.

“Mercy.” Rabbie appeared suddenly at her side. Her body and hands were suddenly free, and she reached forward to find his neck. He dragged her from the flames and laid her down gingerly in cool grass, then unceremoniously stomped on her skirts. “Sorry, lass,” he said, and then he was gone.

“My God,” she heard Amity rasp, then felt her fall down in the grass beside her. Mercy’s eyes were filled with smoky tears and she couldn’t clearly see Amity’s face, hovering above hers. “We lost you in the crowd. Cailean couldn’t find you.” Her voice was unnatural and it chilled Mercy’s lightly charred flesh to the bone. “This is my fault,” she said with a choked sob.

“I’m fine,” Mercy said weakly as Amity tenderly brushed her hair from her face.

“Cailean did several sweeps around the bonfire and then found us at the cider table,” Amity continued, the words tumbling out. “Then he went and got Rory.”

“Rory?” Mercy asked, dazed. Then she let out a lung rattling cough. “Water,” she rasped, and Amity nodded then fled. Mercy’s head fell to the side and was suddenly vaguely aware of a commotion beyond the stake to which she had been tied. Flames licked halfway up the post and Mercy shivered involuntarily. Dark figures jumped and twisted wildly, and she heard heavy grunts and pained screams.

“He’s had enough,” she heard Rabbie say firmly. “Rory, he’s had enough.” Rory. Mercy pushed herself up and got to her feet, straightening slowly so as not to wobble. Through squinting eyes, she spotted Rabbie on the far side of the burning post, and by the time she made her way around it, she stopped and covered her mouth. Cailean was on his back with a man above him, his arm wound tightly around the man’s neck, squeezing until he went limp. At Rabbie’s feet, there were two bodies, lying still as stone. And then there was Rory, on top of Teague—was that Teague? Mercy could barely tell, as his face was completely unrecognizable. Rory struck him again and again, and blood flew from the man’s mouth.

“Rory,” Mercy said softly, and Rory’s fist stilled in the air. He didn’t turn around, not immediately, and Mercy felt hot tears sliding down her face. “Rory,” she said again, and she was sure he heard the sob in her voice, as he leapt from Teague and went to her, wrapping her up so tightly that her boots left the ground.

“God,” he moaned softly, squeezing her. “God above,” he whispered, and Mercy realized she was crying in earnest. It felt wonderful. It seemed that a year’s worth of emotion spilled from her, and every time she had been struck, forgotten, screamed at, scorned, overlooked, they were all being milked from her body in a flood. Rory released her in increments and set her down to look her over. “Mercy,” he whispered painfully. He wiped at her cheeks with his thumbs and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” The words were an incantation that he repeated over and over again.

“Rory,” Mercy said through the tears. She was surprised to feel herself smiling. “I’m fine, I’m more than fine, Rory.”

“Mercy,” she heard Cailean call uncertainly from beside her and Rory stiffened.

“Don’t ye dare,” he started to bellow, moving away from her to stand over Cailean. “I asked one thing of ye. One thing,” he roared, his face red with anger. “She could have been killed.” Mercy watched Cailean’s face crumple, his eyes holding back tears. “I can’t believe…” he started in again, but Mercy stomped her foot and yelled.

“Stop!” Both Rory and Cailean were so shocked at the strength of the word that they both stopped to stare at her, wide-eyed. “You won’t ruin this for me, Rory Macleod,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. Amity appeared and handed her a cup of water, which she gulped down unceremoniously. She dropped the cup at her feet. “Never in my life did I ever believe that someone would do this for me,” she said, motioning at the unconscious men around her. “This has been the best All Hallow’s Eve of my life.” Because it was. She was sure, now, that Rory was in love with her. After a long silence, Rabbie let out a loud guffaw. Mercy wasn’t sure what shocked Rory more: her strange declaration or his brother’s laugh.

“Ye’re all mad,” Rory grumbled, taking Mercy’s hand in his and pulling it to his chest roughly. “Raving mad. Come, let’s settle the night with William and go home.”

Mercy fell into step with Rory, who couldn’t stop touching her. She knew she was in shock, her body reacting to nearly being burned at the stake with bubbling laughter. Her smile only faltered when she thought she heard Teague muttering behind them. She thought she heard him repeat her words.

Rory Macleod.