Chapter Nine

"Ida Gunn Macquarie, ye are charged with consorting with Satan to bring curses down upon these good people of God." Walter Gleeb's inflated voice swept over the center square, where the elderly woman sat on a stump as if her legs couldn't hold her.

Tessa's heart squeezed as she watched Eagan and his brothers surround the man and woman before the gates of Aros Castle. Eagan's aunt's hair was down and wild in dark gray and silver around her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut as if to block out the horror around her. Tessa had seen condemned people shut out the world when she was at the French court, as if they wished to lose themselves into the darkness behind their eyelids and block out the scornful looks from witnesses.

"My aunt is no witch," Eagan said, his voice as powerful as his arm holding his sword.

The woman lifted her head, and the fear Tessa saw in the old woman's face tore through her. Her mother had been afraid in the last days before her murder when she'd sought a way out of her courtly tangle. A jealous, powerful woman wanted Rebecca gone, but the king had decided she should remain. Fear had struck her mother with weakness. The paralyzing emotion was an internal enemy. Tessa hated to see it in any woman.

Walter Gleeb, the pompous bastard, had been eager to identify a witch in the town. If Tessa hadn't been able to return to Wolf Isle, she had little doubt that she'd be the woman bound and teetering on the edge of condemnation and torturous death.

Gleeb's voice rose. "Ida Macquarie is known throughout Aros and the surrounding countryside of the Isle of Mull to create cures from unusual ways, cast curses and lethal glances, and—"

"My aunt never killed anyone with a glance or curse," Adam said. The five Macquarie brothers had formed a circle around Gleeb and their aunt, each of them holding a thick, no doubt razor-sharp sword.

"She's sickened people," Gleeb said, his jaw firm in obstinate conviction.

"People become sick," Tor Maclean, the chief of Aros, said. "And I won't stand for your villainy on my isle."

"Even if our royal regent commands that I dig out all those who are corrupt?" Gleeb asked. "Would you bring down the might of the crown upon your isle?"

The warriors who'd come to Wolf Isle stood beside Tor, along with another man, each with their arms crossed and frowns on their faces.

"I am Cullen Duffie," a dark-haired man with a pointed beard said, "chief of the Macdonalds of Islay Isle, and I support the Macleans and Macquaries."

Keir Mackinnon nearly growled his words. "Even if troops from Edinburgh show their faces here."

The fourth man stared at Gleeb with intense, narrowed eyes. "I am Alec MacNeil, the Wolf of Barra Isle, and I support the Macleans and Macquaries. We don't fear ye or yer absent men." He waved an arm out, indicating that Gleeb was all alone.

Father Timothy jogged up, his thin face pale with ruddy cheeks from exertion. "Master Gleeb…I've…been told…" He rested his hands on his knees and then straightened. "Mistress Ida Macquarie is not a witch. She has lived amongst us for decades as a God-fearing citizen of Clan Maclean."

Ava Maclean stood with several other women. "Mistress Macquarie has participated in all the church holidays." None of the women wept or hid their faces. They all held themselves in determined stances as if ready for war along with their husbands.

"We rely on collected herbs and cures from the wise women of the village, like Ida Macquarie," a lady with light hair said, her frown fierce. "I am Lady Mari MacNeil and have come here with my husband, Chief MacNeil, to bring some back to Barra."

"Would you condemn us all?" Lady Grace said next to her, her English accent even stronger than the night of Cecilia's birthing. Her hands sat on her hips, and then she let them slide off as if it were a habit she wished to break.

Gleeb ignored the women as if they hadn't spoken, as if their words were merely the brittle fall leaves sweeping through the streets on the autumn wind, useless and forgotten. Gleeb raised his arms in the air, looking up at the gray sky. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live, so says the Lord."

Tessa stood back from them, unnoticed, but she couldn't keep silent. Her voice rose up higher than his as she cast her gaze across the men and women of Aros Village, who frowned silently at Ida Macquarie. "You shall not spread a false report. You shall not join hands with a wicked man to be a malicious witness. Exodus 23:1." She repeated it for them in Latin and then in French. Her gaze held as much judgment as the witch hunter, but her judgment was on Ida's neighbors for not defending her.

"How dare you speak as if you are God," Gleeb said, spittle jumping from his sharp little teeth.

"I merely quote the same good book you do, Master Gleeb," she said. "And I'm certain the good people of Aros don't wish to offend God by providing false witness on this fragile woman."

Gleeb's face turned a ruddy shade of purple and red in his fury. He pointed at Tessa. "A witch protecting her own."

"A witch?" Lark said, coming up to stand next to Tessa. "Who can speak the Lord's words without stumbling over them and in three languages." She shook her head. "There are no witches here, Master Gleeb. Report that to your patron back in Edinburgh."

Eagan re-sheathed his sword and walked past Gleeb to his aunt, helping her stand. As far as Tessa could see, she hadn't been abused. From the look on Eagan's face, the witch hunter's blood would have been spilled if she had.

"Ye will come back with us to Wolf Isle," Eagan said, and his four brothers encircled her, the oldest, Adam, taking her other arm. Ida said nothing and allowed them to lead her away while Gleeb fumed and threatened.

"I will bring soldiers back with me," Gleeb called. "The Macquaries will all be condemned."

"That's never stopped us before," Eagan said.

…

"I will request a bath to be sent up," Lark said as she slid out of the bedchamber that had been made ready for Ida Macquarie. Lark's sister, Anna, followed her out. Tessa stood near the window and realized she was the only one left with the matriarch of the small Macquarie Clan. Ida sat on the edge of the neatly made bed, still not talking.

Tessa nodded to her, her smile pleasant but shallow, and walked across the room to leave.

"Are you going to marry Eagan?" Ida's voice was soft but clear.

Tessa froze as if she were caught by a net. She met her sharp eyes. "We are courting," Tessa said. "But we only just met."

"You could keep him here, ask him to stay here with you."

The woman knew Eagan planned to leave. As far as Tessa could tell, the rest of his family didn't.

"He hardly knows me," Tessa said. "None of you do. You may not want me to stay."

Ida weighed her words. "You know the ways of herbs and have the skills of an experienced midwife. You speak French and have a French accent, but you live with Grissell. You know Latin and English, too, and quotes from the Bible. And you are brave enough to speak against a witch hunter who might likely go after you next. Who are you, Claudette Tempest Ainsworth?" Her eyes slowly turned to Tessa.

Rap. Rap. "I have the chamomile." Lia pushed inside the room, bringing the brew to a table before a mirror. She looked between them. "Supper will be served when the sun drops below the horizon." She indicated the window where a sliver of the sea could be seen. "Perhaps you'll be recovered enough to come down to eat with your family," Lia said.

Ida's gaze released Tessa from its strong grip. "I have no clean clothes, and I would not be seen in dirty rags."

"I'll ask Lark if she has any of your sister's old clothes here at Gylin. She lived here for some time," Lia said. From the peeved look on Ida's face, it was obvious that she knew her sister had lived there.

The door clicked shut behind Lia, and Ida's gaze was back on Tessa. The best defense is often a good offense . Ida Macquarie was intelligent, observant, and hid behind her gloomy temper. "Who broke your heart, Ida Gunn Macquarie?" Tessa said, her voice even and steadfast.

Silence hung in the air for long seconds.

"Tell me, child," Ida said, "why are ye here and what do ye want?" Ida stood, walked over to the steaming brew, and sat in the chair to sip it.

Better to calm the beast rather than run from it. Tessa picked up a brush made of thick bristles. Gently, she lifted one tangled strand of Ida's gray hair and slid the bristles down it until it was smooth. She met the woman's eyes in the mirror. "My father brought me here after he rescued me from France. My mother died, and I was cast into penury. My father knew of this isle, because my mother, Rebecca Ainsworth, lived with Grissell for a year or two before going to France. I await his return so we can return to France together."

"You have no intention of staying with my nephew," Ida said.

The woman had the sharpness of a cut diamond. She'd spot a lie before it left Tessa's tongue. Tessa shook her head.

"At least she tells the truth," Ida murmured and took another sip of the steaming brew.

Tessa continued to brush the woman's hair, carefully removing the angry tangles.

"Why are you a Macquarie and not a Gunn?" Tessa asked. She'd wanted to take her father's last name, Lemaire, but her mother wouldn't allow it. Sometimes Tessa wondered if they'd actually been married.

Time passed, and with each second Tessa knew more and more that Ida wasn't going to tell her anything. Well, not without a little nudge and some relaxation. Tessa drew in breath and began to sing one of the mesmerizing lullabies. It felt good to let the ribbon of sound flow from her.

Ida said nothing, but Tessa continued to work through the tangles of her hair like she used to do with her mother when she came back from the king's bedchamber. Slow and soothing, the notes matched the gentle strokes of the brush. The song ended, and the old woman exhaled long.

"Why are you a Macquarie?" Tessa whispered the question.

Ida sniffed, pulling a bedraggled handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her nose. "I think you are a witch with that voice."

"Non," Tessa said, setting the brush down to gingerly pull the long silver waves together. "I have a talent for singing. It relaxes people."

"Into talking?" Ida asked.

"Sometimes."

Ida snorted softly. "Why would I tell you anything?"

Tessa reached around her to pluck some hairpins off the table. "Because I'm not a Macquarie. I'm from France, far away from here. Because I have a heart that could be bruised by silent neighbors and those who whisper about me being a witch." Tessa stuck a few pins into the curls she made around the crown of Ida's head. "I think talking will lift some burden off you."

Ida met her gaze in the mirror. The only change to her face was moisture gathering in her eyes. "I am bitter because the man I loved died," Ida said. She paused and drew in a long breath through her thin nose. "But first he married my sister."