When she finished he let her sit in silence for a while, as punishment.
“We will never speak of this again, and there will be no need to.” When she lifted her head to meet his gaze, he continued. “I intend to burn the vermin out of Fife myself.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The long boat creaked as it crossed the gray, shifting waters of the Tay.
Restless and uneasy, Lennox peered across the expanse of water at Dundee. It was not a place he was familiar with, but he knew of its dark history. A busy port, the walled city had been the site of many battles. He’d heard tell of how it was thoroughly bombarded by the English navy from the sea, and then crippled again during Cromwell’s civil war on the land. There hadn’t been a witch trial there for many a year now, though, and Lennox could scarcely bear to contemplate the fact that it could be his own sister who would suffer the same fate as those who went before.
If she hadn’t already been put to death.
He clenched his hands together and bowed his head, willing it not to be so.
“’Tis a good day to be doing trade in Dundee, sire.” The ferryman stood alongside the narrow wooden seat where Lennox sat while they crossed the water, leaving his two scrawny young oarsmen to do the hard work.
The day did not look promising at all, neither was Lennox in the mood for a genial chat. As he was the only passenger, he didn’t have a choice. The ferryman had stationed himself beside Lennox. His feet were widely placed, his stance easily managing the currents as they crossed the estuary.
Lennox mustered an appropriate response. “That it is.”
Lennox scarcely listened as the man meandered on about the weather.
“Take care when you’re in Dundee, sire,” the ferryman said, eventually nudging Lennox’s shoulder in order to get his attention.
Lennox lifted his head just enough to look at the ferryman from beneath his hat. “Why so?”
“There are witches about.” The man raised his woolly eyebrows dramatically.
Lennox attempted to look disturbed by the suggestion. “Witches you say?”
“Aye, they captured one of them last week. A woman it was.”
The nature of the conversation did little to quell Lennox’s impatience. Bracing himself, he forced himself to ask the most difficult question of all. “Have they tried her?”
The ferryman shook his head. “They didn’t have the chance. The vixen escaped their clutches and disappeared.” He fluttered his fingertips. “Away into the night she went.”
Lennox stared up at the man. Escaped? Could it be true, that Jessie had slipped from their fingers and was free once again? He considered his response, measuring his words carefully before he spoke. “You mean she is free and walking amongst us, the witch?”
“Closer than you might think.” The ferryman leaned down and lowered his voice to a whisper. “She passed this way. Innocent of that I was, but she sat upon this very boat four nights since.” He jerked his head back, indicating that she had gone toward Fife, from whence Lennox had come.
Lennox grappled with the information, looking back across the stretch of water they had already covered, fighting the urge to order the man to turn his boat about. It would draw suspicion if he did. Besides, four days or more had passed. She would be long gone. “One woman?”
The man nodded.
What of Maisie? “You think she’s loose in Fife now?”
The ferryman—who obviously assumed Lennox’s interest was based in fear or wariness—gave him a lopsided smile. “She could be anywhere by now, spreading her evil ways.”
Was Maisie still in Dundee? Lennox had to be sure.
The burden he carried began to feel a mite less crushing, however. Jessie had escaped and was traveling in Fife, on land that was more familiar to him than Dundee. He stood a chance of finding her. On his return he could send his people to the villages to seek out word of a stranger who had passed that way. Tomorrow. In the meantime,
he would find out what he could of Maisie in Dundee.
Hope fired his blood. Jessie was free. Maisie was likely in hiding. He would not rest until he found them both, but he breathed a bit easier than he had in the hours since Lachie and Glenna told him that Jessie had been captured by the bailiff of Dundee.
“Shrouded in a heavy shawl she was,” the ferryman continued, “so I could not see her face.” The boat was nearing the shore. As the ferryman straightened up he marked himself with the sign of the cross. “Thank the Lord I was protected that night when I carried evil across the Tay into Fife.”
Lennox stared at the man, trying to reconcile—as he always did—the image of evil and what most of them honestly were, curers, healers. They would protect themselves by magic if they had to, of course, and the lure of greater power turned one or two bad. But in the main they were peaceful people. They did not deserve the brutal, vile treatment they received when they were called out.