Rampant

It was the last thing Annabel said to him, and then her body slumped back in his grasp.

Doubt swamped him. He could hear noise echoing out across the water, and when he glanced at the window he saw a flare launch into the night sky, lighting up the whole harbor.

Cain was on his way.

He had to pull Zoë out of this and fast. He couldn’t trust Annabel’s word that Zoë was not bound by Cain, and if Cain found her physical form in this state he would try to seize his chance to summon and keep Annabel. Who knew what that would bring about?

He pulled her close, chanted his call.

He kissed her face, her soft mouth and her lowered eyelids, willing her to return, begging all the souls of the hidden magical world to aid his quest as he chanted. It was Zoë’s heart beating hard against his, had to be. “Zoë, come back, come back to me.”

For an excruciating length of time he thought her face grew paler, and the horror of the possibility that he had lost her was immense.

Then her lips parted, and from a far, faraway place, she whispered his name.

26

FOR SEVERAL LONG MOMENTS ZOË DRIFTED alone in the darkness. Silence was all around. Her hands were still bound, but something shifted around her and she felt as if she were outside now, no longer in the safety of the lighthouse, no longer in the safety of Gray’s embrace.

The wind blew cold around her, chilling her to the bone, and she shivered.

Do not weep for me, Zoë. Do not weep, sweet friend.

When the voice whispered around her, she struggled to see the vision that was opening up in her mind, and when she did, she was horror-struck….

Do not weep for me, Zoë. I need you to help me, and I knew that you would need to understand the reason why. You will. I have shown you everything as it happened.

This is the way it was at the end.

Do you see them? Do you hear how the crowd bay for my blood? Their jeers surround me. Can you feel their anger and their fear? They’ve waited the day through for me to be brought from my cell, and as the sun drops low over the sea I am led out before them.

Somewhere a drum beats, slow, and I am forced to measure my steps by it, steps I am barely able to take. The executioner is at my back, and I can see the gibbet from which they will hang me, up ahead. Beside it, they ready the kindle. I do not fear death, do not think that. Not anymore. I welcome it. You will understand why soon enough.

Among the crowd I see brethren. Some of the women cry silently for me, huddled together for safety. The men turn away, lest they are called out if they show sorrow. Through the numbness in my heart and soul, I pause and look for my master amongst the crowd, but I cannot see him.

I am pushed forward.

The soldiers have to hold back the crowd. They would stone me and enjoy it, if they were allowed. They will warm their hands at the fire where my remains burn. All but a few conde

mn me now, but I know who my true persecutor was, and I know why.

The soldiers came to my home at dawn, two, maybe three days ago. I have lost track of time, for they would not let me sleep and I suffered greatly at their hands. Hard-faced soldiers they were, and they dragged me screaming from my beloved haven, my home. Reverend Slater had summoned two magistrates from Edinburgh and they questioned me about Hettie Maginty. She had lost the two bairns she was carrying. Her mother, Molly, accused me of cursing them. I had never used the craft in such a way, and never would. Aye, I made jests about it, but my error was no greater than that. The Reverend Slater beat me with his staff, and they threw me in stocks that crushed my legs. They brought me neither food nor water, and questioned me at intervals.

I did not deny their accusation of witchcraft, nor did I confirm it. Not until the news came of my dear heart, my Irvine. Even while the trial was underway, word came that he had been poisoned. The silent tears I spilled were not for myself. They were for Irvine. He had suffered a gruesome, painful death. I would gladly have given my own life to protect him. The pain was too much to bear.

They took my tears for guilt and contrition, fools that they are. Grief is a greater burden, and I have not spoke a word but to nod my acceptance of my fate, for the finger of blame was pointed my way once more, and I was condemned without further ado.

Do not weep for me, sweet friend.

I fear not the tightening of the rope nor the flames, for they will reunite me with Irvine, my one true love. If he will forgive me for the bad things I have brought his way, I will happily kneel at his feet for all of eternity. Now, as I near the end, I pray to any power that will listen to me to reunite us. I stare into the baying crowd and I feel pity for them in their ignorance. They thought I was jealous of Hettie and her place in his bed, but I could not honestly do her or her bairns harm, for it would hurt Irvine.

While the executioner turns the rope I take one last look at the crowd, seeking my true persecutor. I see him standing there, alone at the back of the crowd with a sullen look on his face: Ewan. I can see it in his eyes, the scorn and the jealousy. I have been ousted by one of my own, my master. How mistaken he was, when he took me into his coven. Who would have guessed that it would drive him to this? It was him that undertook those heinous acts and then whispered my name to Molly Shaw, who pointed the finger. The knife twists in my heart when I think of how Irvine and Hettie have suffered because of him. He has lashed out at us all, but our blood will stain his hands forever.

If Ewan had taken me as his wife, would any of this have happened? Sadly I fear I know the answer to that question, for love is stronger than any law. Irvine and I were drawn to each other as the bee to the pollen. Our fate was set the day he arrived in Carbrey.

The rope tightens around my neck.

They condemn me as an evil witch.