The Immortal Bind

  All those accused pleaded innocent, but upon being instructed to look into the eyes of the commission’s witch, all were proclaimed guilty and sentenced to be tortured until they confessed, whereupon their death sentence would be carried out. For in accordance with the king’s law, no person could be burned as a witch without their confession.

  Maggie was the last to take the stand, and as she did, she had to wonder if it might be best to take Mackenzie’s advice and confess, renounce her ways and walk away with her life. If she took this route the crown would seize her land, and with no home and no livelihood, she would be forced to marry to survive. But a glimpse of Mackenzie’s smug expression reminded her that she would rather die than be sentenced to a life with him. She hadn’t seen Luke since he’d locked her back in the cell near a week ago, thus Maggie doubted very much that he was coming to her rescue — she’d have to take her chance with the witch.

  ‘Margaret Munro, you stand accused of making a pact with the devil in the guise of a wolf, to obtain protection, miraculous powers of healing and vengeance against your enemies. How do you plead?’

  ‘Pardon the court, but the charges have no validity. For I have no miraculous powers of healing, it is the herbs and roots of nature that heal, not I, and I would argue their existence is God’s work, not mine.’ A disgruntled rumble swept round the court.

  ‘Do you deny that you have befriended the devil in the guise of a wolf, for the purpose of vengeance and protection?’ The minister, Jon Cowper, brought the court back to order with the question, as everyone hushed to hear her answer.

  ‘I took pity on a helpless baby animal last spring, as far as I know that is no crime,’ she said, and the court flew into an uproar once more.

  The minister slammed his gavel on the bench several times, demanding order — he was not a young man, nor a good-tempered one, for his frustration flushed his old cheeks and balding head red.

  ‘So you wish to plead not guilty?’

  Her sights drifted over to her accuser, who was slowly shaking his head to advise her against that course.

  ‘I have done no harm to any, so there is no crime to enter a plea for,’ she insisted, but clearly the minister and his witch were losing patience. It had been a long day in court and all were eager to be done for the day.

  ‘The crime is witchcraft, are you guilty or no?’ The minister felt it was quite simple.

  ‘To be accused of witchcraft must it not be proven that I have a contempt for God, or that I have inflicted supernatural harm upon another? Failing that, there is no charge to answer according to the king’s law.’ Yes, she read, and had knowledge of such things, unlike the rest of the poor women who had been accused this day.

  The bright green eyes of the witch were boring into Maggie. She was attractive for an older woman, with her fiery red hair, thin frame and pale complexion, and she appeared very confident in her role of commission arbitrator, but Maggie was not going to be intimidated by her.

  ‘Let her waste no more of the court’s time,’ the witch suggested. ‘Bring her before me and I shall tell you the truth of the matter.’

  The minister nodded. ‘Let it be recorded that we gave the accused ample opportunity to enter a plea.’

  Commission soldiers dragged Maggie from the stand, hauled her before the witch, and maintained their grip so that she could not retreat.

  Maggie stared down her judge, having no delusions about what her verdict would be.

  ‘She bears the mark,’ Margaret Aitken advised the minister. ‘It is clear to me that she is guilty as charged.’

  Maggie didn’t retaliate, there was obviously no one here interested in justice; she would not humiliate herself for Mackenzie’s further amusement. She continued to stare down her condemner. ‘You save your skin at great cost to your soul. But I forgive you, and hope that one day you shall be able to forgive yourself.’

  In her fiery green eyes Maggie saw the truth — the fear.

  ‘Margaret Munro, I hereby sentence you to interrogation until such time as you confess your crimes, and can face the king’s justice.’ The minister slammed down his gavel in finality.

  As Maggie was led back to join the others convicted this day, the ramifications of her circumstance permeated her with wave upon wave of deep shock. There would be no appeal, no mercy or reprieve for her now.

  ‘If that is the last case for the day . . .’ the minister raised his gavel to adjoin the court, whereupon a soldier entered with another female prisoner.

  ‘If it pleases the court, there is one more to take the stand.’

  Upon recognising Luke’s voice Maggie looked up and her eyes filled with tears, as he had come too late to fulfil his vow to aid her. What was worse was that he was obviously here about the commission’s business, and did not even glance in her direction.

  ‘Proceed then.’ The minister placed his gavel aside and reluctantly sat back in his chair to hear the case.

  Luke handed over a list of the allegations against the accused, which she denied. Then she was brought before the Great Witch of Balwearie and promptly declared guilty.

  ‘Guilty?’ Luke contested. ‘Are you certain?’

  Margaret Aitken appeared affronted. ‘Of course I am certain. I see the devil’s mark clearly in her eyes.’

  ‘So then you failed to see that same mark one week ago, when you cleared this woman of her charges and sent her back to Fife?’

  With Luke’s claim there were gasps from all in the room, and unrest and resentment welled among those gathered.

  ‘Minister.’ Margaret Aitken turned to Jon Cowper, who was now appearing very concerned — how would the thousands of deaths he’d signed off on reflect on him if the witch was proven a fraud? ‘He is only a soldier, he has no authority to test the king’s commission in this fashion.’

  ‘He has acted under my authority.’ A hooded gentleman stepped forward from those observing the proceedings.

  Dispensing with his head cover he revealed himself to be Alexander Bayne, and for the first time in a week, hope of rescue began to well in Maggie.

  ‘And who might you be, sir?’

  ‘I am Alexander Bayne, brother to the Baron of Tulloch and the king’s designated guardian to Margaret Munro.’

  All eyes turned her way, and then back to the gent addressing the court, who was highly respected in these parts.

  ‘Upon the death of her father in my service, the king charged me to protect her and her kin from any retaliation by the Mackenzies.’

  All eyes turned to her accuser, who had quietly done a disappearing act.

  ‘As I am bound to make a personal account to the king of these events, I shall maintain this court and its witch are fraudulent, dismally lacking in due process, and a farce that has very probably resulted in the deaths of thousands of innocents! I do hereby insist you cease these proceedings, dismiss all charges against the women of County Ross, and arrest Margaret Aitken for fraud.’

  The minister, once so sure of himself, was sinking into his seat as those gathered in the court cheered the requests of Alexander Bayne.

  There was a blood-curdling scream from the back of the room, drawing everyone’s attention to an old woman who was coughing and covering her mouth with her hand — her fingers were turning blue at the tips.

  ‘Plague! She has plague!’

  Everyone in the room was set into a fleeing panic. The minister, his witch, and several soldiers slipped out a side door, while the rest of the room clamoured to squeeze through the main doors into the chamber at the back of the room.

  The accused women wasted no time fleeing along with everyone else, thanking Alexander Bayne as they passed him. He accepted their thanks and waved them on, as he approached the commission bench to retrieve the records they had left behind in their wake.

  The old woman seemed rather amused by all the commotion she had caused. She was far too blithe for someone dying of plague, Maggie noted, fascinated by her. People fleeing obstructed Maggie’s vi
ew and when they cleared the old woman had once again done her vanishing act.

  ‘Maggie?’ Luke grabbed hold of her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I will be as soon as I am gone from this place.’ She forced a smile, although she had never felt so wretched in all her born days.

  ‘You made good on your word, Luke, and I’m so grateful.’

  ‘You should both get away from this place,’ Bayne advised, all the commission’s paperwork tucked under his arm. ‘I’ll ensure no one comes after you and that this lot,’ he referred to the court notes, ‘finds its way to the closest fire.’

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, sir,’ Maggie began, but her guardian would not hear it.

  ‘Just invite me to the wedding,’ he proffered, and made both Luke and Maggie grin. ‘Now be gone, and take better care of her from now on.’

  ‘But how will you explain this to the king?’ Luke was concerned for his accomplice.

  ‘You saw the look on everyone’s faces when we exposed the witch as a fraud,’ Bayne posed. ‘We’ve given validity to what everyone else was thinking. The only reason that this farce was not terminated sooner is because the king has been on the move and unable to supervise these matters himself. But when my report is put to him, I feel sure there will be a serious investigation into the commission.’

  They were the last left in the room, and the rest of the castle was thrown into chaos, as it prepared to go into lockdown and weed out any plague victims, but Maggie suspected they would find none.

  * * *

  It was dawn as they rode up the track to Maggie’s farm. She couldn’t see any of her animals in the field where she’d left them, and her heart sank to think they’d all been pilfered in her absence. At the house, they found Maccon sitting at attention in the doorway of the open barn.

  ‘Maccon!’ Maggie was overjoyed to see the wolf, and the beast near overpowered her with his affection. ‘I’m happy to see you too!’

  He was looking a little thin in the wake of the week or so she’d been absent, but venturing inside the barn, Maggie found all the animals she’d left behind safe and well.

  ‘He didn’t lose a single animal, not even a duckling,’ she advised Luke, having done a quick head count. ‘He must have rounded them up every evening and got them in without me.’

  ‘Good boy!’ Luke praised the wolf, with a pat on the head. ‘Clearly you can run this place on your own.’ The wolf seemed happy to soak up the praise, but then the animal was distracted by something that drew him back outside.

  ‘Maybe we were followed?’ Maggie feared, and Luke pursued the wolf to investigate. Maggie came to stand in the doorway of the barn.

  A single soldier rode up the track, and Luke placed a hand on the hilt of his sword preparing for a confrontation. ‘Stephen?’

  Maggie recognised the soldier as he came into her view; he had accompanied Luke when he’d visited her in the cellars of the castle during her imprisonment.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Luke relaxed.

  ‘I’ve come to collect the accused and take her to Edinburgh to face charges.’ Stephen stopped his horse, and as he dismounted the wolf began to growl.

  ‘Maccon, here.’ Maggie called him, whereupon he joined her by the barn door.

  ‘The charges were dropped,’ Luke confronted his old friend on their point of contention.

  ‘The Witch of Balwearie may be proven a fraud, but that doesn’t mean this one is not a witch as charged,’ he referred to Maggie as he eyeballed the wolf warily. ‘In fact, it appears the charges against her were quite valid. If you do not step aside and allow me to take her, I can only assume that you are bewitched and I shall take her by force.’

  ‘Stephen, that’s insane,’ Luke appealed. ‘Do you not see? She’s not a witch! None of the women we’ve fed to Cowper’s commission were! Please, let the madness end. Maggie has the protection of the Baron of Tulloch—’

  ‘We don’t work for the baron,’ Stephen hissed. ‘We work for the king’s commission—’

  ‘Not me,’ Luke refuted. ‘I quit!’

  ‘Then our friendship ends here and I will carry out my charge.’ Stephen drew his sword, and Luke backed up. ‘If that means I have to kill you, then so be it.’

  ‘Please don’t do this.’ Luke hesitated to draw his sword and Maggie feared that torn loyalties would get him killed. ‘Just ride away and pretend you never found us.’

  ‘I’m doing my sworn duty.’ Stephen took a swipe at Luke, but Luke tucked in his middle and jumped backwards so that only his shirt was torn by the tip of the blade.

  Maccon growled in protest at Stephen’s show of hostility.

  ‘If your hellhound comes near me, I will slit its throat, witch.’ Stephen ceased his attack on Luke, wary of the beast.

  ‘Send Maccon away,’ Luke instructed Maggie as he drew his sword. ‘This is my fight, not his.’

  ‘To the glen, boy, run,’ Maggie encouraged, but the wolf turned circles a few times, disturbed by her request. ‘Go on,’ she insisted, and he finally took off into the woodland.

  ‘I don’t want to fight you, Stephen.’ Luke raised his guard, as his old comrade’s attention returned to him.

  ‘That’s because you know you’ll lose.’ Stephen lashed out with his blade, and a clash of swords ensued.

  Luke was as talented with his weapon as Maggie could have hoped, but he’d been riding all night, and faced numerous perils to save her, so sadly Stephen was the first to draw blood in the battle as he sliced a bloody rip upon Luke’s left upper arm.

  ‘Hand her over,’ Stephen taunted, as he backed off to give Luke a chance to reconsider. ‘You are betraying your faith, your oath, your brothers, your king! Repent. No woman is worth dying for.’

  Luke shook his head, as he recovered. ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘Then accompany me back to Edinburgh with the girl; once I hear the king’s verdict I shall bother you no more.’ He raised his weapon to attack once more, when a sword pierced through Stephen’s stomach, and stunned by the sight of his own bloody death wound, he dropped his weapon.

  Both Maggie and Luke gasped in horror as the sword was withdrawn, Stephen dropped to his knees and fell face-down in the dirt, dead. Behind him Mackenzie stood with bloodied blade.

  ‘I think we’ve all had enough of the commission,’ he said, stepping over the body to confront Luke in his victim’s stead.

  Luke was furious. ‘What do you want?’ Luke obviously recognised him as Maggie’s accuser — he must have beaten them back here and concealed himself in the wood.

  ‘I’ve come to collect my wife-to-be.’ Mackenzie motioned to Maggie.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Luke was quick to run him through.

  Mackenzie folded forward and slid himself off the blade, staggering backwards a few paces before he stood tall and smiled, without so much as a drop of blood staining his shirt. ‘Ta-da!’

  ‘What manner of sorcery is this?’ Luke uttered.

  ‘The real kind.’ Mackenzie ran his shocked opponent through just as abruptly.

  As a nightmare, greater than that which she’d already endured, unfolded before her, Maggie screamed in protest and ran to Luke’s side.

  She took him in her arms, but he was already slipping from this world. ‘Run . . .’ he bade her with his dying breath.

  ‘No!’ She lay his body back down and then clung tightly to him.

  ‘Oh come on!’

  She felt Mackenzie’s hand upon her back, and she grabbed the dagger from Luke’s weapons belt, arose and threatened him with it. ‘Stay away.’

  Mackenzie found her resistance amusing. ‘You cannot kill me,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d just established that. You have two of the king’s soldiers dead on your property . . . so you are going to need my protection to get out of this one.’ He moved towards her and Maggie played the one hand she had left, she turned the weapon on herself.

  ‘Now let’s not be rash.’ He backed up a step. ‘Look at me, look in m
y eyes, and you’ll know that we were meant to be together.’

  Maggie shook her head. What had she done to attract the wrath of such a monster?

  The sound of the wolf growling distracted them both a second.

  ‘No, Maccon.’ Maggie realised this was a fight the animal couldn’t win, nor could she. No matter what she did, or where she went, she would never escape this man. There was only one means to be rid of him, and thrusting the blade up beneath her ribs, she took it. The shock of injury numbed the pain, and when she withdrew the blade her lifeblood flowed and drained the life right out of her.

  * * *

  ‘Goddammit!’ Mackenzie watched Maggie collapse to the ground.

  ‘Only another few hundred years to wait until we find her again!’

  The wolf emerged growling from the bushes, and Mackenzie turned to face the disgruntled beast, equally vexed by the outcome. ‘Come on then, I dare you.’

  ‘Enough!’ The old woman stepped in between them and waved her hand until the wolf ran off into the woods. ‘You’ve destroyed enough lives for one day, don’t you think?’

  ‘I know you, old woman,’ Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you long dead and buried.’

  ‘Don’t forget cursed.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ He delighted in the memory of her betrayal. ‘How is it then that you came to be here?’

  ‘I could ask the same of you.’

  ‘Oh, I think you know the answer,’ he jeered, sheathing his sword. ‘It was you who introduced me to my power.’

  She found this very amusing. ‘Is that what you call being possessed by a demon and manipulated into following its agenda? I bet it told you that you wouldn’t have to share your form with it permanently . . . that you could palm it off onto some other poor, unsuspecting halfwit. But that hasn’t happened, has it?’

  Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  The old woman grinned. ‘You should give up this pointless vendetta against this woman, which is probably the invention of the twisted soul you carry with you. The karma will catch up with you eventually, and it is you who will suffer, not your accomplice.’