hooves that caused the sound, and the ground to tremble. Four men on horseback tore up the narrow path, and she dug her heels in Bessie’s side to get her to move before they were bowled over. The man in the lead brought his mount to an abrupt halt, and his big bay whinnied in protest.
“’Tis the sheriff,” Mrs. Mac muttered.
The auburn-haired man with the ful beard, the one Mrs. Mac identified as the sheriff, gave his ful attention to Ali. She tried to ignore the heaviness in the pit of her stomach at the suspicious look in his pale blue eyes.
“Are ye Lady Aileanna Graham?” His aggressive tone scraped her nerves raw. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Connor attempt to bring his mount to her side, but two men who rode with the sheriff blocked his progress. Grabbing him roughly by the arms they held him back. Her heart sped up. A shiver of dread ran down her spine.
“I am. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Ye’l have to come with me. A charge of witchcraft has been brought against ye, and yer to stand trial on the morrow.”
He leaned over and jerked Bessie’s reins from Ali’s hands. The strip of leather bit into her numb fingers.
“Nay . . . nay!” Mrs. Mac and Mari cried. A roar as loud as the pounding surf fil ed Ali’s head, and she clutched Bessie’s mane to hold herself steady. “Who . . . who brings these charges against me?”
“Ye’l meet yer accusers soon enough.” He shot a men
acing look over his shoulder as Connor struggled to break free of the men. “Try that again, lad, and ye’l regret it.”
Ali saw a flash of steel and screamed. “Connor, no, please, please, do as he says,” she begged him. Connor’s shoulders bowed as he raised his hands in sur
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render. Ali released a shuddering breath when the sheriff resheathed his sword.
“Let them go. It’s me you want. They have nothing to do with this.” She swal owed her fear long enough to control the tremor in her voice.
“Nay, I’l no’ leave you, my lady.” Mrs. Mac clung to her hand.
Ali squeezed, then withdrew her hand. “Please, Mrs. Mac, go home.” With her eyes she pleaded with the older woman, tilting her head in Mari’s direction. Mrs. Mac gave a quick nod, indicating she understood what Ali tried to tel her. If the priest was behind this, and Ali was almost certain he was, she didn’t want Mari any where near these men.
She met the sheriff ’s implacable stare. “Please, let them go.”
“Aye, but doona’ attempt anythin’ foolish, my lady, or yer companions wil suffer the consequences.”
Ali choked back a hysterical laugh. What did he think she could do against four heavily armed men? The sheriff must truly believe the charges against her held merit. Mrs. Mac leaned over and gave her a fierce hug.
“Doona’ fear, my lady. We’l be there on the morrow to see justice is served.” She drew away from Ali and turned on the sheriff. “Ye would do wel to remember ’tis Laird MacLeod’s lady ye bring these charges against.”
A spark of emotion flared in the man’s eyes, and his jaw clenched. “She wil receive a fair trial no matter who she is.”
“Wil I be given an opportunity to defend myself ?” Ali barely got the words past the tight knot in her throat. He gave her a long, considering look, as though he knew there was no one else who would come to her de fense. “Aye, my lady. Now ’tis time to be on our way.”
Mrs. Mac moved her horse aside to al ow Mari a chance to say good-bye. Ali held on to Bessie’s mane with one 296
hand, reaching over to put an arm around her sobbing maid with the other. She whispered in her ear, “Mari, I don’t want you at the trial. Promise me you won’t come.”
A hot tear rol ed down Mari’s cheek to splash on the back of Ali’s hand. “I’l pray fer ye, my lady. I’l pray our laird comes back in time to save ye.”
“Doona’ worry, my lady. I’l find him. He’l come fer ye. Ye ken he wil and we’l send word to Laird MacDonald at Portree.”
Ali covered her mouth to keep a sob from escaping. Her chest ached from trying to hold back her emotions.
“Enough. Al of ye take yer leave before I change my mind,” the sheriff said impatiently. Raising a hand to her brow, Ali squinted in the dul , midday sun, her eyes unaccustomed to even the dimmest of light after a night spent in the windowless cel beneath the squat building she now exited. The guard shoved her down the rickety wooden staircase, and she fel to her knees.
“On yer feet,” he growled.
Using the bottom step for leverage, Ali hauled herself up, her legs trembling. She wiped her damp palms on her thighs. Her beautiful sky blue gown was torn and streaked with dirt. She heard the din of excited voices, and self-con sciously touched the tangled mess of her hair, lowering her hand at the sound of the man’s derisive laughter. He grabbed her arm, his grimy fingers biting into the flesh of her upper arm. He dragged her around the corner of the building—the marketplace was jammed with people. They lined the wal s of the surrounding buildings ten deep.
