Imogen rose up with blood staining her cream-colored robe, the crimson fluid flowing from a cut in her forehead. Her eyes glowed with insanity, and her fingers were clenched into fists. Jemma tried to rise, but her body refused. Her muscles were useless, the weakness completely laying her at Imogen’s mercy.
“I must strike now! Now where God has delivered ye to me.”
Jemma rolled over and stumbled away from her a few more precious steps.
“No!” she wailed loud and almost pitifully.
“You interfere in God’s work! Stand steady to receive His judgment.”
Jemma gritted her teeth and forced her protesting legs to move again. But Imogen was far stronger. The nun jumped onto her, pushing her back onto the stone floor. Her hands locked around her throat, choking the breath from her. Jemma struggled, but Imogen held tight, preventing any breath from reaching her burning lungs.
“Yes . . . yes . . . so simple . . . ye will die now!”
Jemma forced her hands to stop trying to break Imogen’s hold on her neck. She clawed at the nun’s eyes instead. Imogen snarled but suddenly gasped when men rounded the corner. They were running and skid across the stone floor when they realized the way was blocked.
Jemma gasped for breath now that she could. Kerry reached out and pulled Imogen off her with one jerk of his arm.
“Christ in heaven, what are ye doing to the Mistress?”
“She is not the Mistress! She can never be my husband’s wife.” Imogen was distraught. She began walking in a circle while she babbled.
“Sweet God.” Kerry crossed himself, his face full of horror to hear a nun talk of murder. He went to grab Imogen but couldn’t force his hands to close around her arm. He didn’t need to. The nun was in shock, hugging herself.
“Why, God? Why wasn’t I able to kill her? I have been so close twice, and yet she still draws breath . . . he is my husband, joined to me by yer holy church . . . she is worldly sin and everything ye forbid . . . ye sent me to kill her, why did I fail? I am yer servant, yer most humble servant . . .”
The men who had come with Kerry all backed away from Imogen. Another set of footfalls came around the corner. This time Gordon led the charge, but he stumbled to a halt when he ran into his captain.
“What goes on here?”
The horror on Kerry’s face drew a frown from Jemma’s husband.
“Yer first wife, Laird.”
Gordon froze and turned to look at the nun. His face drained of color while he listened to her continue to babble.
“Imogen?” It was a whisper filled with horror and the desire to have himself proved wrong. His first wife looked up and smiled as innocently as a child. She held her hands open to him in welcome, but her palms were covered in her own bright red blood.
“Dearest husband, we must seek God’s favor through rejection of all earthly sin . . . I failed to kill the whore that draws ye away from chastity . . . so ye must help me . . . ye are my husband, my partner in this world . . . together we shall have all of the Lord’s blessings if we keep His commandments . . .”
“No, Imogen. Ye are nae me wife, ye chose the Church and I bid ye joy.” Gordon shook his head. “Take her away, Kerry.”
“But she’s a nun.”
“I shall take her if you have not the stomach for it.” Curan stepped forward with Synclair on his heels. His English accent drew a horrified gasp from Imogen.
“Stay away from me,
Curan slowly walked toward her. “Then you had best walk, madam, for I will gladly fit the noose about your neck myself.”
Imogen laughed. She tilted her head back and howled with amusement, her entire body shaking. She opened her arms wide and looked upward.
“Is this the gift ye send me? Release from this earthly body in the form of a Protestant? Oh, yes! Like Jesus being condemned by a Roman!”
“You cannot hang her, Curan. You must not.”
Every head turned to look at Jemma. She had her hands pressed against the floor to hold her body up, but she lacked the strength to get to her feet.
“I surely can, Jemma. It is something I do not expect women to understand, but it is a necessary thing. Her crime is grave.”
Kerry wiped a hand over his mouth, but the captain nodded as did Gordon.
“She is mad, Gordon. Even the King cannot order the execution of an insane person without special permission.”
“No . . . No!” Imogen pointed a finger at her. “You whore! You cannot take yet more from me! Release me from this life! Hang me! That is God’s will . . .”
Synclair reached out and hooked her upper arm with his hand. She shrieked and turned to look at him.
“I will take you away from here, madam.”
Imogen instantly complied, smiling once more like a child. Synclair looked over her head at his lord. “I will
