Her line of dancers were headed too close to them, most people oblivious to the impending violence. However, before she could lead them away from the potential fray, she felt the fabric at her shoulder seized and she was torn away from Rorie.
Murdo swung her around to face him. She shrieked at the shock of pain as he ripped off her flower garland, taking a clump of her hair with it.
“You spread your corruption, Onuist,” Murdo continued, spitting as he spoke, “allowing our people to despoil their souls in the rituals of Edonian witches like your grandmother.” He tossed the garland, entangled with hair, into the flames.
The music died to a halt along with the dancing.
“You will not speak of her.” Cerr Onuist almost broke free from the hold of four burly men, managing to edge closer to Murdo. “She was a good woman.”
“She was a witch. And these charms, seeking magic from plants—”
“It is harmless—”
“It is witchcraft. Burn them!” he boomed. “Burn them all!” And his men obeyed, snatching the flowers from the heads of women and lasses and tossing them into the fires. “As true servants of King Svelrik, neither I nor my father will suffer witches in this clanland.” He threw Kaetha to the ground, her hands and knees smacking onto the pebbles.
Screams of alarm rose up around her and then she saw the flames leap up from the edge of her cloak. Her mother’s cloak. Panic swelled in her chest as she fumbled to undo the clasp but either her fingers became clumsy in her panic or the clasp was stuck. Then Aedan was there, pushing her to the ground again, rolling her and patting out the flames.
“Are you alright?” he said when the fire was out.
One edge of her precious cloak was blackened and jagged where it had been eaten away by fire. This was no accident. Was Murdo punishing her for embarrassing him all those months ago? Did he suspect she had magic and was trying to provoke her into exposing her gift? Her fury flared.
She glared at Murdo’s smug face. “You damned arsewit!”
She wanted to burn him as he’d burned her. Straining against the urge of her magic, knowing that proving herself to be a witch would mean his victory over her, she, instead, leapt from her father’s arms and snatched up a branch from the fire. Flames danced at its end. With a swooping motion, she hit Murdo’s wrist and his dagger dropped to the ground. Then she abandoned her flaming brand and hurled herself at him with a scream of rage, knocking him to the ground. He pushed her away and she came back at him only to be stopped and dragged away by Dermid and Rorie.
Nannie came up to them, reaching out her hand and Cailean guided it to Kaetha’s shoulder. “A wise woman fights when she has more to gain than the venting of anger,” she said in a low voice.
Murdo got up and glared at Kaetha, seething. “Bitch!” he spat. “Seize her!”
“No.” Indulf’s tone carried calm authority, though his gaze darted to the gathering of Onuists with a look of uncertainty. “She’s free to go.” He exchanged a look with Murdo, the meaning of which, Kaetha couldn’t discern.
People stared at Kaetha in shock. Her father’s face had gone pale and when he looked upon her, she couldn’t tell if it was sympathy in his eyes, fear or disappointment.
“Come,” said Nannie, squeezing her shoulder. “Come away now. Let’s talk.” Aedan and Mairi began to walk over to her too.
Kaetha shook her head. “I just want to be alone,” she said, walking through the staring crowd, keeping her eyes on the stones at her feet. She thought she heard Nannie say ‘leave her’ and she wondered to whom she spoke. Her heart pounded in her chest and she found herself running, not caring how undignified she looked in her need to get away.
She reached the eastern end of the beach. Cold rock scratched at her hands as she climbed up, hiding herself from view amongst the mounds of rock. She slumped down and ran her fingers over the crisp, burnt edge of her cloak. Hot tears welled in her eyes but she refused to cry. She’d not cried for a long time. Not properly. She sat staring at the white crests of waves on the sea through a narrow strip between two jagged rocks. In time, she began to shiver and noticed that the sky was darkening above her, threatening rain. She was vaguely aware of the sound of people leaving the beach, hurrying up the cliff path. Aye, go. A gust of wind, carrying salty spray, stung her skin with its chill but she didn’t care.
She gripped a stone the size of an apple, wishing she could hurl it at Murdo. Then she felt like hitting herself with it. What had she done? She remembered Donnan’s words when he’d warned her not to make herself an enemy of the Macomrags. At least she would be leaving soon. Her father would then have no more cause to be disappointed in her.
The flow of her thoughts was cut short when her skin began to tingle and a shiver gripped the back of her neck. A seal bobbed its head above the surface of the water near her. But it was just a seal, not a Fuathan in seal-form. She looked up. She was certain the seagulls above her were not Annisiths in their feathered forms.
Slowly, she stood up and, as if someone was pulling her around, she turned to face the rock behind her. It was taller than her. Tentatively, she traced its grooves and ridges of grey and earthy brown, its surface rough against her skin. Part of it almost looked like a face.
