Kaetha gave Nannie the elf-shot. “Will you be alright?”
“I’ll be fine. You make sure you don’t go roaming about on your own. I’ll make sure that Brother Gillespie keeps an eye on you when he can, as I will when the gift allows. Remember, if you need it, there’s the sanctuary of the monastery. Murdo cannot arrest you there.”
“It’s alright. I’ll have Pa and Mairi both acting the protective parents soon enough.”
“How’s that?”
“They’re getting married.”
“Well, they got there in the end.”
“You’re not surprised?”
“They’re a good match. Mairi’s loved him longer than she’ll let anyone know. And it’ll be good for you to have a stepmother.”
Kaetha made a noncommittal sound. She was spared thinking what to say by a shrill scream which rent the air.
“What the—”
“Sounds like it came from the High Street.” She pressed Nannie’s hand. “I must go.”
“No, Kaetha—”
She ignored Nannie’s protest, running towards the scream.
A mass of people swarmed around the stable on the corner where the High Street met Curing Street. As she forced her way through to the front of the crowd, panic rang through her. Finola MacFarland was tied to a post, her face red, her gown torn and gaping at the back. Finola screamed again, a piercing sound which shook through her.
“Finola!” she cried. And for a split second, her friend’s thoughts crashed into her mind like a gust of wind. Incoherent fragments, though they were, the thread that tied them together was terror. In that heartbeat, she knew Finola’s hurts as if they were her own – hot, searing pain slashed across her back, stinging with fire. Only then did she see the figure standing behind Finola holding the whip, eyes glinting, lips curled at the corners. Murdo was enjoying every moment of this.
FOURTEEN
Fire and Stone
“Stop!” yelled Kaetha. Another’s thoughts had never caused such a visceral reaction in her before and the memory of Finola’s pain and fear lingered in her flesh as she staggered to her feet, flinging herself between Murdo’s whip and Finola’s red striped back. Then strong hands pulled her back. It was Rorie. His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flared. She struggled in his grip but he was too strong, holding her so close that she felt the warmth of his body against hers. “You can’t do this, Murdo!”
Murdo drew back the whip, eyes fixed on his target. “I will not be commanded by a bastard.”
Kaetha’s face grew hot as she sensed many eyes turn to her. How did he know that about her? How much else did he know?
Finola’s back was struck again. Another slash of red. And another. And another. Some faces in the gathering crowd registered fear, others anger. The hands of several townsfolk were poised at the hilts of knives but no one made a move to draw. The six Macomrag clansmen who flanked Murdo were trained fighters with intimidating weapons. Murdo raised the whip again.
Rorie let Kaetha go. “That’s enough!” he cried, rushing forward, holding back Murdo’s arm. The largest of Murdo’s men shoved him to the ground, pointing his sword at Rorie’s throat.
“No,” she breathed in disbelief. Murdo’s smile, cold as flint, sparked a surge of burning rage within her. Heat roared through her skin and then there was a sharp scream. She didn’t realise at first that it had come from Murdo. He dropped the whip and clutched his hand to his chest. A scattering of sparks trailed the whip, dying with a breath of smoke. All eyes were on Murdo’s shocked face and Rorie managed to make his escape.
“See?” Murdo held up his reddened palm. “She tried to stop me. This proves she’s a witch.”
Kaetha’s eyes locked onto Donnan’s as he stood in the crowd across from her.
“How do we know anything happened?” said Donnan. “You might have burned your hand earlier. If not, there’s still no proof that Finola did it.”
“We all know Finola,” said Rorie. “She wouldn’t hurt anyone.” There were mutterings of agreement and many moved to stand between Finola and Murdo. Kaetha saw Mairi then. She was one of the few who didn’t move. She just stood there, face pale, a hand pressed up against her throat.
“No punishment without evidence, thane,” said Aedan who had just reached the gathering, pushing his way to stand right in front of Murdo.
“Bring her to me.” Murdo was staring at Aedan as he issued his command to his clansmen. They pushed through the crowd, dragging Finola, and threw her down at Murdo’s feet. He knelt before her. Hair was stuck to her face where tears had flowed and Murdo softly brushed it aside. Finola looked up at him with a flicker of hope that her punishment was over. Then, with the swiftness of a bear striking with its claw, Murdo unsheathed his knife and sliced it across her cheek. Finola shrieked. “As the king commanded, a ‘cut above the breath’. It is the Dalrathan way.” With that, he rose and mounted his horse, casting Kaetha a steely look before he turned and left, his men following behind him.
Kaetha wanted to catch up with Murdo, to snatch his whip and cut into his flesh, to make him live that pain, feel that terror, but she simply watched, dumbstruck, as blood trickled down Finola’s cheek.
Donnan’s hand found her arm and he led her back towards the house.
She struggled. “I have to go to her.”
“Others will help her. Kaetha. I saw his face. He knows.”
“Then why did he hurt Finola and not me?”
“He wants you to
