Nannie . . .
Kaetha realised she’d heard Brother Gillespie’s thought. His last thought. But there wasn’t time to pause and reflect. The monks would look after Nannie. She had to find her father now.
Reaching the woods, she stopped. Which way might he have gone? One of the shutters at Nannie’s cottage had come loose and kept tapping against the wall in the wind, as if the cottage itself was warning her of danger.
Spotting footprints in the soft earth, she followed them. Cutting through a cluster of pines, she gasped as her foot struck a tree root but she managed to right herself and carry on running. Then a man screamed. She froze.
“Pa?” she called, running towards the sound. Bird wings fluttered, whipping in the branches, and a scattering of ravens took flight as she bolted beneath them. The path before her ended at a ridge and she jumped onto the ground below, landing in a low crouch before pushing herself up and following the new path.
She stopped. Before her, a man was staggering. He fell to his knees and something dark spilled down his sleeve. Then she noticed the cut at his shoulder and realised by the gushing of the blood that it was deep. She flung herself to her knees beside him.
“Here,” she said, taking his other hand and placing it over the cut. He flinched and cried out. “Put pressure on it. You need to slow down the bleeding. Listen, have you seen a man running through these woods?”
He squinted at her. “Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“I think you should get away from here, lass. You don’t want my cousin to find you.”
“Your cousin? Who are you?”
“Ranulf Macomrag.”
Why would a Macomrag care about her safety? “And who did this to you?” She saw him glower over her shoulder, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared.
“I did.”
She froze. A metal point pressed into her back, between her shoulder blades. She knew that voice.
“He let your father get away,” said Murdo. “Directly disobeying his orders.”
“He overpowered me, Murdo. I did all I could.”
“Remember how you address me now, Ranulf.”
Ranulf coughed. “He overpowered me, sir.”
“My father has done nothing wrong,” said Kaetha.
“You don’t think treason is a crime?”
“You’re wrong.” She paused, confused. “My father is no traitor.”
“Off with you, worm,” Murdo said to his cousin. “Do your job like the others.”
“Sir.” The man disappeared amongst the trees, clutching his wound.
Murdo turned to face her again. “Oh, I don’t think I’m wrong. I got one of my men to keep an eye on a certain person’s movements,” he gestured towards Kaetha with his sword, “at the same time that that very person was keeping an eye on someone else’s. Now – you’ll laugh at this – she led my man to this someone she was spying on.” Dread crept over Kaetha, biting like frost. “Someone who gave this to a sailor.” From a fold of his cloak, he pulled out a package wrapped in cloth. “Evidence,” he said with a glint in his eye like steel. “Unfortunately, I had to kill the sailor to get this.” The breath caught in Kaetha’s throat. “But at least I’ll have one traitor to present to the king. I’ve no doubt that my men will find him. I can’t imagine what the king will do to him,” he paused as a smile twisted his lips, “but I hope he lets me watch.”
Kaetha struggled to make a sound, barely managing to breathe. “He’s no traitor,” she repeated.
“And do you really think that anyone’s going to believe a witch?”
Metal glinted before her, then the flat side of a sword pressed cold against the base of her jaw. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak.
“No. I’ve already slit a throat today. It was over too fast.”
“I’m not a witch,” she whispered.
He ignored her. “You should be glad, I’ve had some practice at this now.” He whipped the blade so quickly, she barely noticed it slice across her cheek. She felt warmth running down her face before she realised it was her blood. Then she shrieked as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her along the path. She gripped his wrist, digging her nails into it then fumbled for Nannie’s knife which was tucked in her belt. He flung her into the dirt beside a pool and no sooner had her hands pressed into the yielding mud than she sprang to her feet again and bore down on him with the knife.
But he swatted her arm as if it were a midge and the knife went flying across the woodland floor. “I prefer my cats without claws,” he said as he clasped both of her wrists.
“Bastard!” She spat in his face, struggling in his grip.
“What? Words and spit? No magic to attack me with? No white fire?” His face was too close to hers. “Some say a witch cannot be drowned. I’m not so sure. Shall we see?” He pulled her to the ground with him, his hand pushing the back of her head.
Her scream was cut short as her head and shoulders were plunged into water. Murky shadows swam before her and her throat tightened. Hold breath. Hold breath, she told herself. She felt oddly separate from her limbs but knew they were struggling to get her out. What can I do? She fumbled for an idea. Ridiculous - you can’t make fire in water! Still, she tried to harness her gift, but as panic clutched at her, she lost her focus, thoughts skittering until they became sluggish and the movements of her limbs shrank to feeble twitches. Be still – wasting energy. Hold breath. Hold breath. But as pain began to blossom through her chest and her head, she unleashed a hidden
