Part 19 (2/2)
”Goodness me,” the old woman murmured. ”How can I be so forgetful? Meredythe said she'd be gone for at least three weeks, maybe more. She's a reporter, you know. A very good one, and she's working on a new story. If you'd like to leave your number...”
Slade raised his hands palms forward and backed away from the two women. ”No, no. If I'm still in the city in three weeks, maybe I'll stop back.”
”Well, I'm glad you stopped by. It's always nice to meet Meredythe's friends,” the old woman continued as she marched across the kitchen and tucked her hand under his arm.
As he tried to bolt from the room, she jerked him to a halt. How could such a small bird of a woman be so strong?
Slade shook his head, trying to clear his senses. The old woman's voice seemed to come from a hundred miles away.
”Wait, you didn't get a chance to eat your pie. I could wrap it up for you to take along.”
He wiped his face with his hand and shook his head emphatically. ”That won't be necessary. Please, I can't be late for my other appointment.”
She guided him toward the front door. ”Well, then. I won't be the cause of you losing business or something like that. Thank you for coming. Please come back again. Meredythe's friends are always welcome.”
Before he could answer, he was on the front porch and the door was closed tightly behind him. A sudden gust of wind had all the wind chimes jangling discordantly. He cringed, practically ran from the porch and disappeared down the block. As he hurried away, a thought popped into his mind. Chicago. That's what the file he found in her apartment was labeled. At least he knew where she was. He'd be there by tomorrow.
Inside, Mary Francis turned to her friend. ”That was a masterful performance, Evie. You have the addlepated old lady act perfected.”
Evelyn chuckled. ”I thought he was going to wet his pants when Jezebel walked in. And when he saw you! He must have a horribly guilty conscious if a nun shakes him up that much.”
Mary Francis smiled. ”Do you think he took the bait?”
Evelyn nodded. ”His mind was completely open as I wove the spell. He'll go to Chicago to find her. She and Bleddyn will be safe now-for a while anyway.”
Chapter Ten.
Methuselah pushed open the door to Rhys' tower and sauntered in.”I expected you earlier,” the old druid said.Meredythe stayed up later than I expected mulling over the information she's gathered.”Has she figured out anything about Bleddyn?”Methuselah jumped into an overstuffed chair and sat, his tail curled around his paws. No, the idea of werewolves is still too unbelievable for her to consider. Rhys sighed and sipped some tea. ”I don't know whether that's good or bad. Ah well, all things progress in their own time. Is she asleep now?”
Yes.
Rhys set his tea on the table. ”Good. Shall we proceed? She has more memories to experience.”
”Let me go!”
A jagged nail sc.r.a.ped the tender skin of her upper arm, but the viselike fingers wrapped around Meredythe didn't loosen. She dragged her feet, digging soggy furrows in the muddy soil as her captors wrenched her forward. Even though she twisted this way and that, she was unable to avoid the clumps of mud and rotted vegetables pelting her already bruised body.
The frenzied crowd surrounding her surged closer. A gap-toothed woman grabbed a handful of tangled hair, yanked her head back and slapped her. Bright specks of light zigzagged before her eyes. When the men holding her arms jerked her forward, long strands of red remained in her tormenter's fist.
”Burn her! Burn the witch!”
Meredythe struggled harder, the fear she thought she had under control beginning to a.s.sert itself. Her voice trembled. ”I'm not a witch! Please. You must believe me. I've done nothing but help you.”
Ignoring her, the two men dragged her toward the huge pyre that had been built in the field next to the village church. When her frantic pleas garnered no pity from the hysterical crowd, she called down curses.
The crowd ignored the first and didn't fear the second. Their new cleric had promised G.o.d would protect them.
One of her burly captors, the village blacksmith by trade, shoved her up the ladder laid against the tower of logs and brush. Once on top, he pushed her against the pole wedged in the center of the pyre, jerked her hands above her head and tied them to the iron ring dangling from the top of the pole. When she started to curse him, he shoved a filthy rag in her mouth. Then he descended the ladder, pulling it away when he reached the bottom.
”Daughter of Satan, now you'll burn,” a scraggly haired woman screamed. ”You'll burn in h.e.l.l for spelling me boy. He'd be alive if not for you.”
A gangly farmer flourished a stout club. ”She cast a spell on me cows, she did, and soured all the milk and spoiled the b.u.t.ter.”
”Witch!” spat a buxom la.s.s, the village beauty, her face screwed into a mask of hatred. ”She spelled Hob baker's son away from me, she did. When she's dead, he'll love me again.”
”She conjured the rains, she did,” another farmer yelled as he shook his fist. ”Me crops rotted in the field. What will I feed me babes come winter?”
Meredythe blinked, trying to conquer the tears flooding her eyes. She would not let these people see her fear. She blinked and glanced skyward. A low moan escaped through her gag and she lowered her watery gaze. She stared at the blurry, roiling ma.s.s of humanity. Hate rolled up the pyre and surrounded her.
Three men climbed onto a scaffold that had been built before the pyre, just high enough that they stood above the crowd. The local squire stepped forward and raised his hands to quiet the crowd.
”We are a peaceful village, a law-abiding village,” he began. ”We seek only to tend our farms, raise our children and live in peace. We wish harm on no man or woman. But we will defend what is ours.”
Shouts of agreement rolled from the crowd.
The corpulent squire nodded sagely. ”For years, the old woman, Edyth of Deepwood dwelt amongst us. We opened our hearts and hearths to her. Little did we know that we gave shelter to one of Satan's snakes. But G.o.d has delivered us from that daughter of h.e.l.l. Reverend Thormachton came among us and revealed the evil we nourished in our bosom.”
The black-robed cleric bowed and accepted the accolades of the crowd.
When the cheers died away, the squire continued, ”No more will the witch cast her demon spells. She is dead, killed by the brave blacksmith Ham.”
More cheers erupted, this time for the brawny man who blushed and ducked his head.
Again the squire raised his hands for quiet. ”What's more, his heroic efforts also brought into our hands the witch's evil acolyte.”
He turned and pointed to the struggling girl. ”She will be punished for her blasphemy.”
The crowd surged closer, screaming their approval.
The squire raised his hands and the crowd quieted. ”But we are not ignorant, unlearned people here in our small village. We do not simply accuse, judge without justification, convict without evidence. No man shall say we broke the law. We follow the law. This witch burns by writ of law, the Law of Witchcraft set down by our good Queen Elizabeth.”
He motioned the village minister forward. The black-robed man held up a sheet of parchment and read, ”BE it enacted by the King our Sovraigne Lorde the Lordes Spirituall and Temporall and the Comons in this p'sent Parliment a.s.sembled, and by the authoritie of the same, That the Statute made in the fifte yeere of the Raigne of our late Sov'aigne Ladie of the most famous and happy memorie Queene Elizabeth, int.i.tuled An Acte againste Conjurations Inchantments and witchcraftes, be from the Feaste of St. Michaell the Archangell nexte cominge, for and concerninge all Offences to be comitted after the same Feaste, utterlie repealed.”
Meredythe tugged at the ropes binding her wrists. There had to be a way to escape!
The minister droned on.
”AND for the better restrayning of saide Offenses, and more severe punis.h.i.+nge the same, be it further enacted by the authoritie aforesaide, That if any pson or persons after the saide Feaste of Saint Michaell the Archangell next comeing, shall use practise or exercsise any Invocation or Conjuration of any evill and spirit, or shall consult covenant with entertaine employ feede or rewarde any evill and wicked Spirit to or for any intent or pupose... ”
Meredythe choked behind her gag as she labored to draw air into her lungs. How could this have happened? All she wanted to do was help people. She was no witch. Edyth hadn't been a witch either, just an old woman who understood herbs and how to use them to ease suffering. Again, she jerked her arms against the bindings that held them over her head, futilely. Then, slowly, the silence penetrated her thoughts. The cleric was looking up at her.
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