Page 49 of Much Ado About a Scot

“We have testimony from those who’ve been affected by your evil deeds, and yet I must ask, how do you plead to these charges?”

Bothwell’s gaze narrowed on the crowd. “This is the third time I have stood trial for these same charges, and once again I plead not guilty.”

“Are you the Devil?”

“Nay.” Bothwell’s voice was hard.

“Are you a son of Satan?”

“Nay.”

“Did you conspire with Agnes Sampson to use the black arts against our ruler, King James?”

Bothwell bristled. “For the third time, nay! My cousin has fabricated all the charges of witchcraft and treason in order to be rid of me.”

The few men from Bothwell’s ranks who were allowed in the chamber to witness the questioning grumbled their objections, but quieted the moment the witch pricker turned his gaze to them.

Alaric Wyth smiled. “We have ample evidence against you. Spare yourself the hardship to come and put an end to this now.”

“If you have so much evidence, then bring it forth. I have nothing to fear as I am innocent. But there is a witch in your midst. Some of you already suspect her if the rumors I’ve heard since my arrival to the tolbooth are true.”

“This court does not operate on rumor, Bothwell. If you have direct evidence, present it. If not, I ask that you and your men remain silent so we may proceed with your questioning.”

Bothwell stepped forward before the sheriff clamped his arm and pulled him back. Bothwell’s eyes blazed as he turned his gaze to Xander. With his free hand, he gestured to his face. “Here is some of my proof. I was attacked by a witch’s familiar this morning, a golden eagle. If you want to rid yourself of a witch, I suggest you look to Isobel Seaton.”

The room erupted in chaos as Bothwell’s lips pulled up at the corners. A wild frantic urge to grasp the vile man’s throat swamped Xander. Bothwell would name Isobel as a witch in retaliation for Xander’s role in finding and arresting the traitor.

“Silence,” Alaric Wyth shouted over the voices that grew ever louder within the confined chamber. When silence settled around them once more, he turned back to Bothwell. “We will need more evidence than that.”

Bothwell smiled a terrible smile. “Many of you already know about Isobel Seaton’s poor unfortunate husbands. What you might not know is that she killed them by making wax effigies, and dousing them in poison. Both men died from that poison. And, as if that weren’t bad enough, I saw her summon the rain to put out a fire that ravaged her farm only this morning. She’s a witch, I tell you.”

There were gasps of horror from the crowd and murmurs of “I knew she was a witch.”

Reverend Brown bolted to his feet. “Bothwell is wrong!”

“Reverend Brown, please be seated and hold your comments,” Alaric Wyth demanded. “You will have your turn to speak when the time comes.” He turned back to Bothwell. “At your own tribunal you would accuse another of witchcraft?”

“Only someone who is guilty of that crime.”

Rage blistered through Xander’s insides as he stepped forward. “I request permission to address the council.”

Alaric Wyth nodded even as he frowned.

Xander stood before the men who would decide not only Bothwell’s but Isobel’s fate. “We are here to determine the guilt or innocence of Francis Stewart. He has hijacked these proceedings to shift the blame from himself to Isobel Seaton based on hearsay and rumor. Can anyone substantiate the claims against her, or should they even be pursued?”

“The words of a husband, attempting to save his wife,” Bothwell spat back.

Xander ignored him. “Are you to condemn another solely based on the rantings of an angry ex-courtier who has already been found guilty of these crimes against him not once, but twice?” As murmurs worked their way across the chamber, Xander continued, “Bothwell is poisoned by his hatred for his cousin King James. He will do and say anything to spare his own neck. Can all of us gathered here return this tribunal to its purpose of seeking justice for our king and country?”

A cheer rose up from his brothers-in-arms beside him, but Alaric Wyth’s face darkened. “Are you trying to advise me on how to accomplish the task I was commissioned with?”

“I only seek truth and justice,” Xander replied. “And right now, neither are being served.”

Red splotches came to the witchfinder’s cheeks. “I will be the one to decide that.” He turned to the sheriff. “Take Bothwell to his cell. We will continue this tribunal when everyone has had a chance to settle their emotions.”

The sheriff nodded and jerked Bothwell into motion.

“And when you are done with that,” Alaric Wyth continued, “take several men and bring Isobel Seaton into custody. She will be tried as a witch alongside the Earl of Bothwell.”