Page 39 of Highland Fire

“The test is done,” said Geordie, who then looked at Jeanne. “The mon was right. We were used to soothe a whore’s stung vanity.”

Moira pulled away from Tavig a little as the anger of the crowd turned on Jeanne. Jeanne protested her innocence, reiterating her accusations as the villagers encircled her. The priest quickly moved to join in the condemnation. Moira had the chilling feeling that Jeanne’s life was in danger.

“Tavig,” she said as he helped her to her feet, “I think they mean to kill her.”

“There is naught we can do about it,” he replied.

“Aye,” agreed Robert. “I think ye and the lass would be wise to flee from this place,” he advised Tavig.

All four of them started back to Robert’s house. A scream from Jeanne caused Moira to hesitate, but Tavig urged her to continue. The moment they were back in Robert’s cottage, Mary urged her to sit down, then bathed her feet. Robert helped Tavig collect up their belongings.

“We should have helped her,” Moira whispered, looking at her feet one last time before donning her hose and boots which Robert had rescued from the church.

“Some of the woman’s own kinsmen were in that crowd,” said Robert. “They fled as soon as the fury of the people turned against Jeanne. ’Tisnae right, but the four of us cannae halt them. See to your own safety, lass.”

“Jeanne tried to have you killed,” Mary reminded her.

“I ken it.” Moira shook her head. “I still dinnae understand how I could walk over those things and suffer no more than a stinging from the heat.”

“I should like to tell ye that ye have been proven innocent by God Himself,” said Tavig.

“But ye cannae.” She smiled faintly as she stood, picking up the sack she would carry. “Dinnae worry about saying so. I truly cannae believe God has the time to guard a wee lass’s feet.”

“Nay, probably not. All I can think of is that the calluses ye were so ashamed of have proven their worth. Ye have tough wee feet, dearling. Aye, and I noticed ye had somehow gained a fine coat of dirt on the bottoms of your feet.”

She grimaced. “I was terrified. I was awash in sweat, right down to the soles of my feet. ’Tis odd, I found the dirt clinging to my feet an irritation. I guess it is a good thing that I had neither the time nor the wit to scrape them clean ere I began my walk. At first I thought my mind simply refused to accept my injuries, but I have looked closely, and there are no injuries.”

“Nay, none. The dirt and the calluses worked as weel as any boot, mayhap better. We have to go now.”

They thanked Robert and Mary even as they hurried out the door. Moira could hear the crowd and started to look back toward the church, but Tavig would not allow it. He pulled her along the road in such haste she had no choice but to keep a very close eye upon where she stepped.

His sense of urgency began to infect her. She felt her insides knot with fear as she stumbled along behind him. As they stepped into the wood at the far northern edge of the village’s fields, she began to relax only to cry out softly in fear as a man called out Tavig’s assumed name. Tavig pushed her behind him, drew his sword, and turned to face the man in one clean, graceful move. When the shadowy figure moved into the moonlight, Moira began to relax again. It was only one man carrying a bundle and towing a goat. She felt Tavig ease his tense stance and knew she was right to think that there was no threat.

“Iain,” Tavig said, nodding curtly at the older man. “I fear your daughter has gotten herself entangled in something she cannae get out of.”

“I ken it. She is dead. As I hurried to meet ye I saw her hanging from the tree in the square.”

“I am sorry.”

“Ye have naught to be sorry about. She tried to have your wife killed. Aye, I will grieve. She was of my flesh, but the lass has spent most of her short life rushing toward just such an ending.”

“How did ye ken where to meet me?”

“I was going to Robert’s cottage to meet with ye there, but saw ye preparing to flee. I was sure ye wouldnae leave by the road ye came in on so I hurried here. I couldnae let ye disappear again without seeing you.”

“But why?”

“To give ye this.” Iain held out the bundle he carried, placing it into a frowning Tavig’s arms.

Moira did not need to see the stunned look on Tavig’s face to know exactly what was swaddled in the bundle of cloth he held. She had already guessed. A small voice in her head told her she did not want to know any more, but as Tavig tugged open the swaddling, she moved closer to get a better look. Although there was only a shadowy light of the moon, she bit back a cry as she looked at the baby’s face. The child carried Tavig’s mark. Jeanne had borne Tavig a child.

“It cannae be…” Tavig began, his voice weakened by shock.

“Aye, it can and it is. ’Tis your son, and I am giving him to you.”

“Iain, I mean no insult, nor do I wish to speak ill of the dead, but Jeanne…”

“Was a whore. I ken it. She has been so afflicted since her first flux.”