You will have to climb up on Storm Chaser by yourself. I must hold these people at bay while I can still do it.

  She had never hoisted herself into the saddle before, but she knew she must do it now. Running to the horse, she slipped one foot into a stirrup and tried to heave herself up. But her torn skirt tangled around her legs, and she didn’t have a good enough grip on the saddle. Instead of gaining purchase, she fell back to the ground.

  Seeing that victory was still within their grasp, the mob moved forward like an evil wave.

  Chapter Eight

  Bronwin saw them coming and ordered herself to get up. Teeth gritted she put her foot back into the stirrup and tried again, her arms shaking with weakness as she struggled to lift her own weight. She had to do it, or she would be dead and probably Cameron as well. And with that knowledge giving her strength, she heaved herself into the saddle.

  From her new vantage point, she could see Cameron menacing the would-be attackers with his sword.

  “You are wrong,” he shouted. “She is no witch.”

  “Prove it,” someone snarled.

  Bronwin gathered herself and shouted. “The man who killed Elfreda is Hugh Cartwright.”

  “You accuse an upstanding member of our community?” a woman challenged.

  “Aye. He found Elfreda gathering wildflowers in the forest. He raped her. He smothered her so there would be no evidence and threw her off a cliff.”

  The crowd turned toward Cartwright.

  Bronwin gave them more to think about. “Wasn’t he the one who started calling me a witch? Wasn’t he the one who accused me of the murder he committed?”

  The question had hit its mark -- until a man shouted. “That is a nice tale, but how could you know any of it if you are not a witch?”

  How indeed?

  She could not answer, and she didn’t get a chance. Cameron leaped into the saddle in front of her and ordered Storm Chaser, “Go,” as he dug his heels into the animal’s sides.

  Hold tight, he shouted in her mind.

  The horse responded to his master and galloped back the way they had come.

  Cameron had never urged his mount to such speed while she was riding with him. Desperately, she wrapped her arms around his waist and clung as though her life depended on it -- which she knew it did. As they pounded out of the village at top speed, she listened for the sound of hooves coming after them. But the horses in town were nothing like Storm Chaser. They were bred to pull carts or plows.

  If any followed, Bronwin could not hear them. Soon they had reached her cottage. She wanted to ask Cameron to stop so that she could at least get a dress that was not torn, but she knew that any such delay would be foolhardy.

  Instead, they sped past, into the trees -- this time, Cameron watching where he was going so as not to suffer his previous fate.

  As the crowd had torn at her, Bronwin had been ready to fight for her life. Now she felt wrung out as though all the energy had drained from her body. Her head sank to Cameron’s shoulder, and she fought to hold onto his waist.

  We can slow soon, he told her.

  Thank the gods. I can barely cling to you now.

  I’m sorry. It is what happens to men after a battle. When they are no longer charged up, they lose their strength.

  But you are still in command of yourself.

  Because I must be.

  Although he slowed the horse’s pace, they did not stop.

  “I think we are well away,” he finally said, urging Storm Chaser to a walk. They had left the woods and were traveling through an open field.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “We are almost there, I think.”

  Moments later, a small cottage, hardly more than a rough cabin, came into view. The roof sagged, and there were holes in the wattle and daub that made up the siding. It looked like a hovel, but at least it would be some shelter. Cameron dismounted and walked to the door. It sagged on broken hinges, and he had to lift up the free side to push it open.

  When he disappeared inside, her breath caught. After the attack in the village, she did not want to be alone.

  To her relief, he was back quickly. “It’s not very attractive, but it will do.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. She was leagues farther than she ever had been from the village where she was born. But was it far enough?

  He must have picked up the silent question because he answered, “Aye.”

  “And they will not follow?” she pressed, still wanting reassurance.

  Cameron came back and held out his arms. Bronwin slipped off the horse and fell against him, unable to stop herself from shaking. He held her to him, running his hands up and down her back.

  “I told you, none of them had fast horses, and they have no idea in which direction to search. You are safe, thank the gods.”

  Still, her arms clutched at him, and all the terror that had been bottled up inside her came flooding out. Tears leaked from her eyes as she whispered, “I am only safe because you were there.”

  He cupped her shoulders. “I saw you fighting them.”

  “But there were too many. In the end, they would have overpowered me.”

  He nodded, acknowledging the truth of her words as his grip on her tightened. Wordlessly, he lowered his head to cover her lips with his. They exchanged a long, heartfelt kiss that spoke of relief and renewal.

  Yet it was still hard for her to believe she had escaped. When he stepped away, she looked down at her ruined skirt, lifting a long rent in the fabric and letting it fall back again.

  “If I had needle and thread, I could mend this.”

  “No. It’s too far gone. I think you will have to wear something of mine.”

  He took down his saddle bags and pulled out a pair of britches and a shirt. “These will be too big, but they will cover you up.”

  They walked into the cottage, where she grimaced as she looked around. No furnishings remained, and she could see that animals had used the place for a den. There were droppings and some bones on the dirt floor.

  “We won’t be here long,” Cameron said. “But you need to rest after that… attack.”

  Still dazed, she nodded.

  “Let me help you change.” He held the clothing he had taken out while she pulled off her dress, then handed her a shirt which she quickly pulled on.

  When it came to the britches, she said. “I can’t wear these over my drawers.”

  “Then leave them off.”

  Seeing no other alternative, she followed his suggestion. Because the britches were made to be worn with boots, they were not too long. But she had to roll up the shirtsleeves.

  “I hate the idea of arriving in Glencarn like this,” she murmured.

  “We are not going to Glencarn now. I am going back to kill that bastard who raped the girl and tried to pin her death on you.”

  Her whole body went stiff and cold. “No.”

  “I will not let him get away with what he has done.”

  “But what good would it do to kill him?”

  “The lying murderer must be punished. No one else will do it because no one else knows what he did.”

  Don’t kill him, she silently pleaded.

  You would be merciful to him? Cameron asked in astonishment.

  The question sent a shiver over her skin. No. I want the village to know I am innocent. I want him to confess what he has done.

  Why would he do that?

  I think we can drive him to it.

  Cameron searched her face. How?

  The way you and I are talking now. Until we started communicating this way, I had no idea I could even do it. I believed I was only tormented by thoughts from others. Then I found out I could speak to you -- mind to mind. It was a revelation for me. Now that we have been doing it, my talent has grown stronger. I think I can send my thoughts to Cartwright. I mean, send him a message. An awful message. The same threatening words over and over.

  As she spoke, Cameron stared at her, and she could see by his expression that he was willing to entertain the idea.

  You think you could do that -- that we could do it?

  What would we lose by trying?

  You would be in grave danger, he shot back.

  I will have a former officer in King Norwen’s troops to protect me.

  You have a lot of faith in me. I barely snatched you away from that crowd.

  We would not be in a crowd. She clasped her hands around his forearms. You will help me get close to him, and I will send him a message that will torment him into confessing.

  She could see Cameron was still not totally convinced.

  She dragged in a breath and let it out. Before you came, I would never have thought of such a thing. I know now that I can do it. And it may be that you can amplify my message to him.

  He looked uncertain. “I don’t think I can do anything like that.”

  “I think you can. If it doesn’t work, we can sneak away.” When she saw him about to speak, she went on quickly, “I know where he lives. He needs space for his business of building wagons. He has a large plot of land. We can hide ourselves there and send him thoughts that will torment him.”

  Because Cameron still looked torn, she clasped his hand and squeezed. “Please, help me to do it. I do not want to be branded as a witch for the rest of my life.”

  “No one in Glencarn would know.”

  “But someone could happen by from Ten Oaks at any time and tell them.”

  * * *

  Cameron clenched his fists. He thought the scenario she described was unlikely, yet he imagined what it would be like to live under the threat of being labeled a witch. It would be like having a sword always hanging over her head.

  “All right,” he agreed.

  Bronwin threw her arms around him again and hugged him to her. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  They stood locked together for long moments before he detached himself.

  “We have a lot to do before dark to make this place habitable.”

  “Aye.”

  Thinking that work would be a good way to take her mind off the horror of the morning’s attack, he said, “I will bring back pine boughs to use as a broom.”

  He found a suitable tree and cut several boughs. As he worked, he kept alert for signs that anyone was observing him. But he saw no one.

  When he returned, both of them swept the dirt and animal litter from the cottage floor. Then he set down his saddlebags.

  “Lucky for us I packed up before we left.”

  She nodded. “Aye. Everything of mine is still back at my cottage, except my coins. At least I have them.”

  “And you will have new clothing, new furnishings, and a new loom when we get to Glencarn.” Returning to the immediate situation, he said, “While I go catch some dinner, you spread my ground cloth and top it with some blankets.”

  “Catch what?”

  “Fish. I saw a nearby stream. If I catch some, we should cook them while there is still light -- so no one will see the fire.”

  “I thought you weren’t worried about being followed.”

  “It is always good to be cautious.”

  Outside again, he removed Storm Chaser’s saddle, but left on his bridle as before. He also brought Bronwin his extra knife.

  While the horse grazed, Cameron made himself a fishing rod with a sapling he cut down with his knife. When the pole was ready, he attached the string and a hook he had brought.

  When he was finished, he stepped back inside the cottage and asked, “Will you be all right by yourself?”

  “Aye,” she answered in a voice that wasn’t quite steady, and he knew that she didn’t want to be alone. At the same time, she wasn’t going to be a hindrance.

  “I will be as quick as I can.”

  He noted his surroundings as he crossed the meadow. In truth, he didn’t like leaving Bronwin alone. Yet he wanted to keep her out of sight as well as wanting some time to think.

  Near the stream bank, he found a muddy place where he could dig up some worms to bait his hook. As he cast the line into the water and waited for a tug, he went back over the events of the day.

  After the first shock of seeing the mob attack Bronwin, he had swung into action, but it had been a near thing. He had seen similar mobs take on a mad frenzy, and he knew a group of seemingly normal people could be turned into an angry beast, thirsty for the blood of a perceived enemy. Later, many would wonder what had come over them.

  When the scenes from the morning flashed through his mind, he marveled that he had been able to snatch Bronwin away. He ached to keep her safe now, but he understood why his first impulse -- to kill the rapist -- was not the best move. She was right. It would be a great relief to both of them if they could clear her name.

  As his mind churned, he continued his watchful stance. The work of catching and cleaning two fish was automatic. And as he was finishing preparing the second one, a refinement to her plan came into his mind.

  He had brought along a tin plate to hold his catch. Quickly he washed off the fish and laid a mat of broad leaves on the plate before arranging the fish on top. When he was finished, he hurried back to the cabin.

  As he entered, he spotted Bronwin. She had laid out the blankets as he had asked. They were close to the far wall, and she sat on the makeshift bed, her back propped against the wattle and daub. When she saw a figure darken the doorway, she jumped up, knife in hand -- until she recognized him.

  He hurried to her side and held her tenderly. “I did not mean to startle you.”

  “I know. My nerves are still jangling.”

  “I thought of how we can augment your plan.”

  Before he could explain, she picked up the idea from his mind. Her face broke into a grin as she said, A brilliant plan. Inform him the gods have come to punish him for his wickedness. The bastard might not respond to an unknown voice in his head, but if it comes from on high, that is another matter.

  Aye. We will pretend that the gods are speaking directly to him. They will tell him that his only salvation is to reveal all, or they will send him to a place of excruciating pain where he will be tortured through all eternity.

  They hugged each other, both pleased with Cameron’s plan -- until an idea struck Bronwin.

  Is that not blasphemy?

  Cameron stopped and considered. He had not thought of that impediment, but now he was firm in his answer.

  No. In this case, I believe we will be acting as instruments of the gods. I believe they would want a man who has perpetrated such viciousness to be punished. And since no one believed you when you accused him of the girl’s murder, there would be no other way to prove his evil deeds. At this moment, he has gotten away with pinning the murder he committed on you. When we finish with him, everybody in Ten Oaks will know the truth.

  As he spoke, he tightened his grip on her, stroking his hands up and down her back, thanking the gods that she was here with him and unharmed. At the same time, he knew that she would carry mental wounds for some time. How long would it take for her to recover from what had happened?

  My chances are so much better with your help, she answered silently.

  He held her for a few more moments before easing away. “I have brought fish. Help me get our dinner ready. I will need wood for a small fire.

  He set his catch down, and they both looked for fallen tree branches that they could burn. There were already rocks near the cottage, and he made a circle to contain his fire, then broke the wood into short lengths to fit inside the circle. Bronwin helped with the smaller pieces.

  He used flint, steel, and dried grass to start the fire, then urged it into a small blaze.

  “You are good at this,” she said.

  “They taught me well in the king’s guard.”

  They roasted the fish by sticking them on long, green branches and holding them over the fire. The flesh cooked quickly, and they were soon sharing the simple meal from the one plate.

  “You know about my life,” she said as they ate. “But you have not told me about yours.”

  Because his own history was painful.

  He watched her catch her breath when a picture leaped into his mind.

  “Your parents were killed in a flood,” she whispered.

  It was a memory he hated to return to, but Bronwin had snatched it from his mind.

  She reached for his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry I dragged that out of you. I can tell you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “True, but you are right. You should know the background of your future husband.”

  Her face lit up.

  “As soon as we can get to a priest,” he answered, then went on. “Let me tell you quickly and briefly. My early years were happy. My father was a miller, and we were well off -- until the flood swept down the river next to the mill. We had had floods before, of course. But not like this monster. It came so quickly that there was no time to get far from the river, and my father was afraid that the mill would be swept away, as well. We were trying to flee when it took us. My father was able to wedge me in the vee if a tree branch. He told me to hold on tight, and I did. But then he tried to help my mother, and they were carried away by the current.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve. My life changed completely after that. I went to live with my mother’s brother, Alben Flint. He took me in because I had nowhere else to go. But he didn’t really want another mouth to feed. He was a farmer. He worked me hard and beat me when I did not do exactly as he directed. The hard work strengthened my body. I was big for my age. As soon as I could, I ran away from him. I had heard men talk about joining King Norwen’s guards, and that seemed like a good alternative for me.”

  His gaze turned inward as he continued. “It was the first time I had made friends since my former life. None of my uncle’s children liked me because they considered that I was taking food out of their mouths.

  “I met my best friend, Steffan, on the first day of training. He was new, too, and we bonded quickly. We served together for three years, but neither of us liked the way King Norwen ran roughshod over his subjects.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He had us collect taxes from people who could barely keep themselves fed and clothed. Took crops that did not belong to him.”

 

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