a crowd could be stirred by Ide’s words into a dangerous mob. Ignoring the threat of Ide’s hatred was what had killed her mother.
“I was but trying to get home,” she said in what she prayed was a calm, soothing tone of voice.
“Ye didnae need to stop here. Ye could have slipped around us. But, nay, here ye are, lurking in the shadows. I tell ye,” Ide yelled to the crowd, “she is after gathering that poor woman’s soul.”
She looked at Sir William, hoping to find an ally, but he was looking at her as though he believed she could do exactly as Old Ide claimed she could. “I am nay a witch and I am nay here to catch souls,” she said.
“Then why are ye e’en in town?” he demanded. “They banished ye, didnae they?”
“They may have tossed me out, Sir William, but nay one of them complains when I come to heal them or spend what little coin I have in their shops.”
“That still doesnae explain why ye were hiding here, lurking about in the shadows near my home.”
“And why dinnae ye ask all of them what they are doing here?” She glared at Old Ide. “Aye, why dinnae ye ask why they flock here like corbies, feeding upon your misery?”
Morainn wished the words back even as she said them. The crowd was incensed by them and that gave Ide a fertile crowd in which to sow her lies and their fears. There would be no help from Sir William, either. That man looked as if he expected her to start changing into some soul-stealing demon at any moment. Even as she fruitlessly tried to break free of the man’s grip, she attempted to reason with him and the crowd. It was obvious, however, that few of them wished to heed reason. Morainn began to fear that she was about to suffer far worse than banishment this time.
“Silence!”
The bellow that cut straight through all the noise the crowd made startled Morainn so much that she put her foot back down on the ground instead of kicking Sir William as she had planned to. Sir Simon and Sir Tormand stood on the front steps of the house, their hands on their swords, glaring at the now subdued crowd. Morainn prayed that they were going to prove to be the saviors she desperately needed right now.
Nodding once he had the silence he had demanded, Sir Simon spoke in a quieter but still very firm voice as he asked, “What is going on out here? Have ye forgotten that this is a house of mourning?”
“The witch is here, sir,” said Old Ide, pointing at Morainn.
“Aye,” said a plump, graying woman who stepped up beside Ide. “Ide says that the witch has come to steal the dead lady’s soul.”
The look on Sir Simon’s face made several of the people in the crowd blush and stare down at their feet. Morainn was glad he was not aiming that look of utter disdain her way. She could not see Sir Tormand’s face as clearly, but the taut line of his fine profile told her that his expression was probably just as condemning.
“None of ye should heed such superstitious nonsense,” Sir Simon said to the woman and then he looked at Ide. “And ye shouldnae speak it. Nay, nor should ye be stirring up such trouble outside this house. Silence,” he hissed when Ide tried to protest. “Only a fool would spit out such idiocy. Aye, or someone who wishes harm to the one she accuses. Do ye fear to lose your place as midwife here, Ide Bruce?”
When that question had several people eyeing Old Ide with anger and suspicion, the woman crossed her arms over her ample chest and said no more. Morainn felt Sir William’s grip on her arm ease a little when Sir Simon then looked their way. She glanced up at Sir William and found him flushing beneath Sir Simon’s cold, steely gray gaze.
“Is this the woman?” asked Sir Simon.
When Sir William nodded, Sir Simon signaled him to bring her closer. Morainn stumbled a little as the man dragged her over to the steps. One cold look from Sir Simon had Sir William hastily releasing her. She idly rubbed her arm as she looked up at Sir Simon, fighting the urge to look instead at Sir Tormand Murray, the man who had haunted her dreams for far too long.
“And who are ye, mistress?” Sir Simon asked.
“’Tis the Ross witch,” said Sir William.
“This is the woman ye all banished ten years ago?” Sir Simon looked her over and then stared at the crowd. “She would have been nay more than a child and ye tossed her out to fend for herself? That child frightened ye that much, did she?” When most of the crowd was unable to meet his gaze, he nodded and looked at Morainn again. “Your name?”
“Morainn Ross,” she replied.
“I dinnae believe what the old woman says.” He smiled faintly when Old Ide gasped in outrage. “For ’tis clear that she tries to rid herself of a rival, but, for the sake of those who are seduced by her lies, tell me why ye are here.”
“I came to the town to buy some barrels to store the cider and mead I make.” Catching a movement out of the corner of her eye, Morainn looked and saw the cooper trying to slip away. “There is the cooper, sir. He can tell ye that I speak the truth.”
The cooper stopped and looked at Sir Simon. “Aye, sir, she was doing just that.” He scratched his belly. “Truth is, I was surprised she had come this far on her way back home. Must walk fast.”
“Mayhap she flew, eh, Ide?” called out one man.
When the crowd snickered, Morainn felt herself relax, her fear seeping away. It would be wondrous if this confrontation made people ignore the lies Old Ide told about her, but Morainn doubted that would happen. For now, however, she was safe.
“I tell ye, she is a witch,” snapped Ide, unwilling to give up the battle too quickly.
“Is she?” asked Sir Tormand, his deep voice cold, with a sharp bite to it. “Has she harmed someone then?” There was a murmur of denial in the crowd. “Lied to ye? Cheated ye? Stolen from ye?” Each question brought another muttered denial. “Ah, but she has healed some of ye, hasnae she?” This time several nods were his answer.
“But, if she isnae a witch, why was she banished?” asked a young man.
“I suspicion someone stirred up a crowd with lies and superstition. Once it was done, it couldnae be taken back.” Tormand smiled faintly when the woman called Ide was glared at by nearly everyone in the crowd, revealing that this was not the first time the woman had played this deadly game. He wondered who had suffered then. “Go home. Ye shame yourselves by carrying on like this before this house of mourning and by listening to a jealous old cow’s lies.”
Morainn stared at Sir Tormand Murray. Her heart told her that he believed all he was saying, that they were not just words spoken to disburse an unruly crowd. She firmly told herself not to allow that to drag her into some foolish infatuation with the man. He was far too high a reach for one like her and his reputation did not offer any woman hope that he would care for her, or be faithful. Her only responsibility was to try to do what she could to make sure he did not hang for crimes he had not committed.
Tormand watched the crowd meander away and then turned to look at Morainn Ross. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he met her gaze. Wide blue eyes, the color of the sea, stared up at him with surprise and a touch of wariness. Her hair was as black as any he had ever seen, tumbling to her waist in long thick waves. It was impossible to get a good look at her figure beneath her dark cloak, but he caught glimpses of high, full breasts and nicely rounded hips. She was not as small as many of the women in his family, but she was not tall, either. He suspected the top of her head would tuck in just neatly under his chin.
It was her face that fascinated him the most, however. Her dark brows were perfect arches over her beautiful eyes and her lashes were long and thick, accentuating their rich color. Her skin held no blemishes, a true rarity, and was touched with a soft hint of gold. He wondered if that was the color of all her skin and quickly banished the thought when he felt himself begin to grow hard. Her nose was small and straight and the bones of her heart-shaped face were neatly cut from her high cheekbones to her surprisingly