The Virgin's Debt. Tatiana March

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      Chapter One

      Scotland, 1540

      They were going to kill her anyway, so she let her contempt show.

      Katrina McLeod glared at the three men in front of her. Like apostles of a pagan god, they sat behind the table of roughly hewn pine, their faces frozen in pious outrage. Behind her, she could hear the rustle of skirts as the two women ordered to witness her interrogation shifted restlessly on their feet.

      ‘Can you see the devil?’ asked Jonathan Crawford, the leader of the court.

      ‘Aye.’ Katrina gave the man a firm nod. ‘I can see the devil clearly.’

      ‘What does he look like?’

      ‘He is tall and gaunt, dressed in a grey doublet and a thick black coat with a patch over one elbow.’ She directed an unblinking stare at Crawford as she described his appearance.

      The man’s narrow face twisted with fury. He lurched forward, arms outstretched, as though wanting to strangle her with his bare hands. Katrina recoiled. For an instant, the mental wall she had erected around her fear shattered, and images of what awaited her broke through.

      They would burn her on the stake. Flames would lick at her feet, and then grow into a roaring inferno that consumed her. How long did it take to die by fire? Did your flesh scorch or melt? Could she tolerate the pain, or would she in her last moments lose her sanity and enter eternity in the grip of madness?

      At the rear of the room, the door opened and shut with a slam. Footsteps thudded across the floor in an odd rhythm of clomp and drag. A cold draft swirled around Katrina’s bare feet, fluttering the hem of the long white linen robe she’d been ordered to change into for the trial.

      In front of her, Jonathan Crawford surged to his feet. ‘Baron Rothmore.’

      ‘It’s no longer Baron Rothmore. Just Rothmore.’

      The deep voice drew goose bumps on her skin. Katrina whirled. A sound of surprise caught in her throat as she saw the newcomer. Lean, broad shouldered and no more than medium height, he was dressed like a working man, in dark breeches and a plain white shirt under a black coat. But despite the simplicity of his garments, they were made from the finest of fabrics, and on his feet he wore tall boots in gleaming black leather.

      Drawn by her startled cry, the stranger gave Katrina a sharp look before abruptly glancing away. The expression on his face hardened. An instant later, his eyes returned to linger on her, although she got the impression that he regarded her with reluctance.

      ‘What is this all about?’ he asked, his manner gruff. ‘Why has my presence been requested?’

      ‘It is Baron Rothmore we sent for,’ Crawford informed him.

      ‘My cousin is the Baron now and he is busy,’ the man said. ‘You’ve got to deal with me or manage without.’

      ‘We need the Baron’s authority to condemn Katrina MacLelland as a witch.’

      Katrina flinched. She’d misled the villagers about her name, and chose not to correct it now. If she suddenly claimed to be of noble birth, no one would believe her. She would be branded a liar, which would only make matters worse.

      ‘A witch?’ The man turned to Katrina. ‘Is that what they think you are?’

      Her gaze collided with his, and the room faded away. His eyes were a clear golden-brown, like those of an eagle, and in them she detected a suffering that made her want to reach out and lay her hand against his stubble-shadowed cheek.

      The stranger had the rugged Highland looks, with sharp angles and planes to his features, softened by a sensual wide mouth. Thick СКАЧАТЬ