It was a lonely couple of weeks for Cora. After her explosive row with Ian, she didn’t hear another word from him about leaving the castle, for which she was grateful — but he was also extremely distant, courteous in public and friendly enough, but compared to the close intimacy they had used to share, the polite but distant way he was treating her felt unimaginably cold. She would have spent more time with Audrina as a result, but her friend had a lot on her plate — the villagers were understandably stressed by the intrusion of the Inquisitors, who by all accounts were making life a lot more difficult than it needed to be.

Cora rode down to see Peggy a few times as her due date was approaching, bringing her more food when she did, but she was afraid to be caught alone by the Inquisitors, so she kept her visits short and her face and hair covered when she was riding. She also got into the habit of changing horses each time she went, for fear she’d be recognized by Hamish’s distinctive black coat. It seemed to be enough — certainly, she never got caught when she was out and about, which was a small blessing at least.

She caught Audrina in a rare moment of peace and told her the whole story of the fight with Ian, winding up in tears at the end of it — a little embarrassing, to be sure, but if there was anyone in the world she could cry in front of, it was Audrina. Her friend was sympathetic — to both parties involved.

“Cora, don’t be too hard on him. He just wants to keep you safe,” she explained.

“How can you say that! He was happy to leave you here to burn!”

“Honestly, Cora, he was right. If anyone has a good chance of getting through the interrogation unscathed, it’s me. Remember, I’ve handled this stuff before — and I’ve got access to a lot more of Maeve’s memories than you do of Bellina’s. Ian’s not being callous in suggesting you and he leave me behind — he’s being realistic, that’s all. They’re like that, these men — they know how to reduce losses in battle. Sometimes you need to cut your losses, or take risks, to maximize the amount of lives you save.”

Audrina was making a lot of sense, Cora had to admit — but she was still furious at him for suggesting she’d leave Audrina behind. “We go through it together or we run together,” she said now, folding her arms defiantly.

“And we’re sure as hell not running.”

Though Laird Colin held them off for a good long while, it was only a few weeks until the Inquisitors arrived at the castle in person — ostensibly for a short personal visit. Small mercy that Cotswold wasn’t with them. Cora suspected that Lord Weatherby had had a hand in that — he accompanied the two men instead, and there was a rigidity to his posture that suggested he was a little worried about what the Inquisitors were going to say. More to the point — what they were going to do. And how the Scots were going to react. Maeve was a beloved figure in the castle, anyone could tell that — any slight against her, however small, was an insult to the entire population. Weatherby was working hard to keep things civil. It was very possible for this little skirmish to turn into all-out war between the two nations.

Cora and Maeve presented themselves, neatly and conservatively dressed. Cora did her best Good Catholic Girl braids, and Audrina had pinned the bulk of her mane of red hair back into a neat bun. The Inquisitors stared at them without pity — two tall men, almost identical in bearing. The same cold, cruel eyes above sharp, angular facial features and thin, hard lips. Cora wondered if they were twin brothers — or if working for the Inquisition just had this particular effect on people.

“Maeve MacClaran,” one of them intoned solemnly, in accented English, “you stand accused of witchcraft by Lord Cotswold. Do you deny the charge?”

“I do. Again,” Maeve added, but her voice was calm and controlled.

Cora stepped out from where she’d been standing behind her friend and met the Inquisitor’s gaze bravely.

“Cora Wilcox. You stand accused of witchcraft by Lord Cotswold. Do you deny the charge?”

“I do.”

The second Inquisitor’s face was twisted in shock. He seized his companion’s arm and rattled something off in Italian — and while Cora couldn’t understand the words, her stomach sunk to her toes as she heard the name ‘Bellina Corso’ at the end of the sentence. The man opened a satchel at his side and withdrew a piece of parchment that looked like a letter. Attached to it was a charcoal sketch of a woman with dark hair and eyes and a curvy figure — Cora knew without a second glance that it was a drawing of Bellina.

A drawing of her.

The second Inquisitor was suddenly right in front of her, still holding the drawing of her in his gloved hand. He yelled at her in rapid-fire Italian, and though Cora had always thought the Italian language to be incredibly beautiful, it didn’t feel that way anymore. She cringed a little — she could tell that he was questioning her by the rising inflections in his sentences, but she had no idea what he was saying. Helplessly, she looked from Audrina, to the other Inquisitor, to Ian and Colin, who were standing behind them. It was gratifying to see that Ian looked ready to spring to her defense — his hand was on the pommel of his sword and his eyes were burning. Despite their current feud, she was grateful to see him.

The Inquisitor had stopped yelling, and was breathing hard, scrutinizing her face for any sign of recognition. He looked a little nonplussed that she hadn’t responded to anything he’d said — perhaps he’d been trying to goad her, to say things that would have angered Bellina. But while Cora understood Italian in the dreams of her past self, she couldn’t make out a word of it now.

The first Inquisitor murmured something to his companion, and pointed at the letter. Despite not knowing what they were saying, Cora knew doubt when she saw it — a thrill of hope burned to life in her heart. Clearly, her not understanding Italian hadn’t been something they were counting on, and was weakening the case considerably. It helped, too, that the hairstyle in the picture was entirely different to the one she had chosen that morning — a small blessing. The Inquisitors must have written to the men who’d tortured Bellina, and received a description and an image in response. With any luck, they were now beginning to doubt the possibility that a dark-haired woman in Scotland was the same as a dark-haired woman who’d been killed in Italy months earlier.

The Inquisitors finished their whispered conference, and turned back to Cora and Audrina, their faces impassive yet again. The first one spoke — he seemed to be the one who was in charge, of the two of them. Cora was pretty sure he’d been the one speaking in the town square that day several weeks ago, too.

“We will return tomorrow and conduct an initial interview. Do not leave the castle grounds.”

They nodded, then turned and walked out of the keep, closing the huge doors behind them. Cora almost collapsed with relief. But Audrina’s face was grim.

“The interview will be the hard part. We’ve got some planning to do, Cora.”