They cleared the dining hall to confer about what was to be done — Ian, Colin, Audrina and Cora. Mary emerged from the kitchen with a huge pot of tea and four cups, left it for them on the table and touched her son’s shoulder briefly — he looked up at her in wordless thanks, and she smiled, eyes full of worry. The moment was interrupted by Donal, who burst in through the door holding a wooden sword and yelling at the phantom Inquisitors whom he was clearly chasing out of the castle for them. Colin chuckled at the antics of his little brother — Mary shooed the boy out into the courtyard, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

Audrina poured the tea for them all. Her face was set, but Cora didn’t miss the way her hands shook, just slightly, as she handed around the cups. It was chamomile tea, calming and soothing, and it fortified Cora in a way she hadn’t even realized she sorely needed. Smiling a dark little smile to herself, she wondered if any Inquisitors would consider the brewing of tea to be witchcraft. Where did it end, honestly?

“We need to get our story straight,” Audrina was saying, warming her hands on the mug. “My story is easy enough — I’m Maeve MacClaran. I have enough of her memories to make that ring true. I was taken by Lord Cotswold, but I managed to escape, wandered the Highlands for a little while, then was found and restored to my husband and my home.”

“Cotswold will counter that,” Colin said thoughtfully. “Claim to have killed you with his own hands.”

“Cotswold can claim all he likes to have killed me — it’s his word against the word of the whole Clan, and it’s common knowledge that he wasn’t mentally well when it all happened. Weatherby will attest to that — I trust him that much. He doesn’t want me executed for witchcraft any more than I do — and I don’t think he believes in it at all, honestly.”

“What about Cora?” Ian wanted to know — he avoided her eyes as he spoke, which sent a pang of sadness through her.

“Cora is my cousin from Skye,” Audrina declared. “She came to stay with us a few months ago because our last midwife was killed by the Inquisition in Italy. The resemblance is a coincidence — and I suggest we all pretend we don’t see it,” she added. She put on a quizzical face. “They look alike? I suppose, now I think about it… Bellina had black hair too, I guess… I don’t know, though...”

“Thank God there’s no cameras,” Cora said, smiling at the rather convincing lie.

“Cameras?” Colin asked.

“Never mind, love. A future invention. Nothing you’ll need to worry about.” Audrina put her hand on her husband’s forearm and shared a secret smile with Cora.

“Okay, so I’m from Skye.” Cora frowned. “I’ve never been to Skye. What if they ask me about my childhood? I’m not great at lying under pressure.”

“That’s not true,” Audrina said immediately. “You reassure your patients all the time, even when things look grim. You put on a brave face when you’re worried. You lie all the time to protect the people around you, Cora — all you have to do is apply that same skill to the Inquisitors, and you’ll be safe.”

“There’s no way we can just — refuse to be interviewed?”

Ian shook his head heavily. “I tried, honestly I did. Had a great long conversation with Weatherby — he’s been a great help, in fact. He’s been through this kind of thing before — had villages subjected to Inquisitors running about, askin’ questions and demanding that witches be handed over. We can refuse to have the women interviewed, true — but in retribution, they’ll launch a full-scale investigation of the entire village and the entire keep. That means everyone’s a suspect.” His face was grim. “Every single person could be interrogated, tortured, hauled out to be burned. There’s no oversight, with these people — if they get a funny idea about you, that’s as good as proof to them.”

Cora thought about the village — the simple, friendly folk she’d met. Some of them had their eccentricities, as did any group of people, and it was all too easy to imagine what the Inquisitors would make of, for example, the publican Maudie and her rather over-friendly ways with the patrons. So often, accusations of witchcraft were just a thin smokescreen for disapproving of other activities. Maudie was a good woman, and didn’t deserve to be tortured or interrogated. Neither did anyone in the village. No, they couldn’t risk having this limited investigation of two people being turned into a town-wide witch hunt. She looked at Audrina, and knew without saying a word that her friend felt the exact same way.

“No,” she said solemnly. “I’ll do it. I’ll answer their questions, and hope like hell I’m a good enough liar to convince them I’m from Skye.”

“I believe in you, Cora,” Audrina smiled, squeezing her hand.

“It’s good you don’t speak Italian,” Colin observed. “They seemed to have their convictions shaken up quite a bit when you just stared at them like that.”

“Thank God,” Cora murmured. “My mother almost made me take Italian in high school…good thing I was more interested in music classes.” She looked up at Ian with half a smile on her face — she’d told him all kinds of stories about her high school music classes — but his face was closed off and she looked down again, a little crushed by the cold front he was putting up. “But someone will need to teach me all about Skye, so I can answer their questions.”

Colin hesitated. “I’ve spent a lot of time there, but I’ve no time to tutor ye, Cora, I’m sorry —”

“I’m from Skye.”

A quiet voice sounded from the back of the hall. Margaret had let herself in from the courtyard, a basket of freshly-picked vegetables for the evening meal under her arm. It was hard to tell how long she’d been listening.

“Born and raised,” she continued, approaching the table. “I can teach you how to speak about the place like a local.”

Cora closed her eyes, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you, Margaret,” she murmured. Colin took the woman’s hand and squeezed it in thanks, and Cora began to feel a spark of hope reignite in her chest. They could do this. The Inquisitors had no proof — no pictures, no evidence at all that Cora and Bellina were the same person. All they had was the word of a known drunk and madman, and some unfounded superstitions. And Cora had the MacClarans on her side — the whole clan, there to protect her and Audrina.

As if on cue, Donal crashed through the door again, tiny wooden sword in his hand, yelling blue murder at the imaginary Inquisitors he was fighting. Mary was hot on his heels, exasperated — she shooed him into the kitchens, then joined the little conference at the table, her eyes full of concern.

“Well? What’s the plan?”

“The girls are going to speak to the Inquisition,” Colin declared, worry in his face but his jaw set. “We’re going to sort this mess out once and for all.”

“I’ll pray,” Mary said quietly, placing her hand on Colin’s shoulder. “I’ll pray that God guide those men to see the right path.”

“And I’ll run ‘em through with my sword!” Donal yelled from the kitchens, followed by an almighty crash.

Margaret took a deep breath. “I’d best go and see what that was,” she said drily. “Cora? I’ll meet you in your chambers later this afternoon and tell you everything I know of Skye.”

Cora nodded, smiling. It was a dark time, to be sure — and it didn’t help that Ian was being so distant. But she had a fighting chance, and for now, that would have to be enough.