Margaret was a patient but strict teacher. Throughout the evening they spent together, Cora learned more than she thought possible about Skye — about what it was like to live there, the geography, the local landmarks and features. Margaret gave her every detail of her own family, helping her piece together a story that would stand up to all but the closest of scrutiny — she had the names, ages and occupations of several brothers and a sister, parents, even aunts and uncles. They established a timeline of visits to the castle, and even the day and time that Cora would say that she had traveled from Skye to Castle MacClaran. As a finishing touch, Margaret unclasped a brooch from her dress and pinned it to the dress Cora intended to wear to the interview.

“It was made in my village, Sleat,” Margaret told her. “A gift from my father when I came here. It’ll keep you safe, as it has kept me safe.”

Cora touched the piece of jewelry reverently — it was beautifully crafted from silver, and suited the color of her dress perfectly. The older woman smiled, a rare thing — it changed the stern lines around her eyes to happy ones.

“Thank you for everything, Margaret. This is a great kindness.”

“It’s been wonderful to reminisce about my home,” the older woman replied, the smile turning a little wistful.

“It sounds beautiful. Once this whole debacle is over, let’s make a trip to Skye. You and I, together. You can show me around for real.”

“I’d like that.” Margaret clasped her hand, then rose to her feet. “Get some rest, lassie. It won’t be pleasant, the affair tomorrow, but I have faith in ye.”

But of course, she didn’t sleep well. She tossed back and forth all night, dreaming of cold stone walls and blood running down the back of her throat. The morning came on slowly, and she dressed with the heavy movements of someone going to war. If only Ian hadn’t been angry with her…she knew she would have slept better and easier with him in her bed. Nothing to be done about that now, though. All she could do was straighten her back and brace herself for the coming day. Someone had brought her a plate of breakfast — pastries, her favorite — and she nibbled at them without appetite, despite appreciating the kindness of the gesture.

The Inquisitors were waiting in the hall when she reached it. It seemed that breakfast had been rescheduled — nobody else was about, save Audrina, who was waiting calmly for Cora to join them. Colin and Ian were standing at the back of the hall, both looking powerful and impassive, but Cora knew as well as Audrina did how worried they were about the interview. Audrina took her hand and squeezed it, before the first Inquisitor bade her sit in a chair that had been placed in the center of the hall, a clear area that the tables had been moved away from. It was an intimidating setup, with the Inquisitors sitting behind a table and staring at her — but at least it was in the Hall, where she had so many fond memories of meals, talk and laughter. Why, there on the wall behind her were the marks on the stone that Donal had made when he’d gotten ahold of a metal sword and laid into the wall, claiming it to be an English warrior who had to be vanquished…feeling a little stronger, she took a seat, waiting for her turn to be interviewed.

Audrina looked like she was carved from stone. Every inch the Highland queen that she’d become, she drew up through her long, graceful neck and met the Inquisitors’ eyes squarely. They started with a few simple questions — name, age, and so on — which she answered in a clear, commanding tone. Then the questions began to get uncomfortable.

“How long did you stay with Lord Cotswold at his castle?”

Audrina’s nostrils flared a little. “I was held captive for several weeks.”

“How many weeks?”

“I lost track of the time as a result of the torture and assault to which I was subjected.”

The Inquisitor was entirely unmoved. “How did you escape?”

“I was released.”

“Where did you go?”

“I wandered until I got my wits back. My mind had been damaged by Lord Cotswold’s torments.” Her voice was still calm and commanding, though Cora could see the muscles tensing in her throat as she fought back her rage and her sadness.

“How many children have you?”

“Two,” she replied, hesitating for a moment, clearly confused by the sudden change of topic.

“When will they be baptized?”

“They have already been baptized,” she snapped, losing composure a little.

“By whom?”

“By our parish priest.”

“Do you take confession?”

“Every Sunday.”

“We will speak to your confessor.”

Cora opened her mouth, outraged at the implication that a priest would willingly tell a third party the details of a woman’s confession — but she controlled herself. This was all bait, all goading. They wanted the women to get angry, to slip up, to say or do anything that could be used against them. Cora took a deep breath and settled herself. Audrina had clearly gone through a similarly rapid thought process, as Cora saw her lean back against the hard back of her chair and met the Inquisitors with a freshly reapplied mask of civility and composure.

“Have you ever practiced witchcraft?”

“No.”

“Have you ever performed unholy rites upon the townsfolk?”

“No.” Her jaw tightened.

Cora wanted to shout that the only ‘rites’ that had been performed were simple healing medicine — but she remembered the way the soldier had cried out that day that Cotswold had barged into the castle. The soldier had meant well, but in trying to explain, he had caused infinitely more problems for Cora and Audrina. She resolved not to make the same mistake. Audrina could handle this by herself; Cora just needed to trust her friend’s judgment.

“Is it true that the easternmost tower of the castle contains supplies dedicated to the practice of witchcraft?” This was the second Inquisitor, leaning forward — the one who had shouted at Cora the day before. She recognized him, despite how similar the two men looked.

“No.” Audrina was ice cold.

“We will search it.”

“Of course.”

“Lord Cotswold claimed he killed you.” The second Inquisitor, staring her down.

Audrina returned his stare politely, and Cora wondered why she wasn’t speaking — then realized it wasn’t a question. They had been counseled by Lord Weatherby not to give away any more information than they absolutely had to — even one small mistake would be enough to undo them.

“Did he?”

Audrina looked at him for a long moment. “No,” she said, and Cora could hear her suppressing the urge to make a more sarcastic response.

“Are you calling Lord Cotswold a liar?”

“I think Lord Cotswold may have been confused. When he confronted me here, a year ago, he was in poor health. Perhaps he confused me with another of the Scottish women he killed. There were many.” Her voice cold and composed.

The Inquisitors exchanged glances with one another. They asked a few more questions, circular, wandering things — but it was clear enough that they had not gotten anything useful out of Audrina. Cora was bursting with pride for the way her friend had handled the questioning — she was so strong, so brave, so wise and powerful there in the chair. Audrina had always had the dignity of a queen, and now she had proven it once and for all. Cora could see the pride in Colin’s eyes, too, where he stood impassively with his cousin against the wall.

“You may go,” the first Inquisitor said finally, with a flick of his hand. “We will question your priest, your confessor, your husband. But first. Cora Wilcox.”

A lump in her throat the size of the Isle of Skye, Cora stood on trembling legs and made her way to the seat. As Audrina rose, she made brief eye contact with Cora — it was the only gesture of support she could make.

Cora took a deep breath, sat down, and faced the Inquisition.