rudely disturbed my leisure activities.”
Brianna could see Matthews’s face, choked by rage, turn into an ugly mask.
“You are a traitor, Treveryan,” he told Sloan. And suddenly Brianna wondered if there was more going on here than she knew.
“Nay—never a traitor to the people,” Sloan retorted, “but you, Matthews, are a coldblooded murderer.”
“He who deals with the devil becomes the devil,” Matthews charged, pointing a finger toward Sloan’s chest. “And witch doth harbor witch! I charge you—”
“I charge you to get your ugly carcass out of my doorway this instant!” Sloan demanded with quiet, deathly fury. Again Matthews took a step backward, his gaunt face with its fevered eyes acquiring a considerable pallor. Brianna swallowed back a gasp as she saw why; Lord Treveryan was now brandishing a cutlass. The finely honed muscles in Sloan’s shoulders and back rippled—as if with impatience. “Get out of here, Matthews!” Sloan commanded once more. “And disturb me no more!”
“Leave him be!” Brianna heard the voice of one of the officers standing behind Matthews in the hall whisper loudly with nervousness. “James will surely have you set to the stake if he hears that you have created problems with Treveryan.”
“Treveryan is trouble!” Matthews declared.
“Aye, that I am,” Sloan said with a soft threat.
Matthews paused only a moment longer, visibly shrinking from the razor edge of the cutlass aimed toward him. “I am going, Treveryan. Take your heathen pleasure with the girl. But know this: I will find her. She is a witch and an affront to God and all men who are holy. I will see that she burns. And I will pray that your soul can be saved from the clutches of the devil.”
Sloan threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t pray for my soul, Matthews. They already call me the devil, and there have been times in the past when the crown was glad to do so. Pray for your own soul. You seek out this girl for your own lust, Matthews, but I promise”—he paused, the laughter leaving his voice—“she will never be touched by dirt such as yourself. Now, get out of here.”
“I’m leaving, Treveryan, but I will get the girl.”
“You will get the girl?” Sloan ridiculed. “And then what, Matthews? Will you answer to the law you claim to serve? Will there be a trial? Will you torture a confession from her? Torture is illegal, Matthews, in Scotland as in England.”
“Never have I tortured an accused person.”
“Never? What do you call it, sir, when you seek your ‘witches’ marks,’ stabbing your victims with your picks until they can feel nothing at all? Declaring when they no longer scream that you have found their devil’s mark?”
“That is legal procedure.”
“Damn your form of legal procedure, Matthews. And damn you—you make a mockery of justice.”
“You know not what justice is! This whore of Satan has bewitched you, and you are her slave.”
“Take care that in your determination to have the last word between us you do not discover that the words you speak are truly your last.”
Treveryan’s voice was quiet once more, and yet the threat was there. Matthews took heed. Brianna was amazed when she saw the witchfinder’s lips whiten and his jaw snap shut. He turned and started down the hall with his retainers following him.
Relief flooded through her.
Sloan slammed the door closed. Still amazed that the immediate threat to her life had vanished, Brianna walked around the screen in a daze. Instinctively, she wrenched a sheet from the bed in which to wrap herself. Then she turned to find the Welshman gazing at her in brooding silence.
“You were—incredible!” she acknowledged, clinging to the sheet as she might to a lifeline. She added quietly, with all the dignity she could summon, “I do thank you, milord.”
He bowed low. “The pleasure was mine, Mistress Brianna.” His eyes became deadly as he added, with gravel lacing his tone, “
Brianna could see Matthews’s face, choked by rage, turn into an ugly mask.
“You are a traitor, Treveryan,” he told Sloan. And suddenly Brianna wondered if there was more going on here than she knew.
“Nay—never a traitor to the people,” Sloan retorted, “but you, Matthews, are a coldblooded murderer.”
“He who deals with the devil becomes the devil,” Matthews charged, pointing a finger toward Sloan’s chest. “And witch doth harbor witch! I charge you—”
“I charge you to get your ugly carcass out of my doorway this instant!” Sloan demanded with quiet, deathly fury. Again Matthews took a step backward, his gaunt face with its fevered eyes acquiring a considerable pallor. Brianna swallowed back a gasp as she saw why; Lord Treveryan was now brandishing a cutlass. The finely honed muscles in Sloan’s shoulders and back rippled—as if with impatience. “Get out of here, Matthews!” Sloan commanded once more. “And disturb me no more!”
“Leave him be!” Brianna heard the voice of one of the officers standing behind Matthews in the hall whisper loudly with nervousness. “James will surely have you set to the stake if he hears that you have created problems with Treveryan.”
“Treveryan is trouble!” Matthews declared.
“Aye, that I am,” Sloan said with a soft threat.
Matthews paused only a moment longer, visibly shrinking from the razor edge of the cutlass aimed toward him. “I am going, Treveryan. Take your heathen pleasure with the girl. But know this: I will find her. She is a witch and an affront to God and all men who are holy. I will see that she burns. And I will pray that your soul can be saved from the clutches of the devil.”
Sloan threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t pray for my soul, Matthews. They already call me the devil, and there have been times in the past when the crown was glad to do so. Pray for your own soul. You seek out this girl for your own lust, Matthews, but I promise”—he paused, the laughter leaving his voice—“she will never be touched by dirt such as yourself. Now, get out of here.”
“I’m leaving, Treveryan, but I will get the girl.”
“You will get the girl?” Sloan ridiculed. “And then what, Matthews? Will you answer to the law you claim to serve? Will there be a trial? Will you torture a confession from her? Torture is illegal, Matthews, in Scotland as in England.”
“Never have I tortured an accused person.”
“Never? What do you call it, sir, when you seek your ‘witches’ marks,’ stabbing your victims with your picks until they can feel nothing at all? Declaring when they no longer scream that you have found their devil’s mark?”
“That is legal procedure.”
“Damn your form of legal procedure, Matthews. And damn you—you make a mockery of justice.”
“You know not what justice is! This whore of Satan has bewitched you, and you are her slave.”
“Take care that in your determination to have the last word between us you do not discover that the words you speak are truly your last.”
Treveryan’s voice was quiet once more, and yet the threat was there. Matthews took heed. Brianna was amazed when she saw the witchfinder’s lips whiten and his jaw snap shut. He turned and started down the hall with his retainers following him.
Relief flooded through her.
Sloan slammed the door closed. Still amazed that the immediate threat to her life had vanished, Brianna walked around the screen in a daze. Instinctively, she wrenched a sheet from the bed in which to wrap herself. Then she turned to find the Welshman gazing at her in brooding silence.
“You were—incredible!” she acknowledged, clinging to the sheet as she might to a lifeline. She added quietly, with all the dignity she could summon, “I do thank you, milord.”
He bowed low. “The pleasure was mine, Mistress Brianna.” His eyes became deadly as he added, with gravel lacing his tone, “
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