The Lady of Secrets by Susan Carroll Page B

witchcraft.”
    Meg started toward the stairs.
    “No!” Bridget flung off the covers. The girl who had claimed she was too weak to stand leapt off the mattress. She ran after Meg, clutching her arm.
    “No, you can’t accuse Denys. No one will believe you.”
    “Of course they will. The entire inn will have witnessed my friend, Madame la Comtesse, snip a lock of Denys’s hair and fetch it to me.”
    The girl’s fingers dug into Meg’s arm. “That stupid test proves nothing. Nothing at all.”
    “Certainly Denys will have to be examined more thoroughly. When he is in custody, they will strip him naked, search him for witch marks. Any moles or freckles they find, they will have to pierce with pins.”
    “Stop it!” Bridget cried. “Denys would never hurt me. He is no warlock.”
    “I am sure he will be reluctant to admit that he is, so they will have to torture a confession out of him.”
    “What? No, they c-can’t.” Bridget pressed her hand to her mouth, looking as though she would be ill.
    “Oh, yes they can. I have heard the boot is most effective. It is an iron clamp they fasten to the leg and then tighten the screws until bones are crushed. Denys will never be able to walk again, but that is of little concern since he will be hung as soon as he confesses, which he will do. No one can endure the agony of the boot.”
    “No! They can’t do such a horrible thing to him. Not to Denys.”
    “Why not?” Meg leveled a hard look at her. “Is not that what you wished done to old Mère Poulet?”
    Bridget’s eyes filled with tears. “She is a nasty, spying old hag. She saw me and Denys—” She jammed her fist in her mouth.
    “Yes?” Meg prompted. “She perhaps saw you and your young swain making love and you feared she would tell. Was that a good enough reason to want a poor old woman dead? Especially when your secret is bound to be known soon enough.”
    Meg trained her gaze on the girl’s midriff. Bridget clutched her arms over her womb. Her tears spilled over, cascading down her cheeks.
    “I didn’t want her dead, just gone. I never thought they would kill her, just drive her out of the village before she could tell. Grandmère caught me being ill and she started to suspect. She and Papa would be so angry. I had to come up with some kind of tale, something to keep them from finding out. I never meant it all to go so far. I just needed more time to figure out what to do.” Her voice thickened, choking with tears.
    Bridget sank down to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chin. She buried her face against them, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.
    Meg tried to harden her heart against the girl, tried to remember how much misery and suffering Bridget could have caused with her deception. But she looked so young, lost, and frightened.
    Meg hunkered down beside Bridget. She placed her arm around the girl, a little awkward at first. Meg had learned nothing of mothering from Cassandra Lascelles, but Ariane Deauville had taught her a great deal.
    Meg gathered the girl closer, rocking her in her arms.
    “I—I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble,” the girl snuffled against her shoulder. “I—I was just so scared.”
    “I know.”
    “I never intended for it to go so far. But once I had begun, I didn’t know how to stop.”
    “Fortunately all still may be remedied if you but have the courage.”
    “But—but I don’t know what to do,” the girl wept. “What am I to do?”
    “The bravest thing that you can,” Meg said gently. “Tell the truth.”

Chapter Three
    T HUNDER BOOMED AND THE SKY CRACKED OPEN, DISLODGING a hail of rain. The water cascaded over the inn, obscuring all view of the lane leading through the village. Sir Patrick Graham lingered by the window watching as a flare of lightning lit up the darkness. He far preferred the sounds of the storm raging outside to the din of coarse voices that had filled the taproom up until an hour ago.
    The chamber was mercifully