Entranced

By

Marion Clarke

Contents
y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y

Author's Note Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Epilogue

AWARD-WINNING GOTHIC WRITER

MARION CLARKE

PRESENTS HER FIRST HISTORICAL ROMANCE FOR ZEBRA WITH THE POWERFUL AND SENSUAL

ENTRANCED.

"Do you think I'm in danger?" Fiona asked. "I certainly hope not, but it might come in handy during a witch hunt. I pray it won't be needed," Giles answered. Fiona moved closer to him and drew a long, deep breath. "Giles, sometimes I get so frightened. I never expected anything like this that ranting preacher, the congregation anxious to destroy people, and then Grace" Giles pulled her swiftly into his arms and pressed her close. "You are such a comfort, Giles. I'm so glad I know you." "Even if I persist in kissing you?" In answer, Fiona raised herself higher and pressed her lips to his, feeling the heat sweep over her cheeks and her heartbeat pound. In the next instant, Giles smothered her with kisses.

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third Avenue New York, NY 10022

ISBN: 0821752928

Copyright 1996 by Marion Clarke

First Printing: April, 1996

Author's Note

All events connected with the historical characters are as accurate as research could make them, except for the dates of Franz Mesmer, who actually lived in 1743. I moved his life earlier for plot purposes. There have always been wizards, magicians, and potions to alter people's minds, but Mesmer brought this to a height of such popularity that his name entered the English language. Hence, the word "mesmerized."

Chapter 1

The long voyage from England to America would have been unbearable, Fiona told herself, if it hadn't been for the presence of Doctor Giles Harmon. As she clung to the ship's damp railing, Fiona hardly heard the noisy creaking of the boards, the flapping sails, the shouts of sailors swarming up the rigging. Dreamily, while

her green eyes gazed unseeing at the fast-running sea, she wished, as she had so often lately, that Giles would show in some way that he returned her feelings for him. Alas, he treated everyone the same. Sympathetic, calm, friendly toward all, the handsome young doctor had been kept constantly busy since the weather had turned rough. For many days, the ship creaked and groaned as the wind mounted, flinging the waves into towering peaks that crashed against the sides. Even now, Giles was seeing to her mother, who lay weak and pale beside many others in the sleeping quarters. Giles had sent Fiona up on deck for a breath of air after her long vigil, but now she must return, forget her dreams, and do what she could once more to aid the sufferers down below. She became aware that the deck was tilting worse than ever and was slippery with ocean spray. As she flung open the door to the steep companionway, Giles staggered away from her, putting out a hand to grab her arm as he lost his footing. In a tangle of arms and legs, skirts and shawl, and startled cries, they both fell down the steps, landing breathless at the bottom. Giles lay beneath, Fiona on top, clutching at his wide shoulders. For a moment, neither moved. "Fiona," Giles gasped, "are you all right?" Just a breath from him, Fiona felt her heartbeat thundering. Suddenly, she was very aware of everything about this intriguing specimen of young manhood. She stared at the wide gray eyes, the long black locks of tousled hair, the full, smooth lips. And then she felt the hard, strong body sprawled beneath her own, the muscles firm, the skin warm, his heart beating just as fast as hers. A blush covered her cheeks as she whispered, "I am not hurt. Are you?" "No." Getting up, he gripped her arms and helped her to her feet. "The sea grows worse, I fear." "II must see to my mother" "She is sleeping. All I can do for these poor sufferers is give them laudanum to make them sleep, or a charcoal drink to ease their stomachs." Giles braced his back against the wall and muttered, "All my studies in medicine at London, and yet I have no cure for a simple thing like seasickness." Fiona pressed his arm, but his shirt was rolled up to the elbow, and when she felt the muscles quiver at her touch, she quickly took her hand away. Flushing a little, she told him earnestly, "No one could do more than you have ever since the ship's doctor became ill and you had to take his place. Eight weeks at sea and you have been unstinting in your care and always sensible and calm in the midst of all our terror." Too calm with me, Fiona thought, a little wistfully.

He raked back his thick black hair and grunted. "Calm? Sensible? Is that how you see me? Well, I only hope I can retain those qualities once I get to Salem. But I seriously doubt it." Fiona drew in her breath. "What of the witch hunt we have heard about? Surely your parents and your brother are in no danger?" "I have received their letters regularly while at University, so I do not believe they are not yet, at any rate. But I am worried about the othersfriends and neighbors. When we left England, they were crying news that many were being jailed on suspicion of witchcraft." "Oh, Giles," Fiona laughed nervously. "That might have been just exaggeration to sell the daily papers." His eyes fixed gravely on her face, his mouth a firm, straight line. "Even so, I am afraid there is deep trouble in Salem Village; fear and suspicion can cause a great deal of harm. Even a beauty like you may not be safe, Fiona." "Nonsense!" She gave a little laugh, delighted at this sign of Giles's awareness. No one had ever called her beautiful in all her eighteen years, and to Fiona it sounded incredible and pleasant. Back in Ireland, with its dire poverty under the harsh English rule, times had been most grimno work, many people dying of hunger, more and more homes burned for lack of tax money and the owners thrust into the road to die. Although life had been too bleak for much merrymaking, still some lads had attempted to steal kisses until Fiona's laughter had cooled their sheepish ardor. To think it was attractive Dr. Giles Harmon who had mentioned "beauty" in connection with her! Trying to speak without betraying her nervousness, Fiona asked, "Why should I be harmed?" "I have heard even the most inoffensive matters can be fodder for an accusation of witch. Even the rarity of your red hair" Giles told her grimly. "In addition, potion making is your mother's trade, is it not?" "Ah, Giles, I've known for several weeks how prone you are to worrisome thoughts. Have you no lass waiting for you in Salem who will make you laugh?" Hoping, as she spoke, that he would say "no." His lips twitched and he put out a hand to straighten Fiona's shawl. "None so merry and beguiling as you, young miss." Before she could reply, he pushed away from the wall, once more the dedicated young doctor. "I am going to have a word with Governor Phips. I imagine you are eager to see your mother. I will not keep you." Fiona nodded, and with that each went his separate way.

The ship now rolled worse than ever. Over a hundred feet long, the Seawynd was unusually large and sturdy. But thirty-five seamen and over fifty passengers with their belongings took up nearly all the space. Many had brought pens of poultry, goats, sheep, and swine with which to stock their new farms. These animals, now complaining loudly, were tied down on deck, as were a longboat and several cannon to repel the ever-present threat of pirates on the high seas. Fortunately, there had been no sign of the dreaded skull-and-crossbones flying from a mast. Probably the rough weather that had caused such misery among the passengers and lengthened the Seawynd's voyage had also discouraged pirates. There were only a few private cabins. The sailors bedded down on deck or in the hold, while the passengers slept amidships on hammocks or pallets of strawwherever room could be found. If people wanted privacy, they hung up canvas strips or blankets, which made them very unpopular, as it cut off the circulation of air. With the arrival of turbulent seas, all portholes and hatches had been shut tight, and the stifling fumes of illness hit Fiona as she made her way cautiously among the sufferers. Her nose crinkled at the odor of spilled rum from a jug that a group of determined youths passed from hand to shaking hand. The swaying lanterns flickered dimly above men, women, and children, all wide-eyed with fear. Some prayed desperately; others lay whitefaced and tight-lipped, trying to control their abject misery. The little ones whimpered constantly, restless from confinement and lack of fresh air. Suddenly, a scream tore through the quarters as a trunk broke loose and slid rapidly across the floor. Just in time, Fiona leaped forward and jerked a heedless toddler from its path, returning him to a grateful though distracted parent handling two other crying children. The trunk crashed harmlessly against a wall and two men secured it firmly with the jagged rope. When Fiona reached their bunk, her mother opened heavy-lidded eyes and groaned. "Oh, Daughter, by all that's holy, how much longer will this awful storm be lasting? Have you heard how far we are from making landfall?" Fiona had no answer and shook her head reluctantly. The waves and wind now seemed to reach a crescendo that sounded like the shrieking of a hundred fiends. Would the ship sink? Fiona wondered fearfully. Would they all drown? After eight weeks at sea with America nearly in sight, would it all end in this howling misery? Fiona knew she must hide her own fears from her mother and so she answered strongly. "The captain is a good man. I warrant he has weathered worse gales than this. We must trust in him to see us through." Staring blindly into space, her mother didn't seem to hear her. "Faith! Your father died at sea in weather just like this. At last I know how my dear David must have felt!" A sob escaped her lips.

Patting her mother's hand, Fiona had to quell her own tears as she recalled her beloved father, an Englishman who was first mate on a British trading vessel that had shattered upon the rocks one stormy night. To please his Irish wife, he had lived in her village when ashore, but for years he had talked of living in America with his brother who wrote glowingly about New England, the prosperous ships, the plenitude of work and food and land. After his death that awful night, Fiona's mother kept the dream alive, and it became a dedication to his memory that she and Fiona would carry out his wishes. But with her father's income gone, the pressure of hard times had decreased the call for her mother's herbal remedies until only the passage fare remained. In desperation, Fiona's mother appealed to her brother-in-law, who lived in Salem, Massachusetts and he generously offered them a home in the New World. Seeing her mother so pale, ill, and worried, Fiona said, "Don't think about the past. We must be brave and look only to the future. Soon we will be safe and happy, beginning a new life. Uncle Matthew's letter was the answer to our prayers." "Sure and I know this was the only thing we could do." Her mother's thin fingers plucked uneasily at the worn blanket. "But I do wish we had had a reply to our last letter telling Matthew we were coming. Heaven knows we sorely need his help, but suppose he's moved away? It took nearly everything we had saved just to make this voyage." "If we remained at home any longer, we would be penniless with all our costs. Don't fret, dearest, we would have heard if he was no longer there." Fiona continued to speak soothingly until her weary mother fell into an uneasy sleep that left Fiona free to move among the other ailing people, straightening a blanket here, fetching a mug of water there, rocking a fretful child. Suddenly, a loud crash sounded up on deck, causing everyone to start from their beds with cries of fear. A wild-eyed woman leaped to her feet with an anguished scream. "The ship is breaking up! Oh, dear Lord, save us!" Fiona raced back to her mother. "I'll go topside and see what's happening." "No, no," her mother cried, reaching out a shaking hand. "It might be dangerous!" "I'll be careful," Fiona answered. Up on deck, Fiona saw a group of sailors surrounding a screaming man. They parted to let Giles through, a black bag swinging from his hand, strong purpose in his stride. For an awful instant, Fiona saw the sailor's bloody leg, bones protruding from one end. With a strangled cry, she staggered forward. "Oh, dear God, what happened?" "A loose cannon," Giles flung across his shoulder. "I must try to save his leg, but first we set the bones. You, Jack, on one side, Peter on the other."

He glanced back at Fiona. "Can you help us?" His gray eyes looked steady but demanding. Fiona dug her nails into her palms and drew in a deep breath. "Tell me what to do." "Hold his head and give him sips of this laudanum. Talk to him. He must lie still." Without another word, he went to work, cutting away the pant leg and scraps of skin. The seamen didn't hesitate to follow directions, shielding the injured man as best they could. Fiona took the screaming seaman's head between her hands and bent her lips down to his ear. "You are Billy, correct? The one from York? Listen, Billy. You are going to be all right." With a mighty effort the man clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes to her. "Be they cuttin' off m'leg?" He gave a sob. "I likes to dance, I do." "No, no. Here, Billy, swallow deeply. You will sleep and soon be well." He gulped the liquid. "D-does the young doctor say so?" Giles glanced up, his mouth a hard, taut line, but with eyes of deep compassion. "I do say so. Trust me, lad. I aim to save your leg, but you must help us and be very steady." He jerked his chin toward Fiona's cup. "Once more. Now, then, men, we pull on three." Fiona gripped the seaman's head, another gripped his shoulders. At the signal, Billy shrieked louder than the crashing waves and fainted dead away. At the bloody scene and against the violent rocking of the ship, Fiona felt like doing likewise. Instead, she inhaled several deep breaths, then moved back a little averting her eyes from the young man's leg. A splint was found, the leg was wrapped, and the sailors carried the unconscious boy away. Giles rinsed his hands in a nearby basin of rainwater, then packed away his instruments. He glanced up at Fiona, who still hovered near, and his smile was warm. "My thanks, Fiona, I knew you could do it." Another call came for Dr. Giles and he hurried off. Fiona flushed with pleasure. How proud she was of himso sure and steady, so strong of hand and will. How lucky for the Seawynd to have him when the ship's doctor had been stricken. She went below, then, to see who needed her. The sea grew calmer after that. When twilight came, several of the stronger passengers crept up on deck to heat some tea or soup at the little cookstoves anchored on the lee side of the ship. There also was an open "hearth" for them to use, a five-hundred-pound cast-iron stove filled with charcoal.

Fiona joined them but had to wait her turn. She set down her small kettle and leaned beside the hatchway while she munched a piece of hardtack, a very dry and tasteless biscuit which abated her constant hunger but did little else. Hearing voices next to her on the bridge, Fiona saw Giles talking to Sir William Phips, the newly appointed royal governor assigned to Massachusetts Colony. The two men exchanged a spyglass, which they centered on the far horizon while snatches of their conversation flew on the wind to Fiona. "I fear the storm is not quite over." Sir William spoke loudly above the flapping sails. "Just see those big black clouds!" "The wind may move them from our path," Giles called back. "I pray we make land soon, or there may be deaths on board. Some passengers cannot hold down even a crust of bread or sip of tea." The big, broad-shouldered governor, whose hair flamed as fiery a color as Fiona's own, swung a gold coin on a black cord from his waistcoat pocket. "I still have my lucky piece, doctor. Some folks claim its power will keep the ship from harm." As if to test this power, the deck suddenly lurched violently. The governor's coin sailed over Fiona's head to land beside the railing. Without another thought, Fiona whirled around and reached out for the coin. It slid away, then, before her eyes, it vanished over board. Fiona ran to the edge and saw it dangling, caught on a piece of splintered wood below her. Grasping the railing with one hand, Fiona leaned far over the side. With a triumphant cry, she pulled it free. Sinking back on the deck, she held the coin against her chest and shut her eyes, waiting for her gasping breathing to abate. Suddenly, loud, angry voices sounded in her ears, and looking up, she saw Giles and Sir William hurrying toward her. Giles reached her first and jerked her to her feet. "You little idiot! What were you doing, dangling above the rail in seas like this?" "My God, lass," the governor cried, as distraught as Giles. "Were you attempting suicide? Has this fearsome voyage driven you to such madness?" Wide-eyed, Fiona looked from one angry face to the other. "Why, no. I simply wanted to save this." She held up the coin. "I heard you say 'twas lucky for the ship, and so I could not let it get away, now, could I?" "It almost proved your unlucky piece," the governor growled, reaching out to clasp the coin. "You are either very brave or very foolhardy." He looked down at her and shook his head, his anger fading. "What do they call you, lass? And where are you headed in America?"

She dipped a rather wobbly curtsey. "My name's Fiona Prescott, Sir William. My mother and I are bound for Salem." The two men exchanged uneasy glances. "Salem, is it? Have you nowhere else to go?" the governor asked her gravely. Fiona shook her head. "Oh, first we'll pay a visit to my mother's cousin in Boston, but my uncle, Matthew Prescott, has offered us a sorely needed home." "Matthew Prescott," Giles said slowly. "You know him?" Fiona asked. "Yes. And his family. Matthew Prescott is a good man. Honest and hardworking." The governor clapped Giles on the shoulder. "And you also will be in Salem, doctor, and can keep an eye on little Miss Fiona. I doubt that should be a hardship, eh?" He gave a booming laugh. Giles didn't smile. "I am afraid Fiona cares naught for caution, sir. It may be difficult to keep her out of harm." Why must he sound so exasperated? Fiona tossed her head, her curls, loosened and blew about her face. "That should not concern you, doctor. I do not expect to need a nursemaid. I assure you, I can take care of myself. Now, gentlemen, I will say goodnight." "Wait, lass, keep this as a souvenir of the voyage." The governor handed back the coin. " 'Tis one of the Spanish doubloons I discovered in the West Indies." Speechless for a moment, Fiona found her voice. "Oh, I have heard of the huge sunken treasure you found." She stared at the coin. "Before we reached rough weather, there was constant talk of it among the passengers. But Your Excellency, I would not deprive you of your luck." "Nay, lass, that you will not do. I believe you make your own luck. That's what I've done all my life. Why, when I came to Boston as a lad, I could not read or write. I only had one pair of shoes tied around my neck to keep them clean." He leaned back on the rail, evidently anticipating the retelling of his astounding story to a new audience. "I grew up on a sheep farm with twenty-one brothers and four sisters and I knew I had to get away and make a life beside the sea, a place that appealed to me much more than a farm. So I went to Boston and found work building ships, and all the while I listened to tales of sunken treasure in the southern seas. The one that thrilled me most concerned sixteen Spanish galleons sunk in 1643 during a fierce hurricane and never

found. My mind reeled imagining all that gold just waiting on some coral reef. Night and day I dreamed of finding it and then I married a young woman whose dowry enabled me to get my own ship and gather up a crew. People vowed my wits were addled when we set sail." "But then you found the treasure!" Fiona interjected, oblivious to the swaying deck and sharp wind that blew her red locks wildly and whipped her shawl about her neck. "Nay, lass." Sir William chuckled. " 'Twas not to be that easy. For weeks we searched but got nary a glimpse of treasure. I realized that I needed a larger vessel, better equipped and an experienced crew. My money was nearly gone, so I sailed to England to see if the king would finance me." "Gad!" Giles exclaimed. "You were exceedingly optimistic." "Others might say crazy." Sir William grinned. "At first I couldn't even get an audience with King Charles, but I made friends. Christopher Monch, the Duke of Albermarle, noticed my constant vigil at the castle gates and asked what business brought me there. When I told him, he became as excited as I. He arranged an audience for me with the king, who liked the idea of a huge treasure for the Crown and gave me a new ship, albeit not so large or new as I had wished. After that, I waged a long battle with rough seas, unsuccessfully hunting for the treasure and finally enduring a mutiny among the men which I had to quell single-handedly. But my luck had not run out. A new king came to the throne in England and my friend the duke organized a group called the Gentlemen Adventurers who helped King James to finance another expedition." Sir William smiled complacently. "The rest is common history." "Yes, indeed." Giles's eyes glowed. "From the wreck you brought up jewels, coins, and gold bars and plate valued at two million pounds. I wish I could have seen it!" " 'Tis the most thrilling story I've ever heard," Fiona breathed. "And now you're a royal governor, knighted by King James." Suddenly, she felt awed and shy. She had forgotten for a moment how important this easy-mannered, rough-hewn man had actually become. But then he flung out his arms, crying, "Behold Sir William Phips, the former barefoot boy!" And they all laughed when the ship's listing had them clutching at each other. Soon after that Sir William left, but he turned around before he reached his cabin. "So, my dear, Miss Fiona, if I can ever help you" A booming wave cut him off and Giles swept Fiona into an alcove to escape the spray. There he stopped, hands braced on each arm, staring down at her with half-shut eyes. Thrilled by his closeness, their bodies brushing with each motion of the ship, Fiona looked down, fingering the coin pierced by a black cord, and spoke a little breathlessly. "I think I'll wear this around my neck. Wasn't it kind of the governor to give it to me?"

"He meant well." Giles's voice sounded rough. "But if any trouble should assail you in your new life, he probably will be too busy, since he faces a big problem with the Indians up north. That 'lucky piece' won't help you, either." Hard and strong, his fingers closed her own around the coin. "When you reach Salem, you may need me. How or when I cannot say, but just remember this: I 'stand ready to serve you if I can." "Why, thank you." Fiona gazed up at his solemn, frowning face and gave a teasing laugh. "There you go again, worrying. There will be no trouble for me in Salemnor anywhere else." He ground his teeth. "By God, you are a willful, exasperating extraordinary lovely woman!" The next instant, his mouth came down against her own. His cold lips moved back and forth, gradually heating to a hot, demanding pressure that took Fiona's breath away and blanked out all the world. All she knew was that Giles was kissing her. This was what she had yearned for these past long days and nights at sea. And it more than fulfilled her expectations. Eagerly she kissed him back, leaning with an odd feeling of abandonment against his male strength, longing for this joy to never end. When Giles suddenly jerked his head up with a gasp and stepped back, she clutched his coat to keep from falling, about to ask him not to go. His next words smote her like an icy wave. "Forgive me, Fiona," he said harshly. "I don't know what came over me. I guess this long voyage is driving us all insane with fear and weariness." He turned away. "You are so young and innocent. I shall watch myself in the future, never fear." Bewilderment and disappointment swept Fiona. Hadn't he felt the excitement, the surging sweetness of that kiss? She could have stayed wrapped in his arms for hours enjoying the exploration of this thrilling new sensation. But evidently Giles had not shared her feelings. He put the kissing down to the long voyage and nothing more, saying it wouldn't happen again. Well, indeed it wouldn't. From now on, she would only call him "doctor" and speak to him as little as possible, and then with frigid courtesy. She knew now that she could expect nothing more of an intimate nature from the dedicated, upright doctor. She would never again think of Giles as anything more than a mistake she had made in giving her first blossoming affection to such an unresponsive man. Better things awaited her, a whole new world. She could hardly wait to savor everything and everyone. It would be wonderful! Why, then, were tears trickling down her cheeks?

Chapter 2

The storm ran itself out next morning and Fiona brewed an herbal tea of angelica, tansy, and briony, which her mother could keep down. This concoction, combined with the easing of the ship's tossing, was of great help, and by late afternoon people ventured out on deck, including Fiona and her mother. Everyone moved carefully, calling to each other and breathing deeply of the clean, fresh air in lungs that had been starved for it. The sky now arched high and blue, with only a few remaining clouds. Sailors swarmed up the rigging, propelled by shouted orders from below. The big white sails belled triumphantly until suddenly a cry erupted from the crow's nest high above: "La-a-and ahoy!" Excitement sent everyone crowding to the rails, laughing, shouting, sobbing, pointing eagerly across the silvery blue sea. "Are we nearly there?" "Yes, yes, there it is!" "America!" "Praise be to God!" Fiona strained her eyes, senses whirling. Now she saw it, too. A long shadow on the horizon, only a gray outline at this distance, but unmistakably their destination. A lump rose in her throat as she and her mother clasped hands, murmuring and exclaiming with the rest. "Oh, if only your dear father could have seen this day!" Ellen Prescott caught back a sob. "Such dreams and plans he had. Salem Harbor would be filled with splendid ships and eager seamen like himself. Soon we would leave his brother's house and get a wee place of our own with a garden for my herbs, a cow, some fowl. Sure and David said America was called the 'land of milk and honey,' just like Paradise." "Mother, wipe your tears." Fiona hugged her tenderly. "I believe Father is aware we are here, and he would want us to be brave and happy." "Aye, 'tis right you are. I promise, no more tears. Oh, look, there comes the ship's chaplain on the bridge. Hark, now, he's signaling for silence."

"My brethren," the gray-haired clergyman called out strongly, "this is a day for great rejoicing. Though many of you ailed mightily and worried desperately, there was no panic, no despair, no undue grumbling. All did the best they could to help themselves as well as each other. Let us pray and give thanksgiving to the Lord." At once, everyone knelt on the rough wooden planks of the swaying ship and bowed their heads as the chaplain intoned: "We thank thee, Lord, for delivering us from the perils of the vast and furious ocean and for bringing us safely to shore in this new land. Please guide out future ventures and keep each one of us from harm. May we all prove worthy of Your trust." A fervent "Amen" rose from every throat. Afterwards, Ellen went below to rest, and soon Fiona became aware that Giles had pushed through the throng to reach her side. To her annoyance, he still could make her pulses quicken. "Well, doctor," she said coolly, "soon these days on shipboard will be just a memory. I imagine you can hardly wait to reach your home." He nodded. "I long to see how my family fares, but these days at sea will never be forgotten. How about you, Fiona? Can you forget all this? I would not think so." She raised her chin defiantly. "I intend to push this voyage completely from my memory. Why recall an interval that was so painful?" He gave her a little grin. "There were a few times not unpleasant. Our talks on the deck before the weather worsened. And the night we gazed silently at a moonlit sea, finding it too beautiful for speech. You were beautiful, too," he added, almost to himself. Fiona couldn't answer, and he continued. "You are a very remarkable voyager, strong and courageous and never ill for a single day." "My father taught me many things," she said shortly, "before he died at sea last year." "Oh, I am sorry. I know how you must miss him." Giles pressed her hand upon the railing with his own. "I must go in." She jerked away as though his fingers burned her and pushed off through the crowd. However, Giles still followed, throwing her several glances which she ignored. Before they reached the companionway, he took her arm in a firm clasp, causing her to halt against her will. "Fiona, what is the matter? Where is the merry, optimistic lass I've admired all these past weeks at sea? Now that the worst is over, where is that sunny smile?"

When she didn't answer or look at him, he said in a low, deep voice, "You must be angry with me because I kissed you. I guess I frightened you, but I said it wouldn't be repeated, and I apologized." She tried to jerk her arm away, but his hold tightened and Fiona was forced to meet his steady gray-eyed gaze. She hardened her heart and answered flippantly, "The kiss? Oh, what nonsense! I had forgotten all about it. I have other things to think about, Doctor Harmon. A whole new life awaits me and I doubt you will play any part in it. Now, pray release me. I wish to help my mother pack." "Fiona, listen for a moment. When you reach Salem there might be troubling times. You may need help. We will meet" She forced a laugh. "Do you think I would remain insulted because of a kiss in a moment's madness? You were correct, it was the wretched voyage." "Fiona" His fingers tightened on her arm. "It wasn't just the voyage" But she succeeded in loosening his hold and turned to the decks below. "I am grateful for your kindness to my mother, Doctor Harmon, and that I won't forget." To her dismay, her voice wobbled at the end and she flung open the door to the companionway, fighting off the threat of tears. Oh, yes, she would be glad to leave his attractive, disturbing presence that had caused her pulse to pound and her heartbeat to quicken. The reserve and seriousness that were part of him had made her long to make him lose his head and respond to her, but when he had, how quickly he'd pulled back. Afraid she'd get the wrong impression, he had apologized, finding an excuse for his behavior. At least it had taught her a valuable lesson about men. Perhaps she had been on the brink of falling in love with Giles. It would not have been unnatural. He was strong, handsome, good-natured and a skillful and important doctor. Even Sir William and the captain were among his friends. Angrily Fiona brushed the moisture from her eyes. Why hadn't she realized sooner what was happening? They had been thrown together for long periods in a close confinement. They both were young, experiencing a thrilling new adventure. He thought she was pretty. He enjoyed her company and sought her out, excluding other misses who smiled and flirted with him. Then at last he kissed her. And she had been so willing! Not a speck of indignation had she shown, no righteous slap upon his cheek. Instead, she had clung weakly, giving her lips to the searching, demanding power of his touch, pressing her own mouth hotly to his own. Not just once, but several times. Oh, what must he have thought of her! Fiona's face burned at the memory.

Of course, with him it was just a passing fancy. He wasn't serious about her. She was penniless. "Willful and exasperating," he had said. Back home in Salem, he doubtless already hador soon would havea talented housewife with a fine dowry to ease his new practice on its way. She clenched her hands. Well, Giles Harmon would never have to be bothered by her again.

The next morning, when the ship docked in Boston Harbor, Fiona felt a surprising pang of regret that the voyage was over and knew her words to Giles about dismissing it from her mind had not been true. She looked back at the Seawynd bobbing gently at anchor, sails hanging meekly furled against the sunny sky. "Eight weeks at sea," she said to her mother with a sigh as they stood on the dock. "We all became good friends. Will we ever see any of them again, I wonder?" Especially a certain royal governor who had given her a lucky piece? The day before they'd landed, Sir William had sought her out to say goodbye. Dressed in a fine broadcloth coat trimmed with gilt lace and embroidery, and wearing a white wig tied at the back of his head with a velvet ribbon, he now looked like the famous, important man he really was. "If you ever come to Boston, lass, be sure to look me up," he said in his frank, easy way. "I wish the best of luck to you and your mother." Fiona could only murmur shyly and thank him. She had not seen him after that. He had left in a special launch before the others. All farewells had been exchanged with their friends who were now hurrying away about their own affairs. Seeing Fiona's downcast face, her mother said, "My dear, soon our time on shipboard will be just a memory and in the years to come, happily, we'll only remember the comradeship and the adventure of it all. The discomfort, worry, and illness we will be forgetting." "You are over your own sickness, are you not, Mrs. Prescott?" Giles asked, suddenly appearing at their side. Fiona vouchsafed him the coolest nod, but her mother, unaware of any undercurrents, was her usual friendly self. She patted her chest with a deep breath. "Indeed, yes, doctor. Almost as good as new, I am." "I presume you and Fiona are going to take the sloop to Salem?" he asked. " 'Tis by far the easiest and quickest way to travel there."

"Whisht, no more boats for me just yet." Mrs. Prescott laughed. She looked down at the swaying dock. " 'Tis stable ground I want." "First, we are going to visit our cousin in Boston," Fiona said briskly, not looking at Giles. "I think we best hire a carter without delay, and I see one over there. Wait here, Mother." "We will meet in Salem," Giles called after her, but Fiona, head held high, cloak billowing in the breeze, didn't favor him with look or answer. Determinedly, she marched up to a swarthy, thick-set man in a leather jacket holding up a grubby sign: For Hire. Carting Anywhere. When Fiona returned to her mother with the carter, named Thomas, there was no sign of Giles. She saw the Boston sloop thronged with passengers pull slowly away from shore. After one quick, painful glance, Fiona turned away. While her mother spoke to Thomas, pointing out their baggage and giving him instructions to her cousin's home, Fiona stared around the wharf. She realized she was hungry as she eyed the kegs of pickled oysters, salt cod, pork, and beef, the colorful crates of lemons, oranges, and other fruits glowing in the sun. Bags of spices, nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves sent up pungent aromas. Above these tempting items, white gulls wheeled, uttering harsh cries as they smelled the piles of fresh-caught fish. And in among the stalls and shops, dogs, cats, chickens, and even pigs, excited and noisy, scurried around, getting under everybody's feet. Thomas now called that he was ready, and Fiona helped her mother onto the wooden seat behind him. The wagon lurched forward through the deeply rutted streets while fashionably dressed ladies and gentlemen, as well as ragged urchins and beggars, moved indifferently out of their way. The dirt-paved lanes were thronged with traffic and lined with crowded shops and narrow wooden houses. However, the crooked streets soon gave way to cobblestoned thoroughfares winding between imposing churches and large brick buildings. She noticed several schools for young ladies, one sign stating "Proper Deportment and Elegance of Carriage Taught Here." On grassy squares, children raced with hoops, threw balls, swung rackets in games of shuttlecock and battledore. Wealth, abundance, jollity all such a change from the hard, primitive life aboard ship that Fiona felt almost dizzy. When their driver bawled, "This be the corner of Beacon Hill and George Streets," Fiona gasped. "Cousin Samantha lives up here? She must be rich!" Everywhere she saw twoand three-story houses set back amid beautiful well-tended gardens and lawns. Her mother consulted the address once again, then nodded. "That house on the corner must be hers. Goodness, I knew Samantha married well, but this I had no idea!"

"Just look at her beautiful white house," Fiona breathed. "The fruit orchard, flowerbeds, the gazebo covered with honeysuckle, the little pond" "The thing I'm seeing is that all the curtains are closed," Ellen Prescott said. "Fiona, run up to the door and make certain this is the right place. Perhaps Samantha is not awake as yet." It proved to be worse than that. When Fiona lifted the brass eagle on the front door and clanged it twice, the door opened a mere crack. "Begging your pardon, but is this the home of Mrs. Samantha Flaherty?" Fiona asked the elderly aproned maid. "Aye, that it is, but she's not here." She eyed Fiona's travel-stained homespun gown and worn black cloak and attempted to shut the door. Fiona grasped the knob. "Oh, wait, please. We are her kin from Ireland. My mother, Ellen Prescott, is her cousin. She is waiting with a carter by the gate" "I'm sorry, but Mrs. Flaherty has traveled to New Haven to attend the birthing of her first grandchild." Fiona's heart sank. "Oh. When will she return?" "I cannot say exactly," the maid replied tersely. "Not for several days, a week at least." Fiona had to swallow her disappointment. She knew her cousin Samantha had long been a widow and had just one married child living in another town, so there was no hope of any other relative near by. "Then, will you please tell your mistress that her kin have arrived from Ireland safely and we are going to live in Salem" "Salem!" With a horrified gasp, the maid slammed the door in Fiona's face. Startled, Fiona stood on the door step, hoping the maid would re-open the door. When there was no movement, she turned away. There was nothing else to do but convey the bad news to her weary mother. Fiona knew she had hoped for a night or two on solid ground in a real bed with real food so they could fortify themselves for the uncertain trek to Salem and the new home based on charity. After hearing Fiona's message, her mother sagged for a few minutes, then straightened her back. "Well, then, Thomas, it looks as though you'll have to drive us on to Salem, and that's the sober truth of it." He looked alarmed, then crafty. " 'Twill cost you a deal more and two extra shillings to cross the River Charles." With tight lips, Mrs. Prescott dug into her reticule.

He still held out a grubby paw. "We also need some dinner. There be no inns along the way, but I know a place in Boston what sells meat pasties, cheap and good." Fiona brightened. "Oh, I am so hungry for fresh meat. Buy some fruit, also, Thomas. Perhaps we can eat beside the road somewhere." Later on, the picnic made a pleasant break in the jouncing, hard-planked wagon trip. The pies were filled with beef and onions, and the plums and berries tasted wonderful after weeks of salted meats, hardened, moldy cheese, and dried-out biscuits. When they resumed their journey, the sun shone high and hot overhead, and while her mother dozed, Fiona watched the scenery, too interested in this new land for sleep to claim her. Her head turned from side to side as the horse clip-clopped along the leafdappled, dusty road. But after a while there was nothing to see, only miles of woods, not a house, not a person, not even an animal. As the hours dragged, the seat grew harder by the minute, and Fiona wished over and over that they could have taken the boat. Every bone in her body seemed to ache. Finally, her eyes closed drowsily and her head began to nod. A long time later, she became aware that the wagon had stopped and she heard Thomas say loudly, "This be as far as I go, ladies." With a jerk, Fiona straightened up and blinked. The afternoon sun had faded into twilight and now deepening violet shadows stretched across the deserted road. She rubbed her eyes. "Where is the town? Where is Salem? I see nothing but woods" Thomas shifted his bulky weight, not looking at her. "Ye can walk the rest of the way, miss. 'Tisn't far, I swear." "Oh, no, you must drive on to our destination, my good man! You agreed to take us right to Salem." His thick lips firmed. "I won't go anywhere near Salem at this time of night. The trip took longer than I thought. Here, I'll give y'back a coin or two." "And why won't you take us on to Salem, I would like to know?" Fiona cried indignantly. Thomas hunched his shoulders, glancing at the gathering darkness, and dropped his voice. "The town's accursed, that's why. There's a witch hunt on in Salem. Have ye not heard? A hundred witches 'a been named already." Fiona began to laugh but stopped at Thomas's stern expression. "What! How could one village hold a hundred witches?"

"Nay, 'tis true. All manner of evil things go on in Salem now. The courts can't keep up with all the witchcraft cases, and some are sent to other towns. The jails be fairly bulging." Fiona's mouth felt dry. Was it true? What kind of place were they going to? Her voice shook as she asked, "But how will we find our way? 'Tis almost dark." "Just take the footpath through the woods and then ye come to fields. The town lies right beyond, not far, I swear." He gave her a pitying glance. "Have ye nowhere else to stay? I would still drive ye on to another place tonight." Fiona shook her head. "My aunt and uncle live in Salem. We have no choice." Mrs. Prescott woke up then and heard the driver's last remark. "You will not take us on to Salem?" When he didn't answer but only shook his head, she continued bravely, "Very well, then walk we must. Will you at least place our boxes beside the road?" Thomas did as she requested, looking both ashamed and frightened. "Take my advice, ladies, walk softly and say little in that accursed town. And find another place to live as quick as ye can." He jumped back in the wagon, looking as though all the devils of Salem were approaching, then vanished down the road in a cloud of dust. Fiona watched him drive away, unable to control the wave of uneasiness that engulfed her. Now they were truly alone in this dark, strange place with its frightening tales of witch hunts. "Faith, what shall we do with our boxes?" her mother asked, looking askance at their battered, rope-tied luggage which held all their worldly goods. "These things are far and away too heavy for us to carry." "We must hide them in the underbrush and get them another day. We have no choke." Fiona discovered a thick pine tree standing by itself with a clustering ring of seedlings. It would have to do . They dragged their baggage back as far as possible and did their best to cover everything with branches. "Now, then, Mother, we had better hurry. It will soon be too dark to find our way. A plague on that cowardly driver," Fiona muttered. "I wonder why he would not go any farther?" her mother said. "And telling us to walk softly and say little in Salem?" Fiona decided this was not the time to enlighten her. "He is just a superstitious lout, fearful of the dark. Now, let us go. He said the village was not far." Ellen Prescott sighed as they set off. "I'm wishing we could have seen Samantha for a day or two. We were so close as children and when she moved away, she begged me to visit

her. I thought 'twould be a fine joke to surprise her when we arrived in Boston. Alas, the joke turned out to be on us." "Well, we surprised the maid," Fiona answered. She did not add that they had also terrified the maid at the mention of their destination. Could all they had heard about the place be true? Perhaps it would be a good idea to take the advice of Thomas and "walk softly," at least until they understood the situation in town. It was entirely possible that they would need all the wits and courage at their command in order to survive.

Chapter 3

It soon became quite difficult to make out the path winding through the crowding trees. A wind moaned in the branches and underfoot the dead leaves of the past winter crackled ominously as Fiona and her mother trudged along, clinging silently together. No light shone anywhere when the scudding clouds obscured the moon. There was not a single sign of habitation. Unlike her usual optimism, Fiona now found herself prey to ever-increasing nervousness. She devoutly hoped any animals nearby would keep their distance. She said nothing of this to her mother. They had enough to worry about as they neared Salem. What unknown terrors might lurk in a strange town cursed by a swarm of witches? Despite herself, she could believe that evil spirits were abroad this dark and lonely night. Even as the thought crossed her mind, Fiona heard a sound that made her breath catch in her throat: a long, drawn-out wail that died, then started up again. She clutched her mother's hand and they stood still, listening. "Wh-what is that?" Fiona whispered hoarsely. "I do not know, daughter," her mother gasped, "but I think we'd better hurry." As they sped forward, the moaning sound increased. But now the trees had thinned, and all at once Fiona left her mother's side to run forward. "Oh, thank goodness-lights and houses! That must be the town." Just then, a loud shriek rent the air and Fiona almost collided with a man and girl driving a cow before them out of the woods.

Fiona felt a wild desire to laugh. A cow! That had been the source of the strange wailing sound. Why hadn't she recognized it? Was it because she had been expecting to hear something not of the known world? Before Fiona could call out a greeting, the girl gave another scream, louder than the first, and pointed a shaking finger at Fiona. "Look, Giles! Witcheswitches! Oh, Giles!" She flung herself on the tall man beside her, whom Fiona now saw clearly. "Giles!" In her relief, Fiona would have grabbed his arm, hand, anything, but he was wrapped in the clutches of the shrieking girl. Fiona had to shout in order to be heard. "Giles, it is meFiona Prescott!" Everything in their last encounter was swept away. Nothing mattered now except the joy of finding someone familiar, strong, and dependable in this dark and frightening place. Giles stared back in astonishment. When Fiona's mother stepped into the spotty moonlight, he exclaimed, "Mrs. Prescottand Fiona! I can hardly believe my eyes. I did not expect to see you here so soon. Grace, will you stop yelling?" He tried to pry the girl's arms away, but without success. "You cannot see that these are not witches? Instead they are your kin from Ireland, Mrs. Prescott and her daughter, Fiona." Still holding onto Giles, the girl raised a plump, mottled face. Her wide eyes swept over Fiona and instantly her brow turned into a frown. Mrs. Prescott tried to speak to her in a soothing tone. "Why, then, you must be Grace, Matthew's stepdaughter. Look, my dear, 'tis Aunt Ellen, come all the way from Ireland, and this is your cousin Fiona. Have you no word of welcome for us? Can you escort us to your mother?" Still unconvinced, Grace muttered darkly, "How do I know you both aren't witches, swooping out of the woods." Fiona gave a short, exasperated sigh. "Good heavens, Giles Harmon knows us. He replaced the doctor on our ship from England." Grace frowned but slowly dropped her arms from around Giles's neck. He turned to Fiona and a warm smile lit his face. "Indeed, yes, we were all good friends on the long sea voyage. But Fiona, you arrived at Salem sooner than I expected. What are you and your mother doing in these woods so late at night?" Fiona burst out laughing. "Do you also think we might be witches?" "Of course not, but I thought you were going to remain in Boston for a while."

"Our cousin was away on a visit," Mrs. Prescott put in, "so we hired a carter to drive us here. Alas, when night fell, the man refused to travel any closer to Salem and we had to take a footpath through the woods." "He showed good sense," Grace proclaimed loudly. "Let's not continue standing about in the cornfield," Giles said impatiently. "These travelers must be very weary, Grace. Suppose you go ahead and show Mrs. Prescott to your home while I lead in the cow." Mrs. Prescott took Grace's arm and began talking in her soothing, pleasant voice, leaving Fiona to fall back with Giles. His steps slowed and he spoke softly. "I was afraid of this, Fiona. Already suspicion and jealousy have touched you. This is not a good beginning. My father has told me things about the witch hunt that are appalling. You must be extremely careful here." He said no more, but took her hand and pressed it tightly, then dropped it as they approached the house. Fiona felt an apprehensive shudder sweep her. No, it was not a good beginning, but how glad she was to have friendship restored with Giles and know that he was concerned for her. Grace stopped and turned around, her small black eyes darting suspiciously from Giles to Fiona. "Why are you two dawdling so? Put the cow in the barn, will you, Giles? And tomorrow we will need some eggs." She then mounted the steps of a two-story clapboard house and flung open the door. "Ma," she bawled, "strangers have come t' see us." As lamplight spilled into the darkness, an older version of Grace appeared in the doorway and gaped at them. Short and plump, she wore a long white apron and a white cap tied beneath her double chin. "Whowho are you?" she stuttered fearfully. Ellen Prescott advanced and clasped the woman's pale, limp hand. "Faith now, you must be Mercy, Matthew's wife. How wonderful to meet you at last. I am Ellen Prescott, and this is my daughter Fiona, about the same age as your girl, I'm thinking." "I am nearly twenty," Grace said. "Ma, they say they came from Ireland, but I don't know" "Whatwhat? Ellen Prescott a-and Fiona? From Ireland? How on earth did you get here? Why would you go abroad at night in times like these?" Mercy peered into the darkness, looking up and down as though searching for their conveyance.

"We left our broomsticks in the woods," Fiona said loudly and heard Grace suck in her breath. "My daughter jests," Ellen excused before she explained the reasons for their unusual arrival. "We walked the last part." She sent a warning glance toward Fiona, who realized too late that certain jests might prove dangerous in this time and place. "Well, well, come in," Mercy fluttered, leading the way into a narrow hallway from which a flight of stairs climbed steeply upward. A second door took them into a large kitchen where a fire smoldered in the hearth and threw shadows on white washed walls. Aunt Mercy faced them, her eyes still wide. "I can hardly believe you're here. You say you've come all the way from Ireland? Whatever for?" Ellen Prescott looked bewildered. "Whywhy, to live here with you. My dear brotherin-law invited us after my husband, David, died. Where is Matthew? 'Tis that anxious I am to meet him." "Oh oh, yes," Mercy said slowly, "I recall now he said something of the sort." Her fat face puckered and her voice dropped to a doleful whisper. "Butbut he's gone. Matthew died last month of a fever." "Ohhhh, no!" Fiona's mother sank down upon a chair as though unable to withstand another blow. She reached for Fiona's hand and wiped her eyes on a corner of her cloak. "Howhow very dreadful! I'm so terribly sorry, Mercy. The brothers were looking forward eagerly to a reunion. Now, within a year of each other, they are both dead. What a tragedy!" "I sent you a letter when Matthew died," Mercy said. "Didn't you receive it?" "We must have already been at sea." Fiona quavered, her throat tight with tears. She felt a stabbing sense of loss. Her father's older brother, gone! She had wanted so much to meet him. It would have been like seeing a part of her beloved father. Then another frightening thought crossed her mind: now that her uncle was dead, did this mean they wouldn't have a home here? " 'Twas most sudden." Mercy sighed. "I'm a widow for the second time. Life is very difficult these days, and now there's only Grace to help me." Grace shot the travelers a baleful glance. "I work monstrous hard, and now I suppose there will be more to do around here than ever." Fiona's mother raised her chin, her thin face flushed. "If you're not having any place for us, we shall leave tomorrow."

"No, no." Mercy's plump hands fanned the air. "We can work out something. I remember that Matthew wished for you to come after David died and you were so hard pressed. I must honor his wishes in this matter. Now, he planned to offer you the room under the eaves. Grace, light them up the stairs and fetch bedding from the cupboard while I warm some food." With a grim expression, Grace picked up a candle and led the way upstairs to a narrow room. The attic had a bare planked floor, two wooden stools beside a small table, a row of wall pegs on which to hang their clothes, and a bed near one uncurtained window. Grace tossed in a mattress of chicken feathers, two pillows, and a patchwork quilt. Then, without a word, she clumped off down the stairs, leaving the weary travelers alone. Fiona's mother sank down on a corner of the bed, her shoulders drooping. "Alas, Mercy did not receive my letter, just as I did not receive word of Matthew's death. Ah, what a blow that was, in truth!" "Well, anyway, they let us stay," Fiona said, staring around the room. Though bare and simple, there were no cobwebs; the floor was scrubbed, the window washed. Evidently Grace and Mercy were good housekeepers, whatever they lacked in graciousness. "Are you coming down to eat?" Fiona asked her mother as she hung up her cape. "Nay, then, I would rather just stay here and sleep." "I won't be gone long, but I do feel hungry," Fiona said and hurried down the narrow staircase to join her aunt and cousin at a long oak trestle table in the kitchen. When her aunt placed a bowl of hot stewed meat and vegetables before her, Fiona dipped in hungrily with an iron spoon, alternating with bites of fresh-baked buttered bread. Grace sat across from her, chin in hands, black eyes narrowed. "What do witches eat, I wonder?" she muttered. Fiona took a gulp of milk from her mug, eyeing Grace across the rim. "On every hand I've heard strange talk of Salem witches. What is it all about?" "Oh, heavens, don't you know? Why, the town is cursed," her aunt replied fearfully. She seated herself next to Grace, glancing nervously into the corner shadows before continuing. "For several years now, Salem has had naught but trouble. Crop failures, strange illness taking our young children, fires, floods now we know the reason: Satan has invaded Salem." Grace leaned forward. "Some girls in town became possessed by the devil. They fell into awful fits and no doctor could help them. Then the girls confessed: a village slave named Tituba had bewitched them."

Fiona could only stare, an icy shiver running across her skin. So all the mutterings were true: the talk on shipboard, the fear Samantha's maid had shown, the carter who wouldn't go near Salem in the dark of night. "Soon the girls named other witches," Aunt Mercy went on, her voice shaking. "More and more things came to light as they testified in court. Many have seen the Black Beast himself. Sometimes he appears as a pig, a great bird, a cat" Aunt Mercy frowned. "Niece this is very serious. The devil is truly among us and 'tis nothing to make light of. Many people are afflicted with sores and boils" Fiona glanced at Grace's mottled skin. "My mother's potions have cured sores and boils. She hopes to find such work here in the village." Aunt Mercy shook her head. "I doubt she will be successful. Work is scarce in town. The curse is on every venture." Fiona rose and drew a weary breath. She had heard quite enough of witches and misfortune for one day. "Thank you for the food, Aunt Mercy, and for giving us a place to stay. But will you please excuse me now? I must go to bed." As she left the room, Grace hissed after her, "Take my advice, Cousin. Tread carefully in Salem"

Chapter 4

Fiona and her mother both slept more soundly than they had in weeks, in spite of all the problems which would now confront them. Fiona awoke first and stretched, reveling in the feel of solid, nonswaying boards, a bed that had a mattress, and sunshine coming in the tiny window. Would she see Giles today? Or would he be busy starting up his practice? Then she remembered that Grace had asked him to bring them eggs, so he would probably visit. She wondered uneasily how involved he was with Grace. The girl was certainly no beauty, with her plump, blotched face and raucous voice, but she had a well-developed figure and seemed to enjoy clutching Giles around the neck. Well, time would tell. Early days yet. Fiona jumped out of bed, eager to behold her new surroundings.

Her mother also seemed revived, and when they had dressed, both took the narrow staircase to the kitchen. Today, Fiona noticed that it was a warm, cheerful room with a brick fireplace and oven occupying half of one wall. The flames danced on shining pewter and copper placed in racks against the whitewashed walls. Drying herbs hung above the hearth and added a splash of golden color. Aunt Mercy was just removing several crusty loaves of bread from the oven on a long, flat wooden paddle while Grace energetically pushed a birch-bark broom around the floor. She frowned as she took in Fiona's slender figure, fresh, clear face, and the bright red curls that escaped her cap. "Cousin, are you always such a slug-a-bed?" She growled. "We've been up since dawn to do the chores." Aunt Mercy sighed. "There is so much to be done. It never ends, and the servant we used to have stopped coming so she could attend the trials." She ladled oatmeal gruel from a steaming pot and set the bowls before Fiona and her mother. "To add to our misfortunes, this morning our poor cow went dry." "That never happened before," Grace muttered darkly. "Nor did she ever stray so far into the woods as she did last night." "In that case, we had better not be taking any milk this morning," Fiona's mother whispered. "Pour some molasses on the oatmeal instead." They emptied their bowls and ate several slices of fresh bread and butter to a running accompaniment of Aunt Mercy's complaints and Grace's growling. Finally, Ellen Prescott spoke up firmly. "I will look for work in the village this very day. Fiona and I would not be a burden on you, Mercy. We'll be glad to help in any way we can. What do you want first, candlemaking, gardening, baking, or spinning?" Mercy's plump hands fluttered uncertainly. "Why why, let me see. Perhaps Fiona could feed the chickens. They've not been laying good lately, and we are forced to get most of our eggs from Mistress Harmon. Grace, fetch some grain from the storeroom." In a few moments, Grace returned with a basin of feed. She thrust it ungraciously into Fiona's hands just as a knock sounded at the back door. When Mercy lifted the latch, Giles entered, carrying a basket. Today he wore brown corded breeches, knee boots, and a homespun cotton shirt rolled up to the elbows. In spite of the plain work clothes, Fiona thought he looked handsome and outstanding and always would, no matter what he wore. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she prayed no one noticed the rosy heat upon her cheeks.

Giles greeted everyone, his gaze lingering on Fiona until Grace cried, "Thank you, Giles, I'll take the eggs." She charged toward him, brushing awkwardly against Fiona's arm. The next instant, the basin flew from Fiona's hand and crashed upon the floor, scattering grain far and wide. Aunt Mercy gave a startled exclamation, slapping her hands to her plump cheeks. Grace swung around and shrilled, "You clumsy girl! Look what you've done! That grain costs good money!" "WhywhyI did nothing," Fiona protested. "You hit the bowl with your hand." " 'Twas no such thing! Giles saw what happened," Grace shouted, her face purpling. Giles's gray eyes twinkled. "I only know the bowl flew through the air as though it were" He bit off his words too late. The harm was done. "Exactly! Bewitched." Grace glared at Fiona, then at Mrs. Prescott. "First the cow, now this." Fiona clenched her hands. "What are you hinting at, Grace? Come out with it." Giles shot Grace a warning frown so that she clamped her lips together while Fiona's mother whispered softly, "Daughter, dear, stop." "Shall I get more grain?" Fiona asked stiffly, reaching for the basin. Grace snatched it up and snarled, "I'll feed the hens myself, before you do more harm." She then eased her features into a smile as she looked at Giles. "Come into the barn with me, dear boy. We have a lot of catching up to do. We used to be so close, before you went off to London remember?" Giles hesitated and seemed relieved when Mrs. Prescott touched his arm. "I wonder, doctor dear, if you would be after doing us a favor? Since I see your wagon in the yard, could you help Fiona bring our boxes from the woods? Alas, they were too heavy for us to carry here last night." "Certainly," Giles answered heartily. "I would be glad to." "You left your baggage in the woods?" Mercy clicked her tongue. "What a foolish thing to do. How do you know they will still be there?" "They probably were protected by their kind last night," Grace sneered. "Like calls to like."

As Fiona choked, Grace turned her back and said to Giles, "When I've finished my chores, I want you to come to the jail with me. We can see how many witches were caught last night." "No, Grace," Giles said firmly. "I want no part of that horror. Those poor folk are terrified. Dragged from their homes, accused of a felony which is punishable by death. And many of them innocent, I would swear." "You better watch your words, Giles Harmon. They are not the only witches in that jail." "Grace, stop that kind of talk right now," Giles exploded. Mercy's jaw dropped as she stared from one face to the other. "Come on, Fiona, we'll get your boxes," Giles barked, striding to the door. Undeterred, Grace called after him, "Hurry back, Giles." Giles threw Fiona a concerned glance as they drove away. "You are off to a bad start. I know of your uncle's death and I'm sorry. He would have made things easier for you here." He reached across and pressed her hand. Giles's touch felt so strong and comforting. Fiona thought as she smiled at him. "Do not look at me like that, mistress, or I will forget the promise I made on shipboard," Giles growled with a little laugh. She knew what he meant and colored. She would never hold him to that promise not to kiss her and slid him a sidelong glance beneath her lashes. A feeling of safety and happiness enveloped her when she looked at Giles, so big and strong and kind, with something about him that made her want to lean on him and have him touch her. It seemed wonderful to be outdoors with him, and Fiona drew a deep breath of cool, fresh air. It smelled of the sea and of wind-tossed pines. The sky arched clear and blue above the woods and the clustering homes and farms. No people seemed to be around, but many animals roamed at will: including sheep, geese, chickens, and cows. Giles gestured with his whip as they rode along. "Do you notice how nothing is tended properly? Weeds flourish, crops wilt, trades are all neglected." He smiled grimly. "Everyone has something better to do these days." "For heaven's sake, you don't mean the witch trials?" "Yes, I do. My father tells me the good people of Salem are at the trials day after day, all day long. Sometimes they arrive before daylight to get a good seat in the meetinghouse."

"Do your parents attend them, too?" Fiona asked cautiously. "They went only once, and that was enough. They are very worried about conditions here. Neighbor cries out on neighbor just to keep suspicion from his own door. It is as though the town has lost all reason and gone mad." "It sounds incredible," Fiona gasped. "Aunt Mercy and Grace said that it all started when a group of girls claimed that a slave had bewitched them." Giles nodded. "That was the beginning. My father said Betty Parris, the minister's daughter, and her cousin, Abigail, liked to be entertained by Tituba with the black arts of fortune telling, and other things Tituba had learned in the West Indies. Soon after, the girls began throwing fits. They named Tituba and other witches in Salem." "Do they burn witches at the stake as they do in England?" Fiona whispered hoarsely. "No, they are hanged on Gallows Hill." Fiona gave a violent shudder. The day seemed to darken and a rush of wind blew toward her like an icy draft. She seemed to hear a bell tolling in the distance, and with an inward vision, she saw a black-robed procession mounting up a hill with dragging feet. With a prickling sense of horror, she knew that when one of that doomed and desperate group turned toward her, she would scream. "Fiona, are you well?" Giles exclaimed, giving her a worried glance. "Have I frightened you with all this talk?" "I" She swallowed hard. "Do you believe that all these accused witches are truly guilty?" Giles shook his head and his lips firmed. "No. Many of those who have been jailed are people I have known all my life. I would swear that they are innocent. However, it is mighty dangerous to say such things these days." In an attempt to shake off the strange terror of her vision, Fiona managed a small laugh. "Well, I assure you, I am not a witch who will report your words to Satan." He shot her a sidelong glance and grinned. "No, but you are the most bewitching woman I have ever known." Fiona dropped her eyes, well pleased, but did not answer. They were nearly through the woods when Giles drew back on the reins. "Do you remember where you put your things, young miss?"

"Certainly. It was near the road to Boston." Without much difficulty, Fiona found the tree with its ring of seedlings and Giles loaded the boxes into the wagon. Giles was not in any hurry to return, so they leaned against the wagon, laughing and talking with the ease which had developed between them during their long weeks at sea. "How did you happen to study medicine instead of farming like your father?" Fiona asked him. "My grandfather influenced me. He was a doctor in Boston and I studied with him every chance I got. When he died, he left me all his books and a legacy so I could spend a few years in London and become an accredited doctor. I find it's work I love." Fiona looked at him admiringly. She had never been so drawn to a young man. She loved the fresh male scent of his sun-warmed skin, the intelligent gray eyes, the full curve of his lower lip that smiled much more often now than it had aboard the Seawynd. His responsibility there must have weighed heavily on him. She couldn't help a pang of regret when Giles squinted at the sky. "We had better return. The sun is pretty high. Here, I will help you up." He put his hands on each side of her waist, but instead of helping her onto the seat, he drew her closer to his body, his eyes suddenly agleam as he stared down at her. Aware of what he wanted, Fiona swayed against him, unconsciously provocative, lifting her face to his. In the next instant, he took her lips in a blazing kiss that penetrated past her quivering response and didn't end until they both ran out of breath. When she drew back, her mind was whirling. She felt excited and bewildered. What would he do next? Giles's face was fiery, but he silently swung her up onto the seat. Soon they were rattling along the road, dust swirling behind them, birds twittering in alarm. It was not until they had passed through the woods that Giles stopped the horse and turned to her. His voice sounded gruff, but a corner of his mouth lifted in a little smile. "I guess I must apologize again. I should not have kissed you after I promised not to." "You do not have to apologize," Fiona murmured, remembering with joy the fire and urgency of his lips on hers. "I lost my head," Giles muttered, his eyes hidden by his hat. "When I am close to you, Fiona" "Why is it so wrong to kiss me?" Fiona asked in a low voice. "II like your kisses, Giles."

"You are still a maiden. You do not realize where kisses lead." Fiona tossed her head. "Of course, I do. I am not a child, Giles Harmon." She put her hand timidly on his arm. "I trust you," Fiona added simply. "I hope I can be worthy of that trust," he growled. She heard the rasping intake of his breath. "Do you not know how appealing you are? Your smile, your merry eyes, the way you kissed me back Lucky the man who gets you. I only wish" Fiona could hardly speak. "Yes, Giles? What do you wish?" He only shook his head. After that, he was silent for a long while, and though she looked at him expectantly when he said her name, his words were anything but loverlike. "Fiona, I want to give you a word of warning about your new life in this town. I saw how Grace looked at you, baited you, feared you. You must watch your words around her, no matter what she says. She and her mother are well known here, while you are a perfect stranger. And remember this: it takes only the slightest thinga chance remark, a peculiar glance, an angry word, or a strange dream mentionedand immediately someone asks: 'Is this person acting like a witch?' The next thing you know, a warrant has been issued for arrest." Fiona gave a cry. "Is that really all it takes? Impossible." "You must believe it, Fiona. My parents told me all about the arrests, the lies, the fear and suspicion. People are beside themselves with terror. Both you and your mother must be very, very careful. Do you understand?" Fiona nodded, but she really did not understand at all.

Inside the house, Fiona found her mother putting on her shawl and bonnet. "Ah, Fiona, darlin', I was just about to walk into the village and look for work. Do you want to come along?" "Yes. I am very curious to see this 'cursed town,' as it is called." "Faith, why do they call it that?" her mother exclaimed, as they started down the road. "That is what Giles told me just now." Fiona repeated the story of the possessed girls, their power in the courtroom, and the strange willingness of everyone to believe them when they pointed out a witch.

Ellen Prescott looked pale when Fiona finished. "So then, 'tis true. I thought people on shipboard were exaggerating. We have arrived in the middle of a terrible witch hunt. That explains so many things. And you say that hardly anybody works here now?" Fiona nodded. "Giles says they are completely absorbed by the trials and their own terrible fears. But, Mother, with your knowledge of herbs, you should be welcome in the village. And I will work for Aunt Mercy as hard as any bound servant. I am certain we can earn our own way in this prosperous New World. And if we have to try another village, why, that's what we do." But leaving Giles? How could she bear that! When they reached the main part of town, they found a large crowd. Two rows of shops clustered around a grassy common, but everyone seemed to be milling close to a large white building that faced the square. "Giles was right, 'tis here the people are." Mrs. Prescott clicked her tongue. "Well, since no one else is working, I may have a chance. My knowledge of herbs and simpling should have some value. First, I will try that apothecary shop on the corner." "I will be out here," Fiona said. "I want to see what is going on." As she hurried across the road, a roll of drums rattled in the distance and the people all looked around, heads craning toward the sound. A band of militia came striding into view and behind them marched several stern-faced men wearing long, billowing black robes and high-crowned hats. One turned his head and stared straight at Fiona. His footsteps slowed, then almost halted. Middle-aged, tall, and thin, he had a high-bridged nose and piercing eyes. Only his mouth denied the haughty, controlled expression. The lips were thick and red. He smiled as he nodded to Fiona. Flushing, Fiona stepped back into the crowd, feeling as though she beheld something evil. The man moved away, without looking back. Fiona waited until all the black-robed men had entered the meetinghouse. Now the crowd pressed forward, men, women, and children, pushing, shoving, shouting, all trying to get a place inside. No doubt of it, this was the location of the witch trials. What a relentless fever seemed to grip these townspeople as their bodies jammed the door. Fiona turned, revolted by the eager, hot-eyed faces, and tried to keep from being swept inside. "Say, mistress, you are going the wrong way," a young man laughed, blocking her escape. "The fun is in the meetinghouse. Come on and see the devil's creatures try their tricks before the hangman does his job." Fiona pushed past him and fought her way clear of the mob. At that moment, her mother hailed her from down the street. "Fiona, lass, what is going on?"

Fiona hurried toward her and clasped her mother's arm. "They are having the witch trials in that building. Come, let us go home." She gave a shudder. "This town of Salem frightens me. I cannot help wondering if Satan is not really here." "Oh, I feel uneasy, too," her mother admitted. "And I fear there will be no work for me here. I was greeted with a most suspicious eye. Alas, witches also deal in herbs and potions. In addition the shop owners cut me short so they could attend the trials." She sighed. " 'Tis very little business goes forward in Salem, I'll be bound." Fiona bit her lip. "I am worried, Mother. Aunt Mercy seems to have such a struggle to make ends meet now that Uncle Matthew is dead. How can we stay here if we cannot find work?" "Sure, and I'm wondering that myself. Mercy told me that Matthew made good wages as a fisherman, but all that ended with his death. 'Tis a most unwelcome burden, we may be." After that, they walked home in a troubled silence.

Chapter 5

The gray dawn had barely lit the sky when Fiona and her mother made their way to the breakfast table. "It's Sunday." Grace plunked down mugs of apple cider and plates of thin pancakes swimming in butter. "Eat hearty." Fiona's spirits lifted at this change from the usual morning porridge. But the next words sent them plummeting. "We have to keep up our strength today. The service lasts three hours this morning," Aunt Mercy explained, adding a thick brown syrup to her plateful of cakes. "Everybody will attend." "Th-three hours?" Fiona sent her mother a stricken glance. "But we're not Puritans, Aunt." "I know." Mercy's eyes darted agitatedly across the table. "Ellen, I know that most Irish folk are Papists. Areare you?"

Fiona's mother shook her head. "That we aren't. Ireland contains Protestants as well. But since we have never been inside a Puritan church, I believe we will accompany you this morning." Fiona smothered a groan. Three hours! No wonder they were eating heartily. She began to shovel in a second helping, dousing it with the brown maple syrup. "I'm glad you're coming with us, Ellen," Aunt Mercy said. "Some folks have been wondering about your religion. This should keep their tongues from wagging."

A little later, they all headed for the meetinghouse. Grace, dressed in dark linen trimmed with white cuffs and collar, looked better than Fiona had ever seen her, especially with her reddened face beneath the shadow of a deep bonnet. Aunt Mercy, in dark gray, trotted along on her little feet like a sleek pouter pigeon. Fiona and her mother followed in their long black cloaks as they had been warned that the building would be cold. As the church bell rang, people thronged the road on their way to worship. Some rode, some walked, but all appeared to be dressed in Sunday best. The women wore sober homespun garments in a gray or rust or brown. "The Reverend Parris will be speaking. He's the uncle and also the father of two of the first afflicted girls," Grace said importantly over her shoulder. "He's new in Salem and trying very hard to be accepted. He became like a wild man when the doctors said his niece and daughter were possessed. Now, every Sabbath, he commands us all to join him in routing the evil spirits that infest our town." "I wonder about the horror to have someone in your family possessed by Satan." Fiona gave a shudder. "Faith, it must be terrifying," her mother answered gravely. When they reached the common, Aunt Mercy stopped and said, "Here is our place of worship." "Why, this is the meetinghouse!" Fiona exclaimed. "Where the witch trials are held!" "Yes, Niece, 'tis the only place that's large enough to accommodate the crowds. Many people come from nearby towns since Salem's fame has spread. Come now, let us go inside." The Puritans' hall was bare and plain with hard benches. The men sat on one side of the room, women on the other. A high wooden pulpit, painted white, stood in front of the hall. At the rear, the younger boys jammed together on the steps leading to the gallery. A

man bearing a long rod with a knob at one end seemed to be on constant watch for signs of restlessness among them or any disturbance needing discipline. As the bell ceased tolling, one of the deacons called for a psalm and the whole congregation rose to repeat the long verses after him. When they sat down, an expectant hush descended as a tall, thin-faced man mounted the pulpit steps. Reverend Parris's fierce eyes raked the room for a full minute. When he spoke, his voice had the impact of a thunderbolt. "There are witches in Salem! Right here among us. Even in this very house!" His bony finger stabbed the air. "What sayeth the scriptures: 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' And again: 'A man also or a woman that hath a familiar spirit or that is a wizard shall surely be put to death'." "Witches are an abomination unto the Lord! And they are here, in Salem!" The congregation drew in its suspended breath and fear-filled eyes darted around the room. Some people huddled closer to each other. Some faces held a fierce, determined anger. "Friends," the minister continued, lowering his voice and leaning across the pulpit, "the scripture says: 'Take heed lest any man deceive you a man's foes may be that of his own household.' " His voice rose to a shriek. "Watch for the signs. Find the witches before they destroy you. I say unto you these words: seek, find, destroy!" Fiona's icy, shivering hand crept into her mother's. The people stared at the minister as if spellbound, silently repeating the minister's words. Fiona's eyes darted feverishly around until on the other side of the room she noticed Giles. He sat next to a dark-haired man, probably his father. As though he felt her eyes on him, Giles turned his head and looked straight at her with a reassuring message in his clear, level gaze. Fiona drew a deep breath, and then made a conscious effort to ignore the fear generated by the ranting man in the pulpit. At long last, the minister grew hoarse, the congregation rose for a final prayer, and they all filed outside. "Well, the first service is over," Grace explained. "After our midday meal, we all come back again."

Fiona ignored Grace and turned away, wondering if Giles would come and speak with them. Instead, a man dressed all in black appeared in front of her, a man with piercing eyes and moist red, lips. He bowed low, sweeping off a wide-brimmed, high-crowned hat. "We have not met, Mistress Prescott, but I glimpsed you in the village and was so struck by your uncommon beauty that I learned your name and now beg leave to introduce myself. Judge Nicholas Blaize, at your service." His eyes narrowed and went slowly from the red curls peeping from underneath her bonnet to the young round form revealed in the opening of her cloak. It was a most uncomfortable inspection, but Fiona did not know what to do except endure it as she repeated his name in chilly accents, sketched a curtsey, and drew her cloak together. He spoke briefly to the others, including her mother, then turned back to Fiona. His audacity was phenomenal, Fiona thought indignantly, as he moved too close for courtesy and breathed into her face. "I shall expect you and your mother to dine with me in the near future. My servant will apprise you of the time." "I think we may be occupied," Fiona told him, haughtily. He gave a grating laugh. "We shall see." His penetrating gaze once more swept over her. "Yes, indeed, I can hardly wait to entertain you in my home. You'll see beautiful things there, Mistress. Treasures from around the world." He bowed with exaggerated gallantry to them all, then glided off to his waiting carriage. A dwarf in purple velvet opened the door for him and shot a glance of malicious curiosity at Fiona before they drove away. "He wants us to come to dinner, my mother and me," Fiona told her gaping aunt. "I have no intention of going." "Whyever not?" Ellen Prescott asked, staring after the departing coach. "It might be interesting. He seems well bred enough." Grace laughed harshly. "Yes, Cousin, I think that you should go. At least you'll get a wonderful supper, I imagine. He's new in town, but I've heard he is the richest man for miles around and very influential at the witch trials." "Has he ever invited your family to his home?" Fiona asked her. "No," Grace grunted sullenly. That chalks up another mark against me, Fiona thought.

Suddenly, Grace's expression changed and she gave a squeal of delight. "Hello, Giles. Wasn't that a splendid sermon? So inspiring." She then greeted the rest of his family with equal fawning. The father, a dark-haired, rough-hewn man, held the arm of a sweet-faced woman in a gray bonnet. Mercy immediately twittered through the introductions, including Giles's younger brother, Charles, who had a round, cheerful face, curly brown hair, and an appreciative, audacious eye for Fiona. "We would be greatly honored," Mrs. Harmon told them, "if you would return to our house for a midday meal with us before the afternoon service." Grace and Mercy accepted promptly, but Fiona's mother said, " 'Tis sad I am to decline your most kind offer, Mrs. Harmon. Alas, my health has not been too robust since that long sea voyage, but perhaps my daughter?" "Mother, if you're not well" "Nay, 'tis just a rest I am needing in my room, but you feel free to go." Fiona darted a quick glance at Giles, who smiled encouragingly. "I'll be glad to come, thank you," she said, thinking it would be interesting to see Giles's home and get acquainted with his family. It was too good an opportunity to be missed, even if it did mean another session with the Reverend Parris. Giles beamed. "Come along then." He took his place between Fiona and Grace, offering an arm to each as they all walked along the country road. "Fiona, how did you like the sermon?" Giles asked. "Itit was most unusual." Grace snorted. "My cousin isn't a Puritan. She doesn't understand these things like we do, Giles. No use in asking her opinion." "Grace, anyone can understand the Reverend Parris." Giles frowned with annoyance. "He is on a witch hunt." "And why shouldn't he be, with two members of his household afflicted?" Grace gave a jerk to Giles's arm. "Listen, I want to tell you about the trials yesterday. Did you know the minister himself was there to testify?"

Grace rattled on and on until they reached the Harmon house. The guests were led into a big, clean kitchen similar to Aunt Mercy's with its fireplace and whitewashed walls. A plain but hearty meal of precooked food was set before them at the long trestle table to which benches and chairs were drawn up. Giles's brother, Charles, slid quickly onto the place beside Fiona with a cheeky, disarming grin. "You must taste everything," he said, noting Fiona's hesitation. He took her plate and piled it high, listing each item. "This is sauce made from cranberries, and this is turkey, a wild fowl, but delicious. The orange is pumpkin." "An Indian vegetable," Mrs. Harmon put in. "We stew it with water, vinegar, and spices." Fiona chewed and nodded. "I like it. And what is this crunchy yellow bread?" Grace spoke before filling her mouth. "Cornbread, ninny. I'll have another piece, Charlie." Charles leaned across the table, his eyes dancing. "I love to see a person eating heartily. What else can I hand you, Grade?" Her mouth too full to speak, she nodded and pointed. "How about you, my little Irish beauty?" Charles said in Fiona's ear, sliding an arm behind her back. "What would you like? How about a walk out in the yard?" Giles broke in firmly. "No, Charles, I want to show her around the house. Have you eaten enough, Fiona?" "Wait for me," Grace said, trying to swallow her mouthful. Charles giggled and laid a turkey leg on her plate. Giles winked at him. "No hurry, Grace. We will return shortly." Taking her arm, Giles led Fiona into a cold, dim room at the end of the hall. "This is the company room, and there's something in here I want to show you. In dangerous times like these, it might be good for you to know about this secret." He walked over to the fireplace and pressed a hidden spring beneath the mantel. At once, a crack appeared along the wall. It widened and silently and slowly a narrow door swung outward. "Heavens, what is that?" Fiona exclaimed. "A secret stairway to an attic room. My ancestors built it for the Indian attacks. No one knows about it but the family. Not even Grace."

Wonderingly, Fiona thrust her head into the dark opening. Dimly she made out a very narrow staircase curving upward out of sight. "It's rather scary," she whispered. "Why are you showing it to me? Do you think that I am in danger?" "I certainly hope not, but it might come in handy during a witch hunt. I pray it will not be needed." Fiona moved closer to him and drew a long, deep breath. "Giles, sometimes I get so frightened now. I never expected anything like this that ranting preacher, the congregation so eager to hunt and destroy people, and then Grace" Giles pulled her swiftly into his arms and with a rush of joy, her head dropped against his shoulder as he pressed her close. "Fiona, all we can do is keep to ourselves and watch all our words and actions. Someday it will end when people grow sickened and realize they must return to their trades and farms or starve." She was so thrilled to be held in his arms, Fiona barely managed to speak. "Youyou are such a comfort, Giles. I am so glad I know you." He gave a throaty chuckle. "Even if I persist in kissing you?" For answer, Fiona raised herself up higher and pressed her lips to his, feeling the heat sweep in her cheeks and her heartbeat pound. Would he think she was too bold? In the next instant, Giles made a muffled sound and tightened his arms around her, kissing her passionately on cheeks, brow, and throat. Fiona gave a whimper of delight and pressed innocently into his body. A shudder swept him, and suddenly she felt his warm tongue probing at her mouth. She gave a startled jerk, then gasped and trembled while he licked her greedily, moving over and over, in and out between her parted lips. Through it all, even with the strange feelings he aroused, she didn't pull away. Finally, Giles raised his head. "We better stop this," he muttered hoarsely. "But, you taste like a flower filled with honey. Diddid you like what I did just now, Fiona?" She stared at him, shaken, bewildered, excited beyond belief, and somewhat frightened. What did it mean? "II do not know," she stuttered. "No one's ever done thatthat before." She could hardly speak from breathlessness. Giles's fingertips stroked gently down her fevered cheek. "Perhaps it was too soon. Smooth your dress, my sweet. It is time to join the others."

In a daze, Fiona followed him. All she could think about was the strangeness of his kiss, so unexpected, so intimate. Just the memory made her blush and tremble.

On the way back to the church a little later, Giles acted as though nothing untoward had passed between them, and soon Fiona was able to reply in kind, their easy friendliness restored. However, before they reached the meetinghouse, a young woman called to Giles and he stopped, his face alight with pleasure. "Sally! I hear you've married in my absence. How are you faring, dear?" "Just fine, Giles. I'm so glad you're back." The winsome face beneath a dark bonnet turned toward Fiona with a frank and friendly curiosity. "Oh, Sally, this is a newcomer in our midst, Mistress Fiona Prescott. She and her mother were on the ocean voyage with me." "I'm Sally Woods. I am pleased to meet you, Fiona. You are most welcome to our shores," the young woman said. "Giles, perhaps you will bring your new neighbor to dine one night next week. I know Oliver would like to see you. Shall we say, next Saturday?" "Thank you." He raised an eyebrow at Fiona, who smiled and nodded her agreement. "Where is Oliver? Didn't he attend the service?" Giles asked Sally. "No, Oliver has been ill, but he's much better and will probably be back at his forge tomorrow. It is hard to make him stay abed." Giles frowned and placed his hand upon the slender shoulder as Sally gazed up at him. "Is he good to you?" he asked her gruffly. To Fiona, there seemed to be a strange undercurrent beneath their words as Sally answered softly, "Yes, Giles. You are not to worry." She moved away with a smile for them both. Giles entered the meetinghouse, but before Fiona could follow, Grace appeared at her side and hissed into her ear. "See the girl with Reverend Parris? That's his niece, Abigail Williams, one of the afflicted who seeks out witches. Best not let her become aware of you. She's suspicious of any strangers." She gave a deep, malicious chuckle which Fiona managed to ignore. Although young, Abigail had a bold, darting glance. Her eyes swiveled constantly from side to side and people on the road shrank back until she vanished in the meetinghouse. By the look of her, Fiona thought Abigail was enjoying her new power and might be on the prowl for further victims.

Fiona started walking slowly, but Grace was not through with her yet. "I saw you talking to Sally Woods. Did you know that she and Giles were on the brink of a betrothal before he went away? It must have been a blow to him when he came back and found she'd married that big, burly blacksmith. Some folks whispered 'twas because she had to." With an effort, Fiona kept a cool look on her face and didn't answer, but she wondered why Grace was telling her these things. Of course, she might have had several motives for her remarks about Sally. Maybe she didn't want Fiona to make friends with the sweetfaced girl. And perhaps Grace wanted to upset Fiona with a reference to Giles's former love The only certainty was that Grace liked to be unpleasant.

Chapter 6

Fiona and Giles were lying in a meadow and he was kissing her. She protested when his hand touched her breast. "Giles, pleaseyou should not" she choked. "I am in love with you, Fiona. You know how much I want you." He moved his hands up to each side of her face and took her trembling lips into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. A wave of ecstatic pleasure swept Fiona, and unable to stop herself, she pulled him closer. "Giles, Giles, have you forgotten me? Oh, won't you come to me?" The thin wailing voice rent the air. "It's Sally?" Fiona gasped, tearing her mouth from Giles. She pushed against his shoulder. "She's crying!" He sat up slowly, mumbling thickly, "It sounds more like a cat to me." Fiona's eyes flew open. Yes, she could hear a cat mewing somewhere. She had been dreaming, but already the memory swam in misty waves. Giles had kissed her she still

felt the heat and yearning between them with a glow of guilty pleasure. But then came something else Sally Sally watching them and crying. Oh, heavens, it was just a dream. Fiona sat up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Her mother must have risen earlier, as she wasn't in the room. Last night, Mercy had given them a list of chores to do, saying she and Grace were going to attend an early session of the witch trials and would not return until mid-morning. Fiona knew she also must help with the housework and dressed quickly, tying a linen cap beneath her chin and donning a long white apron. In the kitchen, she heard the odd wailing again and her eyes flew to the corner where her mother sat by the whirring spinning wheel, oblivious to the sound outside the door. "Mother," Fiona raised her voice, feeling a strange prickling sensation run along her spine. "Something's at the doortrying to get in." Her mother rose and flashed her an amused glance. "Oh, then, let us see who it is." "Perhaps we should not" "Now, Fiona, 'tis not like you to be a-twitter. Sit down and have your breakfast. There are fresh boiled eggs this morning. I'll be seeing to the door." She gave a little chuckle. "Even though everyone in town is practically hysterical, let us try to keep our reason." She opened the door and looked out, then down. "Why, 'tis just a pussycat." With a little hiss, a gaunt black cat slid past her and limped across the room, surveying the kitchen with a narrowed, slitted gaze. Mrs. Prescott bent closer to examine it. "Oh, it has a splinter in its paw, poor wee thing. Hand me my box and that little knife, Fiona. Now, then, Puss, I'll fix you up and soon you'll be as good as new." For some reason, the lank dark cat filled Fiona with revulsion. Usually she was quite fond of animals, especially household pets, but this must be the meanest-looking, ugliest cat she had ever seen, with a half-chewed ear and dirty, matted fur. She handed the box filled with medication to her mother, then retreated to the table, where she peeled an egg and ate a slice of bread while keeping a wary eye on the operation. The animal sat silently, only occasionally blinking its yellow eyes as though in pain while its paw was probed, coated with ointment, and bandaged with a strip of cloth.

"How thin and scraggly that cat is," Fiona muttered. "I wonder where it came from. I've never seen it around here before, have you?" "Probably in a town like this, wrapped up in a witch hunt, many animals are neglected. I'm wondering if we could keep him. So many rodents haunt the barn with no cat on the premises." "Oh, I don't think" Fiona began, only to be interrupted by the appearance of Grace and Aunt Mercy, who came bursting in the back door, both looking excited. Grace sailed her sunbonnet across the room to the kitchen table. "Lordy, you should have been in the courtroom this morning," she chortled. "Abigail Williams and Elizabeth Hubbard threw the most awful fits. They said that Rebecca Nurse was tormenting them, pinching, biting, jabbing pinsinvisibly, of course." "My heavens, and didn't that cause everyone to chatter!" Aunt Mercy hung her cape on a peg and pursed her tiny mouth. "Rebecca may be one of the wealthiest people in Salem and have a lot of friends, but now folks are whispering." "What about?" Fiona asked. "She scoffs at those afflicted children," Mercy proclaimed. "Rebecca claims they just want attention. That idea does not set well, I can tell you, seeing all the problems people are afflicted with these days." Grace licked her lips with relish. "Do you know, when they were first possessed, those girls couldn't eat or speak? They crawled under the furniture and barked like dogs. The twelve-year-old, Ann Putnam, even tried to throw herself into the fireplace until her parents grabbed her." "None of the doctors could do a thing, not even the ones they brought from far-off towns," Aunt Mercy put in. "So at last one had to admit the works of the devil. But Rebecca Nurse said the girls were just trying to save themselves from punishment by claiming bewitchment." "Punishment for what?" Ellen asked. "Why, their meetings with Titubathe dancing, card playing, and all. The parents found them out and the girls confessed but said black magic made them do it. Soon everyone started noticing odd things and realized that Satan had come to Salem. Now all the witches among us are finally being unearthed, and" "Ma," Grace suddenly shrilled, "look at that strange black cat! How did he get in? Never saw him around before."

"Why, 'tis just a stray I doctored," Ellen protested. "Y'see, he had a thorn stuck in his paw" Grace leaped backward with a raucous cry. "Witches have a familiar to do their bidding." She pointed a shaking finger. "Like that one!" "Are you hinting again that my mother is a witch?" Fiona advanced with clenched hands, but she was halted in her tracks by a loud knocking at the door and the sound of chattering voices. For a strained moment, no one moved or spoke. Then Aunt Mercy lifted up the latch and in trooped a group of babbling children, ignoring the black cat, who scooted out the door. Their ages seemed to range from a little one with fingers in her mouth to a miniature goodwife looking about six years old in long dress, apron, and linen cap tied beneath her rosy chin. "Time for school," she stated importantly, thrusting out the wooden hornbook dangling from a cord around her waist. This distraction effectively halted Fiona's angry words to Grace and she could only stare at the procession of little boys and girls noisily trying to arrange themselves along the table benches. "I have a dame school." Aunt Mercy raised her voice above the din. "It's for those too young to attend the regular grammar school." She bustled frantically around the table, trying in vain to create order among the jabbering children who were poking and shoving each other for a preferred place to sit. Suddenly, Grace banged a wooden spoon against a pot lid. "Shut your clappers," she yelled at the top of her lungs. Silence fell instantly upon the entire group. "I have the school three times a week," Aunt Mercy explained. "My neighbor had it formerly, but now she's too busy, so I said I would take it. A weekly threepence for each pupil helps out, you know." "One child is so small," Fiona marveled. "What is she able to learn?" "That is Charity, Rebecca Nurse's grandchild. She is three years old and very bright." Hearing her name, the little one piped up, "Grandmama's very sick. She throws up all her food." "Heavens, but that reminds me of our rough days at sea." With a click of her tongue, Mrs. Prescott moved to Charity's side. "Now, then, has your granny seen Dr. Giles, my dear?"

When the child shook her head, Mercy said, "There has been no regular doctor in Salem for several years. The barber used to perform surgery when required, but he's been accused of witchcraft. Although I heard he's been exonerated." "And Giles isn't here today," Grace said. "We saw him on our way to the trials and he told us he was going to Boston for supplies." "Grandmama cries a lot." Charity's mouth turned down. "Why can't anybody help her?" "Whisht, now, 'tis many cures for sick people, I have," Ellen said. "Charity, why don't you come and show me where your Granny lives? I'm sure Giles would not mind." The child rose with alacrity and Fiona said, "I will join you, mother." It should be interesting to meet this Rebecca Nurse, who seemed to be one of the few villagers questioning the accusations of the bewitched girls. Perhaps she'd have a chance to talk with the old lady, if she was not too ill. As she and her mother left, carrying a basket of herbs and powders, the reading class began reciting the alphabet in unison, stubby fingers pointing to each letter printed beneath the sheet of transparent horn tacked to their wooden paddles. Grace added a periodic whack with her spoon for emphasis. Outdoors, Charity trotted along between Fiona and her mother and began to sing:

"He that learns his A-B-C Never will a blockhead be."

Fiona smiled down at the baby cheeks bulging out of the stiff white cap. "Can you recite your alphabet?" "Yes, I can. A-B-C, A-B-C, A-B-C." Charity skipped ahead chanting happily. Fiona laughed. "She seems to think that is the whole of it." "Faith, imagine Mercy running a dame school! Never would I have expected that, would you? She seems so scatterbrained." "I know. Well, if she cannot keep the young ones in line, you can be sure Grace will. Do you notice any school here for older boys and girls?"

"Mercy said they have hired a schoolmaster. But with the witch trials going on, they must have closed it down." "These trials are causing so much trouble. Heavens, the things Giles told me. People are either locked in their houses in terror or haunting the trials so they can gloat." Her mother threw her a teasing glance. "I hear that young man's words quoted quite a lot by you." Fiona blushed and gave a little laugh, wishing she could pour out everything she felt about Giles, how he excited her and puzzled her and with it all, attracted her. But her feelings were too new and too bewildering for sharing and, yes, too sweet. "Never mind, my darling, you could do worse than listen to young Dr. Giles. The lad seems to be one of the few level-headed people in this town." With a blushing smile, Fiona nodded. "Here's where Grandmama lives," Charity called to them, as she bounded up the steps of a large, fine-looking house. She pushed open the door and called shrilly for her mother. A young woman hurried forward and introduced herself as the daughter-in-law. Her face was drawn with worry which eased a little when Fiona's mother explained their mission. "I truly appreciate your kindness. Charity and I moved in after my husband died, but we are sorely pressed for help of any kind. Won't you both come up and meet Rebecca Nurse? She has few visitors these days." Moving ahead, she led the way upstairs. They entered a beautifully furnished room with a large corner bed draped in rust-colored linen to match the curtains at the casement windows. On a polished table, a China bowl glowed with deep, rich colors, and over a long chest of cherrywood, an expensive mirror hung. Fiona noticed that its silvered surface reflected them all as they advanced cautiously toward the patient. Struggling to sit up, a frail, sweet, old face under a frilled cap peered out at the newcomers. Then she dropped back on the pillows with a sigh. "Ah, I hoped 'twas the new doctor I have heard about." She managed to give them a smile, however, mixed with curiosity. "Giles Harmon is out of town," her daughter-in-law said, "but this is Mrs. Prescott, who knows the medicine of simples. She has offered to prepare a remedy." "How very kind," the old lady murmured gratefully. "You are new to our village, are you not?"

Ellen Prescott briefly explained the circumstances of their arrival, then examined Rebecca Nurse's eyes and tongue and asked her several questions, after which she asked to be shown where she could make her preparations. The daughter-in-law responded quickly and led her from the room. Already the old lady's eyes looked brighter, hopeful of a cure. She gave Fiona an interested glance and pulled herself up higher on the pillows. "So you've come all the way from Ireland and have the lilt in your voice and the coloring to prove it. That face will break a few hearts before too long, I warrant." Fiona felt the warmth steal into her cheeks and lowered her eyes with a little smile. "Modest, too. I like that. Are you a pious miss as well?" "Oh, yes, Mistress Nurse, but we are not Puritans." " 'Tis all one God, child, and a great comfort He has been to me all my life. Seventy-two years I have served my Maker faithfully, but now" Her pale, seamed face puckered. "Now the deacons of the church chide me constantly for not attending Divine Service." "But you are ill," Fiona protested. "Do they not realize that?" "It doesn't matter to them. Sometimes I wonder if it's not simply an excuse so they can mutter hints about me." "What do you mean?" Fiona asked, feeling, however, that she knew the answer. "They mutter 'witch'." The old voice shook. "II have made enemies by speaking out against the witch trials. I said that all young girls go through a silly season and that the court places too much faith in their testimony. Why, every person now accused of witchcraft must face a group of children for a verdict before the judges speak." "Incredible!" Fiona sucked in her breath. "It cannot be that so many are witches." "Of course." For a moment, Mistress Nurse spoke strongly and her faded eyes flashed. "The townspeople cry out on anyone they dislike, or envy, or want to be revenged on for some trifling insult. The town is filled with evil the likes of which I've never known." As Fiona stared at the anguished face upon the pillows, an icy wind seemed to come into the room from somewhere and she heard an ominous bell begin to toll while far-off voices wailed and sobbed. Again she saw a hill, a black cross outlined against the sky. At the base, a crowd huddled, beating futilely upon the ground, calling to their God. Then, up the hill they came, twelve people wearing hoods and long brown robes. Ropes bound them together, the ends carried by masked men. "Rebecca!" screamed a voice.

One doomed figure dropped to her knees, flinging out trembling arms, and an old voice shrilled with all its failing strength, "I am innocent! Oh, dearest, Lord, please save me!" A group rushed toward her, shrieking, pounding on the guards. Whips snaked out, and amid cries, the convicted people were forced up the hill. Fiona nearly cried out loud. It was a repetition of her vision on the road with Giles. What did it mean? Frightened and bewildered, Fiona clenched her hands to stop their trembling, not wishing Mrs. Nurse to observe her apprehension. The vision seemed to foretell some dire and imminent event, something so terrifying it could not be borne with sanity. Gradually the feeling faded, and resolutely, Fiona pushed the horrible experience from her mind. All this talk of witchcraft was giving her weird fancies. Her mother had warned that they must not give in to the nervous, threatening atmosphere that engulfed the town. They must keep their headsin more ways than one. "Mistress Fiona, lass." The old lady suddenly reared up and put out her hand. "You won't repeat my words today, will you? Sometimes I speak out unwisely" "No, no, of course, I won't," Fiona answered swiftly, pressing the thin fingers worrying the counterpane. "Do not fret. I am in complete accord with all that you have said, and my mother feels the same way. We are appalled by the happenings in Salem." With a relieved sigh, Mrs. Nurse leaned back. "I knew I saw intelligence and good sense as well as beauty in your face." Ellen Prescott now entered the room carrying a bowl of herbal broth which Rebecca Nurse drank eagerly. She soon relaxed against the pillows. "That was greatly soothing, Mrs. Prescott. I think that I can sleep now. My deepest thanks to you both for visiting me." Promising to come again, Fiona and her mother took their leave. When they entered Mercy's kitchen, Grace, arms akimbo, turned to glare at Fiona. "Well, Miss Fancy, are you here at last to help us with the chores? Or are you interested only in visiting the neighbors?" " 'Tis sorry I am we had to leave you." Ellen hurried to put plates on the table. "But that poor old soul needed some help." "Aunt Ellen," Grace yelled, "that 'poor, old soul' is a witch!" "That is nonsense," Fiona snapped.

"It is not!" Grace's fevered glance swung from Fiona to her mother. "You both had best stop consorting with the likes of Rebecca Nurse, or someone will cast a suspicious eye on you, also." "I fear that's true." Aunt Mercy's head bobbed vigorously. "Especially if people knew about these strange herbal roots you brought with you, Ellen. Grace and I were just looking at them. Why, most I've never heard ofsuch as gingseng." "My husband David brought me some rare roots from China. 'Tis much more advanced in medicine they are." "Chinee roots?" Aunt Mercy pursed her lips. "I wouldn't trust them if I was dying." Ellen shrugged. "Well, I have some very fine ointments. Often they have helped ailments of the skin." She gazed thoughtfully at Grace's blotched and reddened face. "Aunt Ellen," Grace burst out, "could they help me?" "Grace," Aunt Mercy snapped. "No foreign drugs are going to be used on me or mine." Grace threw her mother a rebellious glance, but then she could not pass up the chance to sneer. "Ointments from strange herbs are what all witches use. Everyone knows that." Fiona gritted her teeth. That Grace was enough to make a person wish they really had the powers of a witch. Just enough to change Grace into a mouse when the black cat was around.

Chapter 7

Fiona did not see Giles until dusky shadows stretched across the yard. She was washing supper dishes at the big stone sink and had nearly finished when, through the casement window, she spied Giles coming along the path. With a quick glance toward Grace, who was kneading bread at the corner sideboard, Fiona picked up her basin. "I'll just throw this dirty water in the yard." "Well, don't waste it, ninny, put it on the vegetables," Grace snapped.

Fiona jerked off her damp apron, tucked loose strands of hair beneath her cap, and, opening the door, threw the water on some struggling plants. Then she sped down the path just as Giles came toward her. He caught her hands with a quick smile and gave her a searching glance. "Fiona, how are you? I was on my way to see you." "I'm fine. Did you enjoy your trip?" "I accomplished quite a lot." He tucked her arm beneath his own as they started walking away from Mercy Prescott's house. "What did you do in Boston? Did you buy a lot of things? Did you see William Phips, by any chance?" "I heard Sir William had gone north to investigate an Indian uprising, but I would not have imposed a visit on him at any rate. Shipboard comradeships are oft-times forgotten once you are on landunless you are thrown together afterward, as you and I have been." His deep voice lowered softly. "And for that I am very grateful. Our time together on the sea meant much to me, Fiona, and I would hate to have it all forgotten." Fiona glanced at him with a quick smile. "So would I. You were right. I cannot forget those days." "Soon there will be the annual berrying party. Will you come as my partner?" "Whywhy, yes, of course." She beamed at him, but then she laughed. "What is it?" "Well, every spring the young men and women pair off and go to a certain area in the woods where they collect berries to be stewed, dried, preserved, or whatever. They are very plentiful this year: blueberries, strawberries, rasp berries The girls pack lunches to share with their partners. Even with the troubles here, I believe a goodly number of couples will find time to attend. The berries form a big part of our winter diet." "Will the possessed girls be there?" Fiona cautiously asked. "I do not know. Most of them are too young to be paired with young men. The older ones perhaps." Fiona swallowed before she spoke again. "Well, what about Grace? She seems to have a possessive air around you." "There is nothing between us and never would be. We've been neighbors a long time and when we were young we were companions. Never more." But Fiona thought there was a great deal more in Grace's mind.

After they had walked a little way, Giles halted and with one hand, pushed back the curly red tendrils from her brow. "You are the only one I am interested in. I think about you even when I am gone. I cannot forget you, Fiona." In the next instant, he hungrily pressed his lips to hers. Blissfully, Fiona closed her eyes, opening her mouth to the piercing, hot invasion. For long moments, there was nothing in the world except the wild sweetness of his deep kiss. Suddenly, in the whirling vortex of emotions, she heard the sound of horses' hooves and cartwheels coming down the road. Abruptly, Giles drew away. "Oh, God. Here comes Sally's husband, Oliver Woods," Giles said huskily, clearing his throat and straightening his hat. Feeling as though she had wakened from a dream, Fiona's fingers shook as she straightened her gown and turned around. The driver of the wagon stepped down and wrung Giles's hand. He was very big, heavy-shouldered, and heavy-featured, with an almost brutal cast to his lips and pugnacious chin. As he welcomed Giles's return, his voice was a deep male growl. After Giles had introduced her, Oliver eyed Fiona, but if he noticed of her dishevelment, there was no telling. "Sally said she met you and soon you'll be having a meal with us. Welcome." "Yes, indeed." Fiona gave a nervous laugh. Oliver's appearance shocked her. This big brute of a man and the dainty Sally? However, there was something in the black depths of his eyes, something frank and honest, though Fiona doubted he gave his trust and friendship freely. "Good, but I'd best be getting home. 'Twill soon be dark. I'll see you both, come Saturday." He touched the wide brim of his hat and drove off in his wagon. When the dust had settled in the road, Giles and Fiona started to retrace their steps. "I must go home now, too," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right. There is grave danger in this witch hunt. Be very careful, Fiona, if I'm not with you." "Oh. Yes." What did it mean? Giles's passionate kisses one minutethen the stern control. Was he afraid of her innocent response? Maybe when the witch hunt ended, they could explore this strange, exciting thing between them. Turning to go back, Fiona suddenly saw Grace run from the house and cross the field to intercept Giles. In another minute, she would see Fiona and know she had been meeting him. That would not set well with the demanding, suspicious girl, who might be in love with Giles or at least was pushing for his complete attention.

In order to avoid being seen, Fiona decided to take a short walk in the woods. Moving quickly, she turned off the main road and saw a grass-edged path starred with daisies and blue violets. The gathering of a bouquet would furnish an excuse for being outdoors, since Mercy cultivated no flowers, nor many other plants. As she broke off fragile stems, Fiona pondered the idea of starting a vegetable garden. It could provide their food and she would feel she was making a contribution to the household. Giles might know where she could find seeds or seedlings to set out, as she had done in Ireland. Both she and her mother had enjoyed gardening, and it would be a more pleasant occupation than the drudgery demanded under Grace or Mercy's nagging supervision. She also looked forward to the berrying, as it would provide material for jams and jellies, at which task her mother was quite proficient. Thoughts of the coming outing gave Fiona a quick glow of happiness. What fun, to spend a whole day picking fruit with Giles, then sharing a picnic basket with him. Sally and Oliver might be there, and Charles Harmon, as well as other young people. But the main attraction would be Giles. She gave a little laugh of pure excitement, remembering their recent encounter. Underneath his serious outlook and sober dedication to his profession, Giles certainly could be quite romantic. She frowned as she started walking along the dusky path. Maybe it was his skillful passion that made him so attractive. Yes, that was part of his appeal, but she also liked and admired him, longed to please him, to see him smile at her. She yearned to be with him dreamed about him in the night. Was she in love with Giles? Then came another thought, more sobering: he had never said he loved her. He had said only that she was bewitching, lovely sweet but never had he mentioned love. Perhaps he was too cautious, too self-contained, maybe even too uncertain of his own feelings at this point. Or, a wicked voice whispered, perhaps he just wanted to satisfy his clamoring male desires. Her mother's warnings surged into her mind, the firm advice about a maiden's conduct when strong passions tried to work their wiles upon virginity. Alas, each time Giles caressed her, a tingling sensation swept through every part of her body, making her yearn for more. Occupied with her thoughts, she hadn't noticed that the night had fallen and she had come a far piece inside the rustling woods, much farther than she had intended. She stopped and looked around uneasily. The path was swallowed up in darkness. Which way should she go?

As she hesitated, a keening howl suddenly smote her ears. Was that a dog? Then she saw eyesslitted, yellow, shining through the trees. She heard the pad of paws on dried leaves, and a low, deep-throated growl of menace. The creature moved and now she saw him clearer: the tilted eyes, the brindle coat covering gauntness, the alert, pointed ears. No dog; it was a wolf! What should she do? A scream, sudden flight, or an attempted blowall might trigger an attack. She was the enemy, and she had entered his domain. Stand still; do not threaten him, she told herself. Moments passed while she stood frozen on the path, the animal waiting for her to move. But then a lantern light appeared, shining through the trees, and Fiona heard a lilting voice call, "Here, Gray, here's food. Come on, boy." It was Sally! Fiona shook so much she couldn't find her voice or move while the emaciated creature loped with a whine to Sally's feet and gobbled up the meat she had tossed on the ground. At last Fiona moved into the ring of light. "Good evening, Sally," she said in a shaken voice. "Do you know that animal?" "Why, Fiona, hello. Yes, Gray and I are good friends. I cured this old fellow after some boys trapped him and left him wounded in the forest. Come closer, Fiona, and I will make you known to him." "Are you certain he will not attack me?" Fiona asked weakly. "Not while I am here. Take deep breaths and expel your fear so he won't sense it. He's just a poor old wolf, deserted by the younger pack, who moved on and forced him to steal his food. He's afraid and hungry all the time, although I try to feed him when I can." Drawing a deep breath, Fiona came closer while still shaking in every limb. "A poor old wolf," she repeated to herself. A wolf? Dear heaven, what was she doing, moving closer to this natural enemy of mankind? Finishing his meat, the animal fawned on Sally's shoes, then raised his head, regarding Fiona curiously. Sally knelt down. "This is a friend, Gray. Never harm her. Fiona, let him sniff your fist. Not an open hand; that is threatening." The introduction was accomplished. There ensued no wagging tail, only a long, cool look. Then he dipped his head in submission, and with a last lick at Sally's shoe, slunk off into the darkness, fed, peaceful, another contact made with a human being. Though his wild instincts were lulled for the time being, Fiona did not think she would want him for a pet; the gulf was too wide between her and this foraging creature of the forest.

"Do you think he will remember me?" she asked. "Oh, yes. You will now be a friend in his mind, someone associated with me, and I am a person who gives him food." Fiona inhaled deeply. "I am certainly glad you came along. Perhaps you saved my life. What are you doing in the woods so late?" "Gathering mushrooms for Oliver's breakfast tomorrow. And you?" "Just walking. I met Giles and then Oliver on his way home." "Yes, he told me. Well, take some mushrooms to your aunt." Fiona accepted them gladly. This would make a better excuse for being out so late than gathering flowers. "Can you find your way back?" Sally asked. "The moon's up now and I can see the path. Do you think the wolf would have attacked me?" Sally shook her head. "Not unless you made a threatening gesture. However, one cannot forget that he is a wild animal, and unpredictable when aroused." "Like some people," Fiona said. Strangely, the image of Judge Blaize's face swam before her. Sally nodded and drew her shawl tighter to her throat. "Sometime I may tell you about such a person right here in Salem." In the moonlight, her face suddenly looked white and pinched. While Fiona stared at her, Sally turned abruptly and vanished among the trees.

Chapter 8

During the next few days, Fiona had little time to ponder Giles, Sally, or the wolf. Grace plunged her into an orgy of housework, almost as though she challenged Fiona's powers of endurance or wished to keep her too busy to visit with Giles. Grimly, Fiona kept pace with the strenuous work, knowing that she and her mother were dependent on Aunt Mercy for their very livelihood. There seemed to be no work for them in the village, but

there was plenty at the Prescotts' home. Today it was soap making. The big iron pot had been set up outside in the yard over a fire of twigs, and Fiona and Grace took turns stirring it in one direction only. "Slowly, slowly, you ninny," Grace exhorted constantly. "We want a fine, clear jelly, not a lumpy mess." Fiona turned her head aside from the stifling fumes of lye and grease. "I've made soap before. I would rather do most anything than make soap." "The job I hate is listening to those dame school brats. 'Tis monstrous boring," Grace growled. "Say, why don't you take the little darlings today? Ma can help me best out here. I don't have to tell her everything a dozen times." "I'd be glad to." Fiona wiped her watering eyes on her apron and hurried to switch jobs with Aunt Mercy, who had just ushered the children in the door. Unusually subdued when they heard there was a new teacher, the little ones placed their hornbooks in front of them on the kitchen table while ten pairs of round eyes studied Fiona. "Children, look up at this alphabet sheet," she said, remembering a game her village teacher had once taught. "There is a picture by each letter with a word telling what it is. Can you all see that?" Heads bobbed solemnly. "A, apple. B, bull," young Master Tommy piped up, his snapping eyes giving every indication that he was eager to say the whole lesson. "C" "All right, now wait. Today we are going to play a new game. We are going to make up rhymes for the words like this: A is an apple that fell from a tree. B is a bull that what? Who can make up a word to rhyme with tree?" Tommy frowned at the fierce-looking woodcut. "B is a bull who looks angry at me." The children all shouted with laughter. "Very good." Fiona clapped her hands. The game continued merrily through the alphabet until it came to little Charity's turn. Unable to read the pictured word, Fiona helped her out. "J is a judge thatwhat? What does a judge do?" Since the rhyme just before had been "I is for ice that turns into hail," Charity's rhyme was good, although sobering: "I is a judge who sends witches to jail." Charity's baby face suddenly looked very unchildlike and worried.

Silence fell and an uneasy breath seemed to stir throughout the room. "No more talk about witches," Fiona ordered, but the next letter showed that the children's thoughts were still on the forbidden subject. "K is a kinguhholding prisoners for trial," a small girl whispered. Fiona winced. Poor little poppets. Salem was no place for children these days. Most of the time, they must be frightened out of their wits. When the reading session ended, Fiona drew Charity aside. "How is your grandmama feeling?" Charity's rosy mouth turned down. "She eats a little better, but she doesn't play with me anymore. Big men came to talk with her and then she cried." "Perhaps she wasn't feeling well," Fiona said, trying to sound comforting. She gnawed her lip. Had the hints of witchcraft about Rebecca Nurse grown worse? When school ended, she took Charity by the hand and went into the yard where her mother was hanging the wash. "Mistress Nurse is upset and worried. I think I'll go along with Charity and pay her a visit." "A good idea that is. When I spoke with Giles, he said she was improved, but by no means well." Fiona lowered her voice. "I think she is worried about matters in town." Her mother shook her head. "I cannot blame her. When will this nightmare ever end?" Charity tugged at Fiona's hand. "You said you were going to Grandmama's." "Yes, dear. Let's go." Out on the road, the air blew sweetly across green stalks of ripening corn and wheat. Every day, more wildflowers appeared by the roadside: great yellow daisies and Queen Anne's lace, purple violets with incredible perfume, and perky, spicy pinks. The red fruit of peaches and cherries peeked invitingly between the thickly leaved trees of neighboring orchards. Soon they should be harvested, Fiona thought, wishing she could pick some for herself, but as usual, no one was in sight for her to ask. She lifted her face to the warm sunshine. Such a big, beautiful, fertile land. Why couldn't the people just enjoy it, instead of stirring up trouble? With a shudder, she remembered Reverend Parris's hate-filled sermon. "Seek, find, destroy!" His words had seemed to fall on very receptive ears in the frightened, vindictive audience.

The wind blew with a sudden chill as Charity grabbed at Fiona's skirt. "Ooo, look! There are The Girls!" Seven young girls stood together, talking and laughing, occasionally glancing up and down the road. Quite ordinary-looking children, dressed in sober Puritan garb, their ages seemed to range between eleven and the latter teens. Abigail Williams, the niece of Reverend Parris, paced restlessly back and forth, her eyes burning with a barely leashed excitement. Fiona halted out of sight, her heart leaping against her ribs. She had no desire to face these girls, but her curiosity to observe the instigators of the witch hunt was overwhelming. She pulled Charity beneath the branches of a willow tree and whispered," Be quiet, now. Do not make a sound." But Charity did not need the warning. She stood frozen, a statue of fear, her blue eyes round and staring. The group appeared to be waiting for something, and soon their vigilance was rewarded. Two wagons containing passengers came rumbling along the road followed by several riders on horseback. Immediately a change swept over the young girls. Cloaks and shawls were straightened, laughter ceased abruptly as they composed their faces into stern, serious expressions. The driver of the first wagon stopped his horse and addressed the group. "Good morning, young ladies, we have come clear from Marblehead to see the poor maids possessed by witches. Do you know where we can observe them?" The girls exchanged swift glances like a signal and moved apart. One strong-faced young lady stepped forward. "I am Ann Putnam. We are the original afflicted girls. Now, of course, there are many more unfortunate people who are plagued by Satan." There were gasps of awe, whispers, fingers pointing from all the men and women travelers. "There may be others, but your words carry the most weight in Salem's witch hunt." The driver leaned forward, eyeing each girl with avid curiosity while excited ripples continued to course throughout the sightseers. "True but" Suddenly, Ann's strident tones mounted in volume. "Hark! I feel some witches are near right now!" Immediately, a moan surged from the collected girls. Their bodies began bending and writhing. Shrill screams tore from twisted lips. Arms and legs jerked and shuddered convulsively. Sweat poured down the grimacing, wracked faces.

Fiona grabbed Charity up in her arms, staring in horrified disbelief while the child hid her face with stifled sobs. Fiona felt her every sense was reeling. How could a human being turn its head around to such an angle? And the abnormal length that one girl's tongue protruded from her slack and gurgling mouth! Was she really seeing this? Could it possibly be some kind of an illusion? "I see a witch approaching," Abigail Williams shrieked. "Oh, no! It's pinching Mercy Lewis!" With an unearthly howl, Mercy dropped like a stone, clutching at herself and shrieking as though she was in mortal agony. The spectators began to scream and sob. Some hid their eyes, but all seemed reluctant to abandon the scene. One by one, each girl fell to the ground. Some slid along the ground like reptiles. Some bellowed thunderously like stricken, suffering animals. Some bit themselves until the blood poured from hands, ears, and arms. The spectators finally had had enough; the cries came fast and anguished: "No more!" "I've seen enough!" "Lord, save us from the Devil!" The men on horseback whipped around, their faces ashen, and pounded back the way they had come. Soon the wagons followed them, the passengers now hysterical with terror as they sobbed and prayed. Finally, when the dust had settled over the empty road, all the girls miraculously recovered. They straightened garments and wiped the blood away, their faces once more pale and calm. Fiona clutched the frightened Charity while her mind sought for an explanation of the terrifying experience. She couldn't understand it. What had she really seen? Was it just a sham? Were the girls only pretending to feel pain and terror? Did they lie when they claimed to be seeing witches? But how could anyone fake such contorted movements, such sustained bestial howling, the blood upon their hands and faces? "I'm so scared" Charity sobbed. "So am I." Gathering her courage, Fiona stepped from the shelter of the tree, but before she could gain the road, one of the girls spied her and whispered to the others.

At once, Ann Putnam lifted her long neck in a strange, snakelike movement. "Who are you?" she hissed. Without waiting for an answer, the girl's eyes flashed. "WaitI know you. You are the red-haired Papist from Ireland. And I see you hold the witch's grandchild." "My grandma's not a witch," Charity roared, struggling in Fiona's arms. "My name is Fiona Prescott, if it's any business of yours." Anger brought Fiona courage. "Everything in this town is our business." Ann's eyes shot sparks. "Why are you and your mother giving strange potions to Rebecca Nurse? What mysterious powers does your mother have?" The unnatural group slithered closer, staring, looking ugly, silently mouthing words. Fiona swallowed hard, longing desperately to run. However, something warned her that it would be a most disastrous move. There was no telling what this pack would do. They looked as dangerous as prowling wolves. She called on every ounce of courage she possessed and looked the ringleader boldly in the eye. "My mother knows the art of simpling, that is all. Rebecca Nurse is a sick, old woman whom she tried to help and that is all." "All? What do you know of all? For that matter, what do we know of youa stranger in our town? Grace said that you and your mother appeared one night, springing out of the woods without the slightest warning. No one had ever seen you before. And the next morning, their cow went dry." Mercy Lewis narrowed her eyes, moving closer. "No one knows for certain who they really are. We have only their word. And what use is the word of a stranger?" Sudden rage swept Fiona, overshadowing her terror. She slid Charity to the ground, and clasping the child's hand tightly, she stepped forward boldly as the band moved closer. "Let us by! You have no right to threaten us." Her voice rose strongly. "You are nothing but a bunch of schoolgirls. You know nothing. You can do nothing." Stunned, the creatures stopped in their tracks, gaping at the unexpected attack. Seizing the moment, Fiona swept past them. She hurried down the road but did not run, dragging Charity along as fast as her little legs could trot. A man on horseback galloped toward them, and with a sob of thankfulness, Fiona recognized Giles's black, windblown hair and anxious face. "Oh, thank goodness," she cried. "I am so glad to see you"

"Get up here with me," he ordered tersely. Fiona handed Charity to him, then he reached down and swung Fiona in front of him on the horse. "I see you encountered the afflicted girls." He grunted. "What did they say to you?" "They said Grandmama was a witch," Charity shouted. "And I told them she wasn't." "Of course she isn't," Fiona spoke soothingly. She turned her head to glance at Giles. "I don't know what to make of those girls. They are so strange a group of people came looking for them and immediately the girls threw the most awful fits. It could have been faked yet it was very frightening. When they saw me, they nearly accused Mother and I." "This is very serious," Giles answered in a low voice, sounding worried. "But they are only children," Fiona protested. "Why do the judges place so much belief in what they say?" "The only explanation for their fits and convulsions seems to be witchcraft. As for the convictions in court, the jury and judges go by a thing called 'spectral evidence.' " "What on earth is that?" "It is when a person's spirit or specter appears to you, sometimes in another form, such as an animal, or invisibly, as when the girls claim that so-and-so is pinching and biting them, but of course, no one else can see it. They are believed because they take oath on the Bible." Fiona questioned shakily, "Then just their word about an invisible act can send a person to jail or death?" "Witchcraft is an invisible crime. Who can be an actual witness to it?" Giles replied gravely. "And those awful girls are convinced thatthat" About to name Rebecca Nurse, Fiona became aware of the small ears listening intently, and so she bit off her words. They stopped before Charity's house and Fiona offered to step inside, but Giles deterred her. Slipping from the horse, he took Charity in his arms. "I think you had better come another time, Fiona. This little one will need some soothingand so, perhaps, will her grandmother." It seemed that Giles knew something he would not confess in front of Charity, and this was confirmed when he returned and swung into the saddle. "Things don't look well for Mrs. Nurse," he said, as they started down the road. "The elders visited her yesterday, and she was greatly upset when I came to check her health. I gave her a soothing draught and told her daughter to repeat it several times a day. I felt so

helpless. How could I tell them not to worry? Things are looking very serious. I fear Rebecca has made enemies who covet her large land holdings. A convicted witch loses all her worldly goods. There have lately been hints that she no longer goes to church because she's signed the Devil's Book." "Why, she has been sick. Everyone knows that," Fiona cried indignantly. "Truth and knowledge have nothing to do with this hysteria," Giles said bitterly. "I wish there were something I could do to help. Tomorrow I'll go visit her." "I'm sorry, Fiona, but I must advise against that." With a pang of fear, Fiona realized what he meant. The finger of suspicion hovered above her and her innocent mother. "How terrible," Fiona whispered, her throat choked with unshed tears. Giles put his arms around her and kissed Fiona's cheek, saying, "Do not worry, dear. I will do my best to care for your safety, and" "So that's where you've been all this time," a harsh voice grated. "Riding with Giles!" Grace stood by the empty soap pot, arms akimbo, glaring with a red and angry face. Giles dropped his arms and Fiona slid down from the horse. "Oh, Grace, the elders have been questioning Rebecca about her witchcraft." Grace snorted. "Why is that so awful? They must have plenty of proof. People have been suspicious of her for a long time. I'll tell you one thing, we won't be having Charity in this house again." "Good heavens, are you suggesting that Charity might be a witch?" Giles scoffed. "Why, she's just an innocent baby," Fiona sputtered. "Little nits make gnats." "I cannot believe you would say such a thing." Fiona cried. Her eyes darting venom, Grace snarled, "I'll tell you this, Mistress Fiona. I have slaved over this stinking pot all day long, while you have run about the countryside with my," she gulped, "with my friend." "Grace" Giles began.

"Oh, it's not your fault, Giles. Like as not, you've been bewitched. And you can take that any way you want, Fiona." With this parting shot, Grace turned and charged into the house, banging the door behind her. Fiona groaned and leaned her head against the horse's flank. Suddenly, it all seemed more than she could bear. Giles reached down and touched her head. "Don't worry, Fiona. It will all blow over with Grace, and tomorrow you and I will sup with Oliver and Sally. I will pick you up here" Fiona raised her head. "Giles, I really do not think we should go together. It would just add fuel to Grace's anger. I can go alone and meet you there. I know where Sally lives." "Fiona" Giles started to protest. "Pleaseit will be easier my way." "Very well, but I shall certainly see you home." He gave her a smile that failed to mask the worry in his eyes. "Please take care." Fiona waved and turned reluctant feet toward the house. Didn't she always "take care"? What had she done to warrant these attacks from Grace and the afflicted girls? Nothing that she could understand. Every accusation they made was due to ignorance and superstition, but it would be utterly useless to argue with them or try to convince them they were wrong. Furthermore, she knew that the girls reveled in their power, and Grace saw Fiona as a hated rival for Giles's interest. Fiona halted on the path, her heart suddenly beating faster. Grace represented a grave danger; she knew that now. Her cousin's capacity for hatred knew no bounds, possessed no logic. Witness her animosity toward Rebecca Nurse and Charity, who had never done her any harm. How much stronger was Grace's resentment and fury toward a girl Giles had kissed! She might vent her spleen in a terrible mannerand she had already told The Girls about Fiona and her mother. For the first time, Fiona seriously considered the possibility of moving to another town to live and look for work. Perhaps she and her mother could return to Boston and seek direction from Samantha. Anyplace would be better than Salem, with its horrendous witch hunt and the unpleasantness of her relationship with Grace. However if they left, it would mean not seeing Giles again. Today he had been so concerned and he had called her "dear." And then there were the other times when he had kissed her Oh, no, she couldn't leave just yet. Not unless things got much worse. She hushed the little voice that whispered: "By that time, it might be too late."

Chapter 9

While Fiona washed and dressed for the evening at Sally's, her mother sat on the bed and listened to her account of the afflicted girls. Fiona hadn't told her when it had happened because it had been so frightening and she didn't want to upset her. But today she decided they had better both be on their guard. Although Fiona softened the girls' actions as much as possible, her mother's face looked grave and worried when Fiona finished. "You haven't discussed this with Mercy or Grace?" Fiona put down her hairbrush and shook her head. "No need to encourage their suspicions about us. If necessary, I'll just say that I saw the girls performing in the road for some travelers." "Whisht! That's what it seemed like? A performance?" "Yes. But it was so frightening." Her mother shuddered. "All just to lend reality to their lies. And they are lies, I do believe. I know full well there are such things as witches, devils, and demons, but not in this witch hunt." "Well, Aunt Mercy said if Satan had come to Salem, it explained all the hard times here lately: sickness, so many infant deaths, crop failures, floods, fires" " 'Tis true. When trouble strikes, people like to blame something or someone outside themselves. Mayhap 'tis then a little easier to bear." Ellen Prescott sighed. "But reactions here are so extreme. I'm thinking these Puritans are a quite harsh group, suspicious of everyone who doesn't agree with them. Fiona, dear, we may find it hard to fit in here, and that's the sober truth of it. We might be doing better in another town such as Boston." "Yes, you may be right," Fiona answered in a troubled voice. She stepped carefully into her fresh gown, a dark green linen, and drew up the lace-edged camisole to peek above the neckline. She kept her head bent while tying the front lacings, her long curls falling forward to hide her face. "In a way, I should hate to leave here. I am starting to make friends. There's Mrs. Nurse, Sally and and Giles"

Her mother gave a little smile. " 'Tis a fine young man he is. I know you think a lot of him and I warrant that he feels the same. Has he shown any serious intentions to you?" Fiona picked up a bonnet for her hair, feeling warmth steal into her face. "He hasn't said anything about serious intentions, but I think he enjoys my company." "And why would he not? 'Tis a sweet, bright young lady you are. Also, he could not help but admire your bravery on the voyage where so many others were complaining constantly." "Well, I learned to admire Giles there, too, when he worked so tirelessly to aid the stricken passengers. And here on shore he is just the samestrong, brave, and kind." And more exciting to me every day, Fiona told herself. Her mother nodded. "A sensible, clever young doctor he was on board, and everyone spoke well of him. Alas, now in Salem there is more danger, and I'm certain sure he is worried about you. But remember, he has many other grave responsibilities." "Is it wrong toto like him so much?" "Away with you! You're speaking of more than 'like,' I'm thinking. Child, you must be realistic. You have no dowry, and a doctor just starting up his practice surely would need help from the girl he marries." Fiona swallowed painfully. "Do you think Grace has a dowry? Aunt Mercy always claims to be in such desperate straits." "That she is, I'm sure, however, Mercy told me that Matthew put aside a trunk for Grace to be saved for her marriage. In it there are linens, tableware, even money. What a dear, generous man Matthew must have been, so like his brother, David, my own dear man." "I don't think Giles wants Grace for a wife." Fiona tossed away the uncomfortable idea. "He's taking me to the berrying, not Grace." Her mother twinkled. " 'Tis no surprise, you being so much prettier than Grace." Fiona bit her lip. "Do you think he admires just my looks?" "Of course not, dear. That's only part of it." A big part of it, Fiona thought. She knew that appearance counted greatly with men, and it worked both ways. She remembered the sensations Giles has aroused in her when they had kissed, the touch of his warm, well-shaped lips, the lean, strong body pressed against her own. A tremulous sigh escaped her. She knew that she should stop such intimacies in the future yet how could she, when every part of her being yearned for his exciting touch?

Her mother's concerned voice broke into her dreaming. "Fiona, always my strong, sensible lass, can you not continue to be so?" "Y-yes, I shall try. This awful witch hunt will keep Giles and me from becoming too involved. He is worried because the girls said that Grace spoke to them and made them look on us with suspicion." Her mother's voice sank to a whisper. "That's not good. 'Tis extra careful we must be. We will avoid the town except for Sabbath, attend church regularly, say little, and work hard for Mercy. Mayhap she and Grace will become dependent on us for the chores, since all they want to do is attend witch trials. Here is a word in your eardo not be seen by Grace with Giles's arms around you." Fiona choked. "Youyou saw?" She nodded. "Yesterday, from the window. Giles kissed you just as Grace came out the door." Fiona looked down at the floor and whispered, "You're right. I must watch my every action around Grace. That's why I am going alone to Sally's." "Whisht! Then stay on the main road as much as you can," her mother cautioned. "I do not like the idea of that prowling hungry wolf you told me about." "Giles will bring me home on his horse. Besides, If he appears, I have a slice of mutton for him which I saved from our midday meal." Fiona drew on her coat and picked up a basket. Downstairs in the kitchen, Grace was quick to give one of her nasty laughs. "And where might you be off to this dark night? Aren't you afraid you might meet a big, bad wolf?" "I have heard tell one has been seen in the woods." Aunt Mercy gave a fearful glance out the window. "Maybe he's Satan in disguise." Grace snickered. "And Fiona is his" "Grace, what did I tell you about such remarks?" Aunt Mercy snapped. Fiona didn't want to wait for any more insults from Grace. "I must go. Sally and her husband are expecting me." "Sally? She used to have her eye on Giles." Grace then asked suspiciously, "Will anyone else be there?" "How should I know? Maybe she's invited Satan."

Hearing Grace give a hissing cry, Fiona could have bitten her tongue. When would she learn to control her humor. "I feel sorry for you, Grace. Just like the afflicted girls, you see evil everywhere, and in so many people! I should think you would feel miserable all the time." With that, she turned on her heel and marched out the door, hearing the excited babbling behind her. Fiona inhaled deeply. Thank goodness, the house and its altercations were soon behind her. She felt a pang for her mother left behind, but knew she would be staying up in their room reading one of a few beloved books they had brought with them from Ireland. For a moment, she could see in her mind's eye an evening by the fragrant peat fire with her father on one side of the hearth, reading aloud, herself in the middle on a stool, and her mother knitting in her rocking chair while a cold storm battered outside in the night. How cozy the three of them had been, wrapped in love, hard work, and companionship, always looking forward to the common goal: America. Fiona wondered what her father would have thought about the Salem witch hunt. He had been a sensible man kind, warm, intelligent, and grave. Probably her father would have decided to leave Salem until the madness had been dispelled. It seemed that now there was no way to stem the insanity, and day by day, the danger grew to friends and families. She knew, however, that she could not fully comprehend the horrors of the witch hunt. She had seen only a small part of the anguish in Rebecca Nurse's family. Most of the townfolk at church or in the streets seemed to regard it all with an avid relish as a possible break in their dull routine. Fiona hurried down the road, longing to be with Sally and Giles, and even Oliver. All of them were preferable to her aunt and Grace. The last glow of the sun was fading and shadows had grown long as she approached the little cottage. The lights gleamed invitingly from every small-paned window and shone on the yard abloom with flowering bushes and fruit trees. As soon as Fiona knocked, Sally threw open the door and greeted her with delight. She took Fiona's cloak and basket and directed her to a bench beside the fireplace. Giles sat nearby, sipping from a tankard which he raised in greeting. "Am I late?" Fiona asked. "Not at all," Sally answered. "Oliver is not here yet. Would you like a cup of mead such as Giles is having?" "Just a small portion, please," Fiona said, having heard that this ancient concoction of honey, yeast, and water could be intoxicating. Sally handed Fiona a wooden goblet. Sally poked the ham turning slowly on the spit and aromatic juices dropped into a pot of bubbling beans on a tripod below.

"How good that smells." Fiona inhaled. "I would wager you are a splendid cook." "Sally came from England, where her mother cooked in a tavern, and she learned the art at an early age." "How interesting," Fiona said. "And your parents" Sally exchanged a glance with Giles as though they shared some secret knowledge. "I'll tell you my story some-time, Fiona, if you wish, but now I hear Oliver in the yard and I must dish up the supper." "Can I help you?" Fiona offered, and was then given a snowy board-cloth to spread on the table while Giles poured a golden brew into the pewter goblets. Oliver entered like a blast of forceful air, his cheeks ruddy, his black hair tousled, the homespun shirt damp with sweat. There were greetings all around, and to Fiona's surprise, Oliver kissed Sally full upon her lips. He must not be a Puritan, Fiona thought. However, Sally seemed delighted and slapped his hand playfully. "You and your kisses! You think to please the cook and get the choicest portions, I'll be bound. Have you washed outside? All right, then, let's be seated." Fiona slid into her chair, and after they said grace, she ate hungrily. All the fare was set out on the table at the same time: ham and beans in bowls, potatoes roasted in their skins, chopped cabbage mixed with vinegar, fresh-baked cornbread, and a dessert of apple tart and cream. Fiona found herself wondering about the relationship between Oliver and Sally. He was so big and dominant, his face hard and deeply grooved. He must be at least twenty years older than his wife. Sally seemed such a sweet and dainty little person to be his mate, catering to him and perhaps in love with him. It was obvious that Oliver doted passionately on his young bride; his heavy-lidded black eyes rested possessively on her every chance he got. Giles also eyed the couple and Fiona wondered if he still harbored a feeling for his youthful love? Was he jealous of Oliver, tormented by images of his privilege as a husband? No matter how Giles felt, it was impossible not to like Sally. The small girl treated them with so much gaiety and keen interest, questioning Giles about his life in London then turning to hear Fiona's story. When she learned about the mother's simpling, Sally said that she, too, knew the art and would pay a visit soon so she could show the wooded places where plants for medicines grew best.

At this remark, Oliver laid down his fork and scowled. "You had best keep your talk of potion making to those in your own house, my girl. Don't you know that people these days are being condemned as witches for much less?" Sally's face grew troubled. "Yes, so I've heard." "I am greatly worried about Rebecca Nurse," Giles said. "She is the latest one the girls have cast their eyes on, and yet there is no finer lady in our village." Oliver didn't answer for a minute while he contemplated his apple tart with a grim expression. Then he poured on the thick cream and met Giles's gaze. "I didn't want to speak of this, but soon everyone will know." "Oh, what is it?" Sally whispered, putting her little hand upon Oliver's huge arm. "Rebecca Nurse has been arrested," her husband answered gruffly, and Fiona saw pain crease his face. Everyone exclaimed, and although they plied him with anxious questions, that was nearly all Oliver could tell them. "Her hearing is at dawn tomorrow. It's early because I think they want as few spectators as possible. This is not a popular arrest, believe me. When I think of how she has helped so many" "She lent us money for Oliver to open his own smithy and told him to pay it back in his own good time." Sally sighed and shook her head. "Is there anything we can do?" Fiona asked. "Might I see her? Perhaps she needs some things" "Her family will see to her, and so will I," Giles said. "As a doctor, I can be admitted to the jail." They all rose from the table, but before Giles joined Oliver by the fire, he said softly in Fiona's ear, "Stay clear of Rebecca, my dear. I know that sounds unfeeling, but you, especially, cannot afford to take a chance of showing friendship for her." Fiona's lips quivered, but she nodded. Not only was her own safety at riskit also could involve her mother. Sally was determined not to let her dinner guests be upset anymore, and when all was cleared up in the kitchen, she took Fiona outdoors to fill her basket with seedlings. The moon was high and bathed the thriving garden in a silvery hue. A wealth of peas, beans, lettuce, and carrots grew in neat rows while spring flowers bloomed abundantly along the edges. Fiona recognized some familiar faces: clove pinks, marigolds, lily-of-the-valley, and bushy peonies.

"You seem to be one of the few people who tend their gardens," Fiona laughed, "and I applaud your zeal. Do you ever visit the witch trials with the others?" "Never," Sally answered vehemently. "I won't go into Salem unless it is for Sunday service. Oliver brings me the things I need from stores." "I only went to the village once, and when I saw the frantic hot-eyed crowds, I couldn't get away fast enough." "I also have another reason for not going there." Sally stood up, trowel in hand. She suddenly stopped and listened. "Hark! Is that a dogoh, it's Gray. Come, boy. It's lucky I put a few good meat bones in the garbage pail." She turned to a covered can on the porch while Fiona nervously watched the approach of the lean gray beast whose slitted yellow gaze seemed to fix questioningly on her own. She suddenly recalled the mutton, and taking it from the bottom of her basket, she tossed it toward the animal, who immediately gulped it down. He dipped his pointed muzzle to Fiona almost like a greeting, then Sally placed some bones before him and he fell on them. "Ho, Mistress Wood," a young man on horseback called out from the road, reining in his horse. "Have you seen a vicious wolf around tonight?" Sally spread her skirts in front of Gray. "Why, no. This is my pet. What do you want with a stray wolf, Master Higgins?" "He's been seen raiding chicken yards and so I aim to shoot him dead." The man put a hand on the musket tied beside him. "Pray, move aside so that I may see that animal. He looks devilishly familiar" "I tell you" At that moment, Gray snatched up a bone and vaulted over the garden fence. The man stared suspiciously, then looked back at Sally with no kindness in his long, hard face. "It would not be well for you to deal with a wolf, mistress, pet or no." Touching heels to his horse, he galloped off in the direction Gray had gone. "Do you think he'll catch him?" Fiona asked. "I hope not. There is too much killing in this place. Is no creature safe, animal or human?" "Sally, my mother befriended an injured cat and immediately Grace cried loudly that all witches have a familiar to do their bidding."

In the bright moonlight, Sally's face looked troubled. "Beware of Grace, Fiona. She means to discredit you. Oliver said he heard her talking to some of the afflicted girls and she mentioned you." "I know." Fiona sighed and related her own encounter with The Girls. Sally sucked in her breath, her eyes wide. "Oh, Fiona. Grace also dislikes me. She once had set her sights on Giles, and at one time" She hesitated. Fiona spoke with difficulty. "Giles loved you once? And perhaps still does?" "Once, perhaps; not now. I was very, very young, but I got into trouble, and he helped me. Giles already knew a lot about doctoring from his grandfather. He was manly and handsome. I thought he was a storybook hero. But he went away without a declaration, and soon after that, dear Oliver came into my life and stole my heart. Now Giles and I are just friends. I never had a brother and he never had a sister, so we fill a need in each other's lives." She shot Fiona a sly glance. "I think his interest lies elsewhere to contemplate a sweetheart. How do you feel about him, if you'll forgive my asking?" Before Fiona could think what to say, Giles opened the door and said Oliver was weary and they had best be on their way. Glad to have been spared an answer, Fiona thanked Sally, said goodnight to Oliver, and rode away, pillion-style, behind Giles. They spoke but little. Giles seemed preoccupied and grave, and Rebecca's trial was foremost in Fiona's mind. She decided to sneak off in the morning and attend it so that she could see what an accused person had to face. However, she knew it would not be pleasant.

Chapter 10

The next morning Fiona rose at dawn. Today was the hearing for Rebecca Nurse, and while her mother slept, Fiona dressed quickly and then crept softly down the stairs. She hadn't told anyone what she intended to do, as Grace or Mercy might try to stop her with demanding chores and her mother would worry in case the afflicted girls again approached her.

Fortunately, no one was astir as she left the house. Outside, a chill fog was evaporating while dawn's light streaked the sky. Shivering from cold and nervousness, Fiona pulled the hood of her cloak to shroud her face and then made her way quickly along the deserted road. She dreaded the coming ordeal, yet felt she must know what befell Rebecca and also see what to guard against if the unspeakable occurred and she or her mother was arrested. Every day that possibility loomed closer in her mind. Grace never missed an opportunity to hint that she and her mother acted strangely. Now she had even confided her opinions to the so-called "afflicted" powerful young girls who had shown hate and suspicion when Fiona had encountered them. There also was her friendship with Rebecca Nurse and Sally, keenly noted, since both were under a dark cloud. If this wasn't enough, Grace seemed increasingly jealous of the relationship between Giles and herself. That was probably the worst offense of all in Grace's eyes. Fiona's heartbeat quickened at the dreaded idea and she had to swallow hard. Whose side would Aunt Mercy be on? She seemed to be a wavering, weak, superstitious woman, but essentially not bad. However, it was hard to tell which way she would go if the constable decided to investigate Fiona and her mother. Fear and apprehension clamored in Fiona's brain as she neared the busy square. She tugged her hood down even farther to hide her face and slowed her footsteps, watching the throngs of people waiting at the meetinghouse for the doors to open. All jabbered and called constantly to acquaintances. Some were eating from cloth-wrapped bundles as though at a picnic. The thought of food filled Fiona with nausea and she could not watch these hungry ghouls. Not a shred of sympathy did they show for the poor souls awaiting trial, only eagerness to behold the conviction of their neighbors. When a bell tolled in the tower, the doors burst open and the crowd pushed forward, rapidly filling the big, cold hall. Fiona found a seat in one of the back rows and slipped into it just as three black-robed men entered and marched up to a long table in the front. The pulpit had been pushed back to make more room and the minister's big chair turned around probably to form a "bar of justice" for the accused to stand behind. Fiona recognized Judge Blaize among the trio at the table and a pang of fear shot through her. His cruel hot eyes darted from side to side as he assessed the situation. Fiona shrank back on her bench, although she didn't think he could see her as she settled deeper into her cloak. She wondered uneasily whether his dinner invitation would arrive as promised. Did she have the courage to accept? She was pulled both ways: by a fear of this man and a rising curiosity about him. A woman seated next to Fiona nudged her younger neighbor. "Eh, there's Magistrate John Hathorne, looking colder and meaner than ever."

The other sniggered. "He didn't like getting up so early, I'll be bound, but what can he do with so many witches to try?" Witches! Already the accused people were condemned in the eyes of the spectators. "That new man, Judge Blaize, ain't his face enough to scare ye, Janie?" the woman continued. Her friend leaned forward, eyes fixed on the haughty judge. "He don't scare me none. I think he's kinda handsome. Wish we'd gotten closer. They say he picks up those who take his fancy and" Here she cupped her mouth and whispered. Her friend gasped, a blush enveloping her face. "No!" "Shh, Marilla. If he likes what he sees, they go away with some nice gift, like jewelry. He's awful rich, they say. Now, don't tell me ye wouldn't" Again a whisper. Marilla shook her head and giggled. "Oh, mercy, I dunno. If 'twere found out, 'twould be the stocks for nigh a weekand" "Oh, look," her friend interrupted. "Here come The Girls!" A murmur ran excitedly throughout the room and heads craned as the famous group entered. The young girls proceeded demurely with downcast eyes to the front row of benches that had evidently been reserved for them. They all wore pale gray frocks with white fichus at their necks and snowy aprons and caps tied beneath their chins. Fiona eyed them apprehensively. Today these powerful children had assumed the roles of judges and jury. The next minute, a roughly dressed woman shuffled down the aisle in the tight grasp of a constable. He led her up to the bar where she shrugged off his arm with a snarl. Tossing frowzy hair back from sly, sullen-looking eyes, she stared boldly at the assembled people who hissed and pointed vindictively at her. "John Hathorne will have his work cut out with that uppity beggar," Fiona heard from a nearby man. Someone else chimed in, "Everybody in Salem hates her, the nasty, whining wench. She steals and lies" "Shh, listen, now. Hathorne is about to speak." The magistrate faced the accused woman, brows drawn, his face cold and hard. He spoke in a penetrating voice. "Sarah Good, what evil spirit do you have familiarity with?" "None," the slattern spat.

"Have you made no contract with the devil?" "No!" "Why do you hurt these children, then?" With a harsh laugh, Sarah Good replied, "I do not hurt them, I scorn it!" At that, Abigail Williams gave a shriek and began to twist and turn, her body doubling up as though she were wracked with pain. Instantly the other girls followed suit, jerking their arms and legs, uttering violent screams. "Stop! Stop!" "You're torturing me!" "Sarah Good, please have mercy on us!" When the uproar diminished, Mr. Hathorne demanded loudly, leaning across the table, "Who are you employing to hurt these children?" "I employ nobody," Sarah Good yelled back, her eyes blazing toward the row of girls who recoiled from her with apparent horror and deep loathing. The other magistrate seated at the table looked to Hathorne for direction, then sucked in his breath and shook his head in dismay. Judge Blaize, chin on hand, surveyed it all as though in deep enjoyment, his thick lips twisted downward in a cynical smile. After finally restoring order, Hathorne rapped out in a voice of steel, "Goody Good, do you not see what you have done? Why do you not tell us the truth? Why do you thus torment these poor children?" "I do not torment them!" "Who is it, then, that torments them?" Her eyes darting wildly like some badgered animal, the old woman burst out, "It was Sarah Osburne." A new name! A bone tossed in desperation to the wolves clamoring for her blood. The courthouse roared in horrified enjoyment. The magistrates continued to hammer away at the defiant old hag. Other people came to testify that she was a nuisance, shiftless and sharp-tongued. They said she called their children names.

Sarah Good replied that the children threw rocks at her, hooted when she went by, and made fun of her rags. After a while, the two magistrates and Judge Blaize put their heads together. It wasn't long until Blaize rose. "It is our considered judgment that Sarah Good should be held in jail to await trial as a witch." An approving mutter ran through the crowd, but for some reason, Fiona felt a pang of pity for the ragged crone who had defied the whole courtroom. Now, although her head was still held high as they led her away, Sarah Good's lips trembled with fear and her eyes stared blindly straight ahead. "Bring in the next case," intoned Judge Blaize. At once, the constable appeared leading Rebecca Nurse. She leaned heavily on his arm and Fiona gasped when she saw how ill the old woman looked, her face pale and drawn. When she reached the front, Rebecca grasped weakly at the back of the minister's chair and her eyes darted desperately around the room. The crowd greeted her arrival in a different manner. Many appeared shocked and indignant and Fiona heard voices exclaim: "This cannot be right!" "She is a good, God-fearing woman." "I don't believe she is a witch." Even the magistrates treated her in a gentle, apologetic manner, but Blaize looked on coldly, until Hathorne called out, "We have two witnesses against this woman: Ann Putnam, and Abigail Williams." Both girls stepped forward with meek faces, downcast eyes, and clasped hands. "Abigail Williams, have you been hurt by this woman?" Mr. Hathorne asked. "Yes, I have," the girl answered clearly. Immediately, before the same question could be put to her, Ann Putnam fell flat upon the floor, her limbs jerking. "Rebecca Nurse is hurting me cruelly! Oh, help, help!" Abigail then began to shriek hysterically, her eyes rolling far back in her head until nearby observers screamed. When he could be heard above the din, Hathorne turned anxiously to the elderly woman and pointed to the children. "Goody Nurse, what do you say to this?"

Rebecca lifted her eyes to heaven. Her voice trembled, but she spoke earnestly. "I can only say before my Eternal Father, I am innocent, and God will clear my innocence." "There is not one in this assembly but desires it," the magistrate answered gently, "but if you be guilty, then we pray God to discover you." A shrill voice suddenly rose above the muttering and a woman stood up near the front. "Rebecca Nurse, did you not bring the Man in Black with you to my house? Did you not bid me curse God and die? How oft have you eaten and drunk your own damnation?" Above the amazed babel which ensued, Mr. Hathorne's voice came strongly. "Step forward, Goody Putnam, if you have aught to testify in this hearing." Heads craned questioningly as Ann Putnam's mother, a thin, shifty-eyed woman, came to stand before the magistrates. "Two days ago," Mrs. Putnam began in a righteous tone, "Rebecca Nurse's shape appeared before me, demanding that I sign the Devil's Book. I said 'no,' so then she pinched and tormented me." She thrust up the sleeve on her scrawny arm. "See there the black and blue bruises that the witch made upon me?" John Hathorne's face grew stern. "What do you say to this, Rebecca Nurse?" The elderly woman flung out her hands and sobbed. "Oh, Lord, help me!" Mrs. Putnam drew herself up. "And there is something else. Late one night, a group of dead children appeared at my bedside wearing the winding sheets in which they had been buried. They said to me, 'Witch Nurse has murdered us'." An indrawn breath of horror swept the room. Voices exclaimed, "That is bad." "I would never have believed it!" Rebecca Nurse looked close to fainting and Fiona had to press her lips tightly to keep from crying out that it was surely all a pack of lies. Why did they put so much credence in a dream? The girls seized this opportunity to shriek and writhe while the audience joined their cries, now pointing at Rebecca and speaking angrily. Horror was on every face and Fiona, sickened, knew that the tide had turned. "Goody Nurse, they accuse you of hurting them," Mr. Hathorne shouted above the tumult, his bony finger stabbing at the air. "And if you think it is not unwillingly but by design, you must look upon these accusers as your murderers, Is this your belief?"

"Oh, I cannot tell what to think," Rebecca moaned, swaying unsteadily. "Perhaps the Devil may appear in my shape. I only know it was not I!" "Look, there is the Man in Black whispering in her ear. Do you not see him?" one of the girls cried. "Strange birds are flying around her!" "Ow, ow, they are pecking me!" Hysterical accusations poured forth from the girls. Rebecca wept. The crowd clamored. Then, at last, the verdict came: "We believe there is sufficient evidence of witchcraft, Rebecca Nurse." Judge Blaize stood up and pointed at her. His whole face seemed to flame. "You will be held in jail to await your trial." Fiona rose blindly from her seat and pushed past the roaring, stamping crowd now shouting almost unanimously, "Witch! Witch! Witch!" Dismayed and revolted by the easily swayed, hysterical mob, who didn't seem to have a reasonable thought of their own, Fiona stumbled homeward. Tears coursed down her face. Rebecca Nurse was no witch! She was a kind, well-bred, God-fearing woman. Oh, what would happen to her now? She was almost certain to be convicted, and then suddenly Fiona recalled the visions she had had. Once, on the road with Giles, she had seen a black-robed procession mounting up a hill with dragging feet while a bell tolled in the distance. She had felt that one of the doomed group would be well known to her. And the same vision had been repeated with an increasing sense of horror when she'd visited Rebecca Nurse What did it mean? And now it came again. A red haze seemed to fill the courtroom and in every row sat animals, snarling, foaming at the mouth. Fiona and her mother stood before the bar of justice and all the magistrates, constables, and judges began to shout: "Witches witches!" "No, no!" Ellen Prescott screamed. "We have done naught! My child and I are innocent!" The roars grew louder, but then Fiona stumbled and found herself alone, clutching at a tree with the vision fading from her mind. Not looking where she was going, Fiona almost collided with Giles and Grace, who were coming down the road. Grace was the first to speak. "Well, well, for once you got up early, Cousin Slug-a-bed," she sneered. "What was the reason? Curiosity about the witch trials at last?" Fiona wiped her cheeks and pushed back her hood, her voice quivering. "Yes, I was curious, but oh, it was so terrible. Rebecca Nurse was questioned. The children cried out

against her and then Mrs. Putnam stood up and said Rebecca came to her in a dream demanding that she sign the Devil's Book." Giles made a choked sound and Fiona's eyes flew to his face, which looked twisted with some suppressed emotion. Fiona flung out her hands. "Now Rebecca is going to be held for trial and I could tell that everyone thinks the poor old soul is guilty of witchcraft. But I don't believe it's true." "Well, I do," Grace snapped. "Only a fool would think she is innocent after all she's done: not attending church, laughing at the afflicted girls, torturing them" "How can you know she tortures them?" Fiona cried. "The only proof is the word of those children." Fiona's anguished eyes sought Giles, certain of his agreement. "You don't believe she's guilty, do you?" "No, I don't." He made a movement toward her and seemed about to speak again, but Grace stopped him with a hand on his arm and a sharp glance in his direction. "Watch your words, Giles Harmon." His face grew rigid and he halted. "We have something else to discuss with you right now besides the plight of Rebecca Nursewho I am sure will get what she deserves," Grace said with a sanctimonious air. "This concerns the berrying party tomorrow. You are to go with Charles Harmon." Her black eyes bored into Fiona's and a smug smile thinned her lips. "Giles is taking me, of course. We had planned this long ago, but when I reminded him, he said you were expecting him to go with you, since you had no other friends here yet." Bewildered, Fiona blinked. "What?" Her eyes turned to Giles, who looked away. "II don't understand what you mean." "Some changes had to be made in our plans," Giles said tightly, avoiding Fiona's eyes. "I had forgotten my my" he cleared his throat, "commitment to Grace. Would you mind going with my brother? I know he would be overjoyed. He raves about you all the time." Grace shrugged, her lips curved down. "Yes, he's young and silly, not a mature man like Giles." She stroked the arm she clutched with both her hands. "But Charles will do for Fiona, since she's young and silly, too." Giles stared off into the distance, his face taut and hard. "I hope you don't mind too much, Fiona." "She really hasn't any choice." Grace's teeth came together with a snap. "Unless she would prefer to stay at home and sulk."

Anger swept Fiona so that she could firm her trembling lips and answer steadily, "I'll be delighted to go with Charles. He is so amusing, just what I need right now, not an old sobersides." A cheat, a fraud, a liar as well, she told herself. She threw Giles a scornful glance and flung herself toward the house. Chattering loudly about the picnic, Grace pulled Giles along the road. A man on horseback called a greeting, but Fiona didn't look around. Indoors, she sagged against the door and drew a ragged breath. What had happened to change Giles's mind? Why was he really taking Grace? He had said he didn't care for her and had seemed so anxious to take me, Fiona thought. What about his ardent lovemaking? The intimate, hot kisses, the urgent hands moving so excitingly upon her body, the flattery he had poured into her ears had it all been just the usual seduction of a man who hadn't known a woman for all those weeks at sea and then had found a new intriguing female in Fiona? Had he always intended to marry Grace, but now discovered her jealousy needed placating? Fiona groaned. Thank goodness she hadn't let him go farther than he did. It might have ruined her for life. Her feelings for Giles had been very strong. The world was wiped out in those moments when he held her such a willing captive. How eagerly she'd responded to the drugging power of his kisses, the caressing hands that sent such thrilling messages throughout her being. It seemed at such times there would be nothing she'd deny him. How far would they have gone? She didn't know. Something had always brought them back to sanity. Fiona shut her eyes, squeezing back the tears. How could she go to the berrying and watch Giles with Grace, who would be sure to flaunt her power over him? But if she didn't go, how Grace would gloat and taunt her. She would know then that Fiona had been deeply attracted to Giles and very hurt by his default. It would be a most gleeful victory for Grace. Suddenly, Fiona felt her pride assert itself. No, she must not let either Giles or Grace know how much she was upset. Removing her cloak, she went to the sink, splashed water on her face from a pail, then raised a dipper to her lips, drinking deeply. She helped herself to a dish of plums, hardly aware of what she did as her eyes stared blindly through the casement window. The next few days would not be easy. Above all, she must hide her emotions from the world. Giles and Grace had disappeared, but now she heard her mother and Aunt Mercy coming down the stairs. Quick as thought, she wiped her mouth and ran out the door. She couldn't face another soul just now, and running mindlessly, she took the wooded pathway to the sea.

Chapter 11

The woods, so cool and silent, had a blessedly calming effect, and Fiona drew a lungful of the fresh sea air when she reached the cove. The bluff was not a high one and a beach ran along below it, curving out of sight into the distant harbor filled with bobbing masts. Houses could be seen on the promontory, finelooking two-and-three-storied ones made of red brick, with flowering spring trees swaying in the gardens. No people were about, and seeing a flight of wooden steps leading to the beach, Fiona lifted up her skirts and proceeded carefully downward. The sun shone now and the sea sparkled with dancing light, a clear and lovely blue dotted with many little islands. A feeling of peace enveloped her and she didn't question how or why. She only knew she must enjoy it while she could. All her problems seemed strangely muted, far away. She dropped down on the sand, eyeing the soothing, gentle waves going in and out, and in the next minute she had shed her hose and shoes and was wading in the wonderfully refreshing water. After a while, she came back and relaxed full length on the beach, feeling sleep would be most welcome. She had not had much rest the night before, and today's emotions had exacted a terrible toll. Her fingers sought the buttons of her dress and opened up a couple so the fresh sea air could blow upon her throat. She removed her cap and brushed back the long red curls, then let her hands fall at her sides as deep slumber overtook her.

She awoke with a terrible jolt of fear, her heart hammering. Judge Blaize was seated by her side, staring at her. For a second, she could hardly breathe and swallowed hard. "You startled me." He spread his arms wide at once. "Please forgive me if I disturbed you." He reached behind him on the sand and brought forth an earthen jug. "Join me with a drink of my own elixir. It will restore and relax you, that I promise." At her hesitation, he smiled. "It is harmless, I assure you." He sipped a bit from the jug. Fiona struggled to sit up and rise, but at once his long arm caught around her shoulders and guided the jug against her lips. Fiona gasped and tried to turn aside, but the liquid spilled into her mouth and she was forced to swallow. At once she realized it was delicious, sweet, tangy, icy cold. And she was thirsty. She took a gulp. Fiona stared up at the judge, feeling as though she must be dreaming. How

different he looked! Suddenly his face had been erased of any cynicism, his mouth gently smiling. His dark eyes matched the midnight hair waving to his shoulders. She saw he wore a full-sleeved white shirt trimmed with lace and gray corded breeches with silver knee buckles. His legs were bare, like hers. Somehow, he appeared much younger. "Yes, Fiona, even a judge likes to act the boy sometimes and go wading in the ocean. Would you care to join me?" Fiona blinked, pushing back her tangled curls. Why did he seem so different? "NoI don't want to wade. I have to go" "No, you don't." His voice had an odd humming tone. "Sit, my dear, and I shall sit beside you. You have no idea how arduous are my duties as a judge. It is always a relief to get a substitute." Instead of sitting, he reclined, leaning on his elbow. "I saw you at the trials today. I was in the balcony, not presiding," he told her softly. "Surely you won't find Rebecca Nurse guilty, will you?" He looked down, a lock of hair drifting on his brow. One long hand reached out to clasp her ankle. "Why, no, Rebecca probably will go free. Especially if you wish it." He turned a burning gaze on her and began to stroke her leg, moving upward from the ankle, inch by tantalizing inch. A paralyzing fear enveloped her and she knew she faced a strong opponent, but she also knew she must not let him see her fear. Leaning back upon her hands, she forced herself to say, "Pleaseyou must not do that." And tried to gather up her strength. "Yes, I should," he murmured, pushing aside her skirt. "You have need of my attention. Just as I have need of yours." She stiffened as his arm slid around her shoulders, but it tightened as though made of iron and his face came closer. "Do you think I enjoy testing all those horrible old hags? The villagers want their blood, and so I give it to them. But when I find such fresh beauty as I see in you, I long to devour it and restore my soul." His last words were spoken against her mouth, although she jerked back, swamped by a sudden wave of terror. She tried to move, to scream, to fight him off, but found that she was completely helpless in his grip. Growling like a ravening animal, he pounced upon her trembling lips and sucked them into the howling cavern of his mouth. He bared her body, top and bottom, squeezing, pinching, hurting everywhere he touched.

When he pulled his mouth away to draw in a grinding breath, Fiona screamed, a shriek torn from her very soul. "Stop, stop." Oddly enough, he stopped, saying hoarsely, "I go too fast. Forgive me, but you are enough to make a man go mad with craving." The scarlet color drained from his face, the shudders wracking him abated. Calmness settled over his features, though his eyes still held Fiona's gaze and she couldn't look away. She couldn't understand what was happening, except she hovered on the brink of panic, and once she weakened, nothing on this earth could save her from being ravished and ruined by this monster. She bent her head and a name broke from her lips, "Giles! Giles" "What is it?" Blaize hissed at once, his face darkening. "Are you recalling someone else? Remembering other kisses? I swear they didn't burn your lips or excite you as I do. No one possesses my powers as a lover. Is that not true?" The beast was back. His heaving torso pinned her upon the sand while his hands clawed at her breast, her thighs, her legs. "Giles Harmon never did what I can dare," he roared. "Did he? Did he?" Giles! At the thought of him, a fresh, cold wind swept across Fiona and she exerted all her strength, shutting her eyes so she wouldn't see the frightening face above hers. It was better when she didn't meet his gaze. His hand clawed at her hair and jerked back her head. "Deny him, do you hear me? Say you hate Giles Harmon and want only me. Say itor things will be much worse for the both of you." "Yes, yes!" she cried out. "Anything only let me be!" His clutch loosened and she was up in a flash, tossing back her hair, running barefoot across the sand with all the speed at her command. She must escape the evil force behind her. Something she didn't understand had been at work to lull her reason, play on her emotions at a time when she was vulnerable and hurt. How had the judge known so much about her and Giles? Did he have spies or some strange powers? Giles's name had shocked her mind out of its stupor and brought her strength. As she flew across the sand, she tried to keep his image before her. No matter that he had hurt her. Before today, he had been everything she'd wanted and admired in a man, and that's what she remembered now. She heard her name called and now Blaize's voice had the harsh, loud timbre she had formerly associated with him. He sounded older; his gait was slower, as though he had reverted to his actual age. There was no time to delve the mystery. He must not catch her.

So far, she had been able to stay ahead. The beach curved out of sight behind some giant boulders and Fiona ran faster, as Blaize disappeared from sight. Would anyone believe her side of the story? It seemed unlikely. She already was a suspect as well as a stranger, while Judge Blaize was an honored, powerful figure in town. Her lungs labored, her legs trembled, and a fierce pain knitted her side when her eye lit on a pile of tumbled rocks and seaweed. And something else. A gull, flying right out of a crevice. Could there be a cave in there? For the moment, she was out of sight of her pursuer as she dodged toward the rocks. Yes! A slender opening, almost obscured by a veil of seaweed, appeared between two boulders. Quick as lightning, she wrapped a stone about her handkerchief and threw it up the cliff with all her strength. It landed neatly on a bush, making a sign that she probably had clambered up the bluff. She drew back the seaweed and pushed inside the cleft, finding herself in a deep cave filled with stones, pools, and more piles of seaweed. She moved farther back into a place of pitch darkness. Even if the judge looked inside, she didn't think he would see her. Mouse-still, she huddled down against the ground, straining every sense to be alert. All was silent. Fiona crouched in the dark cave a long time, thinking, almost dazed, unable to discern what she had recently experienced. Then, like a curtain parting, she recalled a strange thing her father had once related. He had just returned from a cargo run to the towns along the Black Sea and said he had heard talk of an amazing man. "He is a physician called Mesmer," her father told them, "and 'tis claimed he has discovered an extraordinary force in human beings which allows some people to have a powerful influence over others. 'Tis said you can be put into a trancelike state in which you feel no pain." Yes, Fiona thought with a feeling of horror, Judge Blaize must possess that power. In her weakened, distraught state, caused by the trials and by being hurt by Giles and Grace, she had almost been overpowered. But then his lips had hurt her violently as his passion had surfaced. She smothered a sob of dismay, covering her face with both hands. At first he had looked young and handsome, had seemed so kind was that all part of the trance he had induced in her, his mind directing hers? At last, she pushed aside the seaweed and saw that the beach was deserted, the sun now past its zenith. Her senses had returned to normal. It was time for chores and for facing Grace with calm self-assuranceand time, perhaps, to reconsider Giles.

Those days and nights on shipboard, what had they really meant to him? Was it merely a casual flirtation? He had seemed to withhold his deepest feelings, perhaps afraid of where they would lead an innocent young miss. He must have yearned to have a woman after eight long weeks at sea, and though he realized she was attracted to him, he was too honorable to take advantage of her. Attraction that was his strength. That was her weakness. Fiona wondered sadly how deeply he was tied to Grace. When she asserted her claims, he had agreed to take her berrying. Was it out of an old loyalty, or something else? She had heard no talk of a betrothal yet, but the likelihood existed. Leaving the cave to collect her shoes, she turned the problem over in her mind. The best thing was to avoid Giles in the future and push the memory of his lovemaking from her mind. It would not be easy. But then, was anything easy here in Salem?

Chapter 12

When Fiona entered Aunt Mercy's house, only Grace was in the kitchen, kneading a bowl of bread dough. Fiona had a fleeting thought that perhaps Grace enjoyed pummeling the white mass as though it were a person. Grace shot a quick glance across her shoulder, looking at Fiona as though she feared some kind of retribution for making her change berrying partners. Perhaps I should really scare her and pretend to be a witch, Fiona thought with a bitter little smile, but she knew what folly that would be. A few more suspicious actions on her part and she might find herself in real trouble. The recent witch trial had shown her what could happen to an innocent person. "I'll go feed the hens," Fiona said, seeing a bowl of grain made ready on the sink. "Just don't spill it like you did before," Grace growled. Her eyes narrowed and she moved closer. "Say, your dress is buttoned crookedly." Fiona's hand flew to her neckline. She felt an embarrassed color flood her cheeks which Grace was quick to note with a thin smile.

"You look kissed. If I didn't know that Giles went to his surgery with a patient, I might wonder about you two." Grace dug her fists against her waist and glared. "I've told Giles I won't stand any sparking with another girl. Not when I'm so close to saying 'yes' to him." Fiona swallowed against a sudden painful dryness in her throat. "Gileshehe has asked you to marry him?" Grace's manner changed abruptly and she giggled. "Oh, la, that will happen when he's sure I'll give him the right answer." Grace's sudden coyness and boasting made Fiona ill. How could Giles want this unattractive, loud-voiced bully of a girl who didn't seem to have a single redeeming facet to her personality? But waitthere was her dowry. A tidy sum given to the groom on his wedding day would sweeten any marriage. This must be faced and accepted. So be it. Tucking in her ragged collar and rebuttoning her dress, Fiona picked up the basin of grain and turned toward the garden door. But Grace was not through with her yet. She stopped Fiona with a floury, fat hand upon her arm. "Just who have you been dallying with, if not Giles? Was it Charles?" "No," Fiona answered angrily. Her face flamed, then felt icy. Heavens, if Grace only knew what had really transpired. How Judge Blaize had forced her lips apart and put his hand inside her dress. If Aunt Mercy found out, she might put her out of the house for a session in the stocks, calling her wanton. "Who? Who was it?" Grace hissed. "Do you want me to tell Giles, your mother, and everyone else about the strange way you looked when you came home?" Fiona rounded on her. "Don't you make up any lies about me or I promise it will be the worse for you. I merely had an accident falling on some rocks. That's all! So watch your words and don't incur my anger." Grace fell back, her mouth slack. "Don't hurt me please! If you have embraced the devil, I promise not to tell a soul." She thrust out her first and little fingers, the age-old sign for warding off a witch. Immediately, Fiona regretted her foolish loss of control with Grace and she smoothed her features. "Oh, don't be silly. You can never take a jest, can you? I told you how it happened. I wouldn't know a devil if I met one face to face." She swept out the door and started toward the henhouse. As she scattered grain for the clucking fowls, she wondered uneasily if that were true. Who could tell a devil if he was in disguise? Perhaps Grace had come closer to the truth than she knew.

Was the judge allied somehow with Satan ? She considered all the evidence. He was new in Salem. He had wealth and power usually bestowed on disciples of the Devil. He also had the ability to disguise himself, now young and handsome, kind and sympathetic then swiftly changing to an aroused and lusting beast. There also was the haughty, domineering, cruel-faced man who instilled such abject terror at the witch trials. He probably could make an innocent victim admit to anything before he was through with her. On the other hand, everything about him could have a logical explanation. Fiona strolled thoughtfully across the yard and leaned on the gate. Perhaps he had no powers beyond a keen and nasty mind. Maybe he spied on people in order to hoard nuggets of information which might prove useful in making them obey his will. There had been someone on the road when Grace and Giles had told her about the new berrying plans. It could have been the judge. The three of them had been too absorbed to notice. As for the way he had changed himself at the beach and the powerful will he had exerted over her, perhaps her father's tales of Mesmer could explain the whole thing. The judge might have learned the art of manipulating minds. And then there was the drink. From her mother's simpling, she knew of the soporific henbane and hemlock, the magic possessed by mandrake and roots of briony. Surely all were easy to obtain. Could anybody become a victim to enchantment without a potion to confuse the brain? Or had she been weaker today because she had needed praise and male attention? She had been so miserable, doubting her own attractiveness. If the judge tried it again, could she withstand him, now that she knew it was all a trick? If he was merely mortal, what was there to fear? It might be worth confronting him, even encouraging him, just to find out what would happen. A little voice inside her warned that this might be extremely dangerous. If she led him on, then spurned him in disgust, wouldn't his fury and revenge be boundless? "Fiona, dear, Grace said you went to a court hearing today. What happened? Did you not want me to accompany you?" Her mother spoke behind her. Fiona shook her head. "You would have been too upset." She dropped her voice and glanced around. The yard was empty, as was the road beyond. "They questioned Rebecca Nurse, and, oh, Mother, it was so dreadful!" "Heavens, was she accused?" "Accused and held for trial." Fiona swallowed hard. "I'm certain they will find her guilty, and you and I know that can't be true." "Of course not. Ah, the awful pity of it! Let's sit down on this bench. Do you feel like telling me what happened?"

"Yes, I do." Sitting close beneath the shady tree, Fiona related every word she could remember of the two upset-ting trials. First, the slattern, with her pathetic bravado while enduring the hissing and name-calling of the spectators. Then Rebecca Nurse, weak and ill, so bewildered at the charges leveled against her, but steadfastly denying any guilt and beseeching her Maker for vindication. "At first, the people acted appalled that she'd been charged and seemed to think that she was innocent, although two of the children, Abigail Williams and Ann Putnam, swore that she was even then hurting them. They screamed and writhed most convincingly. But the tide definitely turned against her when Mrs. Putnam testified. She is the mother of Ann and looked sly and vindictive. In my opinion, she was just trying to be important. I didn't believe a word she said, and neither would you, I'm sure." She then recounted the absurd dream while her mother listened gravely. Fiona ended with a bitter regret that she hadn't said some word in Rebecca's defense. Ellen shook her head. "Ah, daughter dear, 'twould not have helped, and it might have harmed you vastly. Suspicion has been cast on you from several sources. Both our lives are fraught with danger, and that's the sober truth of it." "What can we do? Mother, I am becoming so fearful" "Now, now, 'tis a brave lass you've always been. Perhaps there is a way." From her pocket, she withdrew a folded paper from which the seal had been broken. "I went to the village today and found the postal carrier had left some articles from Boston. I wrote to Samantha when we arrived and here, then, is her answer." Fiona took the proffered letter and read aloud:

Dearest Ellen and Fiona,

How delighted I am to know that you both have come to America, although circumstances have been sad for you. My deepest sympathy for losing both your dear David and then his brother, Matthew. And now I hear there is grave trouble in Salem. It has a very bad reputation these days and I wish that you would leave. Unfortunately, I contracted a chilling ague and am still weak and coughing, confined to my bed and Tilly's constant care. But soon I want you both to visit me for as long as you care to stay. I'm sure you could be happy here in Boston and I have lots of room. Write soon, my dears. I can hardly wait to see you.

My fondest love, Your Cousin, Samantha.

Fiona felt a rush of deep relief. Here might be the answer to their main problem. No longer could she hope for any future with Giles; Grace had seen to that. Pain engulfed her as she thought of Giles. She had admired him so much on board the Seawynd, where he had displayed such tireless, even-tempered dedication to all the groaning sufferers. Companionship had grown steadily between them until she had seen desire well up in him to equal hersor so she'd thoughtand he had kissed herperhaps even when he knew it wasn't right and would end in his regret. She knew beyond a doubt that she had fallen in love with him and had longed desperately to hear a like response from him, but he had never made a declaration and at last now she knew the reason why. "Oh, let us go to Boston," Fiona burst out, trying to hide her anguish. "And as soon as possible." "Ah, we should give Samantha a chance to be recovering," her mother answered gently. "But you surprise me, Daughter. I thought you did no' like the idea of leaving Giles. What, then, changed your mind?" Fiona drew a deep breath. "Remember I told you that Giles was taking me to the berrying? Well, today I met him and Grace was hanging on his arm as though she owned him. She saidtriumphantlythat Giles had promised long ago to take her, and when she reminded him, he agreed and suggested I go with his brother, Charles." Fiona's lips trembled, but she firmed them quickly. "I don't care. Charles is lots of fun, as well as cute." Her voice thickened. "Trouble is, I was starting to take Giles seriously, while all the while he he" "Aye, there was Grace." Her mother sighed. " 'Tis glad I am you're taking it so well. I won't say you will soon forget Giles. A fine young man he is in truth, and naught will make me gainsay that. Though he's drawn to you, 'tis as I feared, a new doctor needs a good dowry to set him up in business. Fiona, dear, we'll pack our clothes in a few days, bid everyone farewell, and take the sloop to Boston. We can stay with Samantha 'til we're settled, then find a wee cottage of our own, with a garden and a dog or cat. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Yes, Mother." Fiona couldn't sound enthusiastic and leaned her head against her mother's shoulder while they both sat silently. Robins chirped and flew about, hens clucked, the one cow gave a drawn-out moan, reminding Fiona of the night they had

arrived in Salem and thought dark spirits might be about. How glad she had been to see Giles again, although Grace had been possessive and unpleasant to them even then, hinting that they might be witches. "Whist, now, someone's coming in the gate," her mother exclaimed. "A very pretty young lady. Do you know her?" Fiona straightened up. "Oh, it's Sally Woods." She waved to the smiling girl who approached eagerly, a basket on her arm, a fringed shawl fluttering about her slender shoulders. She looked so bright and cheerful, Fiona felt her spirits lighten as she introduced her mother. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Prescott." Sally beamed. "Fiona told me that you know the art of simpling, as I do. Would you care to accompany me on an herb-gathering expedition in the woods?" "Thank you, that I would, indeed Fiona has told me much about you. I'll just fetch my wee basket and a bonnet." As soon as they were alone, Sally asked, "I expect you will be going to the berrying tomorrow?" "Yes. With Charles." "Charles?" Sally raised her eyebrows. "I thought surelythat iswhat about Giles? Can't he go? Oh, I imagine he has some patient scheduled." "He's taking Grace," Fiona burst out, gritting her teeth. "Grace?" "You're beginning to sound like a parrot my father once brought home from the South Seas." Sally didn't smile. "I don't understand. At my home the other night, he looked at you often and seemed extremely interested in anything you said or did. I felt certain" When Fiona didn't answer, Sally went on slowly, "Before he went away, Giles might have courted Grace, but I certainly didn't know about it. Of course, we were all very young, especially Grace and me. Five years ago, I was fifteen, and when I went to Giles in trouble, he was so good to me, so sweet, I would have married him if he had asked me. But he sailed away without a word about the future. I suppose he didn't know what it might hold for him, and afterward, when I met Oliver, I was glad. Oliver and I fell deep in love and he is wonderful to me." Her cheeks colored as though she dwelt on days of tender kindness and nights of rapturous romance.

"I envy you," Fiona whispered, trying to hold back a tear and giving a quick swipe at her cheek. "Oh, Sally, Giles did ask me to the berrying and I said I would love to go and planned to pack a basket for just the two of us." Sally stared. "Thenthen why did he change his mind? Did you two quarrel?" "No, he just said, sounding very curt, that he'd forgotten he had promised to take Grace and asked if I would go instead with his brother, Charles." Fiona tossed her head. "Well, naturally I agreed. I intend to have a good time with Charles, who is a delightful boy. I'll show Grace and Giles that I am certainly not pining." "Bravo! That's the best way to act. No use giving that Grace something to snicker about. Well, anyway, I'll see you there. Ah, here comes Mrs. Prescott. She looks so sweet and prettyjust like you, Fiona." With a light pat, Sally ran across the garden and walked away, chattering to Fiona's mother, who sent Fiona a keen glance and waved before she followed her sprightly young companion. Fiona settled down to weed her vegetable patch, glad to see that here, at least, something good was happening, the stalks getting tall and thick with feathery tops or tender green leaves. It had been a most disturbing day, and in spite of her brave words, she feared that tomorrow would be as bad because tomorrow was the berrying. Hearing the gate creak, Fiona sat back on her heels and saw Charles Harmon approach her with a jaunty stride. He probably wished to speak about the picnic, and she hoped that, like his brother, he wasn't about to decline her company. Who knew what other girls might be coaxing Charles to take them? He must be very popular, with his teasing warmth and merry face. Fiona brushed the pile of weeds away and, dusting off her hands, rose to meet him, glad to see that he was smiling when he reached out to clasp her arms with both his hands. "I hope you didn't mind the last-minute arrangements between Giles and me, my little Irish beauty?" Fiona laughed. "Not a bit. You and I are going to have a grand time." "Indeed we are, sweetheart." Charles beamed, his brown eyes on a level with her own. "This is wonderful luck for me. I was hoping to promote something ever since I met you. But Giles said he was going to the picnic with the most wonderful girl in Salem. Of course, I guessed that it was you, but then, well, yesterday" Charles shrugged his stocky shoulders. "Giles said that he was taking Grace, of all people! And would I mind escorting you." Charles laughed, eyeing Fiona up and down. "Mind! Why, I was delighted. But how could he want Grace, instead of you? Oh, well, I'm just going to enjoy my good fortune, although I'm curious. Did you two have a falling out?"

"Sally just asked me that, and the answer is no. At first I agreed to go with Giles because no one else had asked me, but" Charles made a choked sound. "I would have" "But then today I met Giles out walking with Grace and they said there had been a change of plans." Charles's boyish brow knit perplexedly. "Did Giles say why?" "Only that he had forgotten a prior promise to take Grace." "Oh, I see. Big brother is the soul of honor, and Grace would never let him back down if he had really promised her." Charles chuckled. "I feel sorry for him, you know. There's such a thing as being too honorable, I'd say. Just look where it's landed him." Fiona forced a laugh. "Who cares? I'm just happy you want to go with me. Are you sure you didn't break some other lassie's heart?" Charles looked a trifle guilty, but only for a second. "Aw, the girls know I love them all and don't take any one too seriously. Not yet. I'm like an enterprising bee, tasting all the honey that I can." Fiona gave a mock sigh and shook her head. "I pity the girl who hopes to win your heart forever." Charles grinned. "Maybe when I am as old as Giles" You'll never be like Giles, Fiona thought, and knew a flare of anger that Giles favored Grace just for her money. No matter that it was the usual custom. Could Grace ever make him love her? Her mind was not in tune with his. Her person was unattractive, and she was extremely selfish and had a waspish temper. Why couldn't Giles find someone else? Well, perhaps he would. He had been back only a short time, and he hadn't proposed to Grace as yet. She would like Giles to be happy, Fiona thought wistfully, and since there was no use hoping it could be with her, she hoped he would find another girl, someone nice and sweetwho also had a dowry. However, it was Giles's affair, not hers. Not anymore. Aloud, she said to Charles, summoning a bright smile, "Come in and have a glass of milk. Aunt Mercy baked raisin nut cakes last night and there are plenty left." Beaming, Charles bounded in beside her.

Chapter 13

The day of the picnic dawned bright and clear, and Fiona felt her spirits rise to meet the challenge it held. As long as she could avoid Giles, she would make the best of things and see that Charles enjoyed her company. It was not his fault that he was second choice. She and Charles were almost the last ones to arrive in the woods. She had purposely delayed their departure, slowly packing the straw picnic basket, leaving the kitchen when she saw Giles coming, and staying upstairs until he had been led away by a boisterous, triumphant Grace. Fiona peeped down at them from her attic window. Giles hung back, staring at the house, while Grace tugged impatiently at his arm. "Come on, slowpoke, the others will all get ahead of us," she cried. "You know, the lad who picks the most berries gets a kiss from the girl of his choice." She gave Giles a playful dig with her elbow, which he ignored. His brother arrived just then and Giles called to him, "Charles, tell Fiona to hurry up. All the best berry patches will be taken." Grace jerked at his arm. "Forget about her. Didn't I tell you" The rest of her words were lost as the roadside trees cut them off from view. Fiona hurried down the stairs. "I'm ready now, Charles," she said breathlessly, tying on her sunbonnet. "I'm sorry to be late." "You're not. I just arrived myself." Charles's eyes gave her an admiring sweep. "Anyway, you would be worth waiting for. Who would think pink gingham would look perfect with red hair? I can hardly wait to show you off to the rest of the crowd. Where's the lunch basket, lovey? And what is in it, may I ask?" "You may ask, but I won't tell you," Fiona answered pertly. "Aunt Mercy said it should be a surprise." When she handed him the basket, he peeked beneath the checkered napkin before she could stop him. "Umm, I smell ham, pickles, chicken pies, apple tarts" "Shame on you." Fiona laughed and tried to snatch the basket from him.

"Yes, I'm shameless when it comes to girls and food," Charles admitted jauntily, setting off with one hand clasping her arm possessively. Several young ladies passed by and all smiled or simpered at Charles's handsome, merry face. He grinned and winked at every one of them, although their escorts shouted good-natured insults. Fiona had to laugh. "Charles, if you were a girl, you would be called a flirt." His brown eyes grew round. "That's not so. I always like the girl I'm with the best." "I'm glad to hear that." "Fiona, you know that I intend to pick the most berries so I'll get a kiss from you." His arm slid around her waist. "Say, don't you think we ought to practice once or twice so that we can get it right?" "No." Fiona gave him a laughing shove. "If we don't hurry, there won't be any berries left at all. Come on, you silly boy." "Aw, no one takes me seriously." Charles caught her hand and they raced down the sunny road to the woods where they could hear shouts and laughter. The berries grew everywhere in the nearby meadows, along a stream, and under trees. Fiona had never seen such fruit. Strawberries fully two inches long hid beneath their bright green leaves and huge blueberries weighed canes clear down to the ground. Everyone was given a woven basket, and when one was filled, a tally was marked by one of the girls on a slate. The competition waged keen as plots were plundered and canes stripped bare. There appeared to be around a dozen couples, and to Fiona's relief, Giles and Grace were not in view. Probably Grace, jealous as always, had dragged him off to a secluded spot. There was no sign of the afflicted girls, either. This was just a merry, normal group today, laughing, calling back and forth, and friendly to Fiona. Most of them were young, in their late teens or early twenties. Fiona was surprised that there existed a different element here in Salem which seemed normal and wholesome. Perhaps they came from a more outlying district and it was the townspeople who concentrated on the witch hunt. But then this was disproved when Sally arrived with Oliver, who looked rather out of place, since he was so much older than the rest. He probably had come only to please his young wife. Sally greeted everyone in her usual friendly manner, but some of the people cast rather wary glances at her and one youth made a remark about some girls who had "pet wolves." Oliver glowered at him and the lad slid off quickly to his berrying. Alas, even here the witchcraft rumors hovered.

Sally drew Fiona aside and murmured, "Are you having fun? I see Charles is working hard to be the winner." Her eyes roved around the clearing. "Where are Giles and Grace?" Fiona tried to look indifferent. "I have no idea. He came to the house this morning and picked her up. That was the last I saw of them." Sally seemed about to speak, but Oliver called her and she hurried off, waving to Fiona. "I'll see you later." As the morning wore on, the sun grew hot and the fun became less boisterous. One of the girls put a pail into Fiona's hands. "Will you get some water at the stream? We always need more lemonade, and today is awfully warm." "Certainly." Fiona exhaled a deep breath, glad for a respite from scratched hands and aching back. She flung off her bonnet and pushed through the trees, passing the boxes where the berries were dumped after a record had been made of the individual number of baskets picked. The rich, heady perfume of the fruit attracted a lot of bees and Fiona was relieved that they were not placed near the picnic area. The bushes suddenly parted, and to Fiona's consternation, Giles appeared, dropping an armload of mulberry leaves to cover the fruit. He gave Fiona a startled glance as he straightened up, and for a long moment, their eyes clung wordlessly. His white shirt fell open to his waist, the sleeves rolled up above the elbow, and his black hair plastered wetly to his brow. "Hello, Giles." Fiona quickly looked away her heartbeat quickening, and tried to pass him, but he stepped in front of her. "Fiona" he began. "II have to get some water," she said hurriedly. "I'll get it." He plucked the pail out of her limp hand and inarched off in the direction of the stream. Fiona was forced to follow him, aware that her pulse raced furiously, just as it always did when he was near. The cool, clear water chuckled across a rocky bed, sending up a misty spray into the air. Giles pulled off his shirt, flopped down by the stream, and splashed his face and arms before drinking thirstily. Then he filled the pail and stood watching silently while Fiona, her hands shaking, cupped them and drank some of the reviving water. No one else was about. The only sounds were the chattering brook, the chirp of birds, the leaves rustling overhead in the breeze. When she stood up, Giles faced her, bare-chested, his damp skin shining in the dappled sunlight. He was so close she could smell his male aroma and see the droplets quivering on his black chest hair. An urge to stroke the muscled satin of his skin swept over her

with a sudden dizzy force. She couldn't seem able to tear her eyes away and became aware that Giles was also devouring every inch of her. "Fiona," he said thickly, "you look so lovelyall warm and pink. If only I could touch you" "Why are you speaking to me like this?" Fiona interrupted in a choked voice. "You are escorting someone else. Don't try to flirt with me." Her voice hardened. "Give me the pail." Instead, he grabbed her wrist. "Fionawait a minute" She jerked away. "What for?" "I don't blame you for being angry, but" "Who's angry? You simply changed your mind, that's all. I don't care in the least. Charles is a lot of fun." "Fiona, I couldn't help what happened." She gave a trill of laughter. "Really? What did Grace do? Point a pistol at your head?" Setting down the pail, he shrugged into his shirt, stepped close, and caught her arms, his voice a hoarse entreaty. "Fiona, for God's sake!" His mouth, cold and wet, came down on hers, smothering her soft cry. At his touch, the woods, the crowd, the barrier of Grace all swept from Fiona's mind and she returned his kisses boldly. But then a twig snapped and Charles bounded through the trees. "No, no, Giles, unhand her. She's my girl today. You're with Grace, remember? 'The most wonderful girl in Salem,' isn't that what you called her?" Charles giggled roguishly. So he had said that about Grace? Fiona felt the blood rush to her face. Giles rounded on his brother. "I didn't mean Grace, and you know it." "Really? When I repeated your words in front of her, I didn't hear you deny it. All you did was ask if I would take Fiona. And what a happy chance for me. We're having a great time, aren't we, my little Irish rose?" Giles threw him a murderous glance which Charles blithely ignored. With a possessive arm around Fiona's waist, he marched her back to the picnic area, Giles following silently with the pail.

The girls had selected a picnic spot and began to set out food: sliced pink ham, baked chicken, boiled eggs, pickles, salads, and all kinds of bread, tarts, and cookies. In spite of being partnered, everyone sat together in the grassy shade of a daisy-carpeted clearing. Giles and Grace were not close by, but Sally and Oliver sat across from Fiona and Charles, sharing a big checkered tablecloth. A good-humored atmosphere pervaded the scene and Fiona found herself responding. She felt grateful for being a part of Charles's and Sally's banter. Oliver looked on indulgently and finally stretched out with his head in his wife's lap, not caring if some people looked askance at his public display of affection. "That looks nice," Charles said, moving closer. "Fiona, could I" "No." Fiona laughed, giving him a shove. "Listen, I think they are going to announce who has picked the most fruit." "The girl who kept the tally said I had a good chance," Charles said smugly. Giles glanced across at them, then stared down at the ground, and when Charles was announced the winner, he didn't look up, although everyone else yelled and clapped. Charles pulled Fiona up into his arms, and to the accompaniment of much joking and laughter from the crowd, he gave her a long, strawberry-flavored kiss upon her lips. Fiona hardly felt it, although she laughed with the rest. Her mind kept going over and over Giles's every word and expression. Had he been trying to apologize for switching partners? Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered how he had looked, his skin warm and damp, black hair tangled on his brow, gray eyes devouring her slender-ness outlined in pink gingham. It hadn't taken much until he pulled her yielding body close and took her lips with his. Difficult as it was, she dragged her thoughts away from Giles just as Charles leaned closer and slid his arm around her waist. "That kiss made me hungry, sweetheartfor an encore," he whispered in her ear. "Oh, Charles, behave." With a little laugh, Fiona shrugged off his arm. "If you're hungry, let's eat lunch." Since Giles was in her line of vision, she couldn't help but glance at him as he lounged at Grace's side, his head supported on one hand. Suddenly, his eyes swept up, holding Fiona's gaze for a long, disturbing moment. Then Grace flashed him an angry look and bent to whisper in his ear. He rolled over and turned his back on Fiona, his face an unreadable mask. Fiona's mouth tightened, and from then on, she devoted herself to Charles and the rest of the merry group around her.

Sally and Oliver sat a little apart, although Sally tried to join in from time to time with the animated conversation going on around them. Alas, the witch hunt had cast its long shadow even here, Fiona thought uneasily, seeing the occasional suspicious glances cast at Sally. If she had not been partnered by Charles, would she also have been on the receiving end of some hostility, Fiona wondered? When Oliver returned to town, Sally came to sit by Fiona. They watched Charles, Giles, and a few other men go off to the meadow with a large leather ball. "I think they are going to play an Indian game called 'foot ball'," Sally remarked. "It's usually played barefoot on the sand, but today a grassy meadow will have to do. The girls are also starting up some games. They'll probably play 'Blind Man's Bluff, 'I Sent a Letter to My Love,' and 'Thread the Needle.' Do you want to join them? No? Neither do I. Most girls seem so young before they're married. I think I'm the only one here who is." Sally smiled complacently. "There are so many things they don't know about a man until they wed." "Such as?" Fiona suddenly felt curious. A young married woman probably could tell her things that her mother's careful instruction would have avoided out of a sense of delicacy. She knew the acts she should avoid until they were condoned by marriage and she blushed, remembering how she had allowed the intimacy of Giles's warm tongue upon her own, his hand pressing on her breast where the thin dress had been no barrier at all. However, Sally's mind dwelt on other aspects of the married state, somewhat to Fiona's disappointment. "A husband is still just a man with other matters on his mind besides lovemaking. He is now responsible for a family, and their welfare and safety depend on him. The wife also has her responsibility to keep the home a pleasant place, clean and comfortable, her table a place of wholesome, tasty food. Adjustments to living with someone who is practically a stranger can be difficult. You can't expect those rapturous encounters to continue unabated as they do at first." "No, of course not," Fiona murmured. "But it is a lovely experience, is it not? Being wed to one you love?" Sally gave her a merry glance. "I'm sure your mother has talked to you about the physical side of marriage. Mrs. Prescott seemed like a very sensible, loving mother when we went on our herb gathering." "She has told me the basics." Fiona plucked a daisy and stared at it. "She also gave me some warnings. She knows that" Fiona cleared her throat. "Well, Giles and I saw a great deal of each other on the voyage and then resumed a close friendship here in Salem. I admit that he attracts me, but he is older than I experienced with women" "But not with Grace," Sally demurred. "He never would compromise an innocent girl until they had an understanding."

"So you don't think he and Grace" "I'd swear he seems more interested in you. I could see it when you came to supper. And even today, his eyes followed you whenever possible, and I thought his face looked tortured. That's why I can't understand" Her voice trailed off. "Why he escorted Grace today?" Fiona sighed deeply. "I think he intends to marry her, in love or not. A young doctor needs a dowry, and Grace has one. I don't." Sally sent her a troubled glance. "I'm sorry, Fiona. You were really getting serious about him?" Fiona nodded slowly, then looked squarely at Sally. "I know I don't have to ask you to keep this conversation confidential. I feel that I can trust you and that you are my friend." "Of course you can. I am your friend." Fiona plucked another daisy. "Giles has acted as though he liked me and found me attractive. I let him kiss me. Several times." Sally placed her hand upon Fiona's arm. "Your face is fiery. Don't feel embarrassed. That is the way of life when you are young. You can't always help yourself, and sometimes, being as pretty as you are well, it can be a danger. Believe me, I know." Fiona looked up at the hard note which had crept into Sally's voice. "You certainly are pretty. Have you ever found it was a problem?" There was no one within hearing distance, and after a quick survey, Sally seemed to come to a decision. "Without conceit, I can say I was a pretty child. When I was ten, my parents died at sea and I was left alone. Everyone on board was very kind, one man in particular. He was fairly young, wealthyimportant, it seemed to me. Everyone stood in awe of his demands. As for me, I was merely grateful for his attentions, which were always kind and gentle. When we landed in Boston, he asked if I would like to live with him and become his ward. I was overwhelmed and readily agreed. He heaped fine things on me, the likes of which I'd never known: toys, books, silken gowns, a dear old nurse to be my nanny, all of which helped to ease the sad loss of my parents. His home was beautiful, with a garden full of fruit and flowers." "Soon I went to a young ladies' school, and every day when I came home, he greeted me with sweetmeats and kisses." Suddenly, Sally's face flamed and her voice thickened. "For several years, he was like a favorite uncle. Then he grew bolder. He frightened me" She swallowed hard and clenched her hands. "If it's too painful, pray, don't continue," Fiona begged her.

Sally shook her head. "I promised I'd tell you my poor story and this is a good time. Friends should have no secrets from each other, and my tale shows how innocence can engulf a maid in shame and tragedy not of her making." Fiona dreaded what she was about to hear, certain that Sally had been the victim of a man's unbridled lust. However, her curiosity had been aroused and she didn't interrupt again. "Nanny tried to warn me," Sally continued in a low tone. "She said to me: 'You are too big to sit so long upon his lap. He is a mature man, has no wife, and is no relative to you. He is not your father, and he doesn't act like one.' Nanny said he couldn't fire her but would not tell me why." "Soon my life became a nightmare, but I didn't dare let him know how he affected me. I had seen his unbridled temper sometimes directed at a servant, and it filled me with terror. I tried to stay later at school, sneak into the house, and then find Nanny. We wept together, and sometimes I heard her shouting at him about me. But nothing stopped him." "I was fourteen when he declared he wished to marry me, but by then I feared and hated him with all my soul. If I tried to leave the room when he was there, he would fling me on a couch or chair and demand that I agree to wed him on my next birthday. All I could do was beg him for more time and then at last the time ran out." Fiona's hand flew to her mouth and her heart pounded. She dreaded what she was about to hear. However, before Sally could continue, the young men returned from their game, the girls broke up their circle, and everyone prepared to leave. "I can't tell you any more, not now," Sally whispered quickly. "The rest makes me so ashamed" "Oh, don't be," Fiona exclaimed. "You were not to blame, How could you help yourself, alone and friendless?" Sally brushed her hand across her eyes. "You haven't heard it all. Someday, perhaps I'll tell you." With that, she disappeared to get her berries and Charles approached to escort Fiona home.

Chapter 14

When Charles left Fiona at Aunt Mercy's, his glance was almost pitying, his roguish eyes for once quite serious. "It was hard on you, Fiona, wasn't it? Seeing Giles and Grace together?" She started to protest, but Charles overrode her stumbling words. "I know how you must have felt. You tried hard, but your eyes on Giles betrayed you, just as his did on you. I wish I could say that he isn't serious about Grace, but" He sighed and shrugged. "I know," Fiona murmured. "It's just the way things are. That long, dangerous sea voyage brought us together and I looked to him constantly for reassurance. Now there's this disturbing trouble here in Salem and I still turn to him." "I'm sure Giles will come to your aid, if necessary. Perhaps I, too, could be a hero." He grinned, tossing aside his gravity like a garment in which he felt uncomfortable. "Who knows? You might come to admire me as much as you do Giles." "You could be right." Fiona forced a laugh. "I think you're a delightful fellow, and I really did enjoy the picnic. Thank you for escorting me, Charles." She gave him a quick kiss on his round young cheek. Charles beamed and returned her salutation with interest, grasping her pink-clad shoulders and pressing his lips fervently to hers. "Thank you, my little Irish treasure." With a jaunty wave, he picked up his load of fruit and headed down the road. "I'll see you soon." Charles had a wonderful talent for making people happy. Still smiling, Fiona entered the kitchen and placed her box of fragrant strawberries in a large wooden bowl. She ate a couple of berries while staring thoughtfully out the kitchen window. Her mind veered from Giles and Grace as she recalled the terrible story she had just heard from Sally. Who would have imagined such a sweet girl could have been mixed up in such a sordid tale? Had Sally been ravished? Did she have to marry the fiend, and then, when he died, find solace with Oliver? The poor little thing, so ready to be merry and friendly, had been alone in the world, at the mercy of the man who became her guardian. A man who had first lulled her with gifts and affection, then, as she'd matured, betrayed her trust the way only a hardened rake would do. If only she could have heard the end of Sally's story. There were so many unanswered questions. What hold did Nanny have over her master so that he couldn't dismiss her? Did she know of some previous misdeeds he had committed? He evidently had been afraid of her up to a certain point, but not enough to curb his vile appetite for Sally.

Fiona vowed to see her as soon as possible and learn the ending. Whatever had occurred, she was now a happy, beloved wife, and probably Oliver would protect her with his life. Had Sally told him of her history? Maybe maybe not. Such a shameful incident might be easier told to another female than to a man, even if he was your husband. Then another idea struck Fiona and she caught her breath. Sally had not said that her guardian was dead. Did he know where she was? He would have no legal control over her, since she was now twenty-one, but his aim might still be revenge. And then there was Nannywhat had become of her? How frustrating all these unanswered questions were! With a feeling of relief, Fiona heard her mother's voice as she came into the kitchen, a length of knitting in her hands. "How was the berrying, my dear? Was it a good time you had?" Although she smiled, her eyes looked anxious. "Oh, yes," Fiona answered heartily, but then she gave a rueful sigh. "That is part of the time. Charles is sweet and fun to be with, and everyone else was very friendly." "The afflicted girlswere they there, too?" "No, thank goodness. I heard all of them were called out of town to investigate a witch hunt somewhere else." "And of course, they'll be finding guilty people," her mother remarked dryly. "Was there any talk about the trials?" "I didn't hear any, but some suspicious looks were cast at Sally, along with a whisper about her 'pet wolf.' " "Oh dear Lord, that child should be more careful. 'Tis fine to show kindness to a starving animal, but she may put her life in danger from the witch hunters. They do say as how Sally makes odd potions, powders to bring love, bravery, success I'm thinking she should not dabble in such matters." Fiona nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder where she learned such strange things?" From Nanny? Or her guardian'? "Sally told me when we were herb gathering that often and often she met Tituba in those woods, both of them seeking special plants. She said Tituba told her that she knew voodoo, fortune telling, casting spells, and suchlike, learned in Barbados where she'd been born. She whispered 'twas a place of many witch doctors and practitioners of the Black Arts." "I wonder if that slave taught Sally some of her secret skills." Fiona frowned and looked away uneasily. "Sally told me a most disturbing tale today about her early life in Boston, but I fear I can't divulge it. Not yet."

Ellen Prescott drew in her breath. "Whisht, lass, is it anything that could bring harm if you continued to befriend her?" "I don't see how. It's all in the past. Sally has evidently risen above the tragedy and made a happy marriage. Whether Oliver knows, she didn't say, but she told me once that Giles had helped her through a difficult time." "Did you see Giles today? Did he speak to you?" "Yes, he did. When we were alone for a few minutes, he seemed upset and insisted he couldn't help the way things had turned out and he didn't blame me for being angry." Fiona raised her chin. "I told him I wasn't angry and Charles was a lot of funwhich was true." " 'Tis glad I am of that, but I know 'twas hard on you, seeing Giles there with Grace. Did they seem um" "In love?" Fiona flushed and looked away. "Grace was hanging on him, giving me fierce looks. Giles seemed just the way he usually is around her: grave and courteous. He went off to play a game with the other men as soon as possible." Her mother started to speak, but glancing out the window, she exclaimed, "Oh, Grace is coming now with Mercy following behind her on the path. I don't see any sign of Giles." The next minute, Grace burst in the door and flopped into a chair. "Oh, what a wonderful day I had! Of course, Giles didn't pick the largest number of berries, but he kissed me anyway, long and sweet." She looked triumphantly at Fiona. "You probably kissed him first," Fiona sneered. "I did not," Grace shouted. Fiona shrugged. "Who cares? I'm sure I don't." She wondered if Grace was telling the truth. Grace seemed to have a hold over Giles and was doing everything in her power to bind him to her. Aunt Mercy trotted to the bowl of berries by the window. "What a nice bowl of strawberries. We'll have some for supper. Alas, my day was most unprofitable. No witch trials in session. The afflicted girls are trying to unearth Satan's creatures elsewhere. They have become so famous as witch hunters that other towns constantly beseech their services." "I wish they'd stay away permanently," Fiona exclaimed. "It was so nice meeting normal girls today at the berrying. I think those witch-hunting children are a bad influence on the whole town."

"What an awful thing to say," Aunt Mercy gasped. "Why, those girls do more than anybody to discover strange things in our town." She cast a fearful glance into the shadows. "There are plenty of strange things going on right here," Grace snarled. "That black cat's still around. He hissed at me today when I kicked him out of the way." "No wonder he hissed. So would I," Fiona snapped. "I don't like the animal, but he does catch a lot of mice," Aunt Mercy said. "Otherwise, I would shoo him off the premises." Grace walked over to the berries and plopped one into her mouth. "Did you and Charles really pick all these?" "Certainly. Why? Do you think we stole some from another basket?" Grace shot her a venemous glance. "Charles might do a lot to get a kiss from you. He certainly gave you a long kiss when he won. It's a good thing the deacons weren't around. They might say you are bewitching the young men." "I don't know who is worse, Graceyou, or the Silly Seven. Can't you think of anything but witches?" Aunt Mercy looked shocked. "Niece, watch your words! Do you want to bring down censure on us all?" "I'm going to tell Giles how you ridicule our sainted girls," Grace flamed. "He probably thinks the same as I do. You really don't understand him at all" Grace tossed her head, hands bunched on her hips. "You still want Giles, don't you, missy? Well, I've got him right where I want him. We're walking out tonight, and he said he has to ask me something. You know what that is, and so do I." Fiona felt the blood drain from her face and for the life of her, she couldn't say a word. Grace whirled around. "Aunt Ellen, can one of your salves fix the sores on my face? When you first came, Fiona said you knew what to do. Well, now's the time. I want something before the wedding." Wedding! Fiona clenched her hands upon the table's edge, feeling worse than she ever had in her whole life. Fortunately, just then a fight erupted between Grace and Mercy, filling the air with shouts and anger.

"There'll be no potion making in my house," Aunt Mercy shouted. "Ellen, I forbid you to make any of your heathen gingseng preparations for my child!" "Nay, 'tis no gingseng," Fiona's mother tried explaining. "Some of these herbs grow in your own woods. I could try a brew" "Absolutely not!" "Grace, dear, since we don't have your mother's permission, we better not be after trying" Grace immediately threw a tantrum. In the process, she even hurled a copper pan across the room, denting it badly on the fireplace. "I want to look pretty," she roared. "Right now! For Giles." "All right, all right." Tight-lipped, Aunt Mercy finally gave in, but the look she sent her sister-in-law was filled with doubt and anger. "I'll show you everything I put in the salve," Ellen told her soothingly. "I must lie down. My head is pounding," Mercy moaned. "Grace, see if there are any eggs out in the barn. We could have a pancake supper with the berries." With victory in her grasp, Grace purred smugly, "Yes, Ma, leave it all to me." As she passed Fiona, she took the opportunity for one last jab. "Giles always had an eye for a pretty new face. One time it was Sally, but then it passed away. As it will with you." As soon as they were alone, Fiona turned to her mother, trying to subdue her tears. "Oh, was that all it meant to Giles? A pretty new face to flirt with?" "No, no, child, I'd swear that wasn't all. He is not a man to treat girls lightly, being serious, intelligent, and trustworthy. Have you no' seen that in him?" Fiona wiped her eyes. "Y-yes, I thought him to be all those things, but perhaps Grace knows him better." " 'Tis jealous, she is, and wants to hurt you." "Well, she's succeeded. Oh, I want to leave this place and try to forget Giles. How soon do you think we could go to Boston?" "I'm thinking we should wait for another letter from Samantha and be sure she's well enough for a visit. We cannot impose. 'Tis bad enough, accepting Mercy's reluctant hospitality. We won't do that again. Do you not agree?"

"Y-yes, but when we go to Boston, we need only stay with Samantha until we find employment. That should not take long, since Boston is so big and prosperous. I could work hard as a housemaid, or maybe care for children." "Ah, 'tis a brave, dear girl you are, no doubt about it. So caring and sensible on the long sea voyage. Every day you fearlessly helped the sufferers and made not even a wee complaint about the tedious, rough journey. 'Twas so proud of you, I felt." "Thank you, Mother." Alas, mention of the voyage recalled to Fiona's mind the fine young doctor who had done so much more than she had, day after day, to help the ailing and the accidents. She had given her first love to Giles and finally his steady, gray-eyed gaze had kindled into a warm regard for her. But now the memory of his ardent kisses, the strength of eager arms and pulsing body straining against her own, was almost more than she could bear. Groaning inwardly, she knew she must not dwell on what could never be a future with dear Giles. In a few days, perhaps a new life would open up for her. Until then she must try to fill her mind with other matters. And here was a distracting matter coming up the walk. Judge Blaize himself. Her astonished eyes widened as she beheld the tall, blackgarbed figure, who tossed a brief salutation to Grace, gaping by the henhouse. He then strode up to the door and knocked. Her mind awhirl, Fiona turned from the window as her mother flung open the door with a graceful curtsey. "Good day, Judge Blaize. Would you be wanting to see Mercy Prescott? She is upstairs" He bowed low, sweeping off a black-plumed hat. "My errand concerns only you and your daughter." Fiona could only stare, her feelings not unmixed with apprehension. What did he want? Today he looked the epitome of dignity and courtesy, his voice a rich male timbre that caressed the ears. "I have come to invite you both to dine with me tomorrow night. You may recall that I mentioned this once before, after a Sabbath service. I would have arranged it sooner, but the trials have intruded on my private life. No matter; I'm here now. I like to welcome strangers to our village in this manner, and I must also admit my eagerness to converse with new minds in our midst, especially those recently arrived from distant shores. Now it would give me the utmost pleasure to have you in my home." Mrs. Prescott cast an inquiring glance toward Fiona, but sensing uncertainty, decided for them both. "Why, thank you, Your Honor. 'Twould be most delightful, I am sure. Fiona?" Panicked, Fiona realized she could not deny her mother. She curtsied and said, "I would be very happy to attend."

He bowed. "My servant, Solbaid, will call for you at eight o'clock tomorrow. Ah, I hear him at the door. He has brought my slight offerings, which I trust you will enjoy." The grinning dwarf entered, clad like his master in black velvet. Bowing and bobbing his head, he approached the table, where the judge relieved him of two large objects. One was a bouquet of fragrant scarlet roses just emerging from the bud. The other, a satincovered box, had the name of a Boston confectionery shop on its lid. Fiona and her mother both thanked him with surprise and pleasure as he waved his hand indifferently. "I grow the roses year-round in a heated garden room. The sweetmeats are ordered for me from Paris." He bowed once more. "Until we meet tomorrow, then." He followed his servant out the door, ignoring Grace who, mouth agape, flew into the kitchen. "What did he want?" she squealed. "Are you both being called up for witchcraft?" Her black eyes snapped with eager hope. Fiona drew herself up haughtily. "Not at all, you silly girl. He invited my mother and me to dine with him tomorrow." "And we accepted," Ellen added, smiling. "D-dine? You two? Tomorrow? I don't believe it!" "You'll see. He's sending his servant to escort us in his carriage." Fiona tossed her head. Grace's eyes grew narrow. "I think he's heard rumors and he's suspicious of you both. Tomorrow he'll question and probe and then decide if you should go before the magistrates." Fiona struggled not to gasp. "Away with you," Ellen exclaimed stoutly. "As a matter of fact, he asked us to dine with him that Sabbath when we first attended Divine Service. Do you not recall that, Grace?" Fiona remembered and her foolish fears abated. "Besides, just look what he brought us, specially grown red roses and a big box of imported sweetmeats." With an excited cry, Grace flew to the box and lifted up the beribboned lid. Fiona and her mother peered beyond Grace's shoulder with equal curiosity to observe the contents nestled in lace paper. They all gaped at comfits of candied orange and lemon peel, angelica shaped like tiny fruits, sugared nuts, and chocolate bonbons. Fiona's mother reached for a cherry-covered confection and bit into it with a moan of pleasure. "Once David brought me such a box and 'twas highly prized. This must have cost a pretty penny."

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Grace stuffed several pieces into her mouth before shouting thickly up the stairs, "Ma, come down. I want to show you something." Fiona snatched up the box. "Really, Grace, who said you could" As Grace raced from the room, clutching some of the candy, Fiona's mother murmured, "Let them have what they want. 'Tis a small price to repay them for all our meals." "I guess you're right. Mother, let's take a walk. I don't feel like discussing the judge's invitation with Aunt Mercy just now, do you? They will ask so many questions, and I'm sure I don't have all the answers." "Indeed, 'tis passing strange," her mother mused, as they strolled into the garden. "I wonder if he has a wife and children?" "I don't think so. Surely he would have mentioned a wife in connection with the invitation." For a minute, she wondered if she should tell her mother about the strange behavior of Judge Blaize upon the beach. However, when she tried to sort it out, the memory became cloudy, unreal, almost dreamlike. Could she have exaggerated it? The fear, the excitement, the impression of his youth and handsomeness? Was that all a result of her longing to appear attractive to a man after Giles's rejection? She finally had to admit that now she wasn't really certain of anything about that day. Perhaps the judge had tried to coax a response from her because he, too, was upset about the witch trials. When she didn't resist him strongly enough, he had tried for more, manlike, until she had fled in dismay. She decided not to tell her mother. It was a rather shameful incident, no matter how interpreted, and if informed of it, her mother might rescind their acceptances. Right now, Fiona's curiosity was strong and formed a barrier against the pain of Giles and Grace. With rising anticipation, she engaged her mother in a discussion of what could be found to wear in their meager wardrobes.

Chapter 15

Fiona had only one gown worthy of the judge's dinner, a soft blue silk made from material her father had brought from China. Her mother had a similar outfit, only in a deeper hue. Both styles were simple: square necklines filled in with lacy fichus, elbowlength sleeves, skirts of modest fullness gathered to fitted waists.

With her hair brushed out in flaming curls, Fiona observed herself in the oval of polished tin upon the wall which mirrored her reflection in lieu of more expensive silvered glass. She looked clean and rosy from top to toe with only one thing wrong. Over the past year, the dress had grown tighter and her bosom stood out too provocatively. "Mother," Fiona moaned. "See how tight my gown became. I cannot wear this." Her mother laughed. "Faith, I thought your growing days were over. A shawl will help." Had Fiona been wrong to take this chance of visiting the judge? But what could possibly happen with her mother present? Stiffening her backbone, she spread the fichu higher over the full white curves. She then tied the gold doubloon around her throat, knotting the silken cord, hoping it would prove a distraction. "I haven't seen you wear that wee thing lately," her mother remarked. "Where has it been?" "In my reticule. The cord grew worn and I feared to wear it every day." " 'Tis an interesting object. So gracious of the governor to give it to you." She folded a crocheted shawl about her head and shoulders, Fiona doing likewise. " 'Tis chilly, we may be in such light wraps," her mother laughed, "but let us be elegant or die in the attempt." "Listen," Fiona broke in. "I think I hear a carriage." They both hurried to the window. "Yes, the judge's servant has come for us. My, what a beautiful conveyance, all red and gold, drawn by two black horses." "Whisht! We must go downstairs at once." Her mother sounded girlishly excited and Fiona felt her own expectations rise. What would this night bring? An elaborate feast, a gallant host in beautiful surroundings who would essay to entertain them charmingly? Or something darker, stranger? Whatever the outcome, Fiona felt her curiosity would sustain her. She felt strong and brave tonight and touched the gold coin as a talisman against anything alarming. However, she didn't think the judge would have invited her mother also if he'd had any evil plans. The very idea seemed laughable. When they entered the kitchen, Mercy and Grace eyed them both in astonishment. "Where did you get such finery?" Mercy exclaimed. " 'Tis scarcely the cloth of impoverishment such as you have claimed." "Perhaps 'twas payment for services," Grace purred. Biting back an angry retort, Fiona trilled instead, "Do you believe we have a secret horde?"

Mrs. Prescott sent her a reproving glance, then went on to explain. "My husband brought us this silk from one of his trading expeditions. 'Twas not poverty stricken we were in those days, but with his death, all income ceased and our savings did not last long" She was interrupted by a knocking at the door and the dwarf entered, bowing and grinning. He presented Mercy with a big basket filled with beautiful exotic fruits: oranges, pineapple, bananas, even grapes out of season. "Compliments of my master to the lovely lady of the house and her fine daughter." Grace and Mercy simpered and exclaimed over the basket, stopping to watch in awe when Fiona and her mother said goodnight and swept out the door to the waiting carriage. A liveried servant in black and silver held the horses in check, and after ushering the guests inside the coach, the dwarf climbed to a place on the rear box. Fiona and her mother stared in awe at the interior of the carriage, fitted like an exquisite little room with padded ruby velvet seats, silken drapes, golden cushions for their feet, and vials of roses on the walls perfuming all the air. "Begorrah!" Ellen whispered. Fiona bounced from side to side, pointing out the pictures on the ceiling, the golden oiled cloth at the windows, and finally, a flacon of wine in a gilded cask beside two silver goblets. "Look, Mother, the gobletsone has my name on it, the other one says 'Ellen.' Oh, what does it mean?" "I think it means we are to take a sip o' wine." Her mother poured a little sparkling liquid into each goblet. "Try it. The aroma is certainly divine." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Ah, the fragrance takes me back to a summer day with David beside the sea warm sun, azure sky, the roses David brought me we ate our lunch, drank some golden wine like this, and then lay down upon the sand." Smiling, she gazed dreamily into space. Cautiously, Fiona took a sip. The brew was sweet, yet spicy, sparkling, yet soft upon the tongue. It did smell of flowers and also of the sea, and Fiona recalled the day on the beach when Nicholas Blaize had kissed her. It was probably a momentary flirtation by a weary older man that had foolishly upset her. She sipped her wine and felt a happy glow engulf her. She could hardly wait to see the judge's house, and when the carriage stopped, she and her mother gazed eagerly around as soon as they alighted. The house was on the bluffs above the beach, three imposing stories of red brick covered with a creeping ivy vine. Flowering bushes swayed in the breeze, as did rioting beds of springtime bulbs: tulips, narcissus, hyacinths, and violets. A pebbled path led to flight of smooth stone steps. Light streamed from ground-level windows whose scarlet satin draperies could be seen caught back with thick gold cords.

The door swung wide and Judge Blaize, all in midnight velvet, advanced to meet them, hands outstretched, his face alight with pleasure. "Ladies, welcome to my home. How lovely you both look. Come in by the fire, the night grows cold. I must send a fur wrap with you when the hour for departure comes." When they entered the lamplit hall, a figure stepped out of an arched doorway and Fiona caught her breath. "Giles! What are you doing here?" He stared, seeming equally surprised as he looked from Fiona to her mother. "Dr. Harmon came to tend one of my servants," the judge said smoothly. "A cook who was scouting for truffles in the woods unfortunately became caught in a wolf trap." "Ach, how terrible," Ellen Prescott exclaimed. "How is the poor wee man?" "He sustained no lasting injury." The judge waved his hand indifferently. "Even now, he is cooking in the kitchen, unfortunately without the truffles." Giles's brows drew together. "He should be resting." The judge purred silkily, "My decision, I believe." Giles opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He picked up his medical bag and turned to Fiona. "May I have a word with you?" He grasped Fiona's arm and led her forcefully to the front door. There he stopped and hissed, "What are you and your mother doing here?" Fiona raised her eyebrows. "We have come to dine, though by what right you ask" "I don't trust him," Giles whispered harshly, with a quick glance down the hall behind them. "Why not? Anyway, what could happen with my mother present, pray tell?" He didn't reply directly, but his eyes swept over her, the next words seemingly wrung out of him against his will. "Fiona, II never saw you look more alluring. My God, are you trying to arouse the judge as much as you do me?" It was impossible not to be thrilled by his words. Giles was the only one she wanted to lure. If only he could take her in his arms the way he had before, thrilling her with the rapture of his kisses. But when her eyes met Giles's, he had regained his self-control, mouth set sternly, black brows meeting. His anger met a quick response and Fiona answered, "I am trying to arouse no one. Especially not you. Why aren't you with Grace? She said you were walking out tonight, presumably to become betrothed."

He gave a harsh crack of laughter. "Is that right?" "Well, isn't it?" He shrugged. "As you see, I was called away on an errand of mercy." He didn't confirm or deny. Fiona changed the subject. "That trapI suppose it was meant for the gray wolf that Sally tamed." "That wolf is far from tame, but I hate to see trapped animals. Fortunately, the cook was not seriously injured, although" He thinned his lips. "Well, I did what I could." He hesitated. "Is everything all right with you? No more hints from Grace that you are acting like a witch?" "Oh, Grace still finds many of the things I do suspicious, but I think she just wants to annoy me." "She's jealous, and with good reason." Giles's voice dropped lower and he stared into her eyes, the anguished message unmistakable, as though dragged forth against his will. Fiona searched his face, seeking answers to the puzzle. "Giles, what really happened? Why did you turn so suddenly to Grace?" "I can't tell you. Not now." His eyes moved hungrily over her once more; then, with a stiffled oath, he swung away abruptly and the door clanged shut behind him. Fiona knew that she was trembling, tears crowding in her throat. If only she and Giles could talk honestly. It almost seemed as though he still cherished feelings for her. Was there a chance that he might break away from Grace? And if he did what then? Would he marry a girl without a dowry? And for that matter, how could she allow a man she loved to make such a sacrifice? All his years of training would be for naught, his future life a constant struggle; never achieving all he wanted to do with no money for special equipment. The other alternative would be to live in seclusion as his mistress, in a life of sin and degradation, which was unthinkable. She felt sure that Giles would feel the same. He was too honorable, too strong-minded. In love, he would be passionate and exciting, but also kind, unselfish, and true. Those were traits which she admired in him and which now stood between them also his loyalty to Grace, resulting from some past understanding with her. Sighing, Fiona turned and started back along the hall, barely aware of velvet rugs and marble statutes, subdued lights in candle sconces. Her head jerked up as the judge stepped from the parlor. "Miss Fiona, we have long awaited you. Won't you join us in a mild libation before we dine?"

Quickly assuming a lightness she was far from feeling, Fiona answered, "Why, thank you, judge. I would be delighted." "Nicholas," he whispered. "I want you to use my given name." "I don't think my mother would approve of that on such short acquaintance, but I will call you Nicholas when we are alone, if you so desire." She flicked a glance upward and saw a gloating smile on his lean, dark face. Uneasiness stirred briefly in her mind, but in the next moment they had entered the sumptuous room where her mother sat on a white satin sofa heaped with gold and silver cushions. In her hand she held a goblet containing a ruby liquid which she seemed to be enjoying, not refusing the judge when he refilled it to the brim. "Pray, drink deeply, madam, it makes your eyes glow like stars, your lips grow soft like the petals of a scarlet rose. I vow it is no wonder Fiona is such a beauty, coming by it honestly. She is certainly a younger version of yourself." Fiona stared at such fulsome praise, but her mother merely smiled her thanks, completely self-assured and not in the least overawed by her surroundings. To Fiona, they looked overwhelming. Accepting a wine goblet, Fiona strolled around the room which was large, well lit, and exquisitely furnished with every kind of luxury: a roaring fire within a marble grate, walls silk-hung, with gilded sconces holding fragrant candles. Vases held a rioting of full-blown scarlet roses all around the room. Beside each satin couch and velvet chair, a white pelt had been spread. Fiona bent down to touch the fur to see if it was real and instantly the judge appeared beside her. "No, my dear, I didn't hunt and kill these beasts. I abhor doing such things for sport. They all came with the house." He raised her up, black eyes boring into hers. "Do you believe me?" "Of course," Fiona answered, then wondered if she really did. He certainly could be convincing. They were standing at the far end of the room and the judge was very close. A heat emanated from his body, a musky male aroma which was not unpleasant. "My name?" he hinted and she answered, "Nicholas," with a slight hesitation. His hooded eyes suddenly fastened on her bosom. "What is this coin you wear?" He slipped his fingers underneath it with a frown, letting his hand rest upon her flesh. Not knowing how to combat this intimacy without appearing awkward, Fiona said coolly, "Sir William Phips gave me this on shipboard. He said to call on him if ever I needed help." This might show the judge she had influential friends, but he didn't seem impressed. In fact, he sneered. "A worthless trinket, and shipboard promises are just as worthless."

He let his fingers linger on the soft swell of her breast and bent his head to breathe into her ear. "You should be wearing jewels to compliment your perfect creamy skin. Does my touch excite you? You are quivering so temptingly." "Please," Fiona whispered, moving back and covering her bosom with a shaking hand. "We had best rejoin my mother." "Of course. Forgive me. Alas, your beauty is always my undoing." He bowed and led the way across the room to the chairs beside the fireplace. "What were you and Giles discussing before he left?" Ellen Prescott asked with a prying air, quite unlike her usual tactful self. Fiona wondered if she taken too much wine. "Giles wanted to know if Grace had hinted any more that I was acting like a witch," Fiona said, glancing uneasily at the judge. "No! Does she do that?" Blaize roared. "That is intolerable. She must be reprimanded. You are her cousin as well as a guest in her mother's home." "Oh, Grace is just a silly girl." Fiona's mother laughed. "She is annoyed by the arrival of a pretty cousin, especially since Fiona and Giles grew so friendly on the ocean voyage." "You and Giles are still quite close?" the judge rapped out, his thin lips twisting downward. "No, indeed. He is now close to Grace. At least" The judge interrupted. "Does she have a claim on the young doctor?" "Grace seems to think so. They were friends when they were young." "And what does Dr. Harmon say?" The judge studied her over the rim of his silver goblet as if he wished to probe into her brain. "I haven't discussed the matter with him." Fiona hoped devoutly that the heat upon her cheeks would not betray her feelings. "Perhaps you should. Then you can put him from your mind and consider the interest of other men who would, I'm sure, be more than willing to pay you court. Don't you agree, Mistress Prescott?" "Fiona is a good girl," her mother stated. This remark puzzled Fiona. Was it a warning to the judge? However, he merely smiled.

"Of course she is. That adds to her charm. Personally, I detest a wanton wench with all my heart and soul." His reply was baffling, Fiona thought. Didn't he seem to be constantly intent on leading her astray? Her resistance, however, might indeed have been what he liked. Perhaps it made a titillating game for a bachelor past his youth. "More wine?" he suggested. "Ah, no, here is Solbaid to lead us in to supper." He waved his hand and bowed them into the hall. Like everything seen so far, the dining room was lavish in the extreme. A damask cloth covered a round table heaped with silver plates and cutlery, jewel-studded goblets, a mound of fruit, and flickering candles in the center. Each carved-back armchair was adorned with emerald cushions to match the velvet draperies at several deep casement windows. The walls had paintings of gods and goddesses, thinly clad, cavorting beside sparkling streams and flowery meadows. The serving dishes, offered by silent servants, contained so many rare and unfamiliar viands, Fiona was never certain what she ate. Various meats swam in sauces compounded of cream and wine; potatoes had been mashed and skillfully seasoned. Bowls of tender, tiny vegetables were laced with herbs. Hot breads accompanied every course, as did a number of different wines. At last came the sweet: a custard filled with cake and every kind of nut and chopped glazed fruit, whipped cream topping all. By that time, Fiona could only take a taste and her mother also waved the sweet away. She looked so pale, Fiona became alarmed. "I think my mother should lie down in the parlor. We're not used to such rich fare, nor so much wine." "Of course. I understand." The judge tinkled a bell, and at his instructions, a maidservant gently led Fiona's mother from the table. Fiona started up from her chair. "I had better go with you." "No, no! I'll be quite all right," her mother protested. "Pray don't let me disturb your supper. I'll rejoin you shortly, but I fear the wine has made me a wee bit dizzy." When they were alone, the judge touched his fingers into a bowl of rosewater and then to his lips before drying them on his napkin. Fiona followed suit, though she had never seen it done before. She dipped into the bowl a maid placed beside her plate. "If you have finished," the judge said, "would you like to view my treasure room while your mother rests a bit?" When she agreed, he led her down the hallway to a distant door. "I want you to examine everything in here while I sit and revel in your pleasure." He then unlocked the door and gently propelled her forward. "Behold my treasures," he intoned. "You see before you

beauty, luxurious and rare things from every corner of the earth, each one a dream come true. Go nowtouch and fondle them. You will never see the like again." Fiona stared around; her breath caught in her throat. She was conscious of rich colors, spinning lights, intoxicating incense, objects of such unusual beauty that she could hardly take it in. Tables, shelves, cabinets all held row on row of china statues, fans of lace and gilt, colored vases, some entwined with gold and silver ornaments. Open boxes showed flashing jewels, necklaces, bracelets, rings. On the walls, pictures glowed with a master's touch. Pegs were hung with gowns in every luscious hue and rich material, all lavishly adorned in cascading lace, ribbons, fur, or brocade. From a leather-covered armchair, the judge watched her with a smile. At last he said, "I want you to try on a gown. There is a screen over there and mirrors everywhere to throw back your enchanting reflection." "Oh, no, I don't think" "Humor me, my dear. It will only take a minute for you to change, and then I can watch you with increased enjoyment. Put on that soft green silk with the gold bead trim." Fiona touched the almost transparent cloth and it seemed to spring into her arms and cling. She couldn't pull it off. Then she didn't want to. "Please try it on, Fiona. I promise, you will be amazed at your own loveliness. Now, do as I ask." She seemed to have no will of her own. Reluctant, yet strangely eager, Fiona carried the foaming silk behind the Oriental screen. It slid over her head with no hooks or lacings, only a wide, low neck and a sash of golden tissue to tie around her waist. Instantly, it seemed to mold itself against her skin in a perfect fit. Her heart beat with excitement as she stepped back into the room and beheld herself in one of the long mirrors. It was true! She did look beautiful, with skin like thick white cream, waving curls glistening on bare shoulders, her green eyes echoing the dress's color. Her body was outlined closely and the curves of breast and hips looked much fuller and more enticing. Nicholas came up behind her and joined her at the mirror. "Perfect! You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. It only needs one more thing. Come." He turned her around and led her to a mound of jewels. Pushing aside her hair, his long, thin fingers untied the cord of her doubloon and deftly replaced it with a chain of emeralds that winked like fire upon the exposed curves of her upper breast. He picked up a heavy hand mirror and whispered in her ear, "Behold beauty in all its youthful glory."

In a dreamlike wonder, Fiona stared into the glass. Dazed and trembling, she touched the gems around her throat, smoothed the silk across her body, feeling the warm flesh underneath, almost as though unclothed. Nicholas put his hands on her waist and drew her back against him. "Do you wish to keep the necklace? It is yours for just a kiss or two, the surrender of your body next to mine" Fiona gasped and managed to say huskily as she tried in vain to move away, "I do not sell my favors!" "Don't be such a silly child. If I wanted, I could kiss you any time I wished and even do much more than that, but I am asking you politely. Think what you could do with that string of emeralds if you sold it. You could buy a house, support your mother, live in comfort far from this mad, sad town. You would never have to watch Grace making up to Giles again." Giles! How this scene would horrify him. "No, no," Fiona shrilled, and struggled to undo the emerald clasp. When she succeeded, the jewels dropped to the floor. "Very well, so be it," the judge snarled. His face twisted with rage and lust, becoming old and ugly. Before she could escape, his scarlet mouth bore down on hers with a searing pain, his vile breath mingling in her mouth. Hard as heated iron, his arms and legs bound her to his heaving frame. Eyes wide with terror, Fiona now saw a red haze fill the room, and all at once, the objects seemed transformed. Faces in the pictures snarled or drooled insanely, the jewels grew dull, mere imitations made of paste, the garments dissolved to dusty rags. The judge became an aging lecher, cruel and insatiable, who had to feed his appetites by bestowing useless gifts, only momentarily transformed by an enchanter's power. Exerting every ounce of strength to free herself, Fiona's scrabbling hand connected with the hand mirror, now streaked and tarnished. But the edge was heavily carved and she brought it down upon her assailant's head with all the force at her command. He staggered backward with a demented howl and dropped full-length upon the floor.

Chapter 16

Fiona's breath wheezed in and out, her hands hot and slippery as she struggled from the green silk and flung on her clothes behind the screen. Back in the so-called treasure room, she spared only a quick glance for the man still sprawled on the rug. He breathed heavily but did not move. Having no desire to linger, she didn't look around again to see if the ornaments seemed real or fake. What did they matter? She fled into the parlor and found it empty. "Mother!" Fiona shrilled. "Where are you?" There was no answer. Racing into the hall, she met Solbaid, the dwarf. "Where is my mother?" she demanded loudly. He bowed with slow, maddening politeness. "The master had me drive her home, young miss. She was not feeling well." "Your master isn't feeling well, either," Fiona choked, torn between anger and alarm. "I am going now, but I shall walk." She turned and ran out the front door. The dwarf called something after her about her shawl, but she didn't stop. She fled down the road which made a pathway to the woods and there the concealing darkness enveloped her. She plunged into its midst, her only thought to put as much distance as possible between her and the judge's mansion. Now she could see no more houses, no road, but pushing aside limbs and leaves, she struggled on as fast as she could go. Clouds flickered constantly across the moon and gave just enough light to keep her from crashing into trunks or tripping over rocks. Then to her horror, she heard him. "Fee-o-na, wait! Come back to me!" She clapped her shaking hands across her mouth, almost faint with fear and loathing, wanting to shout at him and tell him of her hatred and disgust. She did nothing of the kind, however, except push on, not even knowing if she was going away from him or straight into his path. She had no idea how to reach Aunt Mercy's house. She only knew she must evade her pursuer. While she had the advantage of youth and strength, he knew the woods better than she did and even now he might be cutting off her escape. He didn't repeat his call and Fiona's terror waned a little. Had he given up? Briefly she wondered why he was so determined. There were many other pretty girls around, and from what she had overheard at the witch trial, they were not averse to accommodating his desires in return for a gem or two. But were they really precious gems? Had her eyes deceived her? When was she really underneath his spell? At the beginning, when she first saw the treasures? Or when she'd

resisted him, had he lost his power to delude her? Perhaps she had been so distraught, she'd just imagined the scene of decay that had seemed to descend on the room. She had no further time for pondering. Breathing had now become torture, and finally, she had to stop and brace her trembling body against a tree. Where was she? Where was the road to Mercy's house? Then something crunched on the dead leaves underfoot. Something howled. His voice came again: "Fiona, my poor child, where have you gone? Answer me, let me take you home." Dearest God! The fiend still searched for her, and he sounded closer. A roaring filled Fiona's ears, and in resurging fear, she pushed off, running swiftly, trying desperately not to make much noise. What would he do if he captured her? Convey her back to some locked room? Punish her with blows? Perhaps even force himself upon her virginity so that she would be ruined forever? Exerting every ounce of strength, she stumbled on, gasping for breath, until she had to cling once more to a tree while listening for his dreaded voice. No voice came this time, but she heard something else, someone on horseback approaching fast. Was it the judge? She couldn't take a chance. She must hide quickly but where? The tree she clutched was large and thickly leaved, the limbs low to the ground and towering high above. Quick as thought, she gripped a stalwart branch, heaved her body upward, and began to climb, scrabbling for footholds. A squirrel chattered angrily and leaped out of her way. She felt her gown rip on a twig. Nothing mattered except to climb as high as possible until the branches could no longer bear her weight Then she stopped and prayed fervently that she was hidden. The sound of hooves drew nearer and she shut her eyes, holding in her breath. If he saw her, could the judge climb the tree and drag her down? Oh, Lord, save me from this monster, she prayed desperately. Nothing happened. The horse must have passed along the road. After a few minutes, she made her way gingerly down the tree, hoping she could find a house or barn where she might shelter until the judge gave up his search. She tried to descend as quietly as possible, but twigs snapped in spite of her precautions. Then, about twenty feet from the ground, she missed a foothold. The branch she clutched broke in two and she fell, unable to help herself. She uttered a sharp cry of pain as her head struck the ground. Darkness deeper than the night enveloped her, and then she knew no more.

Faintly a voice came to her ears. "Fiona! Fiona, speak to me."

Who was it? Someone she should fear? A man's arms held her cradled against a leather jacket. She couldn't struggle. She couldn't see his face. "Whowho are you?" she whimpered. The man began to walk, breathing raggedly, but his stride was strong and purposeful. "Don't be afraid, Fiona, you are safe, and soon I'll fix you up." He halted in the moonlight. "Ah, thank God, your eyes are open. Do you know me, darling?" Fiona blinked, and a wave of thankfulness washed over her. "Oh, Giles, I'm so glad you found me." "Where's your mother?" "She went home." Fiona began to sob. "Oh, it was awful" He held her tighter and started walking again through the woods. "You can tell me all about it later," he said grimly. "I'm taking you to Sally's. It's close by. I'm afraid to put you on my horse until I have a look at you. But anyway, you're safe now." His voice grew rough with feeling. Fiona clasped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. Safe from what? She found she couldn't think anymore or even remember what had caused her to be in the woods. Right now, it didn't matter. Giles would keep her from any harm, but her head ached dreadfully. She gave a stifled groan. "What is it?" Giles asked anxiously. "Do you have a pain somewhere?" "Just my head." "We're nearly there, sweetheart." How nice, to be called "sweetheart." She felt she should be equally affectionate, but there was some barrier between them which she couldn't remember at the moment. "Ah, thank goodness, someone is still awake," Giles exclaimed. "Sally has a light in the kitchen." At the door, he raised his voice and called, "Sally, it's Giles. I have Fiona. She is hurt. May we come in?" The next instant, Sally peered out the door and flung it wide. "Oh, heavens, what has happened? Is she hurt badly? Come in by the fire." "I don't think she has a serious injury," Giles said. "She fell and struck her head. I'd like to examine her."

"Yes, yes." Sally flew to place a pallet and blankets by the kitchen fireplace. "Oliver is asleep in our bed, otherwise" "This is fine. Could you prepare a hot posset for her to drink? Something soothing, such as" He murmured in her ear. Sally nodded. "Right away. Do you think she is concussed?" When Giles laid Fiona on the blankets, Sally bent over her. "Do you know me, dear?" "Of course. Sally Woods. I have my wits, some of them at least." While Sally prepared the draught, Giles felt Fiona's limbs. She smiled, liking his firm, warm touch, and Giles flushed, smiling back. He pushed her blue silk skirt aside and pressed her legs and thighs as Fiona caught her breath. He felt her arms and then her heart, her soft breast resting on his hand. "It's rapid," he said thickly, and cleared his throat. "I think you'll be all right." He examined the back of her head and stared into each eye in a very professional manner. "You have a large lump behind your ear, young lady. We'll bathe it with cold water and vinegar in a minute." He held up his hand. "How many fingers do you see?" "Five." She giggled weakly. "Isn't that the usual number?" "Yes. You'll do." Giles took the mug from Sally. "Here, drink this. It will soothe and warm you. You're still chilled and trembling." The drink accomplished its purpose. Fiona was barely conscious of Sally putting a cold cloth on her head. Through the mists clouding her brain, she heard Giles and Sally arguing about who should sit up to watch her. "She doesn't have concussion, or I'd not let her sleep," Giles said, "but I don't want to move her, either." "Then don't. I'll take care of her. Why don't you go and tell Mrs. Prescott that Fiona will come back in the morning?"

Sometime in the night, Fiona started dreaming. She seemed to be standing in a strange, stone-floored room, dark and high-ceilinged. Shadowy figures crouched in the corners, wailing despondently. Some had their arms wrapped around their heads, and when they moved, Fiona heard the jangling of chains. What was this place? What was she doing here? Her straining eyes tried to pierce the mystery.

Suddenly, a hollow voice called out, "Will the condemned witches now step forward?" Screams and anguished shrieks of denial broke forth from the writhing creatures. "You, Mistress Nursecome here," the jailer called. Grace gave a hard shove and hissed in Fiona's ear, "Go on, Rebecca Nurse. Judge Blaize has condemned you." "I'm not Rebecca Nurse," Fiona shouted. "Are you mad?" Laughter filled the cold stone cell. "Mad! Mad!" Louder and louder came the cries, "Go up, Rebecca Nurse! They want you." Fiona tried desperately to run, to escape, but found she couldn't move as a strange paralysis gripped her. The shadows and the angry cries drew closer. Hands reached out to touch her, cold and clammy. Behind them, Fiona saw Judge Blaize with Solbaid sitting on his shoulder. Both of them began to point and laugh with all the rest. Fiona screamed then, over and over, until she fainted.

The next time her eyes flew open, she saw Sally and Oliver bending over her with anxious faces. "You cried out in your sleep," the big man asked. "Are you all right?" Fiona stared around at the sunny kitchen, smelled porridge bubbling, heard a cock crow in the yard. Relief swept over her and she struggled to sit up. "I was having a bad dream." "Want a bite of breakfast, lass?" Oliver grunted. "Clear up your wits, mayhap." "Yes, th-thank you." Oliver returned to his breakfast and Sally whispered in her ear. Fiona nodded, moving slowly into the adjoining bedroom. She used the facilities, washed her hands in a basin of cool water, and smoothed her tousled hair, noticing that her dress was torn. It still was hard to think, but bits and pieces moved sluggishly through her brain. She began to recall things the judge's supper then the treasure room and something had happened there that had made her run away. She would have to sort it later, when her mind was functioning better. When she returned to the kitchen, Oliver had left and a place had been set with steaming porridge containing nuts and raisins, a mug of cold fresh milk, bread, butter, and jam placed close by. "Eat up and you'll feel better." Sally took a seat across the table, sipping from a mug. "The effects of that soothing potion I gave you are wearing off, I warrant. I used a mixture of tansy and pennyroyal with a touch of laudanum. Does your head still hurt?"

"Only if I touch it by mistake. Thank you for everything, Sally. This tastes so good." Fiona's pewter spoon scraped the bowl and she started on the bread. "I must get home. My mother won't know where I am." "Yes, she will. Giles told her last night that you'd fallen and were going to stay here. He will come and take you home this morning. When you are up to it, I would be interested in knowing why you were in the woods so late at night." "My memory has returned." Fiona gave a little shiver. "I know you'll think me a silly, gullible fool. I let curiosity lead me into a very dangerous situation." "Oh, Fiona, tell me everything. Let's sit outside in the garden." "The dishes" "Later. I must hear your tale." They settled upon a garden bench beneath a cherry tree and Fiona told briefly about first meeting the judge at church, then later at the beach. "It was so strange," Fiona went on, "at the beach, the judge seemed to cast a spell on me. Can you imagine that? However, I soon came to my senses and repulsed him. I ran from him and managed to get away." "I was so confused that I wasn't sure what had actually happened on the beach. Did I misinterpret things, react too strongly? Had no harm been intended? Anyway, later on, when an invitation came for me and my mother to dine with him, she accepted." "Oh, dear," Sally murmured. "Never mind. Pray continue." "Well, at first the judge was most gracious and the house and supper were divine; but when my mother had to lie down after taking too much wine, the judge took me alone to view his treasures." Sally's voice grew hard. "Jewels, silk gowns, art objects from all over the world?" Fiona stared. "You've seen them?" Sally held up her hand. "Go on. What happened next?" "Well, he tried to take advantage of me," Fiona stated flatly. "I hit him with a mirror. He fell down and I ran back to the parlor. My mother had left, so I escaped into the woods. He followed me, but he didn't find me. I hid up in the tree until I thought it was safe. Unfortunately, I slipped and hit my head. But then Giles came along and brought me here."

"How did Giles happen to be in the woods?" "I don't know. I saw him briefly at the judge's mansion that night. He had been summoned to attend the cook, who had caught his foot in a wolf trap. Giles told me that he didn't trust Judge Blaize, so perhaps he became worried about me and was on his way back to the judge's house." "He is right not to trust Nicholas Blaize," Sally said between gritted teeth. "The man's a monster." "You sound as though you know him!" Sally turned an agonized glance upon Fiona. "Remember what I told you about my guardian? That was Nicholas Blaize." Fiona's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Sally, if only I had known" "Yes, I wish I had told you sooner. You might have been seriously harmed by him. He is a villain toward women, a lecher and seducer of the young, and cruel and merciless as a judge. If an accused girl takes his fancy, he will free her for sufficient favors in his bed." Sally put her head down in her hands and groaned. "I had no idea you were acquainted with him or I'd have warned you." "Don't blame yourself. I'm all right and I intend to stay out of his way. But Sally, please tell me the rest of your story. You recall, you never finished it. To think your guardian was Judge Blaize!" Sally flushed and looked away. "It is not a pretty tale, but I will finish it. Nicholas fixed a date to marry me when I turned fifteen, and though all was arranged, I still pleaded with him for more time. Nothing moved him from his purpose. Finally, I guess he grew afraid that I might escape, so he decided to bind me to him before the formal marriage. " Sally gripped her hands, which lay white-knuckled in her lap. "One night, he put a potion in my dinner wine, and when I retired early, he came to me in my room. I cried and sobbed, begging for mercy. He stifled my screams with one hand. Nanny pounded on the door, but he wouldn't let her in. Later, he told Nanny to tend to me." "I thought I would die! But Nanny gave me a strong herbal potion, dressed me, dug out the jewels I had, and we staggered outside, hidden in our cloaks. I could hear my defiler snoring and wished that I had the means to kill him!" "I know how you must have felt," Fiona said, deeply shaken. She clasped Sally's hands tightly until the girl stopped shuddering and was able to continue. "Nanny urged me through the grounds. We took horses from the stable and galloped for our lives. If Nicholas pursued usand I'm sure he didwe had a good head-start and got

away. The next day we reached an old sister of Nanny's who lived deep in the woods not far from Salem. She took us in." Sally's voice sank to a whisper. "Alas, it wasn't many months before I realized that I was expecting a child. It was then that I remembered Giles, a young medical student I had met in Boston. He lived in Salem. I was very ill, and he tended me with all his skill, but I lost the baby. And, oh, Fiona, I was glad, Glad!" Fiona put an arm around the trembling girl. "Of course you were. A child from that monster would remind you constantly of your ordeal. Did Giles know who was the villain?" "No, I didn't want a whisper to get back to Nicholas; however, Oliver knows." Fiona gasped. "Dear heaven, it's a wonder there wasn't murder done. Oliver strikes me as a man who protects his own." Sally nodded, smiling faintly. "It was only through my pleading that Oliver was persuaded to lie low so no attention would be drawn to us. We married and have been very happy, but I don't think I can ever bear the child we both long for." "I'm sorry. Weren't you frightened when the judge came to Salem? Does he know you're here?" "Yes to both questions. I go to Salem only to attend Divine Service. When I see the judge I am frightened, but he is equally afraid of Oliver, so he tries to harm me in a secret way. I think Nicholas planted the hints about my witchcraft along with how I tamed a wolf he is mortally afraid of Gray. Oliver told me he saw the animal chase Nicholas through the woods when he came too near my home. So you see, I have two protectors." Even two protectors were not enough, Fiona thought. The judge was putting traps into the woods for Gray. Might he not also hire an assassin to kill Oliver some dark, lonely night when he returned from work, weary and alone? After that, Blaize would be free to wreak his will on Sally for any kind of vengeance he desired. "What became of Nanny? Did you ever discover what hold she had on the judge?" "She wouldn't talk about it except to say he had been in trouble with the law in England and had emigrated to America with all speed. It had something to do with thievery in the house where she had been employed in London. Nanny came on the same ship with us and later offered to care for me in return for her silence." "She and her sister died a few years after we fled to Salem, but from the sister I learned the art of simpling. I have often wished there were some way to get a potion into Nicholas to render him completely helpless forever, along with that fiendish slave Solbaid."

"Do you really think the judge has satanic powers?" Fiona faltered. "I don't know," Sally cried fiercely. "I only know I wish he would end up burning somewhere for all eternity!" In her heart, Fiona fervently agreed.

Chapter 17

A few minutes later, Giles came riding down the road in his horse-drawn wagon. He sprang out and hurried toward Sally and Fiona, an anxious frown upon his face. "Good day, Sally. How is our patient?" He drew Fiona to her feet, giving her a keen inspection. "How do you feel?" "Fine." She smiled. "My mind is clear now. I have a slight aching in my bones from my jarring fall, I guess, but that is all. Sally took good care of me." "Of course she did. Thank you, Sally. Now, let me feel that lump, Fiona. Yes, the swelling is almost gone. I spoke to your mother last night and calmed her fears. Are you ready to go home?" Sally interrupted with a hand upon Giles's arm. "First, I think you both would like to talk in private, so I will say goodbye. Why don't you sit here in the garden for a while?" She waved away Fiona's attempt to express her gratitude and ran into the house. "This is a good idea. I am most eager to know what happened." Giles sat down on the bench and drew Fiona to a place beside him. He took her hands in his, then gazed hungrily at her lips as though he longed to kiss her. Instead, he drew a ragged breath and moved away, putting a little distance between them. Fiona felt a likewise yearning, and although she had remembered his commitment to Grace, she knew she wanted this fine-looking, honorable, passionate man to belong to her and her alone. "Don't look at me like that." Giles groaned. "You have no idea how you make me feel, do you?"

"Yes," she murmured, "because I feel the same way. Oh, Giles, are you really tied to Grace?" He dragged his eyes away and stared across the sunlit garden, saying shortly, "It's true, Fiona. You must believe that." Fiona bowed her head. "I understand. Our future paths run in separate directions, then." She rose. "Shall we go to my aunt's house now? We could talk another time" Giles put out a detaining hand. "Sit a moment longer. I haven't heard yet what happened last night at Judge Blaize's dinner party to send you fleeing through the woods." Fiona sank back down, smoothing the rumpled blue silk across her knees. How much should she tell him? If Giles knew the extent of Blaize's attempted seduction, he might try to avenge her honor by thrashing the judge or at least, bring him up before the elders of the town on a charge of attempted rape. With his vast power, the judge probably would escape any punishment, but his retribution would be swift and harsh, directed at both Giles and herself. Carefully, Fiona chose her words. "My mother became weary after dinner and was driven home while I stayed to see the judge's treasure room, not knowing she had left. The judge displayed his gems and tried to give me some of them a rope of emeralds." "What was his price?" Giles ground out. "Aa kiss," she whispered. "When I refused, he grew angry and insulting, trying to kiss me against my will. I struck him and got away, but hehe pursued me into the woods, calling, coaxing" "The cad! What was he saying?" Giles asked harshly. Fiona cleared her throat. "He merely said he wanted to take me home, but I didn't trust him, and so I hid and didn't answer. Finally, I climbed up in a tree and waited until I thought the way was clear. I fell. You found me. And that's all." "Is it? I wonder if you're telling me the whole story. Perhaps there's something you're ashamed to mention." Fiona was unable to stop the betraying rush of heat into her face, but instead of answering him, she questioned, "Why were you there in the woods last night?" Giles linked his hands between his knees and frowned at the buttercups crowding around the bench as though he saw an ugly scene instead. "I have heard some unsettling rumors about Judge Blaize. A few young girls were badly beaten and their parents muttered about a powerful lecher, a judge who had recently come to town. I guessed it might be Blaize; however, due to his influence at the witch trials, none dared speak out against

him. You can imagine how disturbed I was to find you visiting him. Later that night, I decided to go back to his house and see if you were all right and perhaps try to bring you home. However, as I rode through the woods, I heard you cry out and soon found you, unconscious, on the ground. That was a bad moment for me, my dear." Fiona darted a quick glance at him beneath her lashes. Giles must still cherish some warmth for her in spite of his strong efforts to quell it. "Why did you go to visit Judge Blaize?" Giles wanted to know. "He's not exactly the sort of friend I'd think you'd care to cultivate, is he?" Fiona shrugged, trying to make her answer casual. "I felt curious to see his house and the treasures he'd mentioned. He'd also invited my mother, and with her along, I didn't see how anything might harm me." "I'm sure he has designs on your virtue," Giles growled, and clenched his hands. "Offering you that necklace proves it. He is evidently very shrewd, and knows just who is most vulnerable. I imagine he often picks someone new in town who hasn't heard about his escapades. You were lucky to escape unharmed." "You're right," Fiona admitted in a low, shaken voice. Then she sat up taller. "I may be new in town and vulnerable, but I am not weak. I hit him hard with a mirror and he fell down." "That bad, eh?" Giles's lips twitched, then he sobered. "I think I shall have some words with him" "No, you must not." Fiona clutched his sleeve. "We can't afford to incur his wrath. He has wealth and power on his side. He'd be furious if he knew I'd complained to you, and since my mother and I have already aroused some suspicion, he might avenge himself on us all." Giles was silent for a few moments, a muscle twitching beside his jaw, then he spoke tightly. "I suppose you're right, but believe me, if he tries anything else" "He won't get a chance. I shall avoid him like the plague." "By God, the man sounds like a fiend," Giles muttered, unconsciously echoing Sally. Heavens, Fiona thought, what would Giles do if he knew how badly Sally had been treated? It was a wonder someone hadn't killed the judge by now. The world would be well rid of him, but she didn't want Giles or Oliver to become his executioner and be hanged for taking the law into his own hands. She knew how strict and harsh Puritans were to wrongdoers. Mercy had told her that willfully setting fire to a person's house was punishable by death. Beating another man

brought large fines and a long spell sitting in the stocks. Drunkards wore a "D" around their necks for a whole year. Lying incurred a cleft stick worn upon the tongue. Adulterers were often branded. Unlawful games of chance were fined as much as five pounds, half of it going to the informer. Fiona wondered suddenly if a witch's informant was also thus rewarded, since guilty persons forfeited all their estates to the local government. "You look pale, Fiona," Giles muttered, peering at her with deep concern. "Do you feel weak, dizzy? Is there any pain?" She managed to smile. "No, doctor. I am quite all right. Shall we go now? My mother may be worried." "Yes, let us go, though I am sure that I allayed her fears about you." They bade goodbye to Sally and drove off. Fiona's thoughts fixed sadly on the man beside her. What a fine, conscientious doctor he was. No doubt he would go far with the help of Grace's dowry. She began to question him about his practice, wondering aloud if he yearned for a larger place, perhaps a partnership in Boston. "No, I like to work alone. I know many men who call themselves doctors but have no degrees at all, and they favor many methods now scoffed at in British hospitals. I don't believe in purges or leeching, as both only further weaken a sick body that needs all its strength to fight disease. Yet these things have been faithfully practiced for centuries and still are used. Some so-called doctors also swear by animal and insect parts for curing. They place dung, hair, blood, sweat, and so forth on sores, which only causes more irritation. I believe in many natural remedies: honey, milk, yeast, eggs, and certain plants and herbs all have most mysterious yet effective results in promoting health." "Do your new ideas annoy any of your patients? There seems to be so much narrowmindedness and superstition, things I certainly didn't expect to encounter in this New World. Everybody came here to be free, yet they really aren't." "Ironic, isn't it?" Giles grunted. "Well, in answer to your question, there has been some grumbling about my new methods, but since I'm the only doctor here, they either have to abide by my decisions or stay sick. I've been very busy, incidentally. There has been a lot of illness in Salem." "That's one thing that probably encourages the belief that Satan has invaded Salem. Do you think Judge Blaize could have dark powers?" "You're wondering if Blaize is Satan in disguise? I doubt it. He'd be doing a lot more injury if he were. You got away from him, didn't you?"

"Yes, but sometimes when I'm around him, things seem to changehis appearance the objects in the room he showed me his manner became kindly, warm, beguiling" "And he doesn't seem so bad?" "My father told us once about a man who could influence other people's minds, and I wonder" "You mean wizards," Giles said. "Some people can be influenced in their minds by a master will. Not everyone succumbs, of course." "So this power can be resisted?" "I've heard it's possible. If you think about a thing or person you love, feel hatred for the magician, and avoid looking into his eyesall these things can break the spell." Fiona thought with shame how close she might have come to being seduced by Judge Blaize, tempted by his flattery, jewels, and a skillful play upon her senses. She had let him kiss her, lure her to his home, tempt her with a gift of emeralds. How she would have despised herself if she had succumbed. She thought how he had betrayed and injured Sally so that she could bear no more children. There were no words harsh enough to describe him, and a blinding rage swept through her. How many other young girls had he also harmed? She might have been one of them herself. Was it possible that she still might be in danger from him? Suddenly Giles's voice broke into her thoughts. "Are you going to tell your mother how the judge acted when you were alone?" "Y-yes." But not quite everything, Fiona amended in her mind. "I told Sally, and she was very upset." Giles burst out, "By God, some way, somehow, I must figure out a way to stop this demonic beast who is masquerading as a man." "What are you considering, Giles?" Fiona cried in alarm. "You know he's dangerous, rich, and powerful. Everyone is afraid of him. He can do anything he wants." "There are elders in the town who still will not tolerate illicit fornication." Giles's tone grew icy hard. "If only he could be trapped" That made Fiona think of Gray and the trap placed in the woods. "Perhaps we could capture that wolf who hates him and let the animal attack him in his house. No, I guess that would be impossible, wouldn't it?"

Giles gave a grunt. "Too tricky. The wolf probably would get shot first thing. You've seen all those skins he has upon the floor? He brags about his marksmanship." Another blatant lie from Blaize when he had said he hadn't killed the animals whose skins adorned his floor. Fiona shivered. "I guess the best idea is to avoid the judge completely. At any rate, my mother and I may soon return to Boston." Giles jerked back on the reins and stared at her. "When are you going? What brought on this decision?" "Many things," Fiona answered, not looking at him. "There's no work to be found in Salem, and Mercy has no money to support us. Grace makes our life miserable with her snide remarks. We are increasingly frightened about the cries of 'witch' on every hand. And" The final words were wrenched out of her aching heart, "And you and Grace will soon be wed." Giles turned to face her and asked in an odd tone, "Would you care if I married Grace?" "Yes," Fiona cried defiantly. He gave a sudden groan and pulled her swiftly into his arms, finding her unresisting lips with his. He plundered them savagely, choking out her name, muttering endearments that left Fiona sobbing, shuddering with a more urgent need than she had ever felt before. There was nothing in the world except their straining bodies, the frantic kisses, the seeking hands upon her flesh Giles heard the hoofbeats first and drew apart. "Someone's coming," he said thickly. Dripping hot and shaking in every limb, Fiona tugged up the neckline of her gown, dropping her head in sudden shame when she recalled that Giles had never denied his tie to Grace. What was this madness that possessed her when Giles touched her so that she gloried in everything he did to her? It was such exquisite pleasure as she never dreamed existed, so different from the terrifying encounters with Judge Blaize. She raised her eyes to Giles, wondering if it was apparent how love for him radiated through all her being. The rider thundered past, but Giles only stared straight ahead and said dully, "Forgive me, Fiona. I am not free to love you." "I know," she whispered dispairingly. "We must not act like that again." "I don't understand. We love each other." Fiona caught back a sob. "How can you think of wedding Grace?"

With a stony face, Giles swept back his tousled hair, flicked the reins, and inhaled deeply. "You're right. You don't understand. Lovemaking isn't always love. Sometimes it's only lust." Fiona's hand flew to her face. She felt as though he had slapped her. "Was that all you felt just now?" He didn't answer. They had reached Aunt Mercy's house and he jumped down to help her. She evaded his outstretched hand. "Good day, Giles Harmon. From now on, keep your distance from me if you have the slightest compassion, in your unbridled 'lust,' for an innocent virgin maid." Head held high, Fiona hurried up the garden path and heard Giles drive away without another word.

Chapter 18

When Fiona entered the kitchen, she found only her mother present, which was a great relief. She had no desire to confide her recent unpleasant experience to the avid ears of Grace and Mercy. Her mother put down her spinning reel and rose quickly. "Ach, dear God, are you all right? Giles would not say muchwhisht! Your gownwhat happened? 'Tis all torn and dirty" "I'll tell you in a minute, but I would like to change my dress before we talk, if you don't mind." "Of course. I'm wondering if it can be mended? Such a pity" "Don't bother about it," Fiona said, heading for the hall. "I never want to see this dress again." Upstairs in the attic, she washed and changed into a pale green linen and a fresh long apron. All of a sudden, to her dismay, she noticed that the doubloon was missing. Then she remembered: the judge had untied it when he'd put the emerald chain around her neck. Dear heaven, how could she ever get it back? Was it lost to her forever? She might march up to Judge Blaize's door and demand its return, but it would not be easy. If he

allowed her in, he might insist that she explain her recent conduct in his treasure room. Or even say that the doubloon wasn't there and she must have lost it in the woods. Could that be possible? No. She distinctly remembered him removing it. After that, things happened fast and she had forgotten to retrieve it in her rush for safety. Somehow, she must find a way to get it back! Fiona sighed and rubbed her head, longing desperately for ease of mind, and perhaps a nap. However, that must be delayed until she had told her mother as much as was feasible about the recent events. There were mysteries involved, and if they could not be explained, at least some of them could be discussed though not with gossipy Grace or Mercy present. How fortunate that they were out of the house. Mrs. Prescott set two steaming mugs on the kitchen table as soon as Fiona returned. "Chamomile tea," she explained, "to soothe our nerves." "How are you feeling?" Fiona asked. "I was so concerned when the dwarf told me you had not been well and had to be taken home." "Faith, I ate too much, I'm thinking, and then had all that wine, which made me feel as though I had nary a care in the world." "Do you think the wine was drugged?" "Perhaps, but only in a wee harmless manner. I didn't wish to spoil your visit, so when I became so sleepy, I had Solbaid drive me home. Giles came a great deal later. Grace and Mercy were asleep, but I was waiting up for you and agreed with Giles that you should stay at Sally's overnight. Now, begin at the beginning, Fiona dear, and tell me all that happened." "What did Giles tell you?" "Only that you had struck your head and had to rest at Sally's. He said 'twas nothing serious." However, the look she bent on Fiona still held nervousness. "He was right, I'm fine," Fiona told her quickly. "Now I'll explain what led up to it. First, after you left the table, the judge showed me his treasure room." "Oh, my, what was in it?" "Marvelous things from all over the world. Strands of jewels, rings, brooches, pearls, gowns of silk and satin, pictures by master artists, and every kind of art object you can imagine, from little figurines to feathered fans, inlaid boxes, gold and silver vases the judgeheah offered me an emerald necklace." "In exchange for what?" Her mother's voice sounded horrified.

Fiona related her tale. "Whisht! Now that I think about it, Grace and Mercy also said he might not be as honorable as he seemed, but I put their remarks down to jealousy, since they had not been invited to his home. Sure, and I told myself, wasn't he hired to judge the truth?" "I believed that, too," Fiona said bitterly, and rubbed her head. "Ach, child, is it an ache you have? Giles said you hit your poor wee head." "It's tender only when I touch it. Giles feared I might have a concussion when he carried me to Sally's, but she took good care of me, and today I feel all right." "A dear girl, she is, and how fortunate her house was near! Why was Giles in the woods so late at night? Had someone become ill?" "Giles told me he was on his way back to Judge Blaize's house to bring me home. He had recently heard rumors about the judge's reputation." "It could have been much worse for you. Such innocents we were!" "Yes, indeed." Fiona laughed ruefully. "My virtue is still intact due to my good aim with that mirror." "You must not be flippant about such a grave matter." "I know. I seem to have a wit that tries to cover up my most worried moments." "Your father was the same. Faith, if only he were here. Sometimes I feel so helpless and yearn for the protection he used to be giving us." "Yes, Mother, but now we have to depend upon ourselves. I wonder if Blaize can be a wizard?" Her mother rose and filled their mugs with a fresh supply of tea from a vessel warming on the hob. "I doubt Judge Blaize has any supernatural powers. 'Tis very rare, I'm thinking." She sank down on the table bench and added thoughtfully, "However, there are many unexplained things in the world. Your Irish grandmother, on my side of the family, that is, had The Sight, you know." "She did?" Fiona exclaimed. "I never knew that. She died when I was small, and I recall her only very dimly. Do you mean she could predict the future?" "Not exactly. She did it only rarely, and then almost as if coming out of a dream. She would say something like: 'I had a vision last night. I'm thinking we should clean up the guest room.' Sure and next day there would be an unexpected visitor. But if you

questioned her about the future, she would say she did not know, as though she had no power over her predictions. Perhaps if I'd had a 'second sight' I could have persuaded David to stay out of that stormy sea the night he died." Fiona pressed her mother's hand, but she wondered if God's will decreed that some things were meant to be. "Mother, since we came here, I've had visions about Rebecca Nurse, sometimes when I'm awake, and some-times when I've been asleep." She drew a shaken breath. "I fear it means she is doomed." "Oh, daughter, I pray that you are wrong. Faith, how odd that you had this experience. Why didn't you mention it before?" "I don't know it made me uneasy, I guess. Do you think it's possible that I've inherited The Sight from Grandmother?" "Fiona, lass, you've had these visions only since coming to this troubled town, is that not so? It may well be that this fear and turmoil is affecting you. And that's why you thought the judge possessed some powers to control your mind, I'm thinking." Fiona didn't answer, certain that she hadn't imagined Blaize's strange behavior and changing images. And then the treasure room could there not have been a spell at work when she was there, as there had been upon the beach? And both times there had been wine "Is Giles knowing aught of this?" her mother asked. "He is such a sensible young man" "I didn't tell him about my visions. I feared he might think there was something odd about me. It was embarrassing enough to tell him how Judge Blaise acted. That made him very angry, and he wanted to avenge my honor." Fiona smiled slightly. "I persuaded him that he might do more harm than good." "I fear 'tis true. The judge could probably be an awful enemy. They say he wields a lot of power at the witch trials." Fiona shivered. "And the finger of suspicion has already pointed at us both. We must be very careful and avoid undue attention." Her mother glanced out the window at a sudden sound of voices. "Here come Grace and Mercy. I'm thinking the less they know about your encounter with Judge Blaize, the better." "I agree," Fiona whispered. "Are they aware I wasn't here last night?" "No, fortunately they were both asleep when I got home."

The next moment, Grace barged into the kitchen, flinging off her hat and shawl with her usual disregard for where they landed. "Exciting news! Rebecca Nurse was charged todaythe jury found her guilty." Grace's black eyes snapped. "Didn't I tell you that would happen?" Fiona and her mother both stared in horror, and then Fiona cried, "It isn't true! She's not a witchI'd swear she's not!" "You're wrong. She is." Mercy pressed her lips together. "I always thought it strange, the way she scoffed at those afflicted girls. It showed she was actually afraid of them." "Anyone would be afraid when the magistrates gave them so much authority," Fiona exclaimed. "They are really only children puffed up by a feeling of importance. How can they know who is guilty? They go by dreams, signs, guesses. Why, they could be lying about anyone they dislike." "Butbut" Mercy sputtered. "The whole courtroom can see the marks made by witches upon the children's bodies: pin holes, black-and-blue bruises, blood pouring from bites" "And perhaps all self-inflicted," Fiona snapped. Mercy gave a small scream. "Niece, mind your words! You'll have the magistrates taking you in for a court trial." "What do you know, anyway?" Grace hissed. "How can a stupid peasant think she knows more than a Boston jury brought here by the distinguished Judge Blaize?" At that, Mercy looked uneasy. "Grace, you go too far these are your kin, and hardly peasants. Fiona's father was an English ship's officer, and Ellen knows the art of simpling. Matthew told me she was well thought of in the village, even though I personally don't care for strange draughts from unknown herbs." Grace seemed struck by mention of the simpling, and her expression underwent a drastic change. "Oh, forgive me. My tongue wagged foolishly. I didn't mean it, Aunt Ellen. I know you must be very skilled. Remember, you promised to cure my blemishes, isn't that right?" "Why should she do any favors for you?" Fiona snarled. Her mother directed a speaking glance toward Fiona which caused her to subside, although inwardly she was still seething. "Sure and I remember my promise, Grace, and since we are beholden to you and Mercy, 'tis glad I am to do you a favor in return."

"Will you do it right away, Aunt Ellen?" Grace prodded in a wheedling tone. "I want to be ready for you-know-what." Her eyes slid triumphantly to make certain Fiona caught her meaning. "Very well. I must go upstairs and see if I have all the proper ingredients." Grace followed, babbling excitedly. Even a clear skin would not change Grace, Fiona thought sourly, sickened that Giles had chosen to be joined to such a girl in the close intimacy of wedlock. Grace was badtempered, unsympathetic, selfish, bigoted, and jealous among other equally unpleasant traits. Aunt Mercy seemed uneasy about the coming simpling and stared up the stairs, chewing on her lip, but in a moment, she turned to Fiona with another matter on her mind. "There's naught in the stewpot, Niece. What do you intend to cook for supper?" Lately, the daily preparation of meals had fallen on Fiona's shoulders, since Mercy and Grace attended the witch trials more than ever. Fiona didn't mind, since she had often cooked at home in Ireland. Mercy and Grace still made the pies, cakes, and breads, because those were the things they gobbled up in large amounts and didn't trust Fiona to cook properly. "I don't know what to make tonight." Fiona sighed. "I'm not a bit hungry." "I'm not surprised, after that splendid dinner you must have had last night." Aunt Mercy questioned avidly, "What did you eat?" Fiona forced herself to recall the viands and told her aunt about roast fowls, poached chilled fish, stuffed lamb pickled vegetables, sauces, fancy breads, a rich dessert, wines she felt ill just to think of it all. She gave her aunt an account as best she could and was rewarded with a frown. "No wonder you're not hungry, missy. However, just remember, there are other people in this house who want to eat. I would like you to prepare a chicken with garden vegetables and dumplings. Grace killed a young hen and put it in the spring house to keep cold." "All right, Aunt, I'll fix that." Wearily, Fiona went outside, thinking uneasily that Aunt Mercy was getting more unpleasant to them every day. Were the hints of witchcraft making her upset? Or was her money getting short? Eager to escape from the troubled house, Fiona headed for the small stone spring house where perishable items were kept cool beside a tiny brook running down the center. She found an empty flour sack and spread it down upon the bank outside the door. After the chicken had been plucked, its downy feathers would be saved for pillows or a comforter.

For a long while she worked and watched the birds making forays in the shallow brook. Daffodils nodded frilly yellow heads as if to say, "Do not dispair. There is good and beauty in this new land. You will find it yet." Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps and the gate swung open. Giles stood there holding his black leather doctor's bag. He set it down and came toward her as Fiona rose to meet him. Remembering how they had parted, she didn't know what to expect. She only knew she loved him. "Fiona," he said deeply, "I acted like a cad a while ago, and I spoke thoughtlessly out of my anger and frustration. I cannot bear for there to be a breach between us, yet all I can say is that I am beholden to Grace and wish it could be otherwise. Would it be possible for you to let me be your friend again? So that at least I might protect you in an emergency?" With the grave, imploring eyes upon her face, Fiona felt her resistance melting. How could she stay angry with Giles when she loved him so? Besides, hadn't she encouraged his lovemaking, giving herself with equal ardor to his hands and lips? And had he ever said it was merely lust he felt? "I was not entirely blameless," she told him in a low tone. "Yes, let us be friends again. There is enough of anger and ill-will in this wretched place." Giles breathed deeply. "Thank you, Fiona. I am greatly worried about things here and how they touch you and your mother. Now, we have an added danger in Judge Blaize. I fear your loveliness has turned his head. I think he won't rest until he has had his way with you. The knowledge of your innocence is acting like an aphrodisiac on him." Fiona paled. She had never heard that term before, but she could imagine what Giles meant. "What can I do?" she whispered desperately. "Leave town, as you mentioned earlier. Slip away at night, you and your mother, and do not tell another soul. If I know when you are going, I could drive you to Boston, or near enough so that you can travel safely to your cousin's." "Oh, Giles, would you do that? I am so afraid here now. Not only of the judge, but also because of the terrible cries of 'witch' on every hand. Did you know that Rebecca Nurse was condemned?" "Yes," he growled, his lips tight against his teeth. "The family is in agony. That judgment will be a blot on the history of this town forevermore, as will this whole witch hunt. I, too, wish I could leave Salem." Fiona put a hand upon his arm. "Isn't there any possibility that you could?" He shook his head regretfully. "I couldn't desert my family." Nor Grace?

Giles plucked her fingers from his arm and squeezed them. "Even though it would be for the best if you left, I would miss you" "Giles! I want to speak to you," Grace called, stumbling across the garden. "Wonderful news! Aunt Ellen is going to clear up my face with a lotion so I will be pretty for the Big Event." Fiona sought to read Giles's expression as he turned away, saying loudly over his shoulder for Grace's benefit, "I just wanted to check on you. I'm glad that you are all right, Fiona." "Why shouldn't she be all right?" Grace asked suspiciously. "She hardly works at all and still eats monstrous hearty." "She had a headache," Giles said to Grace, who made some sneering remark as they walked away about people seeking attention. Then she started prattling happily about her face and Fiona decided that now all Grace had on her mind was the imminent prospect of becoming pretty and marrying Giles. Suddenly, a most unusual feeling swept Fiona and she actually pitied Grace. Giles would never love her, even if they wed and had a family. He would be a kind husband, nothing more, and Grace would never understand him. Gradually, she would grow bitter, complaining constantly about neglect, realizing that he didn't love her. It would be a tragedy for everyone.

Chapter 19

It wasn't long before Grace returned alone to the brook and, arms akimbo, confronted Fiona. "All right, missy, tell me all about it right now, and don't leave out a thing." "Whatwhat do you mean?" Fiona stuttered, trying to collect her thoughts, which veered from Giles to Judge Blaize to her decision to leave town. "I want to hear about your dinner last night with Judge Blaize, that's what." Grace plopped down heavily in front of Fiona and pointed disdainfully at the chicken. "You are so slow. Let me show you how to do that."

"All right, Grace. I imagine you're very fast at chicken plucking." The bird rapidly changed hands and Fiona began a long description of the judge's house, its contents, the dinner, and then the treasure room. Grace stared into space with parted lips, not aware that she was doing all the rest of the plucking while Fiona rattled on, relieved to have the chilly chicken in other hands. "And the judgehow did he act?" Grace wanted to know. "I've heard he likes girls overmuch. Were you ever alone with him?" "Just for a little while. He was a most gracious host." "No hints that he'd give you a pretty in exchange for a kiss?" Grace ran her tongue across her lips. Fiona had to swallow hard. Grace had come very close to the truth. "He was a perfect gentleman." Grace eyed her narrowly. "Well, I've heard some stories about Judge Blaize which would shock your prissy ears. Girls charged with witchcraft were sometimes taken to his home. They emerged with tales to tell, true or not. Although some of them seemed too scared to speak. Take Nance Malloy, who lives down the road from here. She spent several hours in his home, and though I know her well, she never would tell me what happened. Laws, I sure do wonder about that night." "Where does Nance live? Maybe I have seen her," Fiona said, an idea forming in her mind. "Two houses past the turnoff in the woods. I owe her a cone of sugar for some strawberry preserves I made last week. Guess I had better repay her, in case I have to borrow something again," she sighed. Fiona drew in a deep breath. Here might be a chance to see if anyone else had experienced strange phenomena around the judge. Could she find a way to make Nance talk to her? She stood up, shaking out her apron, trying to sound casual. "Since you helped me with my chore, I could take the sugar to your neighbor. You really are cleaning that chicken much better than I did." Grace tossed her head and plucked faster than ever. "Go, then. The sugar's in the pantry, wrapped in blue paper, which I want back so's I can soak the color out for dye. Can you get that right?" She swept Fiona with a scornful eye. "I really don't know why the judge invited you to his home. You're not nearly as pretty as Nance Malloy."

"I guess it was because I'm new in town and came from so far away. He was just curious." Grace nodded, satisfied. "Sounds right. When I get my skin cleared up, he'll probably invite me, too." "All the young men will eye you, Grace. Do you really want to tie yourself down to marriage yet? You could be having fun with lots of other men." Grace gave a loud, coarse laugh. "You think Giles won't be fun? Wait until he sees me on our wedding night!" Fiona turned away, unable to listen. "I had better hurry so I can get back and cook that chicken." She ran into the house and braced her hands upon the sink. Wedding night! How could she live through that time if Giles and Grace were really joined together? If only I could be that wife, Fiona thought. If Giles and Grace were wed, it was bound to be disaster. They were opposites in every way, one sensitive and kind, the other crude and ruthless. One handsome and attractive, the other plain to the point of homeliness. When they made love, Giles would do his duty, while Grace would push greedily for more. Fiona groaned. Oh, what was the use of tormenting herself? Acceptance was her only recourse. Life must go on. Perhaps if she left town, it would be easier. However, right now, she had an errand to perform which might possibly supply some answers to the puzzle of Judge Blaize. At least, it should be a diverting experience to meet another girl who had been close to His Honor. His Dishonor was more like it. In a few minutes, Fiona was on her way, wide-brimmed hat on her head, basket on her arm. The house she sought was easily found, a shabby clapboard with chickens and a pig rooting in the bare earth before a stone stoop and sagging door. Fiona rapped smartly and put on a smarmy grin when a young woman answered the door. "Nance Malloy? Grace asked me to bring you this sugar cone with many thanks for the loan. I'm her cousin, Fiona Prescott. Grace would like the paper back, if you would be so kind." The black haired woman stared. She had a voluptuous figure and a drooling baby riding on one hip. There was a coarse prettiness in her face, but a dowdy carelessness about her slipping blouse and skirt of soiled and faded satin. Her pale blue eyes swept Fiona up and down. "I heard you was in Salem. Care to join me in a mug o' mead?"

"Why, yes, thank you. I am rather warm and thirsty." Fiona stepped nimbly into the cluttered, messy kitchen and sat down on a chair Nance indicated by shoving off a pile of dirty clothes. Nance endeavored to put her baby in its cradle, but it howled so loudly, she took it up and put it to her breast. "Shut up," she snarled, "and git on with your feedin'." "My, what a sweet child," Fiona cooed. "That's as may be." Nance's mouth turned down. "My man hightailed it outa town last month. Says he's never comin' back, neither." Fiona stared at her. Nance, coarse and shiftless, seemed like an odd choice for Grace to befriend, but then she was the closest neighbor, and as with all Grace's actions, this probably was based on selfishness so she could borrow and impose. However, Fiona, too, needed something from the woman. "How awful! Why would he leave such an adorable child and a lovely young wife?" Nance preened and brushed back the wild mane of hair tumbling over her plump shoulders. "He didn't like my visitin' Judge Blaize, that's why. Say, I got my hands full here. Would you pour out our drinks?" Fiona did as asked and handed a mug to Nance. What luck, she thought. She didn't even have to introduce the judge's name into the conversation. The opening had been provided. She took a taste of the mead, which wasn't bad, and then asked casually, "Why was your husband upset about your visiting the judge?" Nance looked uneasy. "Well, Blaize don't have the best reputation in the world. But Lord, when he sends an invite, you'd better go." Fiona took another sip. "I have visited Judge Blaize's home myself." Nance stared, surprise and wariness in her face. "Do tell! How many times you been there?" "Oh, just once. He invited me to dinner and then he showed me his treasure room." "You saw that?" Nance exclaimed, her jaw sagging. "He musta liked you. What aller did he do?" "He sat and watched me look around at all his things, then he offered me a jewel" "What!"

"He offered me an emerald chain if I would kiss him." Nance guffawed. "You only had to kiss him? God, you got off easy." Fiona smiled. "What did he ask from you? You have a lot more exciting charms that I have." "Oh, well, men do say so." She gave a toss to her tangled locks of hair. Fiona wasn't interested in other men. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I thought Judge Blaize seemed awfully strange at times. Didn't you think so?" Nance didn't answer right away. She laid the drowsy, sated child back in its cradle, fastened up her dress, and sat down slowly. "What do you mean? Strange in what way?" Fiona leaned across the table, lowering her voice. "He seemed to know the art of wizardry. Sometimes he could look young and handsome and would be charming and pleasant. Then, if I did something he didn't like, he would become old again, cold and ruthless, even cruel. Was he like that with you?" Nance's bulging eyes blinked several times, then she whispered, "Aye. I saw him that way, too." "Scary, wasn't it? Tell me about your visit," Fiona wheedled, "then I'll do the same." "You will? All right. First, he was handsome and young and nice, then entirely different from the stern judge at the witch trials. Well, after I had a fine meal, he gave me a yellow stone on a gold chain. It looked like a diamond, mebbee. I was so thrilled I could hardly speak, and after some wine, I let him do anything he wantedknow what I mean?" Fiona had no wish for details, so she merely nodded, looking wise. "Then after awhile, he began to change. He got mean and wild, and when I fought him off 'cause he was hurtin' me real bad, suddenly he looked old and ugly, his true self. I managed to get away, but all I had on was my shawl, so when I got home, my husband, Willy, knew what I been doin' and got riled up. He took all the money we had and left. Said he never wanted to lay eyes on me again. Next day, I tried to sell the jewels, and know what?" "They were fakes." "Yes." Nance groaned and shut her eyes. "I hate all men. Sure, they come here, and I let 'em stay. How else can I live?" Fiona's thoughts churned wildly. So it was true. The judge knew some form of enchantment. It hadn't been her imagination, after all. Here was grave danger. How could

any normal person fight him? Giles was right. The only way was for her to leave Salemat once. Shaking inwardly, Fiona removed the paper from the sugar cone. "Grace wanted to make dye from this wrapping. Now I really must go, Nance. So nice to meet you" "Hey, wait, ya promised to tell me what happened with you and the judge." "I'll return soon, but Grace told me to hurry back or she'll be angry. I'm supposed to cook a chicken for our supper." "Grace always was a lazy girl. Thinks she's gonna marry that young doctor. Huh!" Fiona hesitated at the door. "You think she won't?" " 'Course not. How could that pimply-faced, bad-tempered lazy girl expect to marry him? The way he looks and acts!" She rolled her eyes. "Wish he'd come knockin' at my door, wantin' a little time with me." "Yes, well, good day, Nance. Thank you for the mead. I'll come back soon." As she hurried away, against all reason, she felt hope stirring from Nance's words. Was there still a chance? Giles hadn't claimed to be betrothed yet, but Grace made enough loud claims for both of them. Fiona sighed. Why allow herself the luxury of foolish unlikely dreams? The future held a clear, grim pathway which she must tread alone. As soon as possible, she and her mother must slip away in secret. It might be dangerous to wait until they heard from Samantha. Fiona's footsteps slowed. Could there be a letter from Boston now reposing at the Town Hall, where all the mail was put to be claimed? With a quick decision, she placed her basket in Mercy's yard beside the fence and then hurried down the road to Salem Village. A young man joined her, emerging from one of the houses bordering the outskirts. "Are you going to the witch trials?" he cried eagerly. "I hear there is a goodly bunch today awaiting sentence. Everyone's in a hurry to see them, I'll be bound." His face looked fearful, yet excited. Fiona slowed her rapid pace and observed him with disgust. He looked pleasant and intelligent, but like all the rest, he evidently had witch hunt fever. When she shook her head, he continued, "Hathorne is there today and he'll make those witches grovel and beg for mercy, yes indeed! Don't you want to see that?" "How are you so certain they are witches?"

"Why, it only takes a finger to be pointed or a suspicious whisper to dig out a witch. They are all around us. Say" He halted, staring, and put a hard hand upon her arm. "I haven't seen you around before. What's your business here?" Fiona gave him a coy glance. "Why, I'm from Boston, sir, and a good friend of Nicholas Blaize. Save me a seat inside the meetinghouse, will you, dearie? I've changed my mind about attending, but first I have some business in Town Hall." His face grew bold and leering. "Oh, you know him personally, eh? I'll see you inside, sweetheart, indeed I will." Fiona ran off before he could see the loathing on her face. In the entrance to the hall, she easily found what she was looking for: a table with all the mail upon it, letters, packages, copies of the Boston News Gazette at last, to her joy, she found a letter from Cousin Samantha. Since it was addressed to her mother, she thrust it into her pocket and then considered her next move. She had no intention of attending the witch trials, but something the young man had said made her very fearful. "It only takes a finger to be pointed or a whisper." That had happened to her more than once from Grace Aunt Mercy the afflicted girls yes, it was imperative for them to get to Boston. If Samantha should not be ready for them, they could stay a few nights at some cheap inn. They had a little money and could easily find work. Before they left, however, Fiona desperately wanted to retrieve her doubloon, since it was a gift from a famous man and a momento of a voyage when she had first met Giles. This might be a good opportunity while Judge Blaize was probably at the trials. Without hesitation, she hurried from the deserted village and took the main road leading to the beach instead of going through the woods. She would have to figure out a plan of action when she reached the house. At last, the lonely mansion on the bluff came into view, big, dark, and silent. No birds twittered in the trees, no dogs barked, no people were about. Even the sea on the beach below could not be heard. Cautiously, Fiona advanced, eyes darting everywhere. Should she ring the doorbell? Or try to sneak in unobserved? The latter course seemed preferable, since she didn't think the dwarf would let her in. She tried the heavy, iron-bound door, and amazingly, it opened on oiled hinges. She slipped into the long, dark, empty hall and tiptoed its full length until she reached the treasure room. The door stood ajar, and from within came a high-pitched humming. Peering through the opening, Fiona saw Solbaid flicking a feather duster over the articles in the room while he danced and sang. Suddenly, he stopped and whispered, "The Master!" and dropped the duster.

Fiona then heard the high whinny of a horse and voices coming from the front. She flattened herself against the wall, and when the dwarf emerged, looking straight ahead, she darted into the treasure room. This was exceedingly risky, and her heartbeat thundered, but she had to take the chance. The doubloon had been taken from her neck when Blaize had offered her the emeralds. Praises be! There it was, still on the table. She stuffed it in her pocket and took a quick glance around the room. There were no windows, and only a single candle flickered so that it was impossible to see clearly. Were the ornaments now real, or fake? She couldn't tell and dared not linger for a closer survey, though it seemed to her they looked as they had when she'd first seen them, marvelous and rich. But she had stayed too long. Footsteps were coming down the hall and then she heard a girl's high, nervous giggle. What to do? Where to go? Dear heaven, they were coming to the treasure room! There was naught to do but face them. Nicholas Blaize, his arm around a young blond woman, saw Fiona immediately. He advanced slowly, his well-schooled features showing no surprise. "Good day, Fiona, I thought you would return to view my treasures. Meet my new friend, Rosie Dawson. She will be staying for several days. I recently rescued her from a horrible jail sentence and now I must help her to recover. I left the meetinghouse in other hands." His black eyes swept over the woman, who responded with a trembling smile. "Imagine, Fiona, they were going to hang this sweet young thing for dancing in the moonlight with young men. Unclothed, alas." "Itit was only with my betrothed, Your Honor, and we were not unclothed," Rosie whined, white-faced. "I believe you. It was just your neighbors who claimed you showed witchlike behavior. Put it all behind you, my dear child. I am your protector now. Go wait in the front room and we will have a glass of wine. How about a kiss to thank me, hmm?" "Oh, please, Your Honor" she stuttered, drawing back. "Later, then, my timid dove. I will change your reluctance all in good time. Now go." Rosie fled and the judge faced Fiona, who was edging toward the door in Rosie's wake. "Not so fast," he hissed. "I wish a word with you. You did not treat me well at our last meeting." He touched his head and winced. "However, I like a lass with fire in her blood. It matches mine. There is nothing like a lusty fight before the thrill of conquering. Tell me why you are here. Did you decide to take my offer of a jewel or two in return for favors?" His bold eyes swept her and he moved a little closer. "The offer still stands, Fiona." The gall of him! Fiona drew herself up angrily. "I came here to retrieve a souvenir." She held up the doubloon. "You recall that this was mine."

He shrugged. "Yes, it's worthless. However, since you are here, don't you think you owe me something for terminating our last encounter so painfully? I could arrest you for assault and have you put into the stocks so all could witness your disgrace. I could even say you stole from me after giving me access to your charms. Incidentally, I think you should do that now. Let us step into my bedchamber" "Nevernever!" Fiona screamed. A red haze swam before her gaze as she dodged sideways, and he banged awkwardly into the table. She fled into the hall while he screamed invectives and pounded at her heels. Just then, the parlor door flew open and Rosie, looking sick with terror, burst into his path so that he staggered back and struck the wall. The delay was just enough. Fiona raced out of the house.

Chapter 20

Running faster than she ever had in her life, Fiona gained the road in time to see a cart clattering toward her. A familiar figure held the reins. "Oliver!" Fiona cried. "Please waitlet me ride with you!" "Get in," he said at once, and reached down his hand to help her. Then he urged the horse to a faster gait. After several glances at Fiona's white face and trembling hands, he asked, "Are you all right, lass?" He probed no more than that. "I'm fine, Oliver." Deciding she owed him some kind of explanation, Fiona continued, "When Judge Blaize had my mother and me to dine the other night, I mislaid this keepsake, and today I went to get it back." She fished the coin from her skirt pocket and held it out. "Do you see? It's a Spanish doubloon from a treasure horde discovered by Governor Phips. He was on the same ship when my mother and I came to America. One day he gave me this pierced coin for a souvenir." "I have heard about Sir William's amazing treasure hunt and how he was knighted and named governor as a reward." "I highly prize this coin he gave me." Fiona tied the cord around her neck, making sure it wasn't loose. "Perhaps you are wondering why I seemed upset when I ran into the road

and hailed you. Truthfully, I find every encounter with Judge Blaize more and more disturbing." Oliver's heavy brows descended. "Has he made any improper overtures to you?" "Nothing happened," she answered. "Today he has a new girl in his house." Fiona's lip curled. "He claimed he freed her from a charge of witchcraft but must keep her in his home for several days so she can recover." "Recover?" Oliver sneered. "I fear she may wake up to find her virtue and her self-respect gone." "Do you think she would wish to be rescued?" Fiona faltered. "No," Oliver replied decisively. "Blaize would then see that she was retried and convicted of witchcraft. This way, at least she will live. Do you know which lass it was?" "Her name was Rosie Dawson, and she is betrothed to someone who evidently was not arrested. Do you think he will still want her after thisdefiling?" "That's Tom Warren. I hope he'll have enough sense to realize that none of this was Rosie's fault, but he is something of a fool. I heard about their gallivanting in the moonlight which started neighbors' tongues wagging. The madness and suspicion in this town have reached terrible proportions, don't you agree? Often over the most trivial things." "When is it going to end?" Fiona moaned. "I feel so lucky to have Sally for a friend. All I see from others are suspicious looks, dark, angry glances, and a nasty eagerness to watch those awful trials." "It wasn't always so. Salem used to be a prosperous fishing and farming community. The Puritans had stern laws, but on the whole, people found happiness in marriage, children, and rewarding work. Hopefully, those normal days will return sometime." "Do you think it will be soon?" "No. There are over a hundred cases awaiting trial." Fiona gasped. "It's ridiculous to think so many could be guilty! I have never heard of such a thing. Can't anything be done?" "Only the highest authority can take action, and I reckon Governor Phips has his hands full with the Indian Wars up north. Of course, he might return at any time, and then there might be hope."

Fiona stared at Oliver's craggy face. Its harsh, deep lines and heavy lips gave no hint of the thoughtful, sensitive man inside. Sally was very lucky to have obtained the devotion of such a person. She pondered his remarks about Sir William. If only she could see him! However, she felt doubtful that he was still the same unpretentious, friendly voyager she had known aboard ship. He had a lot of problems to deal with, aside from the troubles in a little village. She and Oliver spoke but little until the wagon halted before Aunt Mercy's house, where Fiona jumped down nimbly. "Thank you so much, Oliver. I'm glad you came along." "That judge might give you trouble, lass. Steer clear of him, is my advice." "I intend to. Tell Sally I will see her soon." "Perhaps you and your young man will visit us again some evening," he called after her. Fiona retraced her steps, her face puckered with distress. "Giles is not my young man. He is going to marry Grace." "Grace! who said so?" Fiona sighed. "She talks about it all the time, and Giles does not deny it. He took her to the berrying, you know. At first, he invited me, but then he had to change his plans and arranged for Charles to be my escort." "I wondered about that but supposed it was some forgotten promise he had made to Grace. I can't believe that they are suited for marriage. Why, that night you and Giles came to supper, I told my Sally that I had never seen a man more besotted when he looked at you." "It's her dowry," Fiona quavered. "You see, I have none." Oliver frowned down at the road. "Is that the way of it? Well, lass, don't despair. Those two are not hitched yet." "Fiona, are you going to stand out there blathering all night?" Grace yelled from the doorway. "Where's our chicken stew?" "Goodbye, Oliver," Fiona said hastily, picking up her basket. "I'll get right to the supper, Grace. It won't take too long." However, the meal was later than usual, but Fiona made a tasty dish of cut-up chicken, onions, carrots, celery, and bubbling dumplings cooked at the end on top of the simmering stew.

"This isn't too bad," Aunt Mercy said grudgingly, when they were all eating at the table. "Why did it take you so long to get it ready? Lots of chores are not finished yet." "Fiona was out there chatting away with Oliver Woods," Grace said nastily. "If there's a man around, Fiona has to be there, too." "That's not so," Fiona denied hotly. "Why must you lie?" "Stop that bickering." Aunt Mercy's eyes on Fiona were hostile. "You know it spoils digestion." Fiona subsided, but felt uneasy. Aunt Mercy certainly was not as pleasant as she had been at first. Although always a complainer and a whiner, now she seemed to be more and more resentful of their presence. It began to be increasingly urgent every minute that they go to Boston. Fiona had given Samantha's letter to her mother but hadn't learned the contents yet. She devoutly hoped that avenue of escape was now open. Why had Giles stressed the point that their going should be kept secret? Would someone try to stop them, someone who had decided Fiona and her mother might, in fact, be witches? She must learn what was in that letter! As soon as Fiona had cleared away the supper, she asked her mother in a low tone to accompany her into the garden. "Just a minute," Grace called, as they started out the door. "Aunt Ellen, I want to know how my lotion is coming along. It seems to me you are monstrous slow about it. Is it possible you really don't want to make it for me, even after all we've done for you?" Aunt Mercy sniffed. "Oh, I'm sure Ellen knows how much she owes us. I don't rightly hold with those strange Chinee herbs, but if 'twill cure my girl's complexion" "Faith, I shall do my best," Mrs. Prescott assured them. "I lack an ingredient which Sally said she could supply, so I am going to visit her tonight." "What is it? The fat of children digged out of their graves?" Grace cried avidly. Ellen drew herself up tall. "You speak of witch's ointment. Never do I use such things, and that's the sober truth of it. If you are suspicious, perhaps you may wish to change your mind about the using of my salve." "No, no, I but jested," Grace said hastily. "Please, Aunt Ellen, continue on with your work." "Sure, and there will be no wizard's items such as mandrake, hemlock, or nightshade. All of those be poisons, and 'tis only healthful things I use." With that, she and Fiona moved briskly into the garden.

Her mother gave a short laugh. "Actually, fat is needed, and Sally said she had some from moles that had attacked her plants. Rendered fat or tallow is needed in all salves to hold the other ingredients together." "So there is nothing in your concoction which would bother Grace?" "Whisht, no! But plants are different here in the New World. 'Tis only a mild and soothing ointment I'll be making. Grace should not eat so much rich food, I'm thinking, and exercise would help to stir her blood about. She sits all day long at witch trials, nibbling on goodies in her basket. 'Tis not good at all." "I know, Mother, but Grace is not our main concern." Fiona glanced back at the house as they gained the road. "We must think about our own future and make plans. No one can hear us now. I am most eager to hear about Samantha's letter. What does she say?" "She states that she is well and urges us to visit her. However, if we decide to stay in Boston, I'm thinking this would be a giant step for us, you understand. Ach, suppose we could not find work? Could we be returning? We might have angered Mercy and Grace by leaving without telling them. Sure and they depend on us now to carry out a deal of chores, but mind you, Samantha says 'a visit,' naught about a permanent home for us." Fiona chewed her lip. She had not considered all these aspects, and after a moment she said slowly, "Doesn't it seem to you that Mercy and Grace might be glad to see us go, with all this suspicion pointing at us? I think if we leave, they will not want us back. However, Giles told me that we should go at once and not tell a living soul." "Whisht, now! Does he think our plight that urgent?" "Indeed, he does. Mother, we have not only aroused suspicion from Grace and the afflicted girls, but now Mercy is becoming unpleasant. And and then there is another problemnamely, Judge Blaize, who has designs on me." Fiona tried to laugh, but failed. Her mother groaned and twisted her hands together. "Ach, dear Lord, this is terrible. You're right. We must leave as soon as possible. We'll have to stay a day or two longer just to see Grace through this medication, and then we'll slip away. I'm just not sure it's best to go in secret." "Mother, I have an idea. Let us discuss this with Sally. She knows these people better than we do, better even than Giles, who has been away for a long time. I fancy things and people here have changed greatly from the days before he went to Britain to complete his studies." Ellen agreed, seeming relieved at the chance to discuss their problem with another person. They were now in the woods with cool evening shadows all around them. Birds

chirped sleepily, and somewhere a dove called out. The ground crunched with pine needles underneath their feet, and pungent branches swayed above their heads. It should have been a refreshing, peaceful place, but all Fiona could think about was the coming trip to Boston. If they stayed there, she would no longer see Giles, and soon he would be lost to her forever. He would belong to Grace. "Do you think Giles will be content ifif he marries Grace?" Fiona asked in a low, unhappy voice. Her mother threw her a compassionate glance. "Ah, Fiona, love, I sincerely hope he finds contentment. A fine young man he is, and he deserves happiness. So do you, my darling. Someday" Her voice trailed off. Fiona couldn't answer. Tears crowded in her throat. "Happiness" was being part of Giles, and she had no hope for that. What joy it would have been to join her life with his! To revel in his tenderness and the ecstasy he would bring when they were joined in wedlock. She knew he could fill her with completeness. He had the strength to see her through life's tumults. In the midst of this terrifying witch hunt, he was the only thing that saved her reason. Even though he might be about to marry Grace, all she could wish for was that Giles would have a good life, somehow some way Sally's house now appeared through the trees, and from it a plume of smoke rose in the purpling sky. The sound of sleepy animals came from the barnyardsqueals, grunts, moos, and suddenly there was Sally, stepping around the side of the house, an empty pail dangling from her hand. Her face lit up with pleasure. "My favorite neighbors! I'm so glad to see you. Will you come in and have a bowl of hasty pudding? It's been boiling all this day." Fiona managed a little laugh. "Why do you call it hasty pudding when it's cooked all day?" Sally smiled. " 'Tis an Indian dish. They like a jest as well as the next person." They all trooped inside, where the aroma of com and molasses filled the cozy kitchen air. Copper pots twinkled on the hearth and strings of onions and herbs hung drying from the rafters. A big pot of daffodils and larkspur graced the center of the well-scrubbed table. Fiona and her mother refused the porridge, since it was such a short time since their supper. Instead, Sally gave them each a glass of apple cider. It was icy cold from the well house and Sally drank thirstily, as well. "The fish Oliver brought home today for supper left a salty taste upon the tongue. By-theby, he said he met you, Fiona, after he had left the wharves."

Fiona realized suddenly that she had not yet told her mother about her excursion to Judge Blaize's. She had feared it would upset her mother, but now she decided it was best to speak of it. "I was so glad to see Oliver and get a ride home with him. I had been to Judge Blaize's house to retrieve this keepsake." She touched the pierced coin at her throat "I left it there when we dined with him. Unfortunately, I had forgotten about it until today." "Fiona," her mother cried, "you went back to his house afterafter" "I had to," Fiona answered simply, noticing uneasily that Sally's face had paled. "At first, the judge was not there. I slipped into the house unseen, got my doubloon, and was just about to leave when he arrived with a young woman. He introduced her as Rosie Dawson, someone he had rescued from a charge of witchcraft." "That poor child!" Sally burst out. "She will have to pay dearly for his help, I fear." "Well, to continue, the judge sought to detain me, but he had Rosie waiting, so I managed to get away." Fiona took a long quaff of cider and spoke into her cup. "He is very angry with me because I have fought off his advances. Luckily, this time he did not pursue me and I got away with Oliver in his cart." "I fear he won't forgive the fact that you have escaped his clutches," Sally whispered, her blue eyes huge. Mrs. Prescott nodded. "Now I see the need of leaving here as soon as possible. Sally, what do you advise us?" "We have a cousin in Boston who has asked us to visit her," Fiona said, "but Giles thinks our departure should be kept secret and we should slip away like thieves in the night. Do you agree with that? I confess it bothers me." Sally gave a little smile. "You are not thieves, but I understand your fears." "Suppose we can't survive in Boston and must return to Salem?" Fiona put in. "Do you think Mercy and Grace would be angry about our sneaking off without explaining or thanking them? Might they refuse to take us back?" Sally frowned. "Perhaps, especially the way Grace feels about you, Fiona. She greatly fears your power over Giles." Fiona felt a rush of joy which quickly faded as Sally continued. "I really believe Grace and Mercy may be close to calling down charges of witchcraft on both your heads." Fiona and her mother grabbed each other's hand. "It sounds appalling," Sally continued, "but there it is. They are no different from the rest of Salem, terrified of

witches and highly suspicious. Oliver said that Grace is constantly conferring with the afflicted girls when she goes to town and those creatures are always on the watch for victims. You see, they want to stay important to this community. After years of repression and obeying harsh, restricting laws, suddenly the girls are being listened to, their opinions sought. They are famous heroines." Sally looked gravely from Fiona to her mother. "There is another reason for secrecy, and that is if word reached Judge Blaize, I think he would try to stop you from leaving, even if it meant placing you both in jail. I'm afraid the judge wants to use you, Fiona, to appease his unhealthy appetite, and nothing will stop him until he has triumphed." Fiona grew icy cold and hugged herself. Her mother moaned, putting her face down in her hands. "Dear heaven, what wickedness have we stumbled into? 'Tis almost unbelievable, and that's the truth. The witch hunt itself is so horrible, and then to think this monster controls it and has became inflamed by my poor daughter." She finally raised her head, eyes wide, cheeks ashen. "Sally, I thank you for your advice. My mind is now made up, and I am sure Fiona feels the same. Please give me the tallow for my ointment and as soon as Grace has used it and I see that 'tis working, my daughter and I will slip out in the night. We won't tell Grace or Mercy, just leave a note, not mentioning our destination. Dear child, 'tis your silence also, I am asking." "Of course you have it. But when you decide to go, come here and let Oliver drive you to your relative, no matter what the hour." Mrs. Prescott tried to reject the kind offer, but Sally was adamant. "You must be gotten away as quickly as possible. I truly believe you both are in as grave a danger as any convicted witch in town. More, perhaps, since Judge Blaize has his own desire for vengeance." Sally rose and brought the jar of tallow. Thanking her profusely for everything, Fiona and her mother stepped outside. Suddenly, Fiona ran back, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Sally," she whispered, "after we go, I may never see Giles again. Will you tell him that II love him and will always pray for his well-being?" Sally embraced her, tears shining in her own eyes. "Oh, Fiona, please do not despair. He is not wed yet" Sighing, Fiona shook her head, thanked Sally once again, and hurried off to seek the path through the woods. "We have many things to do," her mother said, as they walked along. "Clothes must be packed and perhaps secreted in the woods, covered by branches, as we did on our arrival.

We may not have time to seek Oliver's aid, so let's just take what can easily be carried and get the rest another time." "How soon do you think that we can leave?" Fiona asked in a worried voice. "The salve should be ready tomorrow. I can then apply it to Grace's skin and instruct her in its use. She must continue applying it for several days, but no more than twice a day, and only a spoonful at a time." "I hope it works," Fiona muttered. "Grace is so greedy for results, she may use it all at once. However, one good thing about this treatment is that Grace's attention will be focused on her face and she may hardly care or notice when we go." "Ach, she might even feel a little grateful for the salve." "I wouldn't place much hope in that," Fiona answered grimly. Darkness had now fallen, and arm in arm, they continued on their way in an uneasy silence.

Chapter 21

"Ellen has been upstairs with Grace for a long time." Aunt Mercy fumed. "I wonder what she's doing?" Under her breath, she muttered scathingly, "Nasty Chinee drugs!" Her usually rhythmical steps back and forth at the spinning wheel had become quite jerky. Twice the thread had snarled and caught. "Mother knows what to do." Fiona tried to reassure her. However, this morning her mother had neglected some of her chores to attend to Grace among them, feeding the black cat. Fiona filled his saucer with milk and the animal blinked at her with its strange, pale eyes and gave her a little hiss for her pains. She backed away hurriedly. Her mother seemed to be the only person the cat would tolerate. "Grace has a very sensitive skin," Aunt Mercy said, continuing her worried dialogue. "You can see how easily it blotches."

"Don't worry, Mother has worked with herbal ointments for many years," Fiona began, then broke off as a figure appeared in the doorway. "Oh, here she is now. Mother, have you finished? You look tired. Sit down and rest." Aunt Mercy flew across the room. "Ellen, how did it go?" "Faith, I can't tell yet. I applied the ointment to Grace's face and told her to lie down." Ellen sank onto the settee by the hearth, and the black cat immediately leaped upon her lap. "Alas, I don't have all the same ingredients that I had in Ireland, and over here some things are different." "But it will turn out all right, won't it?" Aunt Mercy persisted. "Oh, aye, of a certainty." She began to stroke the cat, a little worried crease upon her brow as she gazed into the fireplace. "But I hope Grace won't use it more than twice a day." Fiona sat down to wind the yarn for her aunt and silence fell upon the kitchen, broken only by the humming of the spinning wheel, the purring animal, and the gentle bubbling of a stock pot in the hearth. However, a little later, when the sun filled every corner of the room, suddenly the air was shattered by a spine-tingling scream. Grace, roaring like a wounded bull, came tumbling down the stairs, her face a swollen ball of fire. "Help! Save me! The devil has tricked mesee what she has done?" Grace shrieked, pointing her finger across the room. Her screwed-up eyes were almost lost in the folds of red, angry-looking flesh. Fiona gave a cry. "What happened?" The blood drained from Ellen Prescott's face as she rushed to Grace's side. "Oh, dear Lord, the ointment has inflamed her! Some ingredient must have spoiled during the long sea voyage." Her voice shook. "II'll fix a soothing lotion" "Don't you touch me," Grace yelled, backing away, her hands outthrust. "Come, child, we'll go get something from the village apothecary. At least I can trust him, "Aunt Mercy sobbed, pushing Grace through the door. "Oh, God, Ellen, what have you done?" Grace tore ahead down the road, bawling at the top of her lungs, "Witch! Witch! Aunt Ellen is a witch! Look at me!"

A man and woman in a nearby yard turned to stare. A couple of children ran out of a house farther down the road. They all shouted and began to follow. Still shrieking, Grace disappeared from sight, Mercy trying to catch up and adding her own yelps of terror. "The salve inflamed her skin, but 'twill pass," Fiona's mother said in a trembling voice, knotting her hands together. "Are you sure?" Fiona clutched her arm. "Grace thinks you deliberately bewitched her! And did you hear the other people? They all took up the cry of 'witch' when they saw Grace's face. Oh, Mother, what shall we do? This may bring on the trouble we have feared." "She knows I only tried to help her" "Of course, but Aunt Mercy was against your treating Grace in the first place. And now" Fiona's voice choked. "Supposesuppose they send the constable for you?" "Nonothey wouldn't be after doing that" Fiona beat her hands together, pacing back and forth. "You didn't see them at the trial. The town has gone mad with witch hunt fever. It takes only a whisper and they are off like a pack of wolves on the scent of blood. You know, Grace has been suspicious of us ever since we arrived. She ranted on about our black capes, red hair, the cow going dry that first day. Since then, she has constantly thrown out hints that we are witches. Now, her injured face will convince anyone who sees her. I tell you, this is very serious. We are in the gravest danger." Her mother's dazed eyes widened, and her voice trembled. "What shall we do? Go to Sally? But how can she help us? Oliver will be at work" A vision of Giles's strong face rose before Fiona. He had been her best friend in this miserable place. "Mother, the Harmons might be able to advise us. They are not in sympathy with this witch hunt, and they know the situation in Salem even better than we do. Probably Giles will be there in his dispensary and can talk to us." "Go then, quickly! Ask them!" Fiona hesitated. "Perhaps we should prepare to leave this place at once, even if we have to go on foot." "Yes, but first, I think I should do something to help Grace." "You can't. Mercy won't let you lay a finger on her." "ThenthenI'll start to pack!"

"Just throw a few things in our carryall. I'll be right back." Fiona snatched up her shawl and raced across the fields, her skimming feet seeming barely to touch the ground. When Mrs. Harmon answered her frantic knocking, Fiona gasped. "PleaseI must talk to someone. Where is Giles? Oh, I am so frightened" "My dear child, come in." With a startled glance, Mrs. Harmon wiped her hands on her apron and propelled Fiona into the kitchen. "Sit in this chair and catch your breath. I will fetch my son." Giles came quickly, a worried frown on his face. "Fiona, what's the matter? Has something happened?" "Yes, yes, it's Mother." She choked and drew a ragged breath. "Oh, Grace looked so awful her face Mother made this salve and now she's all red and swollen and and Grace ran off crying 'witch'!" "My dear, I don't understand a word you're saying." Mrs. Harmon threw Giles a bewildered glance. "Do you have any idea what she is talking about?" "I think so." Giles dropped to one knee by Fiona's chair and clasped her trembling hands. "Your mother made a salve for Grace and it had a bad reaction when she used it. Grace got frightened and is saying she has been bewitched. Is that correct?" "Yes, yes! She thinks Mother poisoned her skin on purpose. Grace ran off down the road shouting 'witch,' and others heard and followed her. Oh, Giles, I'm so afraid." Fiona gripped his hands and gave a choked sob, hardly able to form the words. "She called Mother a witch as she ran toward the village. Don't you see what this means?" Giles rose to his feet. "Yes. I do see." His tone was deep and strained. "Grace is calling her own aunt a witch?" Mrs. Harmon exclaimed. "Why, I'm sure she didn't mean it. Grace wouldn't do a thing like that." Fiona shook her head. "She meant it, all right. Ever since we arrived, she has been suggesting that Mother and I might be witches." Her voice broke and she had to swallow hard. "What! I don't understand" Giles folded his arms, looking down at Fiona with a grim expression. "You had better tell us everything that Grace has said about you and your mother so that we can see what you are both up against."

Fiona brushed a shaking hand across her brow. "It all started that night when Mother and I arrived out of the woods and scared her. She said our red hair was the mark of a witch. Remember, Giles?" He nodded. "The next morning, Grace hinted that we had lured their cow into the bushes and it had gone dry after that Then, when the bowl of grain flew out of my hands, she said it looked bewitched." Fiona gave a little, hysterical laugh. "It all sounds so ridiculous when I tell it." "It certainly does," Mrs. Harmon muttered. "Go on," Giles said intently, lips tight against his teeth. "Well, a strange black cat came to the door one day and Mother doctored it. Now it's her pet and avoids the rest of us. Grace said all witches have a familiar spirit to do their bidding and usually it's a black cat. Then, today, everything came to a head when the ointment inflamed Grace's face. She really looked terrible. Aunt Mercy got angry and frightened, too. She didn't want Grace to use the salve in the first place because she was suspicious of the ingredients. Called them 'Chinee herbs.' " "So Mercy is angry and suspicious, too? That doesn't help matters," Giles muttered, running his fingers through his hair, and taking a few steps back and forth. "Grace has never liked me." Did Giles realize that Grace's jealousy of her was at the root of it? Yes, he had mentioned it one time and said Grace had good reason to be jealous of Fiona. His admission had thrilled her, but she must not think about that now. This current trouble overwhelmed all else. She looked up at Giles imploringly. "What shall we do?" He regarded her beneath hooded lids, harsh lines bracketing his lips. "First, I'm going to see what's happened. You wait here, Fiona." She started up. "No! I'm coming with you." Firmly, he pushed her back down in the chair. "Fiona," he grated, "you came here for advice. Now take it: wait here." Mrs. Harmon put a detaining hand upon his arm. "Son, perhaps you should bring Mrs. Prescott to our house. Just so we can talk this over, you understand." They exchanged glances full of an unstated meaning. Giles nodded and left abruptly. Fiona ran to the window. "Oh, I think I should have gone with him"

"No, dear, do what he said. Giles is a sensible young man." She told Fiona that Charles and his father had gone out of town to buy some sheep, but she was sure she spoke for all of them. "We stand ready to help in any way we can." "Thank you," Fiona said with a heartfelt sigh. Unable to sit still, she paced back and forth. She refused the offer of a cup of tea while wild thoughts tumbled through her head. The only one with any clarity was that they should get out of town at once. Every minute added to their danger. "Giles has been gone far too long," Fiona said at last, pushing the damp hair off her forehead. "I must go and see if anything has happened." Before she could move, however, Giles burst into the kitchen, face flushed, eyes burning. "What did you find out?" Fiona cried, her heart plunging wildly. "Where's Mother? Why didn't she come with you?" He expelled his breath and swallowed hard. "Fiona, it probably won't come to anything, but" "But what?" Her voice rose shrilly. "What happened?" Giles glanced at his mother, then at Fiona. "Your mother was arrested." Fiona swayed. The room and the people in it seemed to waver and move far away. Her teeth chattered and she whispered, "I'm cold. So cold." Someone placed her in a chair and in a minute, a hot mug was thrust against her lips. "Drink this, dear." Fiona took a few gulps of the rum and water laced with sugar. She coughed and pushed the cup away, then, trying to stand on suddenly unsteady legs, "I must go to her." Giles drew her down into the chair and kept his arm tight around her shoulders. "Listen to me. There is more. Grace denounced you, too, and the constable has put out a searching party. We can hide you in the secret room, but you must stay here while we decide what to do. You cannot help your mother locked up beside her in the jail." "Oh, God, my poor mother, in jail! She would never harm a soul. How can such a thing be possible?" Fiona cried wildly, covering her face. "Surely Grace and Mercy don't believe she is a witch, not really." Tears oozed through her fingers as harsh sobs wracked her body. "My dearest girl, you must be brave," Giles said, his fingers tightening on her shoulder. "Fainting and crying will not do any good. Fiona, you must be very strong now as I know you can be."

She closed her eyes, unable to stop her tears, and leaned against him. Shudders ran over her while Giles chafed her cold hands, murmuring encouragements. "Oh, the poor girl the poor mother what shall they do?" Mrs. Harmon quavered. "I'm not sure yet. We'll think of something, never fear." He persuaded Fiona to finish the rum and water. His strong, firm voice and the forcefulness of his will penetrated the gray haze surrounding Fiona, and at last she whispered, "I'm all right now. I won't faint. Tell me everything that happened. Everything!" Giles stood up, thrust his hands in his pockets, and paced around the kitchen while he talked. "When I reached the house, a crowd had gathered there, babbling about Grace's face and shouting 'witchcraft.' Your mother came out the door and the black cat took that unfortunate moment to leap onto her shoulder. Everyone pointed and exclaimed." "That detestable cat!" Fiona cried. "The constable told your mother she was summoned to court, accused of witchcraft. They had seen the proof in Grace's face. Mrs. Prescott started to protest, but they cut her off and said they also had a warrant for her daughter. At that she swayed, then said she didn't know where you'd gone." "I waved to her from the back of the crowd and she nodded slightly, so I am sure she knows you are safe. The constable then said she must go with him. Head high, she picked up her shawl and stepped into the yard. She glanced once beseechingly at Mercy and said her name, but Mercy looked away, lips pressed together." "Surelymymy aunt won't denounce us?" Fiona faltered. "I don't know. Perhaps she didn't intend the charges to go so far. I thought she looked frightened when Ellen was led away. But know this, Fionayour mother didn't cower from anyone, even those who hissed and pointed at her. She marched beside the constable without a backward glance." "And Grace," Fiona demanded hotly, "where was she?" "Hiding in her room, I guess. I saw her only briefly, flying up the steps, an apron covering her face." Fiona clenched her fists. "How can that awful girl have done such a thing? My mother tries to help her, and when there's an accident, this is the thanks she getscharged with witchcraft!" For a second, she shut her eyes and pressed her fist against her shaking mouth. "It's unbelievable." Mrs. Harmon, eyes wide with fear, shook her head and swallowed hard. "Don't worry too much, my dear. I'm sure Grace will change her testimony once her

temper has a chance to cool down and she thinks it over. Surely she won't want her aunt to stay in jail." "We can't be sure of that." Fiona turned her anguished eyes on Giles. "Should we speak to Sally or Oliver? She said Oliver could drive us to Boston when we made up our minds to leave. Oh, if only we had left sooner" "I don't think we should tell a soul outside this house that you are staying here," Giles replied. "The only safe place for you is in the secret room I once showed you." "I cannot hide while my mother lies in jail," Fiona cried. "It's the only way to help your mother," Giles said sternly. "When I come back, we'll lay our plans. Now I have a patient I must see." For a moment, he impulsively swept Fiona up into a hard embrace, his cheek against her own. "Courage, my dearest heart," he whispered. He raised her chin and pressed his lips to hers for a brief, heart-stopping moment, incredibly sweet and sustaining, even in the midst of Fiona's grief and turmoil. His mother followed him outside and they had their heads together as they walked slowly across the yard. A feeling of unreality enveloped Fiona as though she were in the middle of some awful nightmare and would soon wake up. How could a human being condemn another person to such a terrible trial which might evolve in death? Surely Grace and Mercy knew that Uncle Matthew's kin could not be witches. Anybody could wear black cloaks, have red hair, and attract a young man. Of course, "young man" was the crux of the matter. Grace had convinced herself that she had an evil rival and that harming the mother was the same as harming Fiona. As for Mercy, she was foolish, easily influenced by her strong-willed daughter. Suddenly, Fiona wondered if Judge Blaize would be presiding at her mother's trial. If so, what a good chance for him to take revenge! Was it too late to seek his help or to hope for his compassion? Of course it was. She had humiliated him three times, once at the beach, twice at his home. How he must be gloating now She started at a sound behind her, but it was only Mrs. Harmon reentering the kitchen. "Come, my dear, Giles asked me to make you comfortable in the secret room. I'm sure you could do with a little rest." "Oh, pleasedon't you think I could sneak in to see my mother? Take her blankets, food, talk to her" "Impossible. They will be watching for you to do just that. Tonight Giles will see your mother. As a doctor, he will be easily admitted. He can even snuggle in a note from you, I'm sure."

Fiona still hung back. "There's another thing. If they come looking for me here, I could put you all in danger. Perhaps the barn" "Nonsense. The secret room is the only place for you. No one but our family knows about it. Now, come along. Giles will think of something to do." Fiona sighed tremulously. "You are both so kind. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

Chapter 22

Alone in the secret room, Fiona was only vaguely aware of her surroundings: the narrow cot with its mat and pillow, the plain chair, the small table. There was no window, only a small chink in the roof admitting air. Mrs. Harmon told Fiona she had some pressing chores but would return later, adding a few words of hope and comfort. Thanking her, Fiona rested on the cot but couldn't sleep as her mind whirled, considering and rejecting many avenues. Finally, she decided that although she couldn't visit the jail, there still might be something she could do. She rose and listened at the door. All was quiet. The Harmons evidently were occupied elsewhere. No one could stop her from leaving. Slipping out the front door, she sped across the fields to Aunt Mercy's house. There she came to a hesitant stop beneath a tree in the backyard. She must see Grace alone. Aunt Mercy probably was in the village, but Giles had said he'd seen Grace run up to her room. As if in answer to a summons, Grace suddenly appeared at her open bedroom window. Above a white bandage draped around her face, her black eyes stared. "What are you doing here?" she croaked stridently. "There's a warrant out for your arrestand it's about time, too." Fiona moved closer to the house, gazing up imploringly. "Grace, I must speak to you" "No, witch!" Grace squawked, starting to back off. "Go away."

"Please, Grace, waitI'm begging you. If you continue with these terrible accusations, you may regret it all your life." "I won't listen to a witch" "Just hear me out. How can that hurt? I'm risking my life by coming here. I know the constable is looking for me." "Yes, and soon you'll be locked up with your mother. What do I care? You're a witch, and I've always thought so." "You can't really believe that. I swear I'm not a witch, and neither is my mother. Oh, Grace, how could you cry out on your kin?" Fiona struggled to suppress a sob. "Wasn't my mother always kind and sweet to you? She just wanted to help by fixing your face. You begged her" "Ha! Just look what she did to me." Grace tore off the bandage, and Fiona tried not to flinch. "Your face is badly blistered, but the swelling is already going down." "The apothecary said I had been poisoned by a mysterious substance and he'd never seen a face so bad," Grace yelled, pounding on the windowsill. "And Aunt Elthat witch did it!" "But not on purpose. Some ingredient spoiled on our long sea voyage. You must know that such things happen. It isn't anybody's fault. Haven't medical treatments here ever had bad results? People dying in spite of every care? Mother certainly was not trying to harm you. She didn't have to make that salve, but you begged so hard, she finally gave in. Isn't that the truth?" Grace didn't answer, and Fiona's voice quickened with the most urgent emotion she could summon. "Do you really want to see your poor aunt die, hanged by the neck on Gallows Hill? Her death would be on your conscience to remember all your life." Fiona had to pause and wipe the tears now running down her cheeks. "Well," Grace blustered, "well, if she's a witch, she ought to die." "You know in your heart she is not a witch. She's just your aunt and a good, kind person who doesn't deserve such an awful fate." Fiona then made a grave mistake. "As for me " At that, Grace roared, "You! You have done all kinds of thingsthe drying cow, the spilled grain, befriending Rebecca Nurse and her grandchild, bewitching Giles so that he was led away from me."

That was really the important part and both of them knew it. For a moment, their eyes locked in combat, then Fiona drew a shaken breath and spoke, using all her self-control for emphasis. "Grace, if you will speak at the hearing and say you made a mistake, that you were upset because your face had become inflamed, but when you had a chance to think it over, you realized you didn't mean the accusation if you will retract your wordsI promise never to look at Giles again or have anything to do with him. My mother and I will go away at once and you will never see us again." Grace grew still. "You promise that?" "I swear it," Fiona cried fervently, gripping her hands together. "Well, I don't know I've seen you kiss Giles. You have turned his head and heart from me." "Giles does not love me. He's been friendly to my mother and me since we had that long sea voyage together. If your testimony should cause our deaths, he may resent what you have done and become angry. On the other hand, if you declare you were mistaken, he probably will applaud your compassion." "I'll have to think it over," Grace muttered, and with that unsatisfactory answer, she turned and left the window. For a moment, Fiona stared blindly at the house. Never to see Giles again! What agony that would be. How could she live with just the memory of his deep, grave voice, the dark, wayward locks of hair he was always pushing from his brow, the steady, gray-eyed gaze that had sometimes quickened with desire when he'd looked at her so that he seemed unable to stop his hands and lips from touching hers. She felt there would never be a man in her life as wonderful as Giles: sensitive, strong, intelligent, and passionateall rolled into one devastating male. For a moment she shut her eyes, fighting for control. Giles had said she must be strong now, and he was right. She would do anything to save her mother, even if it meant the end of all her dreams. And of course, that's all they were, just dreams. As for Giles, perhaps he wouldn't care that much if she disappeared from his life. He had his doctoring, his parents, and Charles, and eventually he Would have a family of his own. He and Grace would become parents and might rub along together as well as many another married couple. Marriage wasn't always a blissful union and a sympathy of minds as Fiona felt she and Giles might have had if he'd been free. Fiona sighed and turned away, wondering if her arguments had pierced any of Grace's stubbornness. She would have to contact her again as soon as possible. She walked slowly across the yard, gazing down at the weeds and dusty earth of the neglected garden. No sounds came from the house, but a flight of robins suddenly started up from some bushes and Fiona saw Giles run in from the road.

He brought up short in front of her, his voice tight with anger. "My God, Fiona, are you crazy, coming here? Why on earth did you leave my house? Don't you know it's your only sanctuary? That you're in terrible danger if someone sees you?" Her nerves raw, Fiona snapped at him, "I had to try to do something, Giles Harmon. You're not my jailer, and I'm not in jailnot yet." Giles spoke through gritted teeth. "I wish I were your jailer. Then I would see that you stayed put." He grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. Fiona struggled in his grasp. "Leave me alone!" "No, I won't. I can't." With a sudden jerk, he pulled her close into his arms and pressed his lips to hers in a long, desperate kiss. Instantly a flame leaped through Fiona, blotting out every other sense. With a sob, she flung her arms around Giles's neck and feverishly returned his kiss. He gasped for air and gripped her shoulders. "Fiona, don't you know how terrible I would feel if any harm should come to you? I don't know how I could continue living." Before Fiona could do more than moan his name, a roar issued from the window. They sprang apart and Fiona gave a startled cry as she glanced at the house. Grace was leaning out the window, glaring at them. Had she seen them kissing? Grace verified this by screaming madly, "Witch! You're a liar, like all witches. I'll never believe another word you say again, and I'm going to see you put in jail, where you belong!" After one swift glance, Giles cried hoarsely, "Come on!" and caught hold of Fiona's hand. Without another word, they sped across the fields to his house and dashed inside. Mrs. Harmon confronted them in the hallway. "Oh, my goodness, Fiona, where did you go? We were so worried." Fiona sagged against the wall, panting. She covered her eyes with her arm, saying faintly, "I'm sorry. I went to beg Grace to help my motherto see she'd been mistaken." "And will she?" "No, Grace won't help either of us." "I'm not surprised," Giles growled. "Grace never would listen to reason if she didn't want to."

"Fiona, you must stay here in hiding until we decide what's best to do," Mrs. Harmon begged. "Please let Giles take you to the secret room." "Yes, come on, Fiona." Giles stretched out his hand to her, but Fiona moved away. She spoke steadily to Mrs. Harmon. "Grace saw Giles and me kiss each other, then run off together. Do you suppose she guesses where I am?" "Even if she does, no one outside the family knows about the secret room," Mrs. Harmon stated firmly. "No matter if they searched the entire house," Giles said, "they wouldn't find you. The only way you will be caught is if you leave the house again." "But my motherisn't there some way I could sneak by a jail window and call to her? Couldn't I go with you tonight? She must be worried sick." Giles shook his head. "Visits must be approved by Judge Blaize, and then only if the visitor is there to beg the accused to admit guilt, confess sins, and ask for mercy. In that way, a so-called 'witch' might be released, but all her personal property and real estate would be forfeited." "She would also stand convicted for all eternity and thus endanger her immortal soul," Mrs. Harmon said gravely. "So you see, few of those accused want to say that they are witches." Fiona shook her head and said brokenly, "My mother never would confess to a crime she didn't commit." Giles gently took Fiona's arm. "Since I am a doctor, I will be allowed to see your mother, and I will tell her you are safe in our care." "We'll send some comforts to her," Mrs. Harmon added, "a blanket, hot food" "You're most kind. Thank you both. I'll go to the secret room for now. Perhaps some other plan will come to me." "I beg of you to tell me first, before you act," Giles said with a frowning, worried look. He led her to the dim, cold parlor, where he pressed a button and opened the panel by the fireplace. Fiona trudged behind him up the narrow staircase. The little room at the top was almost dark, but the lamp was still alight. Fiona sank down wearily on the cot, and suddenly all ability to think or reason was beyond her. Giles leaned against the wall, surveying her from beneath his long black lashes. "Fiona, this action of Grace's completely destroys the bargain she and I made."

With an effort, Fiona asked heavily, "It does? What bargain?" "Grace said that unless I took her to the berrying party and stayed away from you in the future, she would denounce both you and your mother as witches. That's why I had to change my plans." With a quick stride, Giles pulled her up into his arms. "Grace knew how much I cared for you and tried to make you think I'd marry her. There never was the slightest chance of that. I've loved you ever since those days on ship when I went nearly mad with desire, but I knew you were so young and innocent, I had to wait" Fiona trembled in his clasp. Another time and she would eagerly have sought his lovemaking, but her mother's image haunted her and she put her hands against his chest, tears in her eyes. "Forgive me, dearest. This is not the time for us. You are worried and exhausted. Rest now, and I'll come back later." He placed a tender kiss upon her brow. When he had gone, Fiona fell back on the cot, a terrible anguish flooding her. Giles's warm kiss and declaration had been a brief respite, but now she couldn't comfort herself with that. All she knew was that she had failed with Grace, and now her jealousy would be worse than ever. With the bargain between them broken, Grace would show no mercy. Fiona pressed her hands against her eyes. "Oh, Mother, Mother, what are they doing to you? Are you in a cold, miserable cell, terrified, alone, worrying about me? Is it like the awful dream I had? If only I could see you!" Tears gushed down her face, their salty taste running into her mouth as she sobbed and sobbed. Finally, completely drained, she found relief in sleep.

A knocking at the door awakened her. She jerked up, gazing in bewilderment around the shadowed room, not knowing where she was. What was this place? The Salem jail? Her eyes moved to the narrow cot and the other bare, plain furnishings. She smelled the resinous pine needles in the mattress. The knocking came againand she remembered. Giles called her name and entered carrying a tray which he put down on the little table, drawing it closer to the cot where she sat, trying to throw off the agony that engulfed her. "It's not much," he said, "beef vegetable soup, corn-bread, and a jug of apple cider." "Thank you, Giles, but I'm not hungry." He sat down on the chair and crossed his arms, tilting back against the wall. "I'm going to stay right here until you clean that bowl and plate, young lady. You need to eat to help your nerves and mind and strength. Doctor's orders."

The aroma of meat and vegetables in rich broth drifted from the bowl, and unintentionally, she dipped in the iron spoon and brought it to her lips. "It's good," she murmured after a moment. When she finally pushed aside the empty bowl and plate, Giles leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and linking his long fingers. "Feeling better? Good. Now, let us discuss the situation." "I know it's bad," Fiona groaned. "Grace is against us, and so are the townspeople who saw her fiery face and know my mother caused it, no matter that it was an accident. Aunt Mercy is against us, too, since she didn't trust those 'Chinee drugs,' as she calls them. Then there are all those other things that Grace will say we caused through witchcraft." "I fear your friendship with Rebecca Nurse will also go against you," Giles said, with obvious reluctance. "And the possessed girls were already suspicious and antagonistic when you met them that day in the lane and they saw you holding Rebecca Nurse's grandchild. I don't want to sound pessimistic, but we have to get a clear picture of the situation and consider every aspect. We don't want any surprises." Fiona's lips trembled as she looked at Giles. The evidence against her sounded overwhelmingand there was more. "Another person hates me now. The worst enemy I have." His eyes widened. "God, I'd almost forgotten him. Judge Blaize!" Fiona nodded grimly. "I believe he is very powerful at the trials, vindictive and sadistic, enjoying his effect on all those looking futilely to him for mercy. Mercy! He doesn't know the meaning of the word." "We have to find a way to thwart the courts," Giles said slowly. "I've been giving this a lot of thought. Sometimes cases are dismissed due to a legal error. I saw it happen once in England when I was summoned to give evidence about a doctor in the hospital. It seemed he had not been properly advised about the accusation." Fiona's eyes flew wide open. "Could that be possible here? Or something like it?" "I don't know, but there are so many cases to be tried, and the jury has been assembled in such a slap-dash manner, maybe in the speedy sentencing, a loophole might be found." "Oh, Giles, how can we find such a loophole?" Torn between hope and dispair, Fiona reached her hands across the table. Giles clasped them tightly, but he shook his head. "Alas, I am not a lawyer. We need someone in authority to discuss this with. Someone without prejudice." "Can you think of anyone?"

"Not offhand. I'll have to wrack my brains." Quickly he pressed a kiss upon her wrist, then rose, his gray eyes dark with concern as they rested on her face. "We'll do something. I promise to try in every way I can. Tonight I should be allowed to see your mother and find out when her hearing is scheduled. I shall tell her that you are safe and being taken care of." "Shall I send a note?" Fiona quavered. He shook his head. "It might be confiscated. There is a way of writing messages in lemon juice that is invisible until placed before a flame, so they have grown suspicious of all papers." "Give her my love, then, andand say that I am praying for her and feel sure that we shall get her out." Fiona swallowed hard and continued huskily, "I'm very grateful to you, Giles, and to your family. Will you let me know how Mother is, even if it's very late?" He nodded, his strong face full of love and pity. Quickly, he went out the door.

Chapter 23

Fiona didn't see Giles any more that night, for she fell asleep and didn't wake until dawn. A cold gray light seeped through the ceiling chinks, and by it she spied a folded sheet of paper near the door. She read it quickly, noting that it was from Giles:

My dear,

I saw your mother, and she is holding well with the bravery and strength I noticed constantly on our long voyage. The jails are crowded, but the jailors are not inhuman, and unless an inmate has to be in court, they remove all shackles.

Fiona caught her breath and felt horror suffuse her at the word "shackles." It was almost beyond imagining that her gentle, kindly mother was being put in chains at any time. Swallowing her tears, she continued reading:

I brought a blanket and pillow for your mother and a jar of hot soup which she consumed eagerly, although she protested that they were adequately fed. Amid all the noise of people talking, I was able to get my lips against your mother's ear on the pretext of checking her for injuries. I whispered that you were safe in our house and none of us was giving way to despair or panic. I told her that we were planning a scheme to save her and she promised to keep up her spirits. She sends you her love and begs you to stay hidden. That was the end of our conversation. Your mother's examination is set for tomorrow morning with just John Hathorne questioning her. I will try to attend, but if I am delayed, I will pay another visit to the jails. So, my dear, please do not leave the house. I am going to let you sleep this morning, as I know you need it.

Love, Giles

Fiona read the letter several times and although it was painful to picture her mother's incarceration, it was a relief to know that she was not being abused and had held on to her strength and hope. How good Giles was! What would she have done without him? She pressed her lips to the spot where he had signed "Love, Giles." He and his family were all doing so much to help without showing a bit of reluctance or worry that they might get into trouble. But Fiona knew the danger. So far, it seemed no one knew that they were harboring her, or else they would have searched the house, but she knew it would not be long before Grace alerted someone. No, she could not stay here indefinitely. Neither could she seek aid from Sally, who was already under suspicion and couldn't afford to have herself brought to Judge Blaize's attention in any way. It sounded as though he would not be presiding at her mother's hearing. Would Hathorne be more considerate? At least, no one could be worse. Fiona inhaled deeply and made up her mind then and there. She must attend the examination this morning. She drank the remains of the cider, piled her hair atop her head, donned her shawl, and for a moment, bent her head in a desperate short prayer. Down the stairs she crept, careful not to make a sound. She eased open all the doors and emerged into a strange white world. Thick vapors had drifted inward from the sea to hide familiar objects in a mysterious, secretive veil. This was all to the good, as she would be secreted as well.

She hesitated briefly in the yard, wondering where she could find the road. She knew a row of pine trees edged the field yes, there they were, wispy, smoky strands of fog trailing upward among the silent branches. When she was on the village path, she could see ahead only for a few feet at a time. Thankfully, no one seemed to be abroad. Even the animals were hushedno cackling hens, no lowing cattle, no birds announcing the new day. Yet she felt sure the trial would soon be in session, and probably the meetinghouse was packed already. She reached it after what seemed a long time due to her slow, groping journey. As she feared, the doors were locked and the hearing had begun. She put her ear against the panels, but the sounds were muffled and she could not make out a thing. Might there be an open window somewhere? Yes! Although it was too high for her to see inside, she could hear quite well. At first, there was just a jumble and a confusion of voices. Then a gavel pounded, and in the silence Fiona heard the next words clearly. Dear heaven, her mother was speaking: "I scorn your accusations, sir. There is not a shred of truth in what you claim, and" John Hathorne's cold steely, voice interrupted her. "Truth, say you, mistress? Beware of what you call the truth. This court will soon discover who is lying. That is all for the present. You may step down. We now call Mercy Prescott to the stand." There followed a mumbling and a shuffling of feet, and then the hard voice spoke again. "Mistress Prescott, had you ever seen the accused woman or her daughter before they appeared at your door six weeks ago?" "No, but" "And was not your cow dry the next morning? Mind you, your daughter, Grace, has already so testified. She also said your cow never strayed so far afield before. I instruct you, madam, speak the truth and nothing but the truth." "Well, I don't know about the straying" "Was the cow dry or was it not after these two strangers cast their eyes upon it?" "Well well" "Speak up, mistress." "Yes, yes, the cow was dry the next morning." "And did not a strange cat suddenly appear and attach itself to Mrs. Ellen Prescott, shunning all others in the house?" "Yes, but she had doctored it."

"Ah, yes, the doctoring. We now come to the crucial point. Did you ever see any unfamiliar herbs in Ellen Prescott's possession?" "There were some I did not know." "Quite so. And how do you account for your daughter's poisoned face when she was doctored with these same strange herbs?" "II cannot." "Were you in favor of their application to your daughter's skin?" "No, I was against it. I feared" "That is all. Stand down, Mercy Prescott. I now call Fiona Prescott to the bar of justice for questioning." An excited buzzing rose inside the courtroom when nobody came forward. The bailiff stepped close and whispered in the magistrate's ear. "What!" roared Hathorne. "You have not found her yet? This be devil's work. Send more men to aid the search!" He rapped for order, then cleared his throat. "I call the next witness against Ellen Prescott, John Dunn, apothecary." Suddenly, a voice spoke clearly to Fiona through the fog. "Fiona Prescott, you are wanted by the magistrate." Mercy Lewis, the tallest and oldest of the afflicted girls, loomed just a few feet away, mist curling around her feet like a cold fire. A cruel smile touched her lips. "How fortunate that I was late coming to the hearing this morning. God must have directed my footsteps toward the catching of a witch." She gave a gurgling chuckle and her fingers stretched forth like daggers as she slid forward. Startled, Fiona froze against the wall, then with a cry, she ducked her head under the outstretched arms and fled. Behind her, Mercy gave an outraged yell as she fell against the building. Fiona dived into the thickest part of the ghostly, white world and ran blindly, the footsteps of her pursuer thudding sifter her. The unnatural girl, like some thwarted demon, cried hoarsely to Fiona, demanding that she stop or a worse fate would befall her. Soon, however, the voice and footsteps became muffled. Then all sounds ceased as the suffocating, blanketing fog wrapped Fiona in its damp, cold weight. It drifted into her nostrils, choked her throat, dampened her hair with a soggy mist.

The road where was the road? In and out among the deserted buildings she stumbled. It seemed to be a never-ending maze until suddenly she smelled the sea, a blend of salt and kelp drifting faintly into her cottony world. She must have taken a wrong turn. She put out her hand and felt a wall behind her. Exhausted, she leaned against it for a moment to rest her laboring lungs. When she turned around, a shape loomed up behind her. It was the figure of a woman with yellow hair, hands folded across a faded blue and scarlet garment. The mouth grinned foolishly while the round, staring eyes looked blind. Fiona shrieked, clasping her face with shaking hands. The figure didn't move. Vines and bushes wound upward, holding it fast. A wild, hysterical laugh burst from Fiona's raw, choked throat. It was a figurehead! A wooden carving used on the prow of sailing ships. This one, chipped and past its usefulness, had been planted in a garden. Fiona backed away, her nerves still jangling from her fright. "Fee ooh na" Faintly, the horrible call came to her ears. Now not a figurehead, it was the real and terrifying Abigail. Had the girl heard her scream? Fiona clapped her hands against her trembling mouth. Fool that she was! She must make no more sounds. She must try for calm, attempt clear thinking. Unmoving, straining every taut nerve, she listened. The call came again, in front of her this time. Turning, she tried to skirt the town. Hands outstretched, sliding her feet along, Fiona moved as fast as she dared through the silent, thick white world. All the while, the force of her terrified heartbeats shook her entire body, for at any moment, she might crash into Mercy Lewis, who would hold on to her with big, strong arms and scream the town down until her prey was surrounded. Suddenly, however, a space cleared in the fog and Fiona saw with astonishment that she had emerged at the pathway to Judge Blaize's manor. At that moment, the door opened and he emerged. "I was about to visit your mother's questioning, but Hathorne will do quite well until I'm ready." His eyes burned into hers. "I see they didn't catch you yet. No, don't leave. Come in and warm yourself, and then we'll talk." Moving as in a dream, Fiona let him take her arm. As it had been sometimes before, his voice was now kindly, coaxing. Almost ready to collapse from her recent ordeal, Fiona moved forward, dazed and numb, shaking with exhaustion. He led her into the parlor, where a cheery fire burned in the grate. "Sit here on the chair. I was just about to break my morning fast. Pray, join me in muffins or fruit." "I'm not hungry, thank you," Fiona murmured, sinking breathlessly down onto the ruby velvet cushions as the strength left her limbs.

Today Blaize wore a black silk shirt with a lace jabot, dark blue velvet breeches, and silver-buckled shoes. His bland expression seemed to quicken a little as their eyes met and Fiona looked away, remembering with a dart of fear the odd influence he had had upon her previously. Today, however, she must concentrate on the matter most important. Her voice was strained. "You know, of course, that my mother and I have been accused of witchcraft by Grace Prescott?" "An unconscionable turn of events! Was that what brought you to my door?" "No, it was just pure chance. This morning I listened outside the meetinghouse and heard part of the testimony against my mother, but before it was finished Mercy Lewis appeared and chased me through the fog. I managed to elude her and found myself on your doorstep." " 'Twas fate," he intoned deeply. "But were you not afraid that I might also turn you in?" "No," she answered steadily, an idea swiftly taking shape. He slid closer until his knee touched hers, and his voice was velvet-deep. "And why was that?" "Because I still have something you want." There was a long silence while Fiona forced herself to look at him, and he, with narrowed, calculating eyes, studied her in return. She sat erect, gripping her hands tightly, unsmiling, unable to stop the rapid rise and fall of her agitated breathing. He noticed it and stared down at her body. His voice came thick and slurred, and he stretched out his hand. "First, I would see the merchandise for sale." She brushed aside his questing fingers. "No. I must have a guarantee of your good faith." He raised his diabolical black eyebrows. "What is to stop me taking my fill of you right here and now and give nothing in return?" "You do not wish to ravish me. Formerly, you tried to buy my favors, so I know you wish my surrender to be completely willing." "Correct," he answered huskily. "You are a clever girl as clever as you are beautiful. I have never known another like you. Innocent, unsullied, yet ripe with burgeoning passion waiting to be released in a fiery torrent. You rate your virtue highly, and you are right. 'Twill be a lucky man who has first access. Yes, my dear, I want you soft and smiling,

whispering my name when we come together in my bed. I promise you, it will be a long, rewarding experience for us both." Bile rose in her throat as she envisioned his naked old man's body, the bony, scrabbling hands, his drooling, hot red mouth. She swallowed. "And you guarantee to help us?" "What do you want? A promise to acquit you and your mother?" "Yes. In writing." "Very well." They rose and faced each other. Fiona was terrified, but knew she must not show it. How could she get a signed document without sacrificing her virginity to this monster? "I wish to see this letter written first," she declared. "I want to take it to the jail and see my mother safely on her way. The dwarf can accompany me and make certain that I return to you. The note must also say that there will be no future complaints against us." "It shall be as you wish, but there should be a compromise. Something for me, too. Go into my bedchamber and don a sheer golden robe you'll find there in the closet. Ah, do not shake your head! I ask only that you come back here and let me gaze my fill. I promise not to touch you. Meanwhile, I shall prepare an exonerating note." His lips stretched taut across his pointed teeth. "Go now, and disrobe." Dear God, Fiona prayed! Her mind worked at fever pitch. She had outwitted him before. She must do it again with every wile at her command. Her life depended on it She waited, holding herself rigid. He rang a silver bell. The dwarf appeared and bowed Fiona down the hall, smirking slyly as he ushered her into his master's room. There were no windows (to avert escape?), only mirrors on every surface. White pelts covered the floor surrounding a large satin-covered bed. Scarlet was the predominant color, and it was so intense and fiery, Fiona almost swayed with dizziness and fear a fear she must conquer. "What can I bring you, mistress?" Solbaid hissed. "Water? Scent? A hairbrush?" "Yes, yes, all those things." "The golden robe is in that wardrobe," he tittered, "and it is like peering through a piece of glass. Why bother wearing it, I've often wondered" "Enough! Get out before I call your master," Fiona cried distractedly. Still giggling, the dwarf slid away. Fiona eased the door ajar as soon as he had left and heard him speaking in the parlor. She knew neither of them could be trusted an inch and

she must use her wits if she was to save herself and her mother. She tiptoed down the hall and listened. The judge was speaking. "Bring me the ink and paper, also a bowl of lemon juice with which I shall write on the bottom, invisibly, that they must disregard the other words. While holding my note above a flame, they can read the truth. I have done this before with the one who serves me in the jail, so be sure it gets into his hands and no others." "You are so cunning, master. Then, after you have enjoyed the girl, the constable will come for her, as directed in the note?" "Yes, indeed. Go now, and bring her to me. I long to see the Robe of Sheer Delights." "She wants to freshen herself with water and a comb." "Well, hurry, hurry!" Fiona clenched her hands. So Blaize thought he could trick her! Two might play that little game. She fled to the bedchamber and when the dwarf brought her a silver bowl and brush, she requested a glass of wine. "My nerves need calming," she explained. "And it will make me more willing to do all your master wishes." Demurely she cast down her eyes. "Of course." Chuckling, he danced away, and no sooner was the hallway clear than Fiona sped on silent feet out the front door, thanking the heavens that no one was a witness to her flight. The fog enveloped her immediately and was a sanctuary now. She knew that she must put the sea behind her and go in the opposite direction, all the while not knowing when or how she still might be pursued. She ran blindly, as fast as she could go, fortunately not stumbling or crashing into anything. And as she ran, a name flashed into her mind the name of someone who might help her.

Chapter 24

The fog soon thinned, but Fiona still took extra care to keep hidden as she crept beside the road, screened by trees and bushes whenever possible. She could only pray that she was headed in the right direction and breathed a sigh of relief when familiar objects divulged themselves to her straining eyes. Soon she was able to pass Mercy's house, the fields beyond, and arrive at the Harmons' farm. A handyman carried a pail toward some pigsties, calling a greeting to a buxom maidservant entering the henhouse. Fiona hid behind a stalwart oak until she could slip in the door unseen. Voices came from the kitchen, and creeping forward, she debated going directly to the secret room. Sally's voice came to her ears, and Fiona listened. "They came last night and asked if I knew where she was, and when I said 'no,' they searched the house anyway. Even though Oliver does not hold with this witch hunt, he could not defy the searchers, who were following orders from the court." "I understand," Mrs. Harmon said, "but would he hand over Fiona if he found her?" "No, never," Sally answered vehemently. "In fact, he offered to drive her and Mrs. Prescott to Boston as soon as possible." At that declaration, Fiona stepped into the kitchen. Both women stared at her aghast, then all exchanged greetings. "My dear, where have you been? Your shawl is wet," Mrs. Harmon gasped. "I wanted to hear the questioning of my mother." Fiona removed her wrap and sank down wearily on the fireplace settee, stretching her cold hands toward the blaze. "Please don't scold me. I had to go." Mrs. Harmon clicked her tongue and ran to latch the outer door. "We must not let the servants see you." "Oh, Fiona," Sally moaned, "I am so sorry about all your trouble. Oliver and I have been so worried." Before Fiona could reply, Giles's mother returned. She immediately poured some liquid into a pewter mug and handed it to her. "Here, drink this, you poor child. It's hot, and you look chilled. I can see you shivering. Giles went to the trial, but he has not returned. I take it you did not meet?"

Fiona shook her head, taking a long swallow from the mug. She tasted honey, lemon, and chamomile. "What happened at your mother's hearing?" Sally asked anxiously. Fiona drew a ragged breath. "I heard only Mercy's testimony. They dragged very damaging evidence from her about the dry cow, the black cat, and mainly the potion that inflamed Grace's face. I could tell she didn't really want to testify, but she had to do it." "Was Grace there?" Mrs. Harmon inquired. "She had already testified, I gathered. I didn't hear the end of the questioning because Mercy Lewis found me listening beneath an open window where I had crouched because I couldn't get inside. She tried to grab me, but I eluded her by plunging into the fog. Next" Fiona hesitated. Should she tell them about Judge Blaize? Sally was the only person who would understand why she had sought his aid and what he wanted in return. But still she might be shocked at Fiona's daring to outwit him in his own home. Quickly changing direction, Fiona ended by saying, "I eventually found my way here, but I dare not stay" "No, no, you must not leave," Mrs. Harmon cried. "Giles would be distraught. He'll be here any minute. Perhaps you need not tell him you've been out" At that minute, there was a banging on the outside door. "If that's Maryanne, I'll send her on an errand," Mrs. Harmon hissed. But it was Giles who followed his mother in from the hall. His eyes sought Fiona and he hurried to her side, merely giving a quick nod to Sally. Fiona gripped his arm. Her voice could hardly form the words. "Mmy mother?" "Alas, bound over for trial," he said deeply. "One week from today." He pulled Fiona into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. "Steady now, my dear. Nothing is final yet." Dimly, she heard Mrs. Harmon give a muffled cry, and Sally seemed to sob. Fiona shut her eyes, clinging tightly to Giles's rough tan coat, smelling the damp wool, feeling his cold cheek press against her own as he murmured endearments and encouragement. In a couple of minutes, Fiona raised her head. "I'm all right. I must go at once to Boston. Might I borrow a horse?" She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and straightened her shoulders. "Boston?" Giles echoed blankly.

"I want to ask Governor Phips for his advice. Remember he said on the voyage that he would help me anytime I needed it?" "Shipboard promises" Giles began doubtfully. "Dear heaven, it may be our only chance!" "I think you're right, Fiona." Sally nodded. "You must try everything. You have an implacable enemy in Salem. Late last night, Judge Blaize came to our door, demanding that I divulge your whereabouts. When I said I didn't know, he went into a violent rage." "Oliver came out and heard him yell that he would kill me if he found I knew where Fiona was hiding. Oliver would not stand for my being threatened, and they both began to fight. Blows were exchanged. I knew there was more behind their anger than Fiona's whereabouts. It was an old feud comprising jealousy and revenge. For some reason, Oliver, burly though he is, was getting the worst of italmost as though Blaize had supernatural strength." "I grew frightened and flew between them. I grabbed the judge's arm and he struck me on the shoulder so that I fell down on the garden path. Oliver gave a roar and charged, but there was suddenly another roar, another charge. Gray, the wolf, soared across the fence, fangs gleaming, hair on end." Sally paused for breath and her audience didn't move or speak until Mrs. Harmon stuttered, "Thethe judge?" "He got away while I held Gray back." Too bad, Fiona thought, then felt guilty at her bloodthirsty wish, but how much better for the world if Blaize were dead. "Fiona," Sally said, "Oliver promised to drive you to Boston. We both think you should go without delay. That is why I came here, so Giles could relay the message. I thought he would surely know where you were." Giles stood up, and so did Fiona. "I agree," he said. "Thank you and Oliver, Sally, but Fiona goes with me. I will hitch up the wagon right now." Fiona put out her hand. "Oh, no, Giles. I can ride a horse, if you will saddle one" "Do you think I would let you go alone?" Giles cut in, almost roughly. "Mother, a little food and money for Fiona, if you please." "Giles, I can't involve you," Fiona protested.

He didn't argue. "Mother, I'll be back after Fiona is safe in Boston with her cousin, who may know of a way to help her. Thanks for coming, Sally. Take care of yourself." With a brief nod, he swung out the door. Mrs. Harmon shrugged. "I think you cannot change his mind, and I am in accord with his decision to accompany you." She emptied coins from a bowl into Fiona's pocket. Then she sliced bread, carved meat, added apples, and wrapped it all in a cloth. "Now, take my shawl. Your own is still too damp." "Thank you so much." Fiona could hardly speak, so choked with gratitude was she as she embraced them both. A few minutes later, Giles burst back into the room, breathing rapidly. "Quick! A group of men are just across the field. They seem to be heading here." "Perhaps Fiona should hide" Mrs. Harmon exclaimed. "No!" Fiona shook her head. "I cannot stay here any longer. I worry all the time that I am putting everyone in danger. Oh, Giles, suppose they" "Suppose, nothing. We go forward and do." This was the man who had weathered storms and fear and dreadful illness on the long sea voyage. Fiona followed him without another argument, only giving one last wavering smile for the two women regarding her with so much trepidation. Near the barn, the horse stood ready, the wagon piled with sacks from which emanated the most evil smell. "What is that?" Fiona gasped, holding her hand across her face. "Asafoetida, a most strong-smelling resin used in my medicines. You'll have to bear it for a spell, I fear. Put your shawl around your face. I'm hoping it will discourage any searching." He helped her up, covered her with sacks. "Can you breathe? All right. Stay down, now, no matter what happens. I'll make for the woods, but we can't go too fast or we'd draw attention. It's too bad the fog has lifted. It might have hidden us." Fiona crouched, trembling, under the heavy, odorous gunnysacks, trying to keep her breathing shallow. How could they fail to be seen and stopped, the wagon searched? Was she about to share the fate of all those accused of witchcraft like her poor mother? Would she be chained in a dank, cold cell, taunted by a screaming mob? Put through the bedlam of the uncontrolled court trials with all the lying accusations? Then then death by hanging? She had never given way like this before, and desperately she tried to keep her mind from frightening pictures which nearly brought on panic. Rigid with terror, she pressed against the rough planks, hardly conscious of the painful jouncing of the cart over the rocky ground.

"Someone's seen us," Giles gasped. "Steady, now. Keep quiet at all costs." She didn't need the admonition to keep still. The slightest speech or movement was now beyond her. "Halt, there!" Hoofbeats thudded up beside the cart, the animal snorting as the rider reined it in. A man's voice spoke. "We are looking for a red-haired girl accused of witchcraft, name of Fiona Prescott." Giles said evenly, "As you can see, I am quite alone." "What have you underneath those sacks? I must look." A stick poked at Fiona's sack. "Phew, what is that terrible aroma? Is something dead?" "You smell asafoetida, a powerful drug I used recently to treat several infected farmers. I intend to burn their clothes so the disease will not spread." "What disease?" The man sounded as though he had backed off. "Is it fatal?" "I've seen some deaths. I am Dr. Harmon. I would advise you not to touch the sacks of rags." "No, no, nothing could be in that horrible mess. Drive on, doctor, and get them buried. Go, go!" Fiona heard shouts and hoofbeats fading into the distance. Relief flooded through her, leaving her limp and drenched in perspiration. She didn't move until Giles spoke. "They've gone, Fiona. You can sit up now. We're in the woods." Trembling, she pushed back the sacks, gulping great lungfuls of the blessed clean, pinescented air. "Oh, Giles, thank heaven, you are so quick-thinking." "Yes, that odor stopped them in their tracks though it's nearly gone. But from now on, we must travel fast so we can reach Boston before dark. You can climb up beside me." When they entered the wider road to Boston, Giles snapped the reins and the wagon shot forward. Birds started up in fright; dust billowed behind in clouds. Fiona clung to the sides of the swaying cart, all the while constantly darting glances behind her. On and on they sped, exchanging very little conversation. After a while, the sun passed its zenith and dipped behind the tops of the trees so that soon long shadows stretched along the road. Finally, Fiona's vigilance relaxed and her head nodded forward to her chest. It snapped up when she realized that Giles had stopped the wagon. "There's a stream. Let's stretch our legs and get a drink," he said.

He helped her down and Fiona followed him stiffly. The water was cold and refreshing, and she bathed her face and hands, sniffing to see if any of the odorous resin still clung to her. Giles smiled. "The wind has swept you clean and fresh." For a moment, his arms encircled her and she leaned back, luxuriating in his warm male strength. "Remember the other time you brought me to this road?" she murmured. "To get your baggage. That was a happy day. I was so eager to be with you. I thought you were the loveliest, bravest, sweetest girl I had ever met." "And now look at mecovered with threads from gunny sacks, face all hot and anxious, hair a-tangle" "I am looking and I see your distracting red-haired beauty with the same tug on my heartstrings that it's always had. I fell in love with you long ago at sea, and my love has been growing ever since." He pressed a passionate kiss against her neck. "Oh, Giles!" With a sob of joy, Fiona tipped her head back against his shoulder and caught his black hair in her fingers, tugging until his open lips met hers. A flame shot through her and she pressed deeply into his mouth, feeling the mating of their tongues in a hot, blinding urgency. He drew her tighter, his hands fondling her breast, pushing her thighs against his own, raining kisses on her face and throat. At last, he whispered hoarsely, "We must go, but, oh, I want so much to make you mine and kiss every inch of you until you tell me that you love me, too." She tore her mouth a breath apart from his. "I doI do! I love you, Giles, with all my heart and soul. I want everything that you want" "Oh, my dearest! I have dreamed to hear you say those words." He kissed her passionately, then at last put her from him, steadying his voice. "Someday, my own dear heart, we shall be together forevermore." "Yes. Someday." Fiona echoed his words, but sadness filled her. There was no certainty that the day would ever come, and a tear stole slowly down her cheek. Giles licked the drop away. "Someday, when all is well again, we shall be wed, Fiona, and live with love in both our hearts." Unable to stop the flood of joy she felt, she still forced herself to say, "Alas, Giles dear, I have no dowry. I thought that was why you wanted Grace."

"I never considered marrying Grace," he exclaimed. "That was all in her head. I don't need a dowry, nor would I wed just for that reason. My practice is flourishing and will do even better when this witch hunt madness ends. So will you promise to marry me, Fiona?" "Oh, yes, Giles," Fiona answered. They kissed once more and began to leave the brook, eyes clinging, hands entwined. They had pledged their troth, but it was a sad song in Fiona's heart. She was betrothed to the man she adored and he loved her, but would she live to enjoy their love? They were nearly at the wagon when Fiona grasped Giles's sleeve. "Do you hear something?" It was a muffled sound, a steady clop of hooves. "It may not be an enemy," Giles said tightly, "but we'll take no chances. Hang on!" Fiona hunkered in the back, ready to duck under the sacks. Still no one appeared on the road, though now they could plainly hear the pounding hooves in the distance. Sometimes the sound faded; sometimes it grew louder and Giles would urge the laboring horse to even greater speed. The trees became a blur of green and brown as they flew past. The wind stung their faces and flattened their clothes as on and on they tore. They seemed to have traveled a long distance when suddenly there came a sharp crack a lurchand the rear wheel twirled off across the road.

Chapter 25

Fiona gave a cry and Giles shouted, "Get outwe must hide!" They both leaped to the ground, and together with the laboring animal, were able to drag the horse and wagon out of sight on a narrow side road screened by trees. The mare's lathered sides heaved and she dropped her head, too weary to make a sound. "She couldn't have kept up that pace much longer," Giles said. "As for the wheel, I must get help." "Oh, Giles, what shall we do? That other rider is getting closer. I can hear it" "Let me think. Get down behind these thick bushes."

"We can't stay here," Fiona cried distractedly. "We'll be caught, sure as fate. Let's run" "No, wait, we're not sure who it is." Giles caught her arm and pulled her close to the ground. "Listenhere he comes." Crouching beside him, Fiona felt her pulses hammer wildly. She dug her nails into her palms and clamped her teeth down on her trembling lip. Every instinct urged flight, but Giles held her in a tight, restraining grip. Soon a big horse pounded into view, a thin man dressed in black bent low above the saddle, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with a fanatic gleam until he disappeared from sight. "It's Blaize!" Fiona stifled her exclamation with a hand pressed to her mouth. "How did he know we were on this road?" In the sudden silence, she slumped, shuddering against Giles's side. "He's looking for us for me!" Giles's brows were knotted. "He'll be back, I fear. When you didn't turn up anywhere in Salem and he found that my cart and I were gone, he must have figured we had driven off. Did you ever mention anyone you knew in Boston?" "Yes, Governor Phips," Fiona groaned. "Oh, Giles, let's get out of here and hide somewhere in the woods." "He would find us. If we could hear his horse's hoof-beats, he could hear ours, too, whenever he slowed down. He'll soon realize that we have stopped somewhere and he'll come back, searching for us." "He plans to kill us, doesn't he?" Fiona whispered. "And he doesn't want any witnesses. That's why he came alone." "We're not about to give him any chance," Giles ground out. "I have a plan." He gripped her arms and pulled Fiona to her feet. "You will have to go on alone." "A-alone?" Fiona quavered, suddenly hating the idea. Giles nodded. "When he returns, I'll hail him as though I have nothing to hide. He doesn't know for certain that you were in the wagon with me. I shall tell him the same story about the disease I am treating; also, that a fanner is on his way to help me with the wheel. See, there actually is a farmhouse through the trees, and a man lives there who I have recently attended. I can ask his aid as soon as Blaize leaves." "Do you think Blaize will believe that you know nothing of my whereabouts?" "Maybe not, but he won't hurt me. I am needed too much in Salem. As soon as I can get my wagon fixed, I'll follow you. What is your cousin's name?"

"Mistress Samantha Flaherty on Beacon Hill at Green Street. Oh, Giles, I so hate to leave you!" "I know, my darling, but you must go quickly and be safe." They embraced fiercely and kissed once more, and then Fiona turned and ran. Without sparing a backward glance, she pushed her way through the screening trees, moving as fast as she could. It wasn't long before she heard Judge Blaize pounding back along the road and she shrank down into the leaves, still as a hunted animal. When he had passed, she pulled herself up and clung to a tree trunk until the pounding of her heart had lessened. In a few moments, she started on again, keeping a band of trees between herself and the road in case she might be seen. She tried to put everything out of her mind except the importance of reaching her destination, scarcely noticing the rough branches that scraped her skin, the blisters forming on her heels, the rocks and bushes that impeded her stumbling progress. After a while, the pain in her side became a red-hot flame and breath tore through her throat in great exhausting gasps. She dropped to the ground on all fours, her lungs laboring while she brushed aside the tangled hair falling across her face. How much farther must she go? Four miles? Five? She would have to travel slower, or she would faint from exhaustion. Giles must have been able to convince the judge that she had not been with him. She sent up a little prayer for Giles, brave, strong, and loving. In her mind, she saw his long-lashed steady gaze, true and fearless, the passionate lips that had kissed her with such fervor and formed the words "We shall be wed." It seemed almost incredible that she loved and was loved in return by such a special man. Emotion welled up in her and she shut her eyes, dizzy with the longing to have him beside her. So this was love, a bewildering, aching, yearning such as she had never known. However, she knew she couldn't linger and explore this sweet sensationnot now. Unsteadily, she forced herself upright. Her heart still hammered like a bird trapped inside her chest, and her legs trembled betrayingly beneath her, but she dared rest no longer. She would go slower, place one foot in front of the other, think only of the path before her. Yes that was better. Perhaps she was getting her second wind. Darkness had nearly engulfed the woods. In the distance something howled, and her terrified eyes swept the shadowed trees. She saw gleams of light, pinpoints like yellow fire. Wolves! Suddenly, she thought of Gray. Would he attack her as a member of the race which was his enemy? He must fear and hate all humans except for one small girl who had healed

his wounds and continued feeding him, now that he was too old for plundering the chicken yards. Perhaps Gray would now associate her with Sally. Fervently, she hoped so. She had given him a slice of meat at one time. How long did animals remember? At any rate, this might be a different wolf, and with that thought came a new surge of strength which sped her forward. And then at last the River Charles stretched before her. Swaying with fatigue, she clung to a nearby elm, amazed to see so many people waiting at the dock for the approaching ferry, perhaps the last boat of the night. Some carried baggage, some rode horses, some sat in carts like the one in which Thomas had driven them to Salem. That day seemed so long ago if she and her mother had known what the future held, they might not have left Boston, even if it meant applying at the workhouse. But then she'd never have met Giles again. Perhaps there was a plan for everything. Squaring her shoulders, Fiona made her way down the slanting path to the ferry. The passengers from Boston swarmed ashore and now the other crowd moved forward, taking seats along the railing or standing by their mounts. Fiona dropped some coins into the boatman's hand and then crept toward the bow, pulling her shawl concealingly around her head. She inhaled deeply of the fresh salt-laden breeze and sank wearily onto the rough wooden seat. For the moment she was safe, and soon she would see her cousin. If only Giles were with her. Was it possible he had met the judge? At least Blaize could determine she was not with Giles and there was no proof that she ever had been. The Harmons had been so kind and helpful, but if it brought them harm, she would bear a terrible guilt for the rest of her life. She knew she must try not to worry. One thing at a time. "Go forward and do," Giles would tell her. It was good advice, and she sat up straighter, glancing casually around the boat. It seemed for a moment as though her heartbeat had stopped, then it started up an agitated pounding. Her vision blurred and all sounds grew muted. Was she seeing visions? No. Just before the ferry left its mooring, a lean, dark figure rode his horse on board. Nicholas Blaize had followed her. He slid down from his horse and became screened by the crowd. He hadn't seen her yet, but it would not be long. His hate-filled visage scanned every person and his long arms shoved past those he had seen. Slowly he came closer, although his way was hampered and some people complained about being pushed aside so rudely, but still they let him through.

As Fiona pressed against the rail, her eyes darted around for a means of escape. They soon would dock, and then he would be upon her. She saw no other wayshe must go over the side and swim for shore. The water lapped against the ferry, dark and oily. She cast a glance toward the Boston docks, the fishing boats gliding homeward with their catch. Could she make it? She knew how to swim; her sailor father had seen to that. No one sat near or looked at her, but Blaize had come much closer. He was engaged in an altercation with a burly passenger; however, when he turned around, Blaize would find her. This was her chance while everyone stared and called comments to the arguing pair. Dropping her shawl on the seat, Fiona drew a deep breath and slipped between the rails. The water hit her with an icy shock; then it closed above her head. She struggled furiously, hampered by her long skirts and leather shoes. At last her head cleared the surface and she gasped air and coughed. The ferry had gone past her and no one seemed to have observed her plunge. A pang of fear swept her when she saw that the shore was farther off than she'd thought. She also felt the current, strong and swift, going out to sea. For a while, she fought the water with every ounce of strength and willpower she possessed, until she was so weak she could hardly lift her arms or even breathe. She still had not reached shore when once again the water closed above her head and the icy dark engulfed her.

Fiona felt land beneath her, dry sand, and a rough warm arm supporting her. A voice spoke in her ear as she opened heavy-lidded eyes. "Eh, lass, be ye all right?" Fiona stared up at the night sky filled with stars, then strained to see the dim forms hovering on the dark beach. There was murmuring among them and also a strong smell of fish. Fiona coughed. "A strange catch we make today, eh, mates?" a voice rumbled from the shadows. Fiona struggled to sit upright and the man holding her repeated, "Easy, lass. How do y'feel?" "II think I'm all right. What happened to me?" "The little fish has a voice." There were several laughs and a shuffling movement on the sand as a lamp was raised to shine its light on her. "We saw ye floundering in the water," said the bearded man kneeling at her side. "Fainted ye had and close to drowning when we hauled y'out."

Fiona coughed again and was patted on the back. "Has she spewed up all the river that she swallowed?" "Oh, that, yes, I think so." A youth stepped closer, garbed like the rest in stocking cap, hip boots, and long, oiled jacket. "What is your name, miss? Do you live in Boston?" Although shivering and wet, Fiona felt her brain begin to work, and she answered briefly. "My name isis Mary Ware, and I fell off the ferry on my way to visit Boston." That was enough for them to know just now. She glanced fearfully around the almost deserted shore and wharf but saw no sign of Judge Blaize. Her dive into the river must have gone unnoticed. However, it had nearly proved fatal. She didn't know what else she could have done. In another minute, Judge Blaize's vengeful gaze would have fallen on her. If only she knew what had transpired between him and Giles! "Can ye stand, miss?" her rescuer asked. "My name's Tim Rooney, and I'll be glad to take ye to my missus. We lives right close." Fiona hesitated. "I hate to bother you." "Is there anyone who will be searching for you?" the young boy asked. "No one," Fiona managed to reply firmly, and sent up a prayer that it be true. " 'Tis dry clothes and warmth ye need first before any questions." Tim drew Fiona to her feet, then shrugged out of his oilskins and draped the yellow coat around her shivering form. "Very well. Thank you all s-so much. I owe you my life." There was a chorus of deprecating remarks and then farewells as Fiona and her rescuer trudged across the beach. She held the man's burly arm and proceeded as fast as she could manage to a row of small, neat homes facing a quiet stretch of beach and river. As Tim approached his house, he bawled, "Betsy, love, see what I have caught today besides fish." Laughing, he thrust back the door and swept Fiona across the threshold. The warm, lamplit room was plainly furnished but very crowded, with a trestle table taking up nearly all the space. Three children and a freckle-faced young woman sitting there all gaped at Fiona, spoons suspended above wooden bowls, supper ignored as they marveled at the bedraggled stranger in their midst.

"Meet Miss Mary Ware, a poor lass who fell off the ferry. She's wet and cold and hungry, too, I'd wager." Tim waved a meaty hand. "These be my youn'uns, Fanny, Jim, and little Bobby, and my wife, Betsy, who will fix ye up, eh, wife?" "Of course, Tim." The young woman scrambled to her feet. Like Tim, she had enough sense not to ask questions of the obviously miserable Fiona. "Come into the bedroom, miss. I'll fetch hot water and a clean gown." "I don't wish to bother" Fiona's chattering words were ignored as Betsy led her firmly from the room. In the cluttered chamber, Fiona exchanged her sodden clothes for a rough homespun garment. Her shoes had been lost in the river, and all her money, but Nancy gave her heavy stockings and took the rest of the wet apparel to be dried. When Fiona returned to the kitchen, Betsy directed her to a place at the table, shooing the noisy brood outdoors. A hearty fish chowder was served, together with warm brown bread, a wedge of cheese, and a plate of shining apples. Cider in the wooden mugs was hot and spicy, and Fiona found that she felt famished. When the meal was over, they asked Fiona where she'd come from and she replied vaguely that she had recently arrived from Ireland and was staying on a small farm across the river. Tim and Betsy said they had been born and bred on American soil so they were both interested in the land across the sea and the long ocean voyage. However, when they observed Fiona's increasing weariness, they curtailed their questions. "Tim will take you to your destination as soon as you wish," Betsy said, with a kind smile. "His horse can carry both of you, right, Tim?" His whiskered face beamed and nodded. "Indeed, yes. Unless you'd like to rest here longer, lass? Perhaps a nap? Or spend the night? We could fix a pallet by the fire." "Oh, no, thank you. You've both done so much already. I never can repay it. I would like to be on my way before it grows too late." Betsy told her to keep the homespun gown and return it another time. Her wet apparel was put into a bundle, and with more heartfelt thanks and good wishes exchanged, Fiona was lifted up to ride pillion behind Tim. "I have a feelin' ye aren't telling us the whole of it," he rumbled, "but 'tis no matter." That was all he said, and Fiona didn't answer. She was near exhaustion now, barely able to raise her head from resting on Tim's broad back. She gave him directions to her cousin's home and was almost asleep as the horse trotted through the lamplit streets now deserted except for the town crier bawling out his news: "Nine o'clock and all's well!" After a while, Tim turned his head and shook her arm. "Eh, lass, be this the place? 'Tis mighty grand, I'm thinkin'."

"This is the right place," Fiona roused to answer. "I just hope my cousin is home." "I'll wait here to make sure." Holding Fiona's arm in a strong grip, he accompanied her to the door. This time, it was not the maid who answered, but a slender gray-haired lady who peered out at them. "Are you Mrs. Samantha Flaherty?" Fiona quavered. The lady nodded, her eyes widening as they swept over Fiona's disheveled appearance. "I am she, but who are you?" "Fiona Prescott, your cousin." And with those gasping words, Fiona collapsed in a heap upon the steps.

Chapter 26

"Well, Cousin Fiona, 'tis a most disturbing tale." Her thin, gold-ringed hands twisting in her lap, Samantha Flaherty surveyed Fiona with worried eyes. Though older than Fiona's mother, she had a brisk manner and alertness that, like her bright blue eyes, seemed ageless. Her stylish gown was also blue, and a fine lace fichu at her neck matched the elegant cap upon her neat gray hair. Fiona swallowed the last of her hot chocolate and buttered toast, then pushed aside the tray and leaned back against the goosedown pillows in the big fourposter bed. Although she'd protested at this unwonted luxury, the truth was that her strength had been exhausted by the previous day's exertions and it was pleasant for a while to be pampered and made to feel renewed in body and spirit. When she'd recovered from her fainting spell the night before, Fiona had found herself in bed, watched over by Samantha and a hovering maid. "Sleep," her cousin admonished. "We can talk tomorrow." Fiona complied without an argument. The next morning, while she breakfasted, Cousin Samantha sat beside her and listened as Fiona related all that had happened to her mother since they'd arrived in Salem. She didn't add the fact that she herself was wanted by the magistrates. Samantha might feel uneasy harboring a "fugitive." Nor did Fiona tell the part Judge Blaize had played. She kept to

the facts pertaining to her mother, adding only that her friend Giles Harmon had attempted to drive Fiona to Boston until his wagon had broken down. "After that, I went on foot," Fiona continued, "but then I had that unfortunate accident on the ferry." "The fisherman who brought you here said you'd nearly drowned." Samantha groaned. "I wonder how you happened to fall overboard. Weak and dizzy from your flight, I warrant. My dear, what you have endured! If only I'd been here when you and Ellen first arrived. Perhaps I could have persuaded you both to stay with me until the terrible times in Salem had been resolved. I can hardly bear to think of Ellen in jail, falsely accused of witchcraft. "She put a lace-edged handkerchief against her shaking lips and shook her head. "I don't see how you've stood the worry and fear, a sweet young girl like you, alone, friendless Mercy and Grace acting so deplorably your father and uncle gone" At the mention of the recent deaths, Fiona had to fight the wave of grief that swept over her, but then she managed to say bravely, "Well, I have had Giles Harmon for a good friend ever since we met on shipboard, and now perhaps the governor will honor his promise made to me at sea that I should seek his aid if ever there was anything he could do to help." "Then you certainly must try to see him. Do you wish me to accompany you?" "No, thank you. I am sure I can arrange an audience, but I must go at once. There is no time to be lost." "Are you recovered enough, child, after your terrible experience in the river? And all the other things" "I feel fine. I never stirred all night and am completely rested, but now I am most anxious to be on my way." "I understand, Fiona. After you have seen the governor, I want you to stay with me until this matter has been settled. And when Ellen is free, this can be a home for both of you. She and I were very close as children, and you are so much like her. I've been lonesome since my husband, Joel, died. He owned several trading vessels which I sold upon his death, so I am well provided for and can easily take care of you and Ellen." "You are so good, Cousin. Thank you," Fiona murmured. She didn't add that nothing would keep her from returning to Salem so that she could be near her mother and continue the fight to free her. Samantha rose and kissed Fiona's cheek. "I am sure Sir William will help you. Otherwise, I would try to seek advice from someone else, but the governor will carry much more

weight. I have been told that he is a very energetic man. How fortunate that you know him! I shall let you dress now. I will send Tilly in with one of my gowns, also hat, shoes, and a wrap. We are something of a size." She turned back at the door and added, "I certainly regret that Tilly was with me in New Haven when you first came here. That temporary servant I employed should have let you stay. Well, what's done is done. When you are ready, Amos, my coachman, will drive you to the governor's mansion. My prayers go with you, dear." Fiona thanked her from an overflowing heart When the door closed, she slipped out of bed and poured water from a pitcher into a china basin, applying the warmth to face and arms. She wished she could have washed her hair, but since that was impossible, she brushed it thoroughly, then donned her undergarments, noting gratefully that they had been cleaned and ironed while she'd slept: camisole, drawers, petticoat, and crocheted stockings. A knock sounded at the door and Tilly entered with a kindly smile, her arms filled with a soft pale lilac gown, a short matching woolen mantle, and low-heeled leather shoes. Everything fit well enough and soon Fiona was dressed and ready. When Tilly left to summon the coachman, Fiona glanced anxiously in the square wall mirror, wondering suddenly if Governor Phips would remember her. He must be a very busy man and their acquaintance had been brief. Fortunately, the coin around her neck had not become dislodged in the water. Perhaps she would show it to Sir William in order to further jog his memory. She moved away, her thoughts turning to Giles with a nagging fear. He should have been here by now, unless he'd run into trouble with Judge Blaize. But would there have been time for them to have an encounter? The judge had followed almost on her heels when she'd got onto the ferry. Was he now in Boston, searching for her like a venemous black snake? Fiona shuddered. She felt glad she hadn't given her right name to the fishermen. Tim knew where she'd gone, and the location of Samantha's dwelling, but he seemed canny enough not to divulge her whereabouts to any stranger. And during the day, the fishermen might all be out at sea. She drew a ragged breath. One thing at a time. Right now, Governor Phips was her main concern. She sent up a quick prayer for guidance and for her mother's safety, just as Tilly knocked and said the carriage was waiting out in front. Swinging on the soft wool cape, Fiona raised her chin and followed briskly. Samantha stood at the front door and waved goodbye as Fiona headed for the gilt-trimmed coach waiting at the bottom of the garden. An elderly driver clothed in livery of hunters green saluted her with a finger to his cap and a gap-toothed grin.

Soon they were rattling over the cobbled streets. The town already bustled with activity. Shop owners busily removed wooden barricades from their shop windows. Boys in smocks flung buckets of water in the streets so they could sweep the cobbles clean. Vendors cried their wares: "Hot taters for a penny." "Pins and needles. Finest brass." "Fresh violets. Won't you buy a bunch?" Church bells chimed almost constantly, tall spires rising above other rooftops. It seemed like a proud, prosperous city, so different from the untended, weed-grown Salem swallowed up in its bigotry and hate. However, Boston probably also had a fear of witches and the Salem witch hunt must be well known here. She recalled the terror shown by Thomas, the carter, as well as Samantha's temporary maid. Did Sir William share those views? She had no way of knowing. All she had to go on were his kind words on shipboard: "If I can ever aid you, call on me." Well, now she was going to do just that. It wasn't long before the carriage stopped and Amos got down from his box to open the door. "Here we are, miss." As Fiona alighted, her eye fell on the street signs at the crossroad: "Green Lane" and "Salem Street." Salem! Was that an omen? Would trouble still follow here? No, she told herself fiercely, not unless she faltered in her purpose. "That large brick house beyond the fence is the governor's mansion," Amos told her, waving toward a row of clipped yews where a young sentry in bright scarlet paced solemnly up and down, a polished sword gleaming at his side. Drawing a deep breath, Fiona stepped up to him and said, "I would like to see Sir William Phips. My name is Fiona Prescott, and he knows me. If you will please tell him" The sentry swept Fiona with an appreciative eye but then shook his head. "I'm sorry, miss. I would be right glad to accommodate you, but the governor isn't at home." This was something Fiona had failed to consider, and for a moment she felt daunted. "Oh, dear. When will he return?" "I couldn't say exactly. He has gone across the River Charles to a meeting at Harvard College, but tonight there will be a fancy ball here and I know for certain he'll be back then." "Could I go up to the house and speak to someone in charge? I would like to leave a message for Sir William. It's very important." Fiona gazed up imploringly, her hands

clasped at her throat. "It concerns my mother. You must have a mother, sir. Would you want her wrongfully incarcerated by her enemies?" "Indeed not," he gasped. "What happened, miss?" "I cannot tell you any more just yet. All I ask is that you let me speak to somebody in charge up there." She waved a vague hand toward the mansion, then gave a sob and turned aside to wipe her eyes on the edge of her cloak. "Here now, miss, don't cry! You're so young and pretty I'll let you go up to the door and speak to Master White." He gave a glance around and whispered, "But make it quick!" "Oh, thank you. I, will never forget your kindness." The wrought-iron gate with its gilded scrolls swung back and Fiona sped up the tree-lined walk, sparing nary a glance for the myriad flowerbeds and beautifully landscaped grounds. The double doors at the mansion flew open almost as soon as she had applied the big brass eagle knocker. A dignified, dark-skinned man in purple livery regarded her impassively. "Are you the Master White who is in charge here?" "I am the majordomo of this establishment." Fiona drew the black cord from around her neck and held out the doubloon on her palm, words tumbling swiftly, one after the other. "My name is Fiona Prescott and I met the governor at sea not long ago when we traveled from England. He gave me this coin as a souvenir of the voyage and told me to call on him if I ever needed his help." She inhaled deeply. "Now, I need help desperately. Mr. White, life and death are in the balance. Will you please ask Sir William to grant me an audience when he returns? I am staying with Mistress Flaherty on Beacon Hill. If you will just show him this coin, I'm sure he will remember me." "I will do so." He inclined his head without any change in his expression and quietly closed the door while Fiona called out, "Thank you" Turning away, she felt a weak reaction and tottered back to the carriage. Nothing had gone as she had planned it. She never dreamed it would be so difficult to see the governor. All she had worried about was how to impress him with the urgency of her mission.

She hadn't liked handing over the doubloon, either. It might get lost or stolen or simply tossed aside. The governor might be too busy to send for her or too indifferent. "Where to, miss?" Amos called, when she reached the carriage. "Back to Mistress Flaherty." Fiona sighed and sank onto the green velvet seat, chewing on her lip. What should be her next move if the governor failed to respond? She was so deep in thought, at first she didn't recognize the tall figure alighting from a wagon in front of her cousin's house. After a stunned moment, she screamed, "Giles!" and wrenched open the coach door. With a bound, he had her in his arms and crushed the breath out of her lungs with the force of his embrace and a swift, hard kiss upon her lips. "My darling, are you all right?" "Yes, but oh, I am so relieved to have you here beside me." She cupped his face and rained kisses on him while he responded with equal fervor. Then she drew back a little, sobering. "I tried to see Sir William, but he was out. I'll have to see him later." She was interrupted by the voice of Amos calling as he peered curiously at Giles. "Will you be needing me anymore just now, miss?" "No, thank you, Amos. This is myerfriend, Doctor Giles Harmon, from Salem." Amos touched his cap. "A good day to you, doctor." He then drove slowly around the side of Samantha's property, sending several backward glances before he drove out of sight. "He must be dying to know what business I had with the governor, but he is too well trained to ask." Fiona took Giles by the hand. "Come, let's sit in that pergola before we go inside. I want to hear about Blaize, and I have things to tell you, too." Giles threw her a concerned glance but allowed himself to be led inside the little honeysuckle-covered summer-house at the far end of the garden. Paths of ground shells wound between well-tended beds of roses coming into bloom, tulips, hyacinths, and pansies. From somewhere came a scent of lilacs mingling with the salty air and tar from shipyards that seemed to be a part of Boston. The garden, beautiful though it was, did not hold any interest for Fiona at this time. Inside the summerhouse, she flung herself into Giles's arms. "Oh, dearest, do you think I'll be able to see Sir William? It was such a blow! He won't be back until tonight." "Tonight? Then that's when we shall pay him a visit." "You'll go with me?"

"Of course. Now, I guess you are wondering if I met Blaize. The answer is no." "Didn't he come back?" Fiona exclaimed. "Yes, but by that time I had enlisted the aid of that nearby farmer I mentioned and we had moved the wagon. Blaize came sniffing, but he didn't see us and seemed in a tremendous hurry. He turned around and pounded back down the road to Boston." "Oh, Giles, yes, he followed meright onto the ferry!" "Good Lord, how did you evade him?" "There was a big crowd on the boat, and under cover of it I jumped into the river. No one noticed me. At least, I didn't think so" "Youwhat?" Giles choked. "Well, my father taught me to swim, but the current was too strong. A fisherman rescued me, or I might have drowned. He brought me to Samantha's house after that." Giles gathered her into his arms and groaned. "Oh, Lord, you're so impetuous. Are you all right? No chills?" "No, I had all night to recover. Samantha gave me a warm bed and some breakfast. She was very kind, even sent her coachman to drive me to Sir William's." "How much have you told your cousin about Salem?" "Nearly everything except Judge Blaize pursuing me and the fact that I also am wanted by the magistrates." "That's not 'nearly everything.' Don't you think you should let her know that you are in danger? Suppose Blaize comes here?" Fiona caught her breath. "How would he know where to come?" "Grace might have told him you had a relative here and if you wished to hide, this would be the logical place for you to go." "You're right. Grace would make every effort to see me caught." Hating to leave the warm security of the arms enfolding her, she nevertheless moved away. "I think we should go in and tell Samantha everything." Giles nodded. "I agree. And tonight we'll visit Governor Phips."

Fiona raised her face to his. "I'm so grateful that you're here with me and I don't have to go on alone anymore." "I always want to be there at your side, my dearest." With an almost desperate hunger, Giles kissed her brow, lips, and throat while Fiona clung to him, wishing this blissful moment could go on forever. At last he whispered, "Do you recall your promise to me by the brook? I want to buy you a betrothal ring as soon as possible." Suddenly, reality came flooding back and she was aware of the terrible doom-laden hours of fear and uncertainty ahead. "Oh, dearest," she choked, "I love you with all my heart and soul, but you know I might be caught and charged withwith witchcraft. Your aid to me would then place you in the gravest danger." "Do you think I would care about that?" he cried roughly, grabbing her by the arm. "Do you believe I would turn my back on you because of any danger to myself?" "No, but how do you think I'd feel if I brought you down with me? I could not bear it!" "Not another word. I intend to stand beside you through any trouble and never stop the fight to save both you and your mother." "Heavens above, Fiona! Are you also wanted by the witch hunters?" A gasping voice spoke from the doorway and Samantha stepped into the summerhouse.

Chapter 27

Alarmed at first, Fiona then nodded to her cousin with a feeling of relief that everything would now be brought into the open. "Yes, Samantha, Grace, who cried out on my mother, also cited me. She stated that I made friends with people who were under suspicion and had drawn Giles from her side with magic. Oh, she said so many foolish things." "The girl was jealous of Fiona," Giles's deep voice cut in. Samantha turned her eyes on him. "Fiona, who is this handsome young man?" "Oh, excuse me. This is my friend, Doctor Giles Harmon. I mentioned him to you previously. Giles, Samantha Flaherty."

Giles bowed gravely. "I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Flaherty, but I trust I am more than Fiona's friend. She has consented to become my wife." He sent Fiona a smile which brought a warm wave to her cheeks. Samantha sank down on a bench. "Well well congratulations." Her bewildered glance traveled to Fiona. "Is this true? A search is out for you from the Salem witch hunters?" Fiona nodded. "I didn't want to add to your worries, but now there is a possibility that a certain Judge Nicholas Blaize may be searching for me through Boston's streets. I saw him on the ferry, and that is why I jumped into the river." "Oh, my Lord!" Samantha pressed a hand against her chest. "How does he know you are in Boston?" "I told him once that I was acquainted with Sir William, who had promised help if ever I should need it." "Thenthenoh, child, did you see the governor? What did he say?" "He wasn't home. He will return tonight for a ball at the mansion. I left a note for him with the majordomo." "Meanwhile, this judge may have discovered my name from Grace or Mercy. You must come inside and not let anyone get near youany stranger, that is," Samantha stated firmly. Fiona gripped her hands together. "I can't stay here. Judge Blaize might put you in danger. I expected to see Sir William earlier and then leave at once for Salem, but now I will have to wait. Is there a secluded place where Giles and I could hide until tonight?" Samantha sprang up, her blue eyes flashing. "What nonsense! Of course you will stay here. Come at once into the house, both of you. Amos can guard the front door with my husband's musket just as he used to aboard my Joel's ships while keeping watch for pirates. I would trust Amos with my life." "What do you say, Giles?" Fiona asked. He frowned thoughtfully, then said, "I think you would be safe here if you kept out of sight. It will be for just a few hours." "Very well." Fiona smiled gratefully at her cousin. She really had had enough of hiding and fleeing through the woods. "Perhaps the servants could be told that I have an enemy whose attentions I have spurned." "And that is the truth," Giles growled.

"Really?" Samantha's eyes grew round, but she didn't probe. Then she raised her chin. "No matter what the reason, Amos will do as I tell him without any explanations, as will Tilly and my cook. Both of them have been with me for ages." "You are fortunate in your loyal household," Giles said. "However, it may be that Blaize has no exact knowledge, as yet, of Fiona's whereabouts. If he had, I think he would have been here by this time." " 'Tis best to be on the safe side," Samantha answered. "Now, I will send Amos to stable your horse and wagon. I trust that is your equipage in the street? Very well. Doctor, you look monstrous weary. I venture to say you need refreshment. Am I right?" "Yes, indeed. I would be most grateful." Giles flashed his charming smile and Fiona could see that her cousin was impressed by him, in spite of the fatigue that lined his face and dusty clothes. She showed him to a room next to Fiona's where he could wash. After that, they all sat down to a midday meal of beef barley soup, hot biscuits, a bowl of sugared berries with cream and cups of tea served in delicate china cups. Giles ate hungrily, also doing justice to a platter of cold sliced meat and cheese. After he had assuaged the worst of his hunger, Samantha wanted to know his opinion of the witch trials and if he was one of the Puritans. "I was raised a Puritan, as were most of Salem's natives, but my years abroad acquiring a degree in England have given me a wider viewpoint," he replied. "I think many young people in the town rebelled against the strict edicts regarding clothes, innocent pastimes, and harsh punishments exacted for any infringements. Their elders came to the New World seeking freedom, but now they deny it to anybody who doesn't think the way they do. The clergy is also behind this witch hunt, as well as" Suddenly, he was interrupted by the appearance of Amos in the doorway. Eyes snapping with excitement, Amos doffed his cap and bowed, extending a folded paper with a red blob of sealing wax upon it. "Mistress, this was just delivered. Shoved it underneath the door, he did, then left." Samantha accepted the note, then said, "Thank you, Amos. Return to the front hall, and remember" "Yes, mistress. I don't open the door to any strange man. That's why when he knocked and said there was a message, I had him push the note beneath the door." Amos saluted, swung smartly on his heel, and marched out, clearly enjoying the trust and the moment of excitement after his recent years of being just a peaceful coachman. Samantha looked down at the note and turned it over. "Why, Fiona, it's for you."

Fiona's first thought was that Blaize had discovered her whereabouts and was warning her that flight would bring worse punishment. She almost felt afraid to read the note. "Well, child, aren't you going to open it?" Samantha asked, not succeeding in controlling her concern. Fiona broke the seal and read aloud:

Miss Fiona Prescott: I am very sorry to have missed your visit.

Fiona glanced down at the signature and sucked in her lip. "Ohit's from the governor!" She read:

I would like to see you this evening at my masquerade ball and will find time to speak with you privately. This letter will admit you and an escort. I am also enclosing the doubloon. I stand ready to help you in any way I can.

Yours respectfully, William Phips Royal Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts Bay Colony.

Fiona gave a joyful cry. "Oh, thank heaven, he'll see me tonight. Giles, you shall be my escort." Samantha clapped softly. "Now things are moving properly. The governor will grant you an audience and you can tell him everything. And the next thing iswhat shall you wear?"

Fiona looked down at herself. "Wouldn't this dress do? I need not mingle with the guests, you know. I just want a few private words with Sir William." Fervently, she kissed the note. "Bless him!" She tied the coin again around her neck. "I fear I am too travel-stained even for a private session," Giles said wryly. "You both must make a good appearance. Servants and all, you know, judge by exteriors." Samantha tapped her chin. "I can outfit Fiona with another gown more suitable for a ball, but you, sir well, Tilly can restore your things somewhat. Alas, my husband was too short for you to fit into anything except a shirt andhmmyes, I recall a brocaded waistcoat that I put away. I couldn't bear to part with all Joel's things. You shall have a banyan robe of his to wear while your clothes are washed and pressed." Giles bowed. "Thank you, Mrs. Flaherty. You are most extremely kind. I shall put aside any misgivings about my appearance. The important thing is to see Sir William and present the facts to him in a clear, orderly manner." "Also as forcefully as possible," Fiona said. "But without being overly dramatic. Let us discuss what we should say." "I think it would be advisable to write it down," Giles said. "Then we could leave the notes with him to refresh his memory." They all agreed and as soon as the meal ended, Samantha brought sheets of paper, a welltrimmed quill, and ink already mixed in a clay jug. A place was cleared at the table and Samantha left them to their task, saying she always rested in the afternoon. After a little discussion, Giles and Fiona decided that the last part of the affair should be presented first to capture his attention. Giles wrote down that Ellen Prescott had treated Grace's skin with a facial salve, which for some unforseen reason, inflamed Grace's skin to an alarming and painful degree. "I do hope Sir William won't think that smacks of witchcraft," Fiona worried. "We can't predict what he will think," Giles said, writing with a firm, bold stroke. "Let us tell the truth and not attempt to color it one way or the other." "You're right. Then say that Grace immediately cried that she had been poisoned by a witch, her aunt, Ellen Prescott. She went screaming into town, followed by many people, including her mother, Mercy Prescott." "Go slower," Giles muttered.

After a minute, Fiona continued. "Write that a group returned to the Prescott house while I was with Mrs. Harmon and they took Ellen Prescott off to jail. Later, we found out that when questioned by the magistrates, she denied all charges, but witnesses came forward to speak against her. Grace said there had been many other suspicious acts, the dry cow after we arrived, the black cat she treated, also our friendship with Rebecca Nurse and Sally Woods, both suspected witches. On the stand, Mercy said she didn't like the strange herbs used in the salve and only permitted its use after Grace threw a tantrum." Giles's pen scratched busily. "Then I had better add that you also are suspected for the same reasons, but you fled before you could be apprehended." "Is that a crime?" Fiona asked, "fleeing from the constable?" "Yes." Giles stretched his hand across the table to clasp her fingers. "But no one can be blamed for seeking help when they are innocent. How else could you have come here to ask Sir William's aid? You wouldn't stand a chance for help locked up in jail." "Oh, Giles, I'm so glad you're here to comfort me." "There is nowhere else I want to be." He pressed her fingers, then read aloud what he had written. "Do you think we should add the fact that you have incurred Judge Blaize's enmity?" "That part bothers me," Fiona said slowly. "Sir William might think I had encouraged him. Let's leave that out for now. When we see the governor, I may decide to tell him. Do you suppose he knows how the trials are being conducted? The speed, the hysteria, the lying witnesses?" "And the reliance on spectral evidence, to say nothing of belief in the words of little children. We may need to explain all that to him." After a moment's silence, Fiona mused aloud. "Isn't it incredible? You would think the whole thing was a fantasy from some dark, ancient time when people were ignorant and extremely superstitious." "It's a dark fantasy, all right, and will go down in history as a most shameful episode in Salem, never to be forgotten." "And we are right in the middle of it." Fiona rose, hands pressed on the table. "Giles, is it only a bad dream? Will I wake up?" Giles came around the table and led her from the room. "No, it is very real," he said deeply. "But I know you can be strong and brave. Remember, I will help you all the way."

She raised her face to his. "Thank, you, Giles. I hate to think how I would have gone on without you." He kissed her deeply, but she could tell his usual passion was suppressed. "Remember, when this is over we'll be wed and lead a long and happy life. Lie down now, and later we will dress and go to see Sir William. I am certain he will be very sympatheticas well as helpful." A wave of longing to have him hold her swept Fiona. "Come in to me ifwhenyou feel like talking" "As soon as I have washed some of the dust away," Giles promised. She lay on the bed for what felt like a few moments. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door and Tilly called, " 'Tis waxing late, miss. Only an hour before the ball begins." She pulled a zinc tub to the fire, filling it with cans of hot water and finally adding a vial of lilac water which perfumed all the air. Samantha certainly knew the gracious, pleasant way to enjoy her money, Fiona thought, as she soaped and washed her hair and body with Tilly's efficient aid. When all was dry, Tilly left the room to return with a pale green satin gown. The low, square neckline had a frill of fine blond lace to match another at the elbows and around the skirt. White satin roses draped one shoulder, and Tilly added another to the ringlets she arranged in Fiona's softly gleaming locks. "You look a vision, miss, and that's the truth," the maid exclaimed, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now, here's a darker velvet cloak to wear and one of milady's masks to put on when you get there." "Thank you, Tilly. Do you know if Dr. Harmon is ready?" "I saw him leave the house as soon as he was dressed. I'll see if he's come back." A few minutes later, Giles entered and Fiona rejoiced to see the love and reassurance in his dear face. She was not alone in this fight to save her mother. This tall, handsome man in frilled silk shirt and brocaded vest had joined his life to hers in spite of all the danger it entailed. "How beautiful you look, my lady," Giles said. He took an impulsive step toward her, then stopped. "I must not muss your gown, no matter how I long to." The familiar rush of excitement swept Fiona, but she, too, knew this time was not for them. She merely curtsied. "You look mighty fine yourself, my lord." "Borrowed plumage." He smoothed the brocaded waistcoat from Samantha, then drew a small box from the pocket.

"I slipped off to a jewelry store while you were getting ready and bought you a betrothal ring. I hope you like it." He grinned. "It's the first one I have ever bought." "And the first one I've received." She threw him a teasing glance, then opened the box to behold a golden band studded with three sapphires. "Oh, Giles, it's lovely." She lifted shining eyes while he placed it on her finger. "Someday I'll have it inscribed with my love," he said, "but you already know you have that." His fingers traced her face. "Thank you, dearest," Fiona breathed. "I love you so much. You are all my strength and comfort now." The kiss they exchanged was long and deep, but Fiona knew he must be thinking the same thing: she soon might need all the strength and comfort she could get.

Chapter 28

Before they left the house, Samantha met them in the hallway carrying a length of silver silk tissue. After she had admired Fiona's appearance, she gave her the shimmering material. "Wrap this around your head, dear, and tuck in all the curls. Nothing would give you away like those fiery locks." Fiona caught her breath. Why hadn't she thought of that? "What an excellent idea," Giles exclaimed. He took the cloth and wound it around Fiona's head, making certain every hair was hidden. Samantha then handed him an emerald glass brooch to fasten the folds of silver in the front. When Fiona put up her hands to pat the turban more securely, Samantha immediately saw the betrothal ring and bent to examine it with delight. "That's lovely." Her glance went from Giles to Fiona. "Promise me that the reception will be held here in my home." "Thank you, dear Samantha." Fiona gave her a warm kiss upon the cheek, but she could promise nothing at this point. The future loomed a dangerous, unknown territory still to be warily traversed. Right now, every thought and purpose must be directed toward persuading the governor to help her.

Amos had the carriage out in front and they rolled off at once, making good time until they neared the governor's mansion. There every kind of luxurious conveyance clogged the streets, from sedan chairs borne by two sturdy porters apiece to gilded coaches drawn by matching horses with harnesses jingling and plumes bobbing. Haughty coach boys were mounted in the rear, waiting to help their masters to descend. Lights shone everywhere: carriage lanterns, street lamps, and finally from the Mansion itself, ablaze from top to bottom. A steady stream of guests moved through the open gates, and when Giles and Fiona joined the throng, they gazed in awe at velvet cloaks, thick fur trimming, and towering headdresses of white, flaxen, or ebony. Jewels flashed on hands and throats, ropes of pearls and gems twining through the wigs, vying with garlands of flowers, both fresh and artificial. Lowering her mask, Fiona presented her invitation at the door, instantly recognizing dignified Mr. White, the majordomo. She couldn't tell if he remembered her or not as he waved her through. Sir William and his lady stood in the hall to greet the guests and Fiona heard his booming laugh ring out before she reached him. With a beating heart, she sank into a curtsey in front of him, then raised her eyes. "Your Excellency, do you remember me? Fiona Prescott, from the Seawynd? My escort is Dr. Giles Harmon." "Miss Fiona! Giles! How wonderful to see you both. Your message indicated you were in some kind of trouble." For an instant, his gaze grew sober and he frowned, then it cleared. "I'd like you both to meet my wife, Lady Mary." His bold glance lingered admiringly on Fiona, and she felt thankful for the impressive satin ballgown that she wore. She curtsied to his wife, a bright-eyed woman in velvet, lace, and diamonds who looked older than Sir William, but whose face held strong intelligence and vitality. "We will both manage a private session with you." The lady nodded briskly. "Right, my lord?" "Oh, yes, indeed," he cried heartily. "Miss Fiona, I see you are wearing the doubloon I gave you. Mary, did I tell you" "Later, love, the receiving line grows longer by the minute." Sir William clasped Giles's hand, nodded to Fiona, and then turned to greet the next guests. Maids were waiting to hang up cloaks and hats, and after disposing of her wrap, Fiona took Giles's arm, put up her black velvet mask on its slender wand, and stared carefully in every direction.

"I don't think Blaize could get in here, do you?" she whispered. "He would need an invitation, and Mr. White is checking everyone most thoroughly." "You probably are right, but let us stay among the crowds and keep our eyes alert. I can see tables through that archway piled with many delectable viands, a whole goose, turkey, cold salmon, and towers of frosted cakes. Are you hungry?" "Not yet. I'm too excited. Let us watch the dancing in that opposite room." "Evidently no Puritans reign in his household," Giles murmured. "There is even a billiards table nearby, unless I am mistaken. I hear the clink of wooden balls and wagers being cried." Fiona shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Can you imagine the horror felt in Salem if they saw all this liveliness?" They stood together on the sidelines observing the couples whirling, pirouetting, and bowing to their partners while a spinet tinkled and a group of musicians sawed energetically on fiddles. "How elegant and gracefully they dance," Fiona said. "See how they point the toe just so and the lightness of their bearing. I only know the contradances where couples make two long lines or a square dance with eight people." "I have learned the minuet," Giles said, "but I am not a graceful dandy. I prefer the livelier gavotte or a quick-stepping boure, where mistakes are not so noticeable." He chuckled. "Especially mine." Impressed, Fiona stared at him. Imagine Giles, the serious, dedicated doctor, knowing so much about the ballroom dances. Probably she would keep on learning new things about him all their lives. If they had a life together. No. She quickly thrust that worry from her mind, concentrating on the moment and their mission here. She knew she would need every bit of good sense at her command. Suddenly, Giles bent his head down to her ear. "Here come Sir William and his lady. Perhaps the guests have all arrived." "And I don't believe Blaize is among them." Fiona inhaled deeply, then turned to watch the approach of the big, important man who tonight wore his azure velvet, gilt lace, and a wig of glossy black ringlets with proud assurance. Fiona curtsied to him and Lady Mary, feeling a little shy and unsure just how to introduce the reason for her message. No such lack of sureness touched the governor. He put a large finger underneath Fiona's chin and tilted up her face. "Come with me, lass. We will now have our talk. Lady Mary and Giles can dance till we return."

Her ladyship put out a detaining hand and bent a keen eye on Fiona. "I also wish a few words with this young lady later on. I have a great concern about this Salem witch hunt and I will tell you why anon, my lord." The governor threw his wife a quizzical glance, but he asked no questions. "Now, however," she continued serenely, "Giles and I shall mingle with the guests." Fiona felt a quickening of hope. Perhaps here was another ally besides Sir William. Giles bowed to Lady Mary and crooked his arm to receive her slender bejeweled fingers, at the same time throwing Fiona a reassuring smile across his shoulder. Sir William led Fiona to a small room at some distance from the dancing crowd of merrymakers. Though small, it was quite elaborately furnished. A woven rug in red and black spread across the polished floor. Shelves of books and painted landscapes decorated all the walls, interspersed by two large windows whose garnet velvet was draped with golden cords and tassels. A fire burned briskly in a black marble grate and two armchairs faced each other across a little taboret. Spirits twinkled in a glass bottle as the governor filled a silver goblet for Fiona, then helped himself. "If you have wondered about the need for masks, it is because some activities here are not condoned by Puritans, many of whom are in attendance." "I understand," Fiona said, sipping cautiously. "What is this wine, Sir William? It leaves a strong trail on the tongue." " 'Tis called port, naturally, from Portugal. I can import anything I choose now to enrich my life. Although I must admit that Lady Mary has the best taste in this family. She was a wealthy woman when I married her, and she financed my first treasure hunt, you know " Fiona wanted to present her own case, not be sidetracked by Sir William's reminiscences, and hastily she extracted the notes folded in her pocket. "Your Excellency, I know you want to rejoin your guests as soon as possible, but I wish you would read this. Giles and I wrote down everything that has befallen my mother and me in regard to witchcraft charges made on us." She shoved the papers across the table and her voice shook with emotion. "Sir William, my mother has been falsely jailed for witchcraft, and there is also a warrant out for me." His eyes grew round. "My God! I can scarcely credit what my ears are hearing." He picked up the notes and began to read, a frown settling on his heavy features. "This is monstrous," he growled when he had finished. "I had no idea the witch hunt had reached such grave proportions."

Before he could continue, a knock sounded at the door and Mr. White appeared, bowing. "Begging your pardon, Sir William, but I must inform you that a man is at the gate asking to be admitted. He gives his name as Nicholas Blaize and says he is looking for a young red-haired woman now wanted by the law in Salem." His glance flickered briefly toward Fiona, but no change occurred in his inscrutable face. Fiona started up with a stiffled cry, fingers flying to her lips. "Oh, no! I pray you won't admit him!" She turned to Sir William and whispered frantically, "He is from the Salem court and would take me back to stand trial for witchcraft. My cousin has cried out on me because she fancies Giles for herself." "I see." Sir William's eyes turned to his majordomo. "Tell the man that no such girl is in this house. I take full responsibility for my guests." As Mr. White bowed and departed, Fiona gestured toward the door. "Can you trust in his discretion?" "Absolutely." "Thank you, Sir William." Fiona sank back down in her chair, trying to subdue her rapid breathing. "Judge Blaize wants me for another reason and I would never reach Salem unscathed in his company. He is a vile seducer of helpless females." Sir William's eyebrows drew together and he leaned back, his fingertips together. "Tell me more about this man." "Yes, I owe you an explanation. You probably have saved my life." Her eyes turned broodingly upon the leaping flames. "Nicholas Blaize came to Salem as a judge at the witch trials. He has wealth and power, and for some reason, he saw me and became infatuated. I repulsed his advances, which inflamed him even more." "Monstrous," Sir William roared. "The man's a villain and should be exposed." "That would be difficult. He wields a lot of power at the witch trials and is greatly feared." She decided not to tell him about the judge's other attempts at seduction, adding only that Blaize was a dedicated witch hunter but had told her that if she surrendered to him, both she and her mother would become exempt from any charges. Fiona looked him in the eye. "I will not be used like that by any man. I am going to marry Giles." She extended her hand with its betrothal ring. "Betrothed to Giles? Well, well, a fine match, I'll be bound. My best wishes to you both."

"Thank you. Sir William, a way must be found to free my mother because she is as completely innocent as I am. Without your help, I may never have a future with Giles or anybody else." "I believe you. These witch trials had begun to bother me. I heard about them before I went up North, but I had other matters on my mind." "They are a farce," Fiona cried. "The words of the so-called afflicted children are taken to be the gospel truth. Anyone they charge is immediately found guilty. And Nicholas Blaize is the judge who passes sentence. The jails are bulging with convicted witches and innocent people are led in chains to Gallows Hill. Oh, it is horriblea travesty of justice." She sprang up, gripping her hands together. "Where is the proof, I ask you? The answer is: none that you can see. Spectral evidence is all and is enough cause for conviction. Can you imagine that? Why, anyone could claim that so-and-so is torturing them and show the courtroom self-inflicted marks. Immediately, the cry is 'witch, witch!' " "I must admit that accepting spectral evidence bothers me," Sir William growled. "I don't think it should be allowed." Fiona flung out her hands. "Oh, please, Your Excellency, can't you end this nightmare? At least stop future executions while you investigate the matter." He stood up slowly, adjusting the gilt lace at his cuffs and throat. "I shall certainly give it my attention, but I may not be able to dismiss the trials without authorization from the king." Fiona gripped his arm and cried fiercely, "That would take too long. You must do something now!" His manner grew a little distant and Fiona realized that he probably did not like to be given orders. Once again she had let her emotions bring on reckless speech. She dropped her head. "Forgive me, Your Excellency. I know you are a busy and important man. It's just that any more delay could mean my mother's life and mine." He softened then and patted her shoulder. "Don't cry, lass. You are too pretty for tears. Smile! That's better. I shall do my best to help you." "Oh, thank you!" Fiona grabbed his big, hard hand, weighted down with rings, and kissed it fervently. He looked surprised, then pleased. "Come, my dear, let us dine and dance. Perhaps you can forget your worries for a little while. I'm sure that it would do you good."

Fiona smiled and preceded him out of the room, almost colliding with Lady Mary, who at once said briskly, "I would like a little chat with you, Miss Fiona, before you leave." "She is not leaving yet, my love." Sir William laughed. "I haven't had a dance with her as yet." "My lord, I think Fiona has graver matters on her mind than dancing. Go entertain your guests whilst I tell her my own opinion of this witch hunt." "You are always right, my lady wife." Sir William bowed, his glance a little curious. "I wonder if there is something you are not telling me." Lady Mary didn't answer him, merely beckoning Fiona to accompany her. Inside the little study, they took seats beside the fire, but did not partake of any wine. Lady Mary leaned at once across the table. Her eyes flamed with emotion, although her voice remained discreetly lowered. "I am greatly in sympathy with your trouble. Sir William said you live in Salem, and I wager you have run into their witch hunt. I think the way they are being conducted is a disgrace to the whole colony. To rest a matter of life or death on the testimony of hysterical, attention-seeking children is intolerable." "Oh, my lady," Fiona choked, and had to swallow hard. "How glad I am to hear you say that! My mother and I are in the most desperate trouble" Lady Mary leaned back in her armchair. "Tell me all about it, child." Fiona did so, even to the fact that Judge Blaize had pursued her to Boston for his own wicked purpose of seduction. She had the satisfaction of seeing Lady Mary's expressive face show amazement, then anger, and finally a steel-like determination. "There is a matter which I have not yet told my lord. He has just returned from the Indian uprising in the north and I wished to give him a day or two of peace. He works so hard." A loving light flared in the plain, intelligent face, and Fiona saw she cared deeply for her flamboyant husband. Lady Mary continued, her voice almost a whisper. "Last week a note was sent to me in secret, smuggled from the jail in Salem by a desperate woman protesting her complete innocence. A widow, she was the sole support of three small children and did housework and yardwork everywhere she could. However, one lecherous master tried to bend her to his evil desires, and when she refused, he called her "witch," telling the constable that she came to him in dreams trying to make him sign the Devil's Book. A paper of strange symbols was planted in her home, which when found was enough for her arrest. Just imagine the poor woman's anguish, her desperation, thinking she had nowhere to turn. Thank God, she turned to me. I went to Salem, talked to neighbors, found the man had a vile reputation, and then" She leaned back, smiling triumphantly. "I signed a warrant for her release."

"Oh, how wonderful," Fiona breathed. "Can you do this for other people falsely accused?" Lady Mary bit her lip and looked away. "No, my dear. You see, I usurped William's authority. I dare not try it again. However, there is something else. I have been informed that the afflicted girls are now whispering about me." "Oh, no," Fiona gasped. "No doubt they are angry because you released one of their victims. What will happen to you, my lady?" "I know not." Mary pushed back her chair and raised her chin. "I only know this witch hunt must be stopped." "Giles Harmon suggested that there might be a way out concerning the speed with which the warrants have been issued." "In the mittimuses, you mean?" she answered thoughtfully. "Yes, possibly. In fact, quite likely. I shall mention that to William." Fiona rose, aware that no more could be said except for one last plea. "Lady Mary, I cannot thank you and Sir William enough for listening to me and promising to investigate this matter. There is just one troublemy mother may be executed before sheshe can be cleared" Her voice broke and Fiona stopped, unable to continue. With a look of deep compassion, Lady Mary nodded and pressed Fiona's arm. But she made no further promises.

Chapter 29

Giles came swiftly when Fiona emerged with Lady Mary. He bowed to them both; the lady smiled and vanished toward her guests. "Fiona," Giles asked softly, moving to her side, "how did it go?" "Fairly well." She took his arm, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Let us get some food and I will tell you everything." "A good idea." He added in a low tone, "but we'd best not tarry here too long. We don't know what lies in waiting."

He meant Blaize. A pang of fear bit deep into Fiona and she shuddered. Giles gave her a quick glance of concern. "Sit here at this little table. I'll bring you a plate of food and a glass of wine." "Port would be nice." Giles looked surprised, but he returned shortly with two brimming glasses and then brought plates piled high with sliced meats, smoked fish, pickled vegetables, buttered rolls, and ruby-colored jelly. "So much," Fiona demurred, but she ate it all and felt renewed. At last, as they sipped their wine, she rewarded Giles's patience with a detailed recital of what had transpired with Sir William and Lady Mary, including her plucky action at the Salem jail. Giles looked thoughtful. "The lady seems to have both courage and intelligence, and Sir William is a broad-minded man of action. Together they will probably halt this madness of the witch hunt." "But will it be in time?" Fiona worried. "I pray it is. You have done all you could for the time being. I am sure you stated your case in a clear, straightforward manner. And coming here was a brilliant idea on your part." Fiona sighed deeply, chewing on her lip. Had she really done enough to engage the cooperation of these two important, busy people? Giles took her hand in his and pressed it hard. "Keep up your spirits and don't despair. I believe that very soon all will be well." Fiona gazed into his strong, loving face. "Dear Giles, do you realize that we have changed places? You were Master Sobersides when we were sailing to America and I was the one to laugh at every problem." "That's true. I had a grave responsibility at sea as a replacement for the ailing ship's doctor. I still have grave responsibilities in Salem, but knowing that I have your love has given me a happier outlook than I ever dreamed possible. You, on the other hand, now face the worst" He stopped and cleared his throat. "Well, I always knew your merry nature went side by side with the deepest kind of courage." Merry nature? How long ago that seemed! Fiona felt a rush of love and gratitude as she looked at Giles. How much harder everything would be without his help. He had risked hiding her in the secret room, aided her escape, then given her a betrothal ring and pledged his love and care forever.

She leaned across the little table and gave him a warm kiss on his lips. "Thank you, dear Giles, for everything. Now I think we should depart, don't you?" "Yes, but first we had better bid our host farewell." A large, boisterous crowd surrounded Sir William and his wife in the ballroom, and after trying vainly to penetrate the throng, Giles suggested they leave a message with Mr. White. "Sir William will understand our need to hurry back to Salem." Fiona agreed, and when they had spoken to the major-domo, wraps were donned and they drove rapidly away, neither one admitting the fear of Blaize sweeping out to stop them. Inside Samantha's home, it seemed that everyone now slept; only a few lamps still glowed softly to guide their footsteps. Giles put his hand upon Fiona's arm. "I think we should be on our way in the darkest hour before dawn. I will leave a note for Samantha. Is there anything you wish to say?" "Tell her that Sir William seemed sympathetic to my problems and promised to investigate the trials in Salem. I will send her a letter as soon as possible, and also give her my love and deepest gratitude." "Very well. I will come in to say goodnight, but we will need our rest tonight." "Of course." Grateful, she knew that Giles realized her mood was now one of somber speculation and deep concern about her mother. Giles took her in his arms for one fierce, strong embrace, his cheek against her own. "I shall rise before dawn and bring around the wagon. Can you be dressed and ready then?" "Yes. I'll change into the former gown that Samantha loaned me and borrow her cloak, since I have no other." "Do you think she would mind if you took the quilt from your bed? It's apt to be a miserable, cold ride." "She won't mind. Just explain that in the note." They parted then, Fiona going up the stairs. A restless kind of fear engulfed her, growing stronger by the minute. It almost seemed as though a juggernaut approached against which nothing could survive: She wished they could be on their way this minute, but it was true that Giles needed a little rest before the long trip with its unknown dangers. Inside her room a lamp still burned, but its light made corner shadows all the more menacing and mysterious. Swiftly, she changed her clothes, then sank down on the bed wide-eyed contemplating wondering imagining would they encounter Blaize before she reached the secret room? Would she hear some dreaded news about her

mother when they arrived in Salem? Something so terrible she couldn't bear to imagine it? Her eyes were dry and staring, beyond the release of tears. Why was she so filled with apprehension? After all, Sir William and his lady had both been sympathetic. However, her fears seemed to be mounting as she contemplated the return trip. Why was that? Was another of her strange visions trying to break through? To her relief, a knock came softly at her door and Giles entered, attired in his own clothes. Fiona raised her head. "Do you want to leave now?" "No, not yet." He sank down beside her. "I just want to hold you. For a while, the evening's excitement kept up your spirits, but now I think you must be worried. Close your eyes, my dearest," he said as he stroked her forehead. "Think of happier times when you first came to Salem and our love began. Think of the daisy-strewn grass, the cool green trees, the crystal stream, the silent woods just you and me walking, talking dreaming." "Dreaming" Fiona echoed, and slept with her cheek against his chest. When she awoke, she found Giles bending by her bed to give her a gentle shake. He wore his own leather jacket, a woolen cap upon his head. "We had best leave now, Fiona. The wagon's ready, the streets are still empty." As Fiona slid groggily to her feet and yawned, Giles drew the coverlet from the bed and folded it. "Are you ready, dear?" "Yes," she said, suddenly alert and eager for their departure. "No one is up yet in the house?" "Not even the servants." "I wonder if Blaize is still in Boston." "I doubt it. He's probably on his way back to Salem. He is needed at the trials and cannot stay away too long. I imagine he has given up the search for you." Fiona nodded, but she couldn't overcome her sense of some impending doom. She had expended every effort on this trip to save her mother and didn't know what else to do if Phips delayed too long. She only knew she never must stop trying. In Salem she still might find some way that she hadn't thought of yet. Riding in the cart along Boston's darkened, empty streets, Fiona huddled in her blanket. "Giles, what can we do if Sir William acts too slowly or not at all?"

"I've been pondering the matter." Giles snapped the reins. "Oliver and I might try to bribe the jailor and effect a kidnapping of your mother when I visit her in the night. We must do something to give us time until Sir William actsas I'm sure he will eventually. Right now, I'm concerned about your own capture, which would put you at the mercy of your enemy. That must be avoided at all costs." Fiona looked back over her shoulder. "How can I hide in the cart? I see you've disposed of all the smelly sacks." "I don't think they would have been enough to stop Blaize from a thorough search." "Then what shall we do if we meet him on the road?" "Make a desperate run for Salem and the secret room." Fiona thought that might not succeed. If Blaize saw her with Giles, he would then have proof that Giles had aided her. Henceforth, he would track them both. She forced her chattering teeth together and muttered, "I must try to see my mother." She gripped her hands together until the nails bit into her palms. Giles didn't answer. His eyes strained toward the river. "I feared the ferry might not be running this early," he said, "but there it is and some people are already waiting to get on board. Thank God, I see no sign of Blaize." Fiona craned her head in every direction, still fearful that a sinister black-clad monster would emerge. But the beach and wharf were practically deserted. Fishing boats sailed slowly along the river, heading out to sea, and Fiona wondered if Tim Rooney was among them. She would write to Samantha and ask that Betsy's dress be returned. "I've been fortunate in the friends I've made since I came to America," Fiona said soberly. "The Harmons, the Woods, the fisherman and his wife who took me in Samantha, so kind and generous. And mainly you, my love and comfort." Giles threw her a swift smile. "You are an easy girl to love. And don't forget Sir Williamah, look, the gate is open. We can board now." After they had paid their fare, Giles drew a basket from beneath the seat "I filched a little breakfast from Samantha's kitchen. Hot coffee was heating on the hob and I filled a lidded jar. Be careful not to burn your lips. I also found a cookie jar and some apples." "You thought of everything." Fiona warmed her hands around the earthen jug, then sipped and handed it to Giles. She munched on a cookie, saying thoughtfully, "Last night, you soothed me and I went so calmly off to dreamland. Did you employ Franz Mesmer's methods?"

He smiled. "I would have told you if I had. No, I just believe in saying aloud certain soothing statements when a person is upset in order to create a relaxed image in the mind. Then, if the subject trusts you, it is fairly easy to induce a restful sleep." "Couldn't Mesmer's technique be dangerous in the wrong hands?" "Certainly, but nearly always you can resist, if that is what you truly want." Fiona thought how Blaize had played upon her emotions, making her believe he was kind and attractive. She had broken his spell by thinking of Giles both times and then exerting her own will. Could she do it again? Yes, she told herself fiercely. She was secure in Giles's love and protection. Nothing could take that from her. She didn't think Blaize would try seduction anymore. He had become an angry beast, thwarted by a mere girl. All he would want now was revenge, and in his hands, he held the means: the conviction of Fiona and her mother for witchcraft. Suddenly, she couldn't eat another bite. Her heart began to pound. She felt hot, then cold, and a little dizzy. They had crossed the river and Giles steered the wagon along a side road. "This way is a little longer," he said, "but not so well traveled. I think you should close your eyes, however. We will soon be passing Gallows Hill." "Oh, Giles! Oh, no!" She clutched her heart, her throat. The vision was upon her: the doomed procession the awful weeping the tolling bell "Oh, listen," she cried out in sudden anguish. It was all there. Not in her mind this time. This was reality. She saw the barren hill in the early morning light, the gaunt black hanging tree, the rope, the ladder, the crowd already gathered, some sobbing, some shouting. Five people began to mount the hill. All wore long gray hooded robes like monks, one so bent and weak, her fellows had to hold her up. Could that be Rebecca Nurse? "Oh, noplease, God!" Fiona cried out. "It's Rebecca," Giles said hoarsely. Fiona sprang down from the wagon just as a small person on the fringes of the crowd turned to stare at her. Sally stood with tears streaming down her face, and when she saw Fiona, she screamed, "No, no! Go back!" She ran to meet her, tugging on Fiona's arm. "Oh, hidedon't you know your danger? He's here! Get back in the wagon."

Unable to move or think, Fiona wobbled, "Who's here?" "I'm here," the hated voice rasped. And Blaize stepped from the trees.

Chapter 30

In two strides, Blaize was on them, and he caught both Sally and Fiona by their arms. "Now, I've got you," he snarled, and dragged their screaming forms into the trees. Blaize kicked Sally into a moaning huddle of pain and fear and caught Fiona back against his chest, pricking her throat with something cold and sharp that made her give a scream of terror. "Stop!" Giles roared, crashing through the trees. "Unhand Fiona this instant. Have you lost your mind?" "I accuse them both of witchcraft and sentence them to death," the judge shrieked gloatingly. "One step nearer, doctor, and this dagger will be plunged!" "You would not dare" "I can do anything I want! I am judge and jury!" Fiona felt her hair jerked back until her whole scalp burned. However, the pain cleared the dizziness from her mind and new strength flooded her. "Watch out, Giles," she shrilled. "He means to kill us if you interfere." Thinkthink, she told herself. Get some time. There are people just down the road. Giles teetered on his feet, opening and closing his balled fists, his face a mask of rage. "I'll call for helpthere are lots of people near" "Fool! Didn't you see those avid faces watching for the witches' rope to swing? Would any of them leave that spectacle especially to interfere when a judge but does his duty? I intend to have Fiona, then kill all three of you." His voice rose shrilly. "Solbaid! Come closer and hold your pistol steady."

The dagger pierced deeper into Fiona's throat and she felt a warm trickle of blood run down her neck. Her frantic gaze sought Giles's and she saw the agony on his face replaced by a hard determination. He bent and clasped a large rock in his hand. One foot went back, then he took aim But the dwarf leaped in front of his master with an upraised gun. "Kill the next one who moves an inch," Blaize thundered. "First, the girl upon the ground." The words roused Sally, and with all her might, she shrieked, "Gray! Attack!" Gunpowder filled the air, but the shot went wild as Gray came hurtling through the trees. Blaize dropped the dagger and scrabbled to protect his throat. Screaming hoarsely, he staggered back. White fear swept the gloating from his face as he fell beneath the ravening animal. With a supreme effort, he uttered one last cursing breath, snarling at Fiona, "Your mother's dead!" Frozen with shock, Fiona watched as growling, ripping, and tearing, the wolf dragged his hated prey out of sight among the trees, Solbaid disappearing also. Sally crawled toward Fiona, but Giles got to her first. "Oh, dear Godare you all right?" Shaking violently, Fiona clutched him. "He saidhe saidmy mother's dead!" She sagged into Giles's arms. Then, mercifully, her mind went blank.

After that, for several days, the only things Fiona knew were flickering gray shadows that spoke to her in whispers, pressed liquids to her lips, and sponged her body with damp cloths. Then one day, Fiona clearly saw the attic room and realized where she was. She noticed that the bed was now soft, piled with quilts and pillows, no longer just a cot. A nearby table bore assorted jugs, water, medicines, folded cloths. Ajar held lovely flowers in the corner. Giles sat in a rocker, asleep, his unkempt head resting on his chest, a blanket trailing down his knees. A breath rattled from his throat and he jerked awake. His eyes stared from dark sockets, then they blazed with joy. He stumbled to Fiona's bed and touched her with shaking hands, clasping her gently in his arms. "Oh, my beloved, you've come back to us!"

Fiona touched his cheek. "Don't cry, darling. Now I am quite recovered. I feel it. How long have I been here?" "Several days." Quickly he raised his face from hers. "How much do you remember? The woods Blaize the wolf?" A wave of horror broke upon her and she cried out, "My motherBlaize said" "He lied. She lives," Giles said swiftly. "With his last breath, the monster sought to hurt you. She's still in jail, but Phips has stopped the trials and freed some of the people. Everything has changed in Salem." Fiona sobbed weakly. "Oh, thank heaven! When may I see her?" "Soon she will be released, and then I can bring her here to stay. But before we talk, I want to get you something to eat. You're still quite weak and must regain your strength. Just rest peacefully; I won't be long." He kissed her lovingly and Fiona sank back, hardly able to assimilate all the news. Just one thing was uppermost in her mind: her mother lived. The trials were over. She breathed a prayer of thanks, and tears of joy trickled down her cheeks. A few minutes later, Mrs. Harmon came in to help Fiona wash and change her night shift, then handed her a hairbrush. To her astonishment, Fiona felt a mere cap of curls upon her head. "What is this!" "Giles feared you had a brain fever," Mrs. Harmon told her, with a smile, "and it is usual to shave off all the hair to cool the scalp. But in your case, he didn't act quite so drastically, but only clipped it short. I vow the curls are very fetching and just as red as ever." "Well, my hair is the least of my worries. I am just so happy that the trials are over and I never can thank you enough for all you've done. I see the flowers in the corner. Are they from you, or Giles?" " 'Twas Sally brought them, every day a new bouquet. When you are stronger, Giles will let her visit you." "I really feel strong now and so eager to know everything that happened. Mrs. Harmon, can you tell me" "Mother Harmon." She patted Fiona's ring. "Soon you will be one of the family, and we are all so glad." "I'm glad, too, and very proud"

"Ah, here comes Giles. He will answer all your questions, dear, but I know he doesn't wish to tire you. He can be the best judge of that. How nice it is to have a doctor in the family." Her sweet face beaming, Mrs. Harmon met Giles at the door with a murmured word, then left them alone together. In spite of what she'd said, Fiona's first remark was a little anxious. "Oh, Giles, my hair do I look very strange?" He set down his laden tray and drew the table closer to her bed. "How could you look strange? For five days I've sat there, watching you every waking minute." "Oh, dearest, you must be so weary." "Not at all. Now that you are welland I might add, as beautiful as everI feel renewed in body and spirit. Now, eat this food and thenand only thenwill I answer all your questions." Fiona took the bowl of gruel from him and tasted cream and brown sugar. Soon she scraped it clean and followed it with a slice of buttered toast and a mug of fresh, cold milk. She wiped her lips and hands on a damp napkin thoughtfully provided. "Now, Giles, I am ready to hear everything." Giles moved the stool back and crossed his arms. "How much do you remember?" "I remember going to Boston and the Phipses' ball, of course. Next day we started home and came to Gallows Hill. I saw Sally there" "She sneaked off to wave farewell to her beloved friend, even though Oliver had warned her not to expose herself where Blaize might see her. I hate to tell you this, but Rebecca Nurse died that day." "Oh, Giles, I was afraid of that." He went on quickly. "They buried her in the unconsecrated ground of Gallows Hill, but late that night, her sons carried her to a secret spot upon their farm." "At least the dear soul is at peace." Fiona wiped her eyes and continued after a moment. "The next thing I recall is Blaize grabbing Sally and me." "Yes." Giles's mouth thinned. "He dragged you both off into the brush, and when I ran to your aid, Blaize had a dagger at your throat and Sally lay stunned upon the ground. Solbaid fired a pistol, but the shot went wild. Sally managed to call Gray and the wolf came flying through the trees to kill Blaize and drag him off with lightning speed. The dwarf ran away, and Fionait's the strangest thing, but no sign was found of Blaize's body, the wolf, or Solbaid. And that same day, the judge's house caught fire and burned to the ground." His smile was fierce with satisfaction.

Fiona silently digested these strange happenings that were beyond any logical explanation. She only knew it was an end to evil doers and caused her not the slightest grief. "Then Sally is all right? Good. Now, tell me about the witch hunt. What did Phips do about the trials?" "He came to Salem and found enough errors in the mittimuses to warrant exonerating fifty people, including your mother. I saw him briefly at the meetinghouse and he said he was writing to the king for permission to dismiss the whole proceeding, since it was all based on spectral evidence and many people had begun to question its validity." "Bless Sir William," Fiona breathed thankfully. "And bless you, too, my dearest." Giles crossed the room and knelt down by the cot, drawing her into his arms. His lips met her, but only tenderly as he stroked back her hair. "Tomorrow I will bring your mother home," he said, smiling. "And I think you will be able to await her in the garden. But for now, the doctor prescribes another nap." "Does my mother know that we are betrothed?" Fiona asked drowsily, pillowing his hand beneath her cheek. "I think she will be will be" "Pleased," Giles finished for her, as Fiona drifted off into another healing slumber.

Next day, Fiona waited on a garden bench with a warm shawl around her shoulders and clothes all newly washed and ironed. She was hardly able to contain her impatience and wished that Giles had let her accompany him, but he said she was still a little weak and the town would be filled with crowds. She could hear bells ringing and the sound of voices as people hurried down the road, cheering, shouting, even a distant cannon being fired. The tide of witch hunt fever must have surely changed. When Fiona saw Giles and her mother drive up in the wagon, she raced across the garden to fall into her mother's arms. A long, tight embrace said more than words. Giles left them on the bench, since they elected to stay outdoors a little while. Fiona knew her mother must long for the fresh air and open space after her days in jail, and for a moment or two, they sat in silence, hand in hand, drinking in the sun's warmth, the beauty of summer flowers, the chirping of birds, the rustling of green leaves against an azure sky. Neither of them commented on the others thin appearance, but Fiona knew her mother's shock was just as great as her own. However, that would now change with happiness and freedom in their grasp.

"Fionayour hair" Her mother laughed a little. "Faith, 'tis quite becoming. Giles didn't tell me until today that you had been ill. How fortunate that you could be here beneath his care." Almost breathless with her happiness, Fiona held out her hand with the little sapphires sparkling in the sunshine. "Mother, Giles and I are going to be married." Her mother gave her a swift kiss. "Ach, that he told me several days ago. I felt so happy. I knew then that everything would turn out right. Giles visited me each day and I know the jailors were more considerate, seeing I was his friend. Then Governor Phips also came to see me. Yes, indeed. He told me all about your visit to him, and proud I was to have such a brave and resourceful girl." "I think Sir William would have stopped the witch hunt eventually, but I was afraid it might be too late to save you." Her mother answered softly, "Alas, others were not as fortunate as I." "Rebecca Nurse" "Aye, so tragic. Everyone cried when they heard that she was gone." She sighed deeply. "Now, daughter dear, I suggest we put the nightmares all behind us and talk of other things." "If we can," Fiona interposed grimly. "Here come Mercy and Grace. Good heavens, would you look at how her skin cleared up?" Grace seemed uneasy, hands twisting in her apron, but her face was without a blemish, smooth and young. Mercy, too, in white cap and apron, had taken care with her appearance. She cleared her throat. "If you can forgive us, we wish to make amends. Please come back and stay with us. Grace seconds me in this andandspeak up, girl!" Grace pushed back her bonnet, stammering a little. "L-Look, the ointment helped me after all. II am truly sorry I accused you both." "Are you indeed?" Fiona answered tightly. Grace looked down and twisted the edge of her apron. "I told Mr. Hathorne that I had made a mistake when my face got better, but Aunt Ellen had already been sentenced. However, nothing happened to her, after all." "I accept your apology," Fiona's mother said, unsmiling and grave. "Since 'tis wrong to hold resentment, I will try to find forgiveness in my heart." "Someday," Fiona added.

Mercy looked from one to the other, almost groveling. "A lot of people in Salem made mistakes and now they are repentingjust as we are." Grace nodded. "Folks say they were deluded by Satan. How could anyone help that?" Fiona glared. "They could have used their brains to realize what a mistake the witch hunt was, instead of following like sheep and listening to little children" "Stop, Fiona." Her mother pressed Fiona's arm. "I thank you, Mercy, for an offer of a room, but the Harmons have said we can stay here until we go to Boston, where Giles and Fiona will spend a few days after they are wed." "Wed!" A red tide swept Grace's face, but finally she giggled. "Even with that funny hair?" With a frown, Mercy dug her daughter in the ribs. "I wish you both much happiness. We may not meet in the future. Grace and I are moving to my sister's house in Marblehead as soon as I can sell my home. The feeling against witch hunters is running strong in Salem, and it could be unpleasant if we stay." With that they left, and soon Giles came out the door with his mother. "Your room awaits you, Ellen," Mrs. Harmon said. "Perhaps you'd like a rest now until the midday meal." Thanking Mrs. Harmon and her son, Ellen went indoors, and when they were alone, Giles put his arms around Fiona. "I imagine you would like us to be married in Boston, instead of having the Reverend Parris perform the ceremony." Fiona shuddered. "I agree completely." "What a felicitous start for our new life togethercomplete harmony." Giles laughed, drawing her into his arms for a long, devoted kiss. Returning it with all her heart, Fiona knew that from now on, they would look only to the future, cherishing each happy hour for the rest of their lives. And today was only the beginning.

Epilogue

Yes, there really was a time when a handful of children decided the fate of an entire community. In 1692, Salem was ready and willing to believe that Satan had selected their town for punishment. There was no other way to account for all the recent trials and tribulations: floods, fires, disease, plagues of locusts, crop failures, more infants dying than ever before. The witch hunt started when a new minister came to town. Samuel Parris was a humorless, rabid zealot who had been a failure in his other parishes. In Salem, he was determined to make good and ruled his daughter, Betty, and adopted niece, Abigail, with an iron hand so he could hold them up as paragons to the community. However, during a particularly dull and icy winter, the girls rebelled and started sneaking in friends to have their slave, Tituba, entertain them. She had come from the West Indies, supposedly the daughter of a witch doctor. The stories Tituba told, the songs and dances, fortunes read from tarot cards, and perhaps some hypnotismall proved fascinating. The group that met when the parents were away increased to include several other teenaged girls: Ann Putnam, 12, Elizabeth Booth, 16, Suzanne Sheldon, 18, Elizabeth Hubbard, 18, Mercy Lewis, 19, and Mary Wolcott, 16. At last the inevitable occurred: the girls were caught. Reverend Parris roared with rage, saying they all would be put into the stocks and whipped. His daughter and his niece cried out, "We are not guilty of wrongdoing. Tituba bewitched us!" To prove it, they howled like dogs, refused to eat, and tried to throw themselves into the fireplace. Several doctors came and could find nothing physically wrong. At last they decided it must be true. The girls had been bewitched! Tituba was taken off to jail, swearing her innocence. Most of the people, appalled and frightened, believed she was a witch. Only a few wondered if the girls were lying to save themselves from punishment. On hearing this, the group banded together, all acting as though beneath a "crazy spell" and crying out that other witches dwelt in Salem and were afflicting them. Naturally, this included anyone who doubted the girls' bewitchment. A terrible conflagration swept the town. Hysteria became rampant, and "witchcraft" was on every tongue, suspicion in every eye. It wasn't long before the jails were jammed with suspects. The trials made the most exciting break that the repressed Puritans had ever known. (Real court transcripts have been used in my book relating to the trials of Sarah Good and Rebecca Nurse.) Jonathan Corwin and John Hathorne were the two examining magistrates, and an interesting sidelight is that the family of John Hathorne later changed the spelling of their name so they wouldn't be associated with the hated prosecutor. His most famous descendant was Nathaniel Hawthorne, author of The Scarlet Letter, written in 1850, one of the greatest novels ever written in America. It tells a story of seduction and deception

in Puritan days. He also wrote The House of the Seven Gables, a place which can still be visited in Salem, complete with a secret staircase. There are several authentic characters in my book. The history of William Phips is exactly as narrated. He was a most colorful, adventurous individual, and the treasure he discovered was a real phenomenon for any day and age. He became convinced that the witch trials were a mockery when the "afflicted girls" overreached themselves and cried out upon his wife, Mary, after she had signed a pardon for one of the accused witches. Phips dismissed fifty cases for lack of legality and then received permission from the Crown to pardon all who were left in jail. By that time, two hundred people had been accused, nineteen people hanged, and one man pressed to death with heaped-up stones while still protesting his innocence so that his heirs would not be impoverished, as the estates of confessed witches were forfeited to the Crown. After the year-long horror, many people had become weary of and sickened by the witch hunt, and when it ended in 1693, the town quickly came to its senses. The jurors circulated a petition in which they admitted they "were not capable to understand nor to withstand the mysterious delusion of the powers of darkness." They humbly begged forgiveness of everyone who had been harmed by their actions. The judge, Samuel Sewall, also offered a paper, to be read in church, in which he pleaded for forgiveness. In 1697, January 14, a fast day, was observed by the entire colony. The parishioners demanded that Samuel Parris resign, and bitterly he acquiesced. The insurrection against him was led by Rebecca Nurse's children. Tituba was freed by a new master, since Parris refused to take her back and let her wait in jail for a year, long after others had had their court costs paid and were set free. The central part of Salem, trying to forget its shame, changed its name to Danvers in 1752. A long time later, tourists came to view Rebecca Nurse's house on Pine Street, preserved by her descendants. The house of "witch" Sarah Osburne remains on Maple Street, a big, stout dwelling, partially rebuilt. The curious can gaze at Gallows Hill, where one gaunt tree stands against the sky. Rebecca Nurse was first buried there in an unhallowed grave, but her sons came back in the dead of night and removed her body to their farm. After William Phips disbanded the witch trials, the whole hysteria collapsed, including the mouthing of the so-called "afflicted girls." The only one to repent publicly was Ann Putnam, who confessed in church that she had erred and begged forgiveness. Her mother, who had denounced Rebecca Nurse, became seriously ill, and in 1699, both of Ann's parents died. She was left to care for several children and her health declined. Wracked by guilt, she died ten years later. Reverend Parris died at Sudbury in 1720. His wife had died when he left Salem Village. Daughter Betty married in Concord at age 27.

In 1709, a group of twenty-one accused witches and the children of those who died demanded that the general court pay for their unnecessary suffering and clear their names. A small sum was paid, about fifty pounds to each. In 1953, Arthur Miller, a Pulitzer Prize winning author, wrote a play called The Crucible pertaining to the Salem witch hunt. It is still often performed on the stage and has a strong denunciation of bigotry. Miller said he had a "sleepless social conscience," and nowhere is it more evident than in The Crucible. In 1957, perhaps influenced by this play, the Massachusetts legislature passed a resolution stating that the court's actions in 1692 "attaches no disgrace to any descendant of those accused witches." For such an important historical event as the Salem witch hunt, not a great deal of information has been preserved, perhaps due to the shame of the whole colony. Whatever the reason, there is no denying history, and the horrible event will stand forever as a warning of the awesome power and destruction brought on by ignorance, fear, and bigotry. No one was ever again tried for witchcraft in America.