CHAPTER 824: ACCUSATION (PART TWO)

"My lord, my lord, wake up," Sir Gilander called as he gently shook the aging Marquis. "What happened to him?" he asked as he turned to face Confessor Eleanor and Jocelynn. "Why did he shout about demons in the keep?"

"I don’t know," Eleanor said slowly through dried, chapped lips as she pulled Jocelynn close to her. The young lady had fainted dead away from the pain of her wounds, and though Eleanor carried smelling salts to help with a young lady’s fainting spells, she had no intention of rousing Jocelynn just to answer this knight’s questions.

Right now, both Lady Jocelynn and Lord Bors clearly needed rest, healing, and strong protection. As far as she was concerned, investigations into what happened could wait until her lady was safely back in her chambers with more guards to protect her. She needed rest herself, but she refused to relax until she’d seen to Jocelynn’s safety.

"Lady Jocelynn called out that something was wrong with Lord Bors," Eleanor said curtly. "I was in the sitting room when she called for me. Before I could reach his side, he began shouting about demons and witches. Then he lashed out with the knife. He collapsed right after, when he fell out of bed," she said, giving a simple account of events without including any of the other details of what Bors had said.

She might not be a healer, but she’d met plenty of broken men in the years since she dedicated her life to hearing the confessions of the lost and the damned. Bors sounded like one of the most haunted, broken, and anguished men she’d ever seen, and if she didn’t know better, she’d have thought that he was lost in drugs or drink when he claimed that Jocelynn had stolen the face of his dead wife.

"She is a witch," Bors said weakly as his eyes fluttered open. Raising his left hand with great difficulty while his right hand clutched at the wound in his side, he pointed at Jocelynn’s slumped figure with fury in his eyes. "A demon witch, just like her sister, and a plague on our lands," he said bitterly.

"She cast a hex on me," he said with a growing strength and venom in his voice. "She made herself resemble Isla to seduce me or manipulate me or... or worse."

"Is it really that way, your Lordship?" Albyn said as he rested his sword across his shoulders, unwilling to point the weapon in the direction of the ailing lord even though he was clearly the most dangerous person in the room at the moment.

"I’ve seen many a man try taking what they shouldn’t from a young lass," the captain added with a pointed look at the guardsmen. "Then the man claims the woman was a witch or heretic for striking out to defend her honor."

"How dare you!" Sir Gilander shouted as he shot to his feet, dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword as he glared at the arrogant captain whom he knew only as one of the men that Lord Owain had recruited in Blackwell County to fight demons in the coming war.

"Lord Bors has never once looked at a woman other than Lady Isla," Gilander growled. "He wouldn’t remarry after she passed, and he still holds vigils over her grave. How dare you suggest he would lay a hand on a young lady with impure thoughts and wicked intentions!"

"I’m not saying that your lordship did what he shouldn’t," Albyn said quickly, even though he’d heavily implied exactly that. "But Confessor Eleanor here just prayed over Lady Jocelynn’s wounds and the Holy Lord of Light himself saw fit to heal her," he pointed out.

"I’m no priest, Confessor," Albyn said with a glance over his shoulder. "But I kept a chaplain onboard for more’an ten years, and he always said that the Holy Lord of Light’s power was like fire on the flesh of a demon or a witch. So, Lady Jocelynn shouldn’t be either of those now, should she?"

"Damn you, fool!" Bors shouted only to cut off as another bout of coughing racked his body, this time accompanied by blood that stained his lips. "That’s no Confessor, but a demon as well! I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes," he insisted. "She’s a creature of the night, just like, just like the Demon Lady of the Vale! With sharp talons and a cloak of night, she... she..." he said, only to trail off as he realized that both Jocelynn and the Confessor looked completely normal to his bewildered gaze.

"But I saw it," he said in a tone that lacked much of his previous confidence. "I swear, I saw it."

"My lord has been unwell," Eleanor said as she gently stroked Jocelynn’s hair. "Perhaps it was just a fever. I’ll send for the High Priest himself to tend to you," she suggested. "He’s a far better healer than I."

"I don’t need a priest, damn it," Bors snapped. "I’m not confused and I’m not feverish," he insisted. "I saw it. She was pretending to be Isla! Just look," he insisted as his eyes grew moist when he pointed at the broken embroidery hoop on the floor that contained his Isla’s last, unfinished work. "Why was she carrying Isla’s embroidery if she wasn’t pretending to be my love?"

For Gilander and the other soldiers who knew their lord well, the broken embroidery hoop was damning evidence of foul play. Lord Bors treasured each and every one of the treasures that Isla had left behind, and in the seven years since her death, he hadn’t let one of them come to harm.

"It’s a beautiful piece," Eleanor acknowledged in a non-committal tone as she looked at the outline of a lily in bloom illuminated by the sun’s rays. Seven years ago, Loman wouldn’t yet have come of age, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Lady Isla had meant it as a gift for Loman that combined her love for him with the greater love of the Holy Lord of Light.

"Perhaps your lordship asked for Lady Jocelynn’s help to complete it and you’ve forgotten?" Eleanor suggested. "Lady Jocelynn has been coming to visit you several times a day to care for you. If completing this piece would have brought you joy, I’m sure she’d have done it gladly."

"No, that’s not right, that’s not right at all," Bors said as he shook his head. But when he thought back, he found several moments in the past few days that felt... fuzzy, in his mind. As though he was remembering watching events through a gossamer curtain. He’d often thought of finishing the piece himself, but he knew he had no skill for it, and his hands were meant for swords and axes, not needles and embroidery. Had he really asked Jocelynn to finish it?

"Let me fetch someone to help you, even if it isn’t the High Priest," Eleanor suggested, hoping that Bors would be reasonable. "Your physician, perhaps? He can be the one to decide if you need to summon a healer from the Temple."

"Fine," Bors relented. "You won’t be the one to fetch anyone. Sir Gillander," he commanded forcefully. "Lock her up," he added, pointing at Jocelynn. "Lock both of them up," he added as he waved his arm at both women. "I’m not sick, and I saw... things. Take them below the keep and summon an Inquisitor," he insisted. "I’ll have the truth of this, one way or another!"

Bors refused to allow the Inquisition to establish a Chapter in Lothian City, and he’d already sent away the visiting Inquisitor, Diarmuid. Because of that, the nearest Inquisitor was a day’s ride away in the Village of Maeril. Now, for the first time in his reign as Marquis, he regretted not keeping one by his side, and he would have given a great deal to rush a man here faster than a carrier pigeon could summon him.

"The lady can rest in her chambers," Captain Albyn countered. "Under house arrest if you insist," he added. "There’s no need to insult the lady by hurling her into the dungeons. She’s already suffered from your blade, your lordship... I think that’s enough for her tonight, don’t you?"

If Captain Albynn had been a man of the frontier, he never would have dared to talk back to a lord like that, much less a lord as powerful as the Marquis. But on the high seas, a ship’s captain was the highest and final authority after the Holy Lord of Light himself, and Count Blackwell had long accorded the captains of vessels the same level of respect as landed knights in his county.

Because of that, the captain stood his ground firmly, unwilling to back down even though he was outnumbered by guardsmen. Lady Jocelynn had come to him for help and asked him to serve as her personal guard, and he wasn’t about to let her down when she needed him most.

"House arrest," Bors relented as he slumped against the heavy oak timbers of his bed frame. "Take her away. All of you go away," he added as he reached out for the half-finished piece of embroidery, wrapping his fingers around it with the gentleness of a man picking up a delicate treasure he dared not break.

"I’ll see my physician in the morning," he added as he slowly climbed to his feet. "Until then, until the Inquisitor arrives to reveal the truth of this, no one is to speak a word of what happened tonight," he said. "Not to anyone!"

"And I swear to you," he said, pointing a thick finger at Eleanor and Jocelynn. "Whatever you’ve gotten away with in Blackwell County, things are different here in the Frontier. Here, we burn witches and heretics at the stake when we find them. So say your prayers to whatever demon god you believe in, because once the Inquisitor confirms your guilt, the both of you will burn!"