Malcolm translated her reply. The governor came to his feet with a roar and threatened Margo with the back of his hand. Malcolm snapped something that caused him to resume his seat.
The “trial” was the most amazing thing Margo had ever witnessed. She was required to repeat phrases in Latin. Every syllable she stumbled over was duly noted on Kit’s parchment and commented on by the sullen audience. She was stripped naked and searched. Birthmarks and a tiny mole were pointed out and recorded. She glared at Kit, who returned her gaze coldly.
Malcolm said, “Put on your clothes, English. You offend God.”
”Not as much as you do!” she snapped.
Kit glanced up reproachfully.
Then they escorted her down to the bay. Two soldiers picked her up bodily and heaved her into the water. Margo squealed in shock and landed with a heavy splash. The water was deep. She swam for the surface, gasped, and glared at the soldiers. The men were muttering worriedly. When Malcolm fished her out, she snapped, “What are you trying to do? Drown me?”
”Witches,” Malcolm said coldly, “float. The innocent sink.”
”Huh!” Great way to get rid of a problem. Drown ’em or burn ’em.
By the time they dragged her back to the fort, it was nearing noon. Kit asked her questions which made absolutely no sense at all. Most of them she couldn’t begin to answer. Kit shook his head mournfully and wrote its his parchment. It was nearly dark when they finally escorted her back to her cell and gave her bread soup, and wine.
If Kit hadn’t made clear yesterday that he intended to find her “guilty” she would have been terrified. Margo shivered as it was. What if something went wrong? What if they began the execution and Kit simply vanished, having shadowed himself? Not only would Kit die, so would she, and most likely Kynan and Malcolm, too. The idea of burning to death left her sweating into her coarse, filthy shirt. She clenched her hands and tried to pray, then paced the little cell. Surely they would pull it off. Kit knew what he was doing.
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