The longer they waited, the more terror stretched her nerves taut. Something had gone wrong. They’d slipped up, somehow, their ruse had been discovered, or Kit had vanished, leaving Malcolm to face the whole superstitious, murderous bunch ….
The sun was sinking into the heart of the distant Drakensbergs when the door opened a last time. Margo’s heart pounded unsteadily beneath her rib cage as she came slowly to her feet. Kynan, too, scrambled up to face the Portuguese sergeant who’d unlocked their cell. The sergeant wouldn’t meet their gaze. He crossed himself and moved hastily aside. Malcolm stood behind him. He gazed coldly into the cell without speaking, then said roughly, “You have been found guilty of witchcraft, Margo Smith. You will be taken far from Lourengo Marques where you will be put to death by burning. May God pity your soul.”
Margo stared at him, hardly recognizing the gentle man who had loved her in Rome. Then, recalling the part she had to play, Margo gave out a shriek and sank toward the ground. Her theatrical faint was so convincing, Kynan caught her with a cry. He held her protectively. Kit appeared behind Malcolm and said something in Welsh. Kynan didn’t speak a word. He just snarled like a trapped wolf.
Oh, God, Margo thought while her heart trip-hammered, let this work!
Soldiers herded them out of the cell. They were taken across the open courtyard while the rest of the men crossed themselves and avoided their gaze. Kynan marched stolidly between the soldiers, placing one hand protectively on Margo’s waist. The gesture brought tears to her eyes.