Kelpie squeezed through a gap between a stout man and a bony woman, and as it closed behind her she found herself almost pushed against the victims, her eyes staring straight into theirs—and their eyes were as filled with hatred as those of the crowd.
Mina and Bogle!
Panic gripped her heart. Frantically she tried to back up, to melt back into the crowd. But there was no gap now, only a wall of townsmen at her back. And it was too late. Mina’s shrill screech cut the other sounds.
“There she is! The kelpie who led us into witchcraft! In the gray dress! There! Look at the ringed eyes of her!”
“She’ll be putting the Evil Eye on ye all” croaked Bogle venomously.
Sick fear and revulsion were in Kelpie as her quick eyes swept around—vainly—for an avenue of escape. They were not accusing her to save themselves, which would have been logical, but in sheer malice. That she might have done the same didn’t occur to her, for there was no time for thinking. The crowd was responding with a new roar, seeking more blood, turning to find its new victim.
Kelpie looked instinctively for a scapegoat, another gray dress to point out—but again, too late. Hands grabbed her. She wrenched free with a twist, only to be grasped by more hands, caught beyond hope of escape.
“Alex!” screamed Kelpie. “Ian! Help!” And she lifted her voice in the Cameron war rant, hoping that the familiar words might reach Ian. “Chlanna non can, thigibh a so—” A blow on the head cut it short, and she thought with bitterness that it could not matter. How could they hear her so far away, and over the crowd, and when they were themselves quarreling in the tavern, and herself being carried farther away every minute?
“Ye’ll not be taking a witch’s word!” she cried out. “I am of the Kirk, and have been servant to Argyll himself!”
One or two of the nearest people hesitated doubtfully, for Argyll was a name to conjure with. But Mina dashed Kelpie’s faint chance. “Aye!” she shrieked. “To be getting a bit of his hair for a hex! Look at her eyes, just!”