Maggie's Grave

by David Sodergren

There would be no trial, no chance to defend herself. But what did that matter? The trials were a sham, a cruel mockery of justice. She had witnessed many herself. Bind her wrists and ankles and throw her in the river. If she floats, she’s a witch. If she drowns…she’s innocent. It was hopeless. One time, several years ago, she had ridden past the Laird’s house late at night, pausing to listen to the screams of young women as their “confessions” were tortured out of them. Justice, aye? There was no justice. Just men with a perverse pleasure in the destruction of women’s bodies.