Elspeth now steps up to the front, outraged at the spectacle and flippant tone. "My God, why is there no priest then? At least that for such a death, guilty or no," she says, incredulously.

"Priest? Well, that wouldna' help him none I'm thinking. And besides, the only priest's gone mad knowin' that -- and taken off howling to the hills...it seems," Hamish responds with a smirk.

"That poor creature we saw...on the hill," Elspeth remembers.

"Aye, who wouldn't do as he if this is the flock," Duncan adds correctly.

"And I'm agreeing with you, Captain. After all, what's the profit in saving souls that cannae be saved -- when coins are tossed at your feet just for being mad, eh?" Hamish responds, thinking himself witty and cutting.

At that, Willy leaps down from the coach and starts dancing about like a lunatic himself, twirling and cavorting like a dervish, his dirty paws clutching for imagined coins. He draws the crowd's attention and laughter. This spurs him further, and he drops his filthy trousers, mooning them all. Even his partner is a little startled and mumbles to himself, "Is he mad for doin' -- or me for lookin'?" He turns away with a shudder.

Duncan's attention is to the spectacle ahead of him as the border reivers move forward suddenly with torches towards the second prisoner. Off to one side of the crowd stands a dark man, Dr. Gray. Elegantly but simply dressed in imported French finery, he steps to an enclosed judicial podium, something usually only seen indoors. From its firm construction, it is apparently a permanent fixture of this hellish courtyard. This creature positively reeks of moral corruption. His head, aquiline. Jet black hair and goatee streaked by silver, as if painted deliberately and dramatically for effect. He is attended to, very closely by more hired border thugs. One in particular is a well-known local outlaw from the farthest edge of the West March, Black Jack Armstrong. A notorious pirate and ruffian, he is clearly the leader of this clan of broken men, now hired mercenaries well beyond their native heath.

Dr. Gray looks about the spectacle haughtily, and finally turns his stare towards Duncan's carriage and the beautiful Elspeth. His gaze seems almost obscene, but it is broken by a sharp cry of anguish, as the condemned man howls out. "Is this the justice for an innocent man?"

The crowd roars in the affirmative and laughs. The prisoner falls into tears. "I've done nothing...nothing that you've said. All of you. Done nothing but helped you all. Given shelter and food and fire to simple strangers. That's my trade!"

This causes a response from one in the mob. "What's the complaint, man? Now yer getting back some of that fire!"

The crowd roars again with laughter, save for Dr. Gray, whose eyes are fixed on Elspeth still. She does not notice as she sobs softly to her husband. "Oh Duncan, is there nothing to be done?"

"No. There's nothing to be done. Not yet at least," he says somberly. Though there is the clear tinge of anger beneath.

"You all know me! Will no man speak for me now?" cries the old man desperately.

Dr. Gray is the one who speaks, but his vision focused still on Duncan's beautiful wife as he begins. "We've enough of words at your trial. You have been spoken for -- and against, Mister Dalrymple." His head finally turns to the condemned. "And those who speak now speak the truth as they see it, for there is no other that can stand before the law. And it is the law that speaks, and the truth is that you and your evil, murderous son have been found guilty of murdering the poor innocent traveler who had the great misfortune to spend the night in your inn. Poured through with drink and cold steel for his packet of coins."

A long, anguished cry spills from the lips of the old man. "Nooo -- done nothing...nothing...he left my house, safe and sure." His body goes limp as the words leave his lips.

Dr. Gray's attitude becomes even more quiet and mannered. It is dry. Evil. "Cry not for yourself, or your spawn, you devil. Cry for the children of the man you murdered and hid deep away for worms to feed. No resting place for his kin to mourn."

The crowd now decides to vent its own opinions. Angry voices crying out real or imagined slights by this man, as if they have any bearing now. But only to pacify their own bloodlust and participation in such a spectacle it seems. It is their ritual. And right. The prisoner continues to sob, withering under the strain.

Dr. Gray's tone now solidifies into a vicious snarl. "By God, waste no tears for yourself! They'll be vapor soon enough."

With that, Black Jack Armstrong signals to his reivers with a flick of his gloved hand. One moves forward, blazing torch tight in his fist. The crowd cheers, but as the mercenary holds the flame mere inches away from oil soaked wood they become strangely still. Everyone is breathless in anticipation of the next moment. The torch bearer turns to Gray who closes his eyes slowly. And then opens. Flame touches wood and Dalrymple shrieks out as he explodes in flames.

Elspeth covers her eyes and cries uncontrollably. As if the victim were her own kin or dearest friend. Her hand goes to Duncan, gripping him tightly as she cries. "Look away, Duncan. Away."

But Duncan does not. "No. I have learned one lesson in this life. And that is to look hard at the things that frighten you the most. Till they frighten you no longer. Only then, my dear, can you be brave enough to live the day."