A Daring Sacrifice (23 page)

The boy's eyes again flooded with tears. He started to reach a hand out to me, but stopped. Someone had bandaged his arms and hands in clean cloths and tended his wounds, but even so, the grimace on his face indicated the pain the movement brought him.

“Juliana,” he whispered as Bulldog brought him closer—close enough that I could see the bend in his nose where it had been broken. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“This isn't your fault.” I laid a gentle hand upon his bandaged one. “My uncle was bound to find us sooner or later. We couldn't go on the way we were forever.” I spoke the words more to Bulldog than Thatch.

“But if I hadn't run off and been so reckless—”

“I've always been the reckless one and haven't set a good example for you. And I'm deeply sorry for that now.”

They boy's eyes reflected a sadness and maturity that hadn't been there before. “I was wrong about Collin.”

“Say no more,” Bulldog said, starting away from me toward the blankets.

“Wait!” Thatch protested. “He rescued me. He brought me back to his home and cared for me even though he was anxious to rescue Juliana.”

Bulldog stopped.

“He's a better man than most,” Thatch spoke passionately. “If not for him, I'd be dead.”

The light and shadows from the fire flickered across Bulldog's face, revealing both his fierceness and vulnerability at the same time. Thatch didn't say anything more. He closed his eyes, weariness making his features sag.

I worked with Bulldog to make a bed out for Thatch of the blankets. We made him as comfortable as possible before sitting back on our heels.

“We have to try to rescue Collin,” I said.

Bulldog shook his head and stared straight ahead at the flames. “We can't put everyone at risk for one man.”

“But he saved me.” I didn't care that I was pleading. “And he saved Thatch.”

Bulldog gazed at the boy, his eyes radiating with relief and love.

“It's time to finish what my father started,” I said, knowing deep in my heart that was what he would have wanted. Even if I died in the process, we needed to stand up to my uncle once and for all. “We have to stop hiding away. And we have to stop blaming the wealthy for all the problems. Our tactics haven't been fair.”

Bulldog smoothed his thick fingers across Thatch's peaceful, sleeping face. “If we cross over into Wessex, we won't return alive.”

I merely nodded. Uncle had ensured Collin's death by forbidding us from coming back onto Wessex land. He'd thought to keep us from attempting a rescue. But my uncle obviously didn't know me well enough to realize I'd do what I wanted regardless of his bargain with Collin.

Whether Bulldog came with me or not, I was going back. “I'm ready to die.”

“I'm not sure that I'm ready to let you.” His voice was a desperate whisper.

“You've fulfilled your promise to my father. You've kept me safe. You've brought me to adulthood.” I reached for his maimed hand and squeezed it between mine. “But now it's my turn to do what's right. To stand up against Uncle. And to sacrifice my life so that no one else has to suffer like Thatch.”

Bulldog's fingers tightened around mine as if he didn't want to let me go.

“Don't you want more for Thatch? Don't you want him to have a better life?”

Bulldog didn't respond.

I pulled away from him and stood. I tugged up the hood of my cloak and then checked to make sure knives were strapped at my waist. “I'm leaving. Now. And I'm riding throughout Wessex to rally the people behind me. I'd be honored if you'd ride with me.”

He stared at the fire, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

I spun and stalked toward Collin's men, who were still waiting on the fringe of our camp. My heart banged with each step I took away from Bulldog. I wanted his help, but I would fight my uncle and rescue Collin regardless.

A menacing rumble from behind me brought my footsteps to a halt.

“I'm eating first before we leave.”

I smiled, and relief blew through me. But I wiped the smile off my face and tossed Bulldog a glare that was mingled with all my affection. “You better hurry up.”

He grunted.

“We have two long days ahead of us.”

Chapter
18

M
Y BACK WAS SCRAPED RAW, MY flESH OPEN AND BLEEDING
. The tendons in my legs were stretched beyond endurance, the skin of my ankles rubbed off where the ropes had bound me, and my head felt like it would explode.

I was conscious only because I'd strained to keep my head from bumping the rocks and cobblestones as the horse had galloped through town, dragging me behind by my legs with my body bumping along behind.

And now, at the center green, I blinked away the threatening blackness.

I was already weak from hunger and lack of water from my two days in the dungeon. Lord Wessex had offered me nothing but the tip of his guards' boots. Every time they'd come to check on me, they'd kicked me senseless.

My swollen tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. And as one of the guards kicked me again, I didn't have the strength to even moan.

“Get to your feet,” came the harsh command.

I rolled over and struggled to push myself up. Every muscle and bone in my body screamed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the scaffolding where I was to be hung.

Of course, I'd hang until I was almost dead. They wouldn't kill me completely. Wessex would want me alive when they began to slice my body into four pieces for the quartering part of the death sentence.

They would make my death as painful as possible. But I'd much rather be the one suffering than Juliana. Even after two days, I still went cold every time I pictured her tied to the stake with the wood piled around her.

If I'd delayed even an hour longer . . .

I couldn't bear to think about it. All that mattered was that she was safe. She'd live securely on Goodrich land. I'd made sure my most loyal soldiers knew to protect her and her people and to provide them with everything they needed.

“Make haste.” The nearest guard booted me in the side, and I couldn't hold back a groan of agony. I had no doubt each of my ribs was already cracked or broken. Nevertheless, I forced myself to my knees and then to my feet, which was difficult without the use of my bound hands.

When I was finally standing, the soldier shoved me roughly toward the scaffolding. I stumbled and almost fell back to my knees.

“Wait,” came Wessex's voice from the center of the marketplace. “Perhaps Lord Collin would like to say his final good-byes to his sister.”

My sister?

I lifted my head and glanced in the direction where Lord Wessex and Edgar were sitting to watch the execution, the same place they'd been reclining the day I'd ridden into town to free Juliana.

There, next to Edgar in a third smaller but no less ornate chair, sat Irene. She was attired in the most elegant white gown, with lace and pearls embroidered into every inch. Her
hair flowed long and loose beneath a veil and was adorned with a wreath of white roses and baby's breath. She was beautiful—almost as beautiful as a bride on her wedding day.

My pulse careened to a stop. Was she getting married? To Edgar?

Across the distance, Irene met my gaze. Her eyes, so much like mine, were wide with horror and reflected the anguish in her soul. More than that, they pleaded with me for forgiveness. Her face was translucent, and the muscles in her long, elegant neck were taut. She sat stiffly and her fingers gripped the arms of her chair, turning her knuckles white.

“Say your good-bye,” Edgar ordered her with a half grin. “That's what you wanted, wasn't it?”

She visibly swallowed, and her eyes pleaded with me again for forgiveness.

I nodded at her. She may have been resentful of me for inheriting our father's estate. She may have been cross with me over my initial irresponsibility and carelessness in handling the wealth—and rightly so. And she may have been angry and spiteful with me for telling her no to her choice of a spouse. The truth was, I should have been more sensitive to her all along and perhaps even allowed her to retain some control. Whatever the case, she would never wish me this kind of death.

Even if she'd inadvertently had a role in disclosing Juliana's identity to Wessex, I knew she'd never meant for all this to happen. She was conniving at times, but she wasn't malicious.

Edgar's smile disappeared, and he grabbed Irene's arm hard enough that she winced. “Tell him good-bye so that we can put him to death and get on with the wedding.”

So, she
was
getting married to Edgar. My head spun with a vortex of dizziness that threatened more blackness, so that Irene's distressed and impassioned good-bye was like a distant, muted event.

From the gleam of victory in Sir Edgar's eyes, I should have known the rogue had planned my execution with the intention of marrying Irene, and by so doing gain my land and wealth.

A fresh burst of anger and strength rippled through me. No wonder Lord Wessex had been all too willing to let Juliana go. Once Edgar became master of Goodrich, they would hunt the peasants again and treat them as brutally as they always had.

The soldier prodded me up the ladder with the sharp tip of his sword. When I reached the top and straightened to my full height, I glanced around for the first time. The marketplace wasn't as crowded as the day Lady Juliana had been brought to the stake. In fact, the gathering was rather sparse, mostly Wessex's soldiers and a few tradesmen and their wives who looked on with faces as blanched as Irene's.

At least I could take comfort in the fact that the people of Wessex had not shown their lord any support for my execution. And I could also take comfort in the fact that Juliana was alive, that she and Bulldog would find a way to escape and survive again as they had before.

The soldier shoved me from behind, sending me stumbling toward the loop of rope that would strangle the breath of life from me, choke my vocal chords, and bring me to the brink of death.

I didn't fight as I was forced to stand upon a stool and shove my head through the noose. When the coarse hemp tightened against my throat, I simply closed my eyes. I was ready to die. I'd prayed enough over the past two days and had made my peace with God. I knew I'd done the only thing I could have by taking Juliana's place.

I loved her more than my own life. Even if she didn't love me in return the same way, I could do nothing less than die for her. I wouldn't have been able to stand back and watch her lose her life, not without dying myself on the inside.

At a command from Wessex, the soldier kicked at the stool and it slipped away, first from one foot and then from the other, so that suddenly the rope bit painfully into my neck. As the pressure of my body pulled down against it, the noose drew tighter.

I dangled in midair, nothing under my feet, my body swaying slightly.

The rope dragged against my chin and cinched against my vocal chords. But I held my eyes closed, willing myself to remain calm even as my throat burned and my airways began to constrict with the lack of air.

Fifteen seconds passed in what seemed an eternity. My legs began to twitch from the lack of oxygen. And my head roared with the growing need to draw a breath.

After another fifteen seconds, I couldn't keep myself from thrashing, the need for air overpowering all of my other senses and reserves.

They would keep me up for at least another minute before cutting me down, although it would be more merciful if they let me die here and spared me the torture of slicing my body open.

When the sharp twang of an arrow rent the air and pierced the rope above my head, I opened my eyes in surprise. The arrow sliced the cord in one swift motion, plummeting me to the scaffold and onto my backside with a hard jolt. Another arrow rapidly followed the first, and this one hit its target—the palm of the soldier who'd been standing guard. The arrow's trajectory and force had also pinned the man's hand to the beam behind me, making him cry out in pain.

Several more arrows hit the soldiers surrounding the scaffold before any of them could react.

I gasped, trying to suck in air. I grappled with the rope, desperate to loosen it so that air could reach my lungs. One
look at the clean cut of the twine and I knew what was happening. A sick dread stampeded through my already roiling stomach.

Juliana was there somewhere. No one else but her could hit a target like that—except me.

With panic replacing the burning agony in my throat, I wrenched the noose, prying it free. At the same time, the noon air was split with piercing, warlike cries. The onlookers screamed and began running.

I tossed off the rope and dragged in a deep breath. And then I pulled myself to my feet. A sweeping glance at the perimeter of the town green gave me all the information I needed to know. The peasants of Wessex had risen up in revolt against their lord. They surrounded the marketplace, their crude weapons drawn, their rag clothes their only armor, their faces fierce with determination.