The Execution (12 page)

“
Oh, begging your pardon.”
He hastily turned away, stroking the horse on the nose, so it would
not circle him again, forcing him to turn and see her—putting on
her—he swallowed thickly. He succeeded in keeping his back to her,
acutely aware of the rustle of her gowns. He did not succeed in
blocking the mental vision of her pulling the stockings up those
lovely, slender legs. It was a sin that he had seen those long,
bare legs and he closed his eyes.

He pictured her with less than her
stockings on and was suddenly hot. D’ata had only once ever seen a
woman's body naked. He'd accidentally walked in on a handmaid as
she was changing in Raphael’s quarters, an event which had burned
itself into his mind. Only later had he summed up the purpose of
the young woman’s visit.

His face flushed and he swiftly opened
his eyes as arousal crept up his loins into the pit of his belly.
Loosening the catch on the collar of his linen shirt, he allowed
the breeze to cool him and cleared his throat. “I wish to
apologize. I don’t know what came over me, it’s just that it seemed
you were—I had never,” he paused, awkwardly trying to create a
meaningful and honest explanation. Finally, he just hung his head
and said, honestly, “I just wish to say I’m sorry. I hope that the
incident didn’t cause you any embarrassment. Please forgive me.” He
stared down at his hands, twisting the reins about in them. “I’m
sorry that I disturbed you, and I’ll go.”

“
Wait!” Julianne said
abruptly as though she was afraid he might leave. “Wait—I want to
ask you something. You don’t have to go.” She'd replaced her
garments and walked up softly behind him.

By the time he realized she was behind
him, he turned to find her mere inches from him, gazing up into his
eyes.

“
In fact, I’ve been
meaning to speak to you, about this morning,” she said, as though
serious about wishing to put right the transgressions which
occurred, the opportunity having presented itself so nicely for
both of them.

Urgency threatened to overcome him and
he could hardly bear to be so close to her. Her scent drifted
delicately up to his nostrils, and her large, smoky eyes sparkled
clear and bright.

That unfamiliar pull in his belly
returned and his chest ached. He couldn’t breathe, ‘Was he ill?’ He
started to panic, fearing that he might awaken from this
dream.

The look on her face was one of
confusion. She scanned his face and came to rest on his eyes, as if
trying to determine his sincerity. Her brow furrowed, her fairy
eyebrows arching. “Of which are you most sorry? That you have
disturbed me here, or that you defiled me in mass this morning?”
She peered at him, eyes narrowed, obviously suspicious of his
intentions.

She very slowly allowed her eyes to
travel the distance of him, although she appeared completely
unaware of the effect she had on him. Then she glanced at the
gelding. “You shouldn’t ride him so hard when he’s not used to it,”
she said and turned, gently stroking the horse’s shoulder. “We
should walk him or he may be ill.” She gave D’ata no option to walk
him alone.

“
You’re—right,” he
stammered, “we should,” He hurriedly added, “I don’t usually ride
him this hard. I was just...” His voice trailed off.

She looked over her shoulder at him
again, her eyes inquisitive but cautious. She seemed unprepared to
leave, almost drawn to D’ata. “You don’t exactly fit the mold of a
man of the cloth.”

Fidgeting with the bridle, D’ata
pretended to adjust it, not sure how to answer. His story was too
complicated.

She looked him up and down again. “My
name is Julianne. I live close to here with my father, two
brothers, and sister.” She reached for the reins and pulled them
from his grasp. “I come here often when the weather permits. It’s
so private—a secret getaway, I suppose, and not so far from where I
live.” Before he could assemble a response, she continued, “So what
brings you here today, Monsieur Le Priest, since you say you
weren’t following me?”

He let her pull the reins from his
hands as she guided the big bay around and headed back to the path,
up towards the meadow. D’ata concentrated very hard to answer her
question. “This probably sounds contrived, but I come here often
too. It’s very beautiful, as you say.”

Julianne's expression remained one of
doubtful intrigue, as though he was not yet to be trusted. “So you
come here to pray?” Suddenly, it appeared that she enjoyed
provoking him a bit. Then, she did what appeared to be a very
calculating thing. She passed her book to him, allowing her hand to
momentarily brush his. She turned as though she wanted to see the
reaction on his face, her own expression dead serious, although her
eyes danced.

“
I pray in the church, I
come here to hear the voice of God,” D’ata answered.

She seemed surprised and pleased at
his response. “And what does God tell you today?” she quipped as
they topped the little ridge and turned to lead the horse across
the meadow. She walked easily beside him, as her stride was almost
the same as his, though she was not nearly as tall.

“
He told me to come
here—rather he didn’t. I felt compelled to,” he paused, then
started impatiently, “Julianne...” He reached out, abruptly taking
her by the arm, turning her to face him and forcing her to
stop.

This seemed to startle her. He
continued, hurriedly, before she could stop him, “Julianne, I don’t
know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never seen you before this morning,
and all I know is that since I first saw you, I can think of
nothing else. I’m not sure of anything!” He pulled his eyes from
hers, looking instead over her shoulder to the meadow beyond. “I
can’t seem to think of anything but you! And I don’t mean that as
some strange sort of flattery, just the awful truth.”

She yanked her arm free of his hand,
instantly outraged, her eyes burning. “I suppose God told you it
would be all right?” She shocked him with her outburst. “How
pretentious of you! And what made you think you could do this to
me? Place me in such a position with my family—and the parish! Do
you presume this has only to do with you?” Her fury seemed to mount
as she stomped her foot, but it made her appear very vulnerable in
the wild expanse of the meadow.

Now D’ata experienced an emotion very
new to him. It was an odd mixture of excitement, aggravation and
fear—fear that she might reject him. It had not occurred to him
until now that he would ever even see her again, that he would feel
so suddenly and completely possessive of her. He struggled greatly
with it. He didn’t like the way the conversation was going and
instinctively approached the situation with raw honesty. He stepped
towards her.

D’ata was entirely unprepared for
these feelings, consumed with his need to be with her—logic and
rationality were suddenly gone. The universe was chaos, bits flying
about in disorder. There was no God, no ordainment, no plan. There
existed only this moment. He was fragile as glass and she could
easily shatter him if she chose to, of only this was he
certain.

He reacted without thought, grabbing
her by the arms, pulling her roughly to him, pressing his lips to
hers.

Her eyes shot open, enormous with
surprise.

Having never done this before, he
kissed her roughly, clumsily. It lasted for only a mere fleeting
seconds before she slapped both hands upon his chest, pushing him
away. She shoved hard at his chest, feeling for only a moment the
expanse of muscle under the white cotton shift that hung loosely in
the spring breeze.

Julianne looked stunned, without the
self-assurance she appeared to possess just moments before. She
said nothing, the amusement gone from her eyes, a look of explicit
anger on her face. This was obviously an unexpected turn of events
for her, and she had evidently grossly misjudged him!

She stared at him, wide eyed, her hair
flying wildly about her face. She held the back of one hand against
her lips. She was breathtaking. Wisps of her sun-streaked hair
clung damp and elegant around her neck.

D’ata’s breathing had become deep and
ragged. He stepped towards her again.

Julianne reacted instantly, perhaps
consumed with anger, perhaps a profound doubt of her own failing
logic. She struck him, sudden and hard. It was quite swift, as if
it were a reflex. D’ata’s head jerked to the side and he closed his
eyes, her blow landing squarely across the bruise his father had
left that morning.

Her eyes shot open in genuine
surprise, apparently at how hard she hit him. She staggered
backwards to regain her balance, shaking her hand, as though from
the burning impact of the blow. Tears threatened as she winced and
let go a sob.

He seemed frozen in place. There was
an awful amount of time where everything stood still. Then, slowly,
he turned to look again into her eyes.

There was a new expression on
Julianne’s face now, as though she saw for the first time the
burning passion in his eyes. She whispered, “No...” and stepped
backwards.

Both were speechless for a few brief
seconds, eyes locked onto one another. Then, reading her mind and
before she could speak, he snatched at her, grasping her wrist so
that she couldn’t run. He pulled her again to him, breathing in the
all of her.

Julianne struggled against him,
started to object.

He wrapped his arms about her, pulling
her waist against his groin, pinning her arms against his chest,
twining his fingers into her hair, and pulled her head back so that
he could bury his face into hers.

He pressed his lips against hers, this
time fully committed to the kiss.

She fought angrily, pressing her lips
tightly together to deny him, arching her body away from his. The
rough stubble of his beard scratched her chin. She struggled,
trying to release her arms, to twist away from him while tears
escaped the corners of her eyes and caught on her
lashes.

In mere seconds, she went from
outraged to confused, and then to a blankness as she remained
unmoving in his arms. He couldn’t make sense of what was coming
over her, but moments later, he found her succumbing to him. D’ata
was uncertain whether she softened from desire or relief and
safety. She allowed him to pull her closely, relaxed so that his
strong arms molded her against him.

Oh, to hold her this way, it was
glorious!

She breathed in. Her soft lips parted
as his tongue pressed against them. He thrilled as she submitted to
his passion, allowing his kiss to consume her. Then, quite
unexpectedly—she kissed him back, her hand reaching softly up to
his face, gently caressing his jaw.

Then something happened. Somewhere,
somehow, a sliver of his ordained destiny threaded it’s nasty hook
into him and tugged. As abruptly as he’d advanced upon her, he
suddenly released her, shoving her roughly away. She stumbled
backwards, shaken, obviously stunned by his unpredictability and
her own inability to maintain control.

Her fury was unmistakable. She said
nothing, only stood there, her hand to her mouth, tears streaming
from her eyes. She was visibly unsteady on her feet.

The horse, nervous from the humans’
erratic behavior, threw up its head and yanked the reins easily
from her hands. Recognizing its sudden freedom, the animal bolted
away. Across the meadow it charged, holding its head high to keep
from entangling its legs in the reins and galloped eagerly for
home.

“
No!” D’ata cried as he
lunged after the horse. Then, realizing the futility of chasing the
animal, turned back to Julianne.

Years ago, when D’ata’s voice had
first squeaked his adolescent changes, and his body had taken on
that youthful, awkward gangly appearance, he’d experienced the
first of those mystifying dreams that young men have. Those dreams
had embarrassed him and yet, had left his body quenched.
Afterwards, he thought it dirty and sinful, and he innocently
questioned his eligibility to pursue his quest to be a disciple of
God. However, there was another part of him that secretly marveled
at those dreams.

Eventually, as he matured and his
voice stabilized to a throaty baritone, he came to accept those
dreams as a gift from God. After all, he could purify his thoughts
during his waking hours and walk a holy path. Then, in his slumber,
his soul could enter that limbo plane beyond his control, and the
smoky, vague images could stir. He knew in this state he could be
vulnerable to the whims of God, or Satan. It just seemed much
easier to accept those dreams as gifts from God rather than sins
from Satan. Consequently, he would not have to pray for them to
leave and risk losing them. It was fundamentally an irrational
argument, but for D’ata, it worked.

Now he looked at Julianne in much the
same way as when he first marveled at the dreams. However, he was
not decided from whence she’d came. “Who in God’s name are you,
really?” he asked her. “Where the devil have you come from?” He was
simply mystified that this woman could so possess his mind and body
as she had in the last few hours. His questions were sincere, if
unkind.

She roughly brushed the tears from her
eyes with the back of her hand. “How dare you! Who am I? Who the
hell are you!” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “And do you
always use your divine power to exploit women?” She was screaming
at the top of her lungs. She seethed, clenching and unclenching her
fists. “Bastard! You’re a bastard! And, and I hate you!” Her eyes
brimmed as she gulped in a half sob.