A Daring Sacrifice (24 page)

There, at the center of the small army, stood Juliana. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt, her hair pulled back under her men's cap, her garments stained with dried blood and caked with mud. Even so, nothing could hide her beauty, the graceful curve of her chin, the stunning brown of her eyes.

She was achingly beautiful. But she was also stubbornly foolish.

I wanted to march over to her, grab her by the arms, and shake some sense into her. She shouldn't have come back. Didn't she know how slim her chances of defeating Wessex were? Most of the peasants held pitchforks, clubs, and hammers. Only a few had knives or bows. With such a pitiful army, by the day's end she would end up tortured and dead—just like her father?

Yet here she was, at the very center of an uprising. Her bow was taut and her arrows flew as fast as she could draw them. Bulldog stood at her side, his bow working just as
swiftly. One glance at Bulldog's face and I knew that he would die first before letting anything happen to Juliana.

Even though I was tempted to rush over and drag her out of the danger, deep inside I realized that the best way to save her was to win the battle against Lord Wessex.

Lord Wessex's soldiers were running every which way, the initial surprise attack and the arrows throwing them into confusion. But my battle training told me they wouldn't be running for long. They'd pull themselves together, and their superior strength and weapons would eventually squelch the peasants.

Unless . . .

I quickly calculated how many swords and lances I could gather from the soldiers Juliana and Bulldog had already wounded. If I could rally the peasants to charge at the soldiers right now, while we still had the element of surprise, we could disarm them and accumulate even more weapons.

Even though my battered body protested each movement I made, I bounded across the scaffold, swiping up the swords of the fallen guards. I swiftly cut my hands free. Then with a deftness born of desperation, I jumped from the scaffold into the screaming fray of people milling in every direction. With the chaos erupting around the scaffold, no one was paying attention to me anymore, and I easily wound through the melee, collecting weapons until my arms ached and my back bent under the weight.

I dumped the weapons on the ground near the fringes of peasant men, who rapidly descended upon the pile. Then with a sword in both hands, I charged forward toward Lord Wessex's men, calling the men to fall into step behind me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw archers positioning themselves on the town walls. Once their arrows began to fly, we would begin to suffer casualties. Moreover, we wouldn't have much time until more of Wessex's well-trained guards
stationed at the castle heard the commotion and came charging into the battle.

If we could cut down the soldiers already at the square and take even more weapons, then we might possibly stand a chance against the bulk of the army.

With a roar, I swung the swords, deflecting blows while at the same time disarming more soldiers. “Grab as many of their weapons as you can,” I shouted over the clank of metal and the fierce cries of those fighting.

An arrow slashed the air near my head. Another quickly followed and plunged into the back of the peasant next to me, who crumpled to the ground with a cry of agony.

I glanced over my shoulder to the town wall, and ducked just in time to avoid the arrow that would have embedded itself into my head. If only I had my bow and arrow, I'd take the archers out one by one. As it was, I was helpless under their onslaught.

An archer pulled back his bow to shoot at me again. Apparently, they were aiming primarily at me. How could I lead the peasants in battle if I had a target on my back? And yet how could I take out the archers before they killed me?

A bowman nearest to me was perched on the walkway of the town wall, his arrow pointed directly at my heart.

Suddenly, an arrow pierced the man's neck in the tiny sliver of exposed skin between his helmet and his chest piece. He stiffened and then toppled forward over the stone wall. I watched as he crashed to the ground, motionless, his bow and quiver of arrows next to him.

A second arrow met the mark in the neck of another archer, then another. I glanced in the direction of Juliana. She had her bow aimed at the wall, at the archers, and was taking them out one by one, her hands flying methodically but faster than any archer I'd ever seen.

I breathed a silent prayer that she'd have enough arrows to stay safe, and then spun back into the onslaught before me, rejoining the peasants in their attack on Lord Wessex's soldiers. My mind, my muscles, and my body went into the focused solider mode that the Duke of Rivenshire had drilled into me. All my aches and pains, my anxiety over Juliana, my doubts about defeating Wessex—everything fell away. I thought of nothing but swinging my swords and cutting down the enemy in order to get more weapons into the hands of the peasants that surrounded me.

I shouted and pushed forward and led the way into the fray, pushing the soldiers back until they retreated down the cobbled street that led back to the castle. I began to relentlessly pursue, when suddenly an eerie silence descended over the market square behind me. The peasants fighting alongside me stopped and turned, their swords hanging useless at their sides.

For several moments I slashed forward, pushing onward, my breath coming in heavy gasps, blood roaring in my ears.

“Drop your weapon, Lord Collin,” came Lord Wessex's sharp shout behind me. “Or I'll kill Lady Juliana right here and now.”

I spun and lifted my swords, ready to plunge them into Wessex's heart. But at the sight that met me, every ounce of fight drained from my body, leaving me weak and shaking.

“Blessed Mary,” I whispered.

There, in the center of the green at the top of the abandoned scaffolding, Edgar had captured Juliana. Her bow and arrow lay trampled at his feet. He'd wrenched her arms behind her back. Her cap was off, and he'd gripped a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her neck. In his other hand, he pressed the sharp blade of a knife against her skin hard enough to draw blood.

Chapter
19

“L
AY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS
,” L
ORD
W
ESSEX DEMANDED
again from the foot of the scaffolding. The man's chest heaved in and out. He was sweating profusely. And bright crimson stained the white sleeve of his tunic where the broken shaft of an arrow stuck out.

How had Edgar gotten his hands upon Juliana?

A glance in the direction of where she'd been shooting only moments ago revealed Bulldog sprawled on the ground, unmoving, a pool of blood forming in the dirt at his side.

My gaze swung back to Juliana. Across the distance, her eyes pleaded with me to keep fighting. We had the upper hand. We were doing the unbelievable. We were driving Lord Wessex's army back. We couldn't give up yet. Not now. Not for her.

“Throw down your swords,” Wessex called to me, clutching the wound in his arm.

My chest burned and my parched mouth cried out for relief. The inaction made me acutely aware of the flesh wounds in my back from being dragged through town, the ache in my ribs from the endless kicks in the dungeon, and the pain in my neck from where the noose had strangled me.

But none of my pains compared to the agony of seeing Juliana at the mercy of Edgar. The pain was nearly as intense as the agony I'd felt earlier in the week when I'd witnessed her tied to the stake.

“Don't stop!” she cried out. “Fight to the death!”

Edgar yanked her head, pulling her hair hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

I stepped forward, my body stiffening and my fingers tightening around my swords. Her big brown eyes pleaded with me to keep fighting, to defeat Lord Wessex once and for all—even if she had to die in the process.

The truth in her eyes hit me hard. If I gave up my sword and stopped fighting, Lord Wessex would kill us all anyway. He'd burn Juliana at the stake as he'd initially planned and then finish quartering me. But if I rallied the men to press onward, to ignore Wessex and Edgar—and Juliana—then we still had a chance to win.

As when she was tied at the stake, she wanted me to let her die. She was willing to sacrifice her life so that her people could regain the freedom they desperately needed.

The awfulness of the situation barreled into me, knocking the breath from my lungs. How could I possibly stand back and let Sir Edgar slit her throat? I couldn't.

Again, her eyes pleaded with me to stop standing there, to resume the fight before Wessex's men could regroup and surround us. But I couldn't move. I loved her too much to stand back and watch her die. She had to know that. Even if she didn't love me in return, I'd never stop loving her.

She lowered her lashes, as if she couldn't bear to see the love in my eyes.

I fought against the urge to drop my sword. I knew in the end that her sacrifice, her death, would bring about greater freedom for the peasants she loved and it would put an end
to Wessex's tyranny. I could grant her last wish, couldn't I? I could defeat Wessex for her sake, in honor of her.

The renewed yells of Lord Wessex's soldiers echoed in the street behind me. They were rallying to turn the tide of the battle.

Juliana lifted her lashes then and met my gaze one last time. “Please,” she mouthed even as she strained away from the sharp blade at her neck.

I gave the barest of nods, the motion wrenching my heart into two.

The resignation within his eyes tore at me. But relief weakened my knees.

My death wouldn't be in vain. Collin would lead the peasants to victory. I'd seen the determination etched in his face from the moment he'd spotted me in the crowd. He'd fought valiantly and pushed the peasant men to do more than I'd dreamed possible.

He'd been wise to go for the weapons first. And his training and experience as a warrior would lead them to victory.

Without me.

I watched him raise his sword above his head, the valor and determination returning. He shouted to the men surrounding him to stand their ground. And then, before spinning away from me, he caught my eyes again.

Good-bye
, I said silently.
I love you
.

As if I'd spoken the words aloud, his eyes widened and he faltered.

Yes, I had to let him know that he hadn't loved me in vain. That I returned his love. I knew that now.

He stared at me, unable to sacrifice his love for me. His arms dropped. His swords began to slip out of his fingers.

“No-o-o-o!” I cried as Edgar's grip on my hair wrenched painfully. I couldn't let Collin give up. They'd kill him too. At least if he fought with the peasants, my uncle and cousin would only be able to kill me.

As one of Collin's swords clattered to the cobblestone street, I heard the distant trill of a trumpet outside the town gates. I ignored it and screamed my protest again. “No, Collin!”

How had I let Edgar get his hands on me in the first place? If only I'd been more cautious . . . But I'd been too focused on taking out the archers on the wall and keeping them from hurting Collin.

As it was, I'd already lost Bulldog. I wouldn't let Collin stand by and give up his life for me again.

“Kill me,” I demanded of Sir Edgar. “Kill me this instant.” At least if my cousin slit my throat now, Collin would have no reason to hand himself over to Uncle. Maybe he'd return to the fight before it was too late.

The trumpet blared again, this time louder. My attention was at last caught by the clatter of warhorses and the clank of armor, and my eyes flew to the town gate. At the sight of an army of knights, fully clad from head to toe in shining silver armor, brandishing an assortment of the most deadly weapons, dread swept into me and nearly knocked me off my feet.

How could we possibly fight against the rest of the Wessex army? Especially when they were mounted?

Behind me, Sir Edgar uttered an oath under his breath—an oath that expressed fear and dismay.