Her One Desire (34 page)

She shook her head. The blade thumped atop the first step.

“I cannot.”

“You must. The executioner awaits ye on the dais.” He pushed her, forcing her to either take the step or fall. She felt like an actress about to perform onstage, which is exactly what an execution was—an elaborate performance.

London’s vagrants came out in droves to witness the diabolical scene, their thirst for blood more vile than that of those who enacted the drama. Wooden planks bowed beneath her feet until she gained the top of the platform. The thickness of her hood did little to muffle the jeers of the gathering. From beneath her lashes she peered into the crowd. Her eyes focused on a small child, no more than three summers, sitting atop a man’s shoulders. Wheat-colored curls bobbed around her face. She clapped as though she were at festival and pointed at the two rows of horses aligned perpendicular to the scaffold.

Hidden inside hooded black cloaks, Lord Hollister’s guards made this performance an impressive spectacle of authority. Their beastly stallions pranced in place, forcing the crowd to separate into two sections.

The mist of twilight formed a cloud above the assemblage. Two of Father’s loyal companions flanked each side of Lord Hollister, who stood atop a raised platform directly beside a black stallion. Her stallion. The beast he expected her to ride through the city. He applauded her with an exaggerated show of mockery, a hint of triumph lifting his brow. Her humiliation raised his bearded chin a level higher and was just another of his artfully planned machinations. ‘Twas what Lord Hollister thrived on. While she shook inside to the very being of her core, she wouldn’t give him the thrill of seeing her pain. She turned and her downward gaze followed the braided ropes from the stallion to the center of the dais where the twine twisted into knots around her husband’s ankles. Broc knelt before the chopping block. A hood covered his face. His black tunic clung to his muscular chest with sweat, and his hands were trapped behind him. The basket had already been conveniently placed to catch his head once Father removed it. Her heart nearly burst from her chest. She wanted to believe she could stop this. If she threw the ax, would it save him? Or would Lord Hollister order him pulled apart? Madoc stepped to Broc’s right side, Father to his left. A glimpse of the man she’d known as a child smoothed the hard lines of Father’s face. She didn’t want to recognize his expression. The same expression he’d worn when he looked at Mother. He bl inked. His amber eyes moved over her shoulder to where Lord Hollister was positioned in the crowd. Father stared at him for what seemed like minutes, then motioned for her to step forward.

He brushed the side of her face with his gloved hand and pressed his lips against her forehead. “You make me proud, Lizzy. Everything I loved about your mother I see in you. I do not wish for you to be afraid anymore. For generations Ives men have wielded the ax. I am the last. Pray for me, Lizzy. I cannot get to Heaven without you.” He uncurled her fingers from the ax and gestured her toward Broc. “Go to your husband.”

She didn’t want Father’s pride, nor did she want to pray for him anymore. The world spun on an axis in dull colors. She started counting the number of armed guards filling the small wooden dais.
Eight, ten, twelve..
. Could she push them all over the edge? Was she capable of saving her husband? She stood between Broc and the block and removed his hood. Her hand cradled the nape of his neck as he looked up at her. Relief washed through his sweet blue eyes. “Ye are well?”

“Nay. I am afraid.”

The fool smiled. “Fear not, Lizbeth. I will be with ye soon.”

A piece of the chain holding his gold crucifix snuck out from beneath his tunic. He was a man of God. He’d accepted death and made peace with his Maker. Her lips parted. Her chin quivered. She wanted their last words to be meaningful. She wanted to profess her love and hear her words returned. She wanted to kneel down before him and pray with him. A sob escaped her. “Tell me what to do.”

“Kiss me, Lizbeth “ he demanded.

Her eyes fell shut. She pressed her lips to his, wanting time to stand still. Salty tears slid between their lips. “Wait for me,” she whispered into his mouth.

“Get on the horse.” His gaze left her to look into the crowd. Madoc pulled her to the edge of the dais and caught her when her knees gave out. He set her atop the horse with the aid of the two yeomen standing beside Lord Hollister. Her fingers twisted into the horse’s mane as convulsions attacked her abdomen. Her heart had never known such suffering before this moment.

Silence settled over the crowd save for an infant’s cry. “Are you not going to watch?”

Lord Hollister’s voice turned her stomach sour. “His chin is in the divot.” She looked at Lord Hollister from the corner of her eye. ‘The time we spend on this earth only prepares us for the afterlife. I will be with my husband soon … in Paradise. And you, sir, will know the flames of Hades for eternity.” Lord Hollister scowled, but his glare never left her. “May God protect this man on his journey!” Father bellowed on the dais behind her.
Thwack

Chapter 22

Lizzy’s entire body jerked.

The crowd’s whispers escalated to gasps.

A loud slap to her steed’s rump spurred her horse into motion behind the other stallions.

“Ride, Lizbeth.” Her hood fell back. Her head jerked to the left. Broc sat astride the other tethered horse, wearing an all-knowing grin. “Seize them!” Lord Hollister bellowed behind them. Confused, she glanced over her shoulder. Madoc and the two yeomen latched onto Lord Hollister’s arms. Not one guard followed in their wake. Father stood atop the gallows, a boyish smile curling his lips. He waved.

“Dinnae look back!” Broc yelled at her over the pounding of hoofbeats. Lizzy bent low, held tight to the reins, and kicked the beast’s belly with her heels. She was free. Broc was free. One of the guards in front of her pushed back his hood and peeked over his shoulder.

Smitt winked at her.

Gregor did the same.

Another pushed back his hood, then another. They were alive! The Maxwell men were alive and leading them through the darkening city of London past merchant stalls and gabled houses. She didn’t know what had transpired, nor did she care at the moment. She only wanted to leave and never return.

They approached the city’s gates. Broc raised his hand high and waved at the gatekeeper.

“Farewell, Godfrey.” “Godspeed!” he bellowed and then dropped the portcullis behind them with a clicking bang.

Lizzy craned her neck.
Why was Godfrey at London’s gate?
He worked inside the Tower. Yet another question added to the many accumulating in her head. Twilight speckled through the dissipating clouds as they stormed over the outskirts of London, never once easing the thunderous pace. A silver moon rose on the horizon, and living stars twinkled like magic dust overhead. Her steed plummeted over the crest of a knoll, and a pregnant pause of silence hollowed her ears. Weightlessness flowed through her belly. She must have glanced over her shoulder a hundred times, but she couldn’t prevent herself from taking another peek.

The rolling grassland spread out behind them, vacant.

How was it possible not one guard pursued them? Smitt took over the lead and Broc guided his stallion beside hers, his fluid movements one with his steed. He was grace and brawn in tight black trews drawing sensual lines over muscular thighs. He was a warrior—her warrior—and she wanted to touch him and know that he was real. He watched her; a serious expression she’d never seen before touched his face. He blinked, and one corner of his lips curved upward.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked in a voice loud enough for him to hear over the gait of their horses.

“Mayhap.” A tug on the reins brought his steed beside her. “Dinnae wake up til we get to Scotland, aye.” Broc inched backward on his horse, then filled his fist with the back of her cloak and snatched her off her steed. Instead of setting her astride, he placed her feet atop the horse’s back and held tight to her calves. “Ye are free, angel. Spread your wings and fly.”

She found her footing, letting her knees adjust to the stallion’s stride. The Maxwell warriors fell back, five to her right, five to her left, like the V formation of geese in flight. Fearless, she stretched her arms out from her body and soared. Wind blew her hair away from her face and pushed tears over her temples while her black cloak billowed in whipping waves all around her. She closed her eyes and inhaled the mist, the sweet grasses, the spice of horseflesh—freedom.

She turned her face toward Heaven and bid her loved ones farewell. In her mind’s eye, Mother kissed her cheek, Kamden and his sons wrapped their arms around her and squeezed, and Edlynn brushed her hair with crippled hands. Lizzy would hold them in her heart forever and let their voices make her strong. They were setting her free. “Thank you.” She offered her gratitude in a whisper no one could hear but them. Her eyes opened in time to catch the tail of a falling star the same time Broc placed a kiss on the back of each knee.. Emotions surged through her breast—relief, joy, longing—but none of them as strong as love.

As Broc slowed, the Maxwell warriors purged ahead with her horse in tow. Broc’s hands gripped her hips, spun her around, and then slid her down his chest. She wrapped her legs around his waist and twined her arms around his neck, wanting to absorb his strength, wanting to be part of him.

She was so very grateful for his presence in her life.
I’m
never letting go.

She brushed her nose against his earlobe and inhaled the musk of his skin, waiting for him to fill the silence with his chatter, but words didn’t come. His thighs hardened beneath hers, guiding the horse behind the fading rumble of the Maxwell warriors’ steeds. He embraced her, his heart beat against hers, and then at last, she felt him tremble. “All will be well, husband,” she assured him with his own words as she caressed the soft curls at his nape. “I was so afraid I would fail ye,” he confessed, his voice deep, frightened. Shielding her inside the cocoon of his chest, he tightened strong arms around her. The pressure against her tender ribs caused her to whimper. His hold loosened immediately. “A day will not pass that I will not regret leaving ye with him. Can ye ever forgive me?” “Tis over.” She pulled back, cupped his coarse cheek, and stroked the worried flesh beneath his eyes. Comforting her strong, fearless warrior was an altogether new rush of emotions.

“Ye cannae know the torment I suffered while ye were in that bastard s hands.” He placed tiny kisses around the bruise circling her wrist like an opaque, sapphire bracelet.

“Tell me what happened.”

He eased them into a steady canter. “The moment Hollister took ye from the Tower green, I told your da about Hollister’s association with Buckingham. I bargained with him. Told him I would provide the document if my men were given a fair trial and you were delivered into sanctuary.” “And you? Did you not plead for your life?”

“Nay.” He caressed the sensitive skin on her forearm. “Your father asked me the same question whilst the guards escorted us into the tunnel where I had Smitt hide the document. I thought it odd your da would be concerned about my well-being.” Again he kissed her wrist. “I admit I wanted to think ill of him because of his profession. I blamed him for all your fears and questioned your desire to save a man who—“ “Whose loyalty to a monster was stronger than his love for his son,” she finished, embarrassed to be Lord Ives’s daughter. “Nay, Lizbeth.” He tucked a loose tendril back behind her ear. “He dinnae execute Kamden. Hollister chained your da during the execution.”

Lizzy looked down at the dark grasses passing beneath the stallion’s belly. She’d cursed Father after that day. Damned him to Hades, and he never once told her the truth. He accepted her anger, her hate, and distanced himself from her, leaving her all alone. She felt the gentle lift of her chin; then Broc pulled her a little closer. “Your father’s head is often not his own.” “Why would he let me believe he killed Kamden?” “I suspect he was tormented inside and thought it best ye hate him. It does not mean he loved ye any less.”
Love.
She repeated the word in her head. Her fingers spread over his, their hands palm to palm. A frisson of heat built within that barest of touches. A heat she knew to be love. If Father did love her, he’d never said it. The last time shed heard words of love was the day Mother set her rosary in Lizzy’s hand. The same day Mother passed from this world. “I know not if my father ever loved anyone. He” never said the words. Not even to Mother.”

“Mayhap he felt his love a curse. He failed Kamden, as he did you and his grandsons. I’ve known his pain. I know what ‘tis like to fail someone, to be incapable of helping them. It makes ye hate yourself. It makes ye want to do anything to set yourself free from that guilt.”

“Do not compare yourself to my father. You are nothing like him.”

“Lizbeth, the mon went mad on regrets.” He laced his fingers through hers, holding tight, as if he could sense her withdrawal.

“Stop defending him. He is a coward.”

“Mayhap. But he is a coward who is eager to see your efforts through. To make amends and avenge his heirs.” “My efforts failed. Without the document, there is naught to connect Lord Hollister to Buckingham.”

“Ye have such little faith.” He kissed her tense brow and flattened her hand against his chest.

“Faith? The document is gone. Lord Hollister won. Is it truly necessary for me to remind you of the events that transpired? You gave the document to Father. He gave it to Lord Hollister. Lord Hollister burned it.” She flung her hand from his chest and plucked off the events with her fingers. “Why it took so cursed long, I do not yet know, but my breasts will likely never be the same.”

He worked the silver clasps of her inner vestment until the cloak hung over her shoulders. With one hand splayed behind her back, he bent and kissed her upper breasts through her tunic. “I’m sorry ye had to suffer for so long.” The cool night and his tenderness made her shudder. “Why did it take Father four bells to get from the tunnel to Beauchamp Tower?”