A Daring Sacrifice (20 page)

I studied the foliage, the trees, and the ground. Someone had been in the woods. And whoever it was hadn't been very careful. I knelt and pushed back a tangle of brambles. There in the mud and sludge of fallen leaves were hoof prints. I shoved aside more of the thicket, revealing the clear outline of large boots.

I straightened, and my heart took a dive into my stomach.

Surely the prints were only those of scouts, the men Lord Wessex had sent in an attempt to find Juliana and her people. The soldiers wouldn't be able to locate the hidden
passageway. It was impossible to find without someone guiding them there.

Nevertheless, I lengthened my stride until I was almost running through the forest, heedless now of covering my tracks. My pulse pounded louder until it roared through my head. When I finally crashed through the brush surrounding the wide, old tree that led to the caves, I tried to catch my breath.

But at the sight that met me, fear pierced my chest. Blankets, rags, sleeping pallets, and the few possessions the peasants owned had been strewn over the ground and crushed. In the middle of all the destruction was a body sprawled facedown—a thin boy with a patch of dirty, straw-colored hair poking from beneath a cap.

“Blessed Mary.” I bolted toward the body, knelt next to it, and gently rolled him over. “Thatch.”

The boy's eyes were closed and his face pale and bruised and beaten. One glance at his broken arms and bloody fingertips gave me all the information I needed to know about what had happened.

Thatch had apparently allowed his anger to make him careless, and had wandered too close to one of Wessex's patrol while running off yesterday. The soldiers had captured the boy, tortured him, and under the duress of pain, Thatch surely told Wessex everything he hadn't already gleaned from William and Mistress Higgins about Juliana and the Cloaked Bandit. Wessex had probably then set the boy free in order to follow him, and, inadvertently, Thatch led the cruel lord directly to the peasants' hiding place.

I pressed my fingers against the pulse in the boy's neck and felt for the rise and fall of his chest.

Thatch's eyelids fluttered open. “Lord Collin,” he managed between cracked lips that revealed a gap where he'd obviously lost several more teeth.

I let out a relieved sigh. The boy was still alive.

“I'm sorry,” Thatch croaked, closing his eyes. Tears squeezed out and rolled down his temples.

“You had no choice.” I brushed my fingertips across the boy's forehead, flicking off the dirt and bits of leaves that had stuck there. “Torture can make even the best man do things he'd never consider under normal circumstances.”

Thatch shuddered and pried his eyes open. “You have to go after them. You have to free her.”

I nodded. My body had already tensed with the need to fight. My mind had cleared as it did before a battle. I was past ready to charge after Lord Wessex and fight him to the death.

But first, I had to tend to Thatch. And anyone else Wessex had hurt. I scanned the carnage for other bodies.

“The women and children are still hidden underground,” Thatch said. “But they took all the men and Juliana as prisoners.”

The mere thought of Juliana at Lord Wessex's mercy was too agonizing to imagine. I wanted to hit something, to rage until I was hoarse. I couldn't bear to think what Wessex was planning to do to her.

“Go,” Thatch whispered weakly.

“How long have they been gone?

“I can't be sure, but maybe an hour or two.”

If I ran fast enough, I might be able to catch up. But what could I do by myself against Wessex and his army of well-trained soldiers? I'd be wiser to approach Wessex calmly and with my own guards accompanying me. I had to stay rational even though my heart was pulsing with the need to rescue Juliana before it was too late, before she ended up like Thatch . . . or worse.

“Go after her and leave me to die,” Thatch said more urgently. “After what I did, I don't want to live.”

I slid my hands under the boy as carefully as I could, but Thatch cried out in agony nonetheless. I suspected the thumbscrews hadn't worked to get Thatch to cooperate, and so Wessex had resorted to methodically breaking bones in the boy's body.

Fresh anger flooded my chest and poured into my limbs. How could Wessex be so callous to these poor, helpless people?

But even as the question stirred my blood, shame whispered through me. I'd been callous too. Maybe I hadn't been cruel in the same way as Wessex, but I'd been ignorant and uncaring of their plight. I'd lived in luxury without giving any thought to their needs.

And now I prayed it wasn't too late to change.

“I'll go rescue the others,” I said. “But first, we need to take care of you and the women and children.” Before Thatch could protest again, I lifted him into my arms.

The boy gave another tortured scream, but blessedly fell into unconsciousness.

My hands had grown numb from the lack of blood flowing into my arms. Suspended by chains to the stone wall above my head, my wrists were raw where the metal dug into my skin. My toes barely touched the dungeon floor, even with the soiled straw I'd managed to slide underneath my feet in an effort to relieve the strain on my arms.

My throat burned and my mouth was parched. My face ached in each place Edgar had hit me. And my back was sore from the well-placed kicks he'd given me during the walk back to Wessex.

From the clinking of chains, the soft groans, and the heavy breathing, I knew the others were still alive too. But for how long?

When Uncle had marched us through the gatehouse and into the inner bailey, he'd narrowed his eyes upon me and said, “Welcome home, Lady Juliana. Enjoy being here while you can.”

I had no doubt he was planning to put me to death. I just prayed he'd show me mercy and take my life swiftly instead of prolonging the torture.

“Bulldog,” I whispered through the dank darkness.

He grunted from the cell across from mine.

“When they come for me, you need to overpower the guards and free yourself and the others.”

“I'm not leaving you here to die by yourself.”

“You take the others and run as fast as you can to Lord Collin. He'll give you refuge.”

A clanking at the entrance of the dungeon sent a burst of urgency through me. “Please, Bulldog. I'll be able to meet my death without fear if I know you and the others are safe.”

“If we attempt to overthrow the guards, we'll only end up butchered.”

“You'll end up dead anyway.”

Before I could argue with him further, the door squealed on its rusty hinges and opened wide. The heavy slap of boots and the brilliance of torchlight filled the dungeon. There were too many guards to count, obviously sent to bring all of us out to receive Uncle's punishment.

My hope fizzled away. When I met Bulldog's gaze, there wasn't a speck of rebellion left in the depths. I had the feeling life had drained out of him when the soldiers had forced him to walk away from Thatch, to leave his only son half dead and sprawled on the ground.

When the guards released my hands from the iron clamps on the wall, I had the brief vision of lashing out at them, of leading an uprising myself. But my arms were so weak and
numb from lack of blood that I couldn't make my fingers work. My shoulders and sockets burned from the long hours in one position. I could hardly manage to walk without tripping between the two guards who led me up the winding staircase and out into the courtyard.

I gulped in a breath of the fresh, cold air, knowing it would likely be one of my last. And as the guards marched me through the castle gates and into the town's market square, I lifted my eyes heavenward. Even though the sky was clouded with the ominous gray of more rain, I envisioned my father peering down at me from heaven.

Maybe he wouldn't be proud of everything I'd done, but today, finally, I'd be able to see him again and hug him. At least I could count one blessing from my capture.

When I reached the center green of the marketplace, where my uncle and cousin were waiting, the guards shoved me to my knees in front of them. I lowered my head and let my long, unruly curls hang in my face so that I wouldn't have to look at the two men who'd destroyed my world.

Of course a crowd had gathered for the proceedings. I had no doubt many of them were curious to see me again after believing I'd been dead these past years.

My uncle spoke to the gathering for several minutes, listing my crimes as the Cloaked Bandit.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Lady Juliana?” Uncle's sharp question cut into me. Was he giving me the chance to defend myself? Or was he merely wishing to humiliate me further?

I lifted my head and finally glanced at my uncle and cousin. Though my uncle was attired in pristine white as usual, I could only see the blackness of his heart. It showed through his eyes and the cruel lines in his face.

Next to me, a stake had been erected along with a heap of rain-drenched logs and branches. So they were planning to burn me? I shuddered with a momentary chill at the prospect of slowly roasting to death. The wet wood would drag out the torture for hours.

Uncle bent until his face was mere inches from mine. “I expect that you'll admit to the charges leveled against you, that you will clearly confirm your guilt to this multitude.”

“And why would I give you the pleasure of such a confession?” I lifted my chin and glared at him.

Edgar's backhand and knuckles connected with my cheek. Pain erupted in my head, shooting through my face up into my temple. My mind flickered with the edges of blackness. If only he would hit me hard enough to knock me unconscious.

Edgar took a step back and gave me a cool smile. “
My lord
. You forgot to say
my lord
. Don't neglect Lord Wessex's title of respect again.”

Uncle cleared his throat. “I would like you to stand and face the crowd, and tell them all that you are indeed guilty of the crimes I have enumerated.”

I glanced then to the onlookers who surrounded the market square, the weary and worn faces of tradesmen, villagers, and even peasant farmers who'd assembled to witness my execution. They were strangely somber, their eyes sad, their shoulders stooped. In fact, many of the faces were creased with resentment, eyes slanted with anger.

These people held no love for Uncle. He'd done nothing to earn their respect and trust during the years he'd ruled them. With his high taxes and harsh retribution, he'd instilled nothing in them but fear and hatred.

They surely wouldn't hold my crimes against me. In fact, I'd heard rumors that people admired the Cloaked Bandit for standing up to Lord Wessex.

Even so, they could not stop my death today. They were powerless to do anything against my uncle, not without bringing the same fate upon themselves.

I pressed my lips together. Uncle might be able to kill me, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of answering for my crimes.

At a nod from Uncle, the soldier at my side yanked on the chain binding my hands together at my back and dragged me to my feet. I couldn't keep a cry from escaping at the pain that ripped through my arms. The soldier forced me to turn and face the crowd.

Uncle hissed near my ear, “Confess your sins.”

“You may as well tie me to the stake first,” I murmured.

“I was afraid you'd be stubborn, just like your father.” He nodded at the group of soldiers who'd been guarding Bulldog and the other peasant men who'd been captured with me. The soldier grabbed one of the men and shoved him forward, toward a rack-like structure that had been crudely assembled near the stake. It was Jack, who'd been the judge the night of the archery contest. Several soldiers stripped him of his cloak and tunic and then wrestled him backward onto the boards, spreading his hands and feet and tying him down.

“For every minute of your delay,” Uncle said, “I shall disembowel one peasant.”

One of the soldiers had produced a sharp hook and raised it above Jack's taut stomach, ready to plunge it deep inside and pull out his entrails—another cruel and painful method of killing.

The panic upon Jack's face and the wildness of his eyes grabbed my heart with a panic of my own. “Stop!” I cried out. “Don't hurt him!”

“Very well, Lady Juliana,” Uncle said with a nod to the soldier holding the hook. “What have you to say in regard to all the crimes that have been leveled against you?”

Once again I studied the faces of the people who circled the village green. Their hopelessness and wretchedness peered back at me. Suddenly, all I could think was that I'd let them down. I'd failed them. I, Lady Juliana, true master of the lands of Wessex, had failed to protect and provide for
my
people.

I swallowed the growing lump in my throat. What had I ever really done to help them? Sure, I'd provided safety to the most needy. I'd kept them from starving and from perishing in the cold. But none of my efforts had truly brought them the relief and freedom they deserved. My father had been nobler in his attempt to rise up and rebel against his brother. Yes, he'd failed, but at least he'd acted with integrity, and he'd had the courage to attempt something that could benefit our people. In comparison, my efforts seemed so futile and hopeless. If only I'd realized earlier that it never pays to fight evil with evil. But after watching my father die, I'd been consumed with bitterness and had allowed it to lead me astray from what was righteous and pleasing to God.