For Love and Honor

by Jody Hedlund

  “She wanted me to take care of you,” Aldric said. “So I’m trying to obey her wishes.”

  “She’d want you to set me free.”

  “She’d want me to keep you from running out there and getting yourself killed.”

  I don’t know why she would care about whether I lived or died, not after the way I’d treated her. But she’d given me the pearls, and so I clung to the hope that maybe she could forgive me one more time.

  “And,” Aldric continued, “she didn’t want your guilt to stop you from living, the way mine did.”

  My next angry retort died on my lips. Is this what had happened to Aldric? After driving his wife away, had he flogged himself so often that he’d even lost the will to live? Had he rushed headlong into destruction because he’d hated himself that much? I didn’t have to speak my question aloud for him to know that’s what I was wondering.

  He nodded and his eyes turned sad. “Guilt is a powerful taskmaster. It can make you do many foolish things that you’ll later regret.”

  His words sliced through the anger in my chest, and the rage began to slowly deflate. I’d been judgmental toward my brother, but now that I was faced with the same desperation that had consumed him, I hadn’t reacted much differently than he had. The difference was that I’d been forcibly stopped from plunging headlong into even more destruction. Aldric hadn’t had anyone wiser and older to prevent him from making that mistake.

  I wasn’t happy that he’d stopped me from rescuing Sabine, but I could at least begin to see the wisdom in his move.

  “She still needs you.” Aldric stalked around me. “But she needs you to be of sound mind.” He stopped and held up his lamp to examine my wrists, muttering under his breath as he touched his finger to the raw, bloody skin.

  I winced.

  “Don’t let yourself fall as low as I did,” he whispered hoarsely.

  I didn’t want that to happen. But I was still too desperate to think clearly. Every time I pictured Sabine in that old, rusty cage suspended in the tree, I went crazy. “I need to get her back,” I said with another jerk forward. “Help me, Aldric. Help me.”

  “I will.” He put a steadying hand on my shoulder from behind. “Witch or no, we’ll do our best to free her.”

  “She’s no witch.”

  Aldric didn’t respond.

  I couldn’t fault him for being suspicious. I probably would have been too, if I’d not had the chance over the past weeks to get to know Sabine and to realize she was a completely delightful and pure woman. But I also realized that superstitions ran deep among the people of the realm. Unusual markings on the skin were enough to raise questions.

  “She’s no witch,” I said again. “Her heart is beautiful.” She was truly beautiful, from the inside out. My chest constricted, and my throat closed with an ache so sharp I could hardly force my next words out. “I love her.” And I knew with certainty that I did. I loved her more than I’d ever dreamed it possible to love one woman.

  Aldric didn’t need to say anything. He’d already figured it out, long before I had. Instead, he squeezed my shoulder again.

  If only I’d been able to tell Sabine earlier of my love . . .

  “You can’t live in the past,” Aldric said, as though reading my mind. “You’ve made mistakes. Now you have to move forward and do the best you can to atone for them.”

  Was that what Aldric was doing? Was that what he’d done by making a deal with Lord Pitt, placing himself in servitude? Was he hoping to atone for his own sins?

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m not sure that there is anything I can do to earn Sabine’s forgiveness this time.”

  “Maybe not,” Aldric responded. “But we’re riding out there to negotiate for her release. Peacefully.”

  I knew he was issuing a command, and that if I didn’t agree to it, he wouldn’t set me free. “And if they don’t listen to our peaceful negotiations?”

  “We’ll attack.”

  I nodded. That’s all I needed to hear. “Then let’s go.”

  The rasp of Aldric’s dagger leaving its sheath was followed by pressure against the rope at my wrist. Within seconds, he slit my bindings and freed my hands before moving down to free my feet.

  Neither of us wasted time with doctoring my wounds. Aldric had already informed the remaining women what had happened to Sabine, and they were subdued as we passed by them breaking their fast. Sabine’s grandmother was absent from the great hall, and I had the feeling if I returned without Sabine today, the news would kill her. It would kill me too.

  We gathered our men in the outer bailey and instructed them to be armed and ready for war. We would ride out to the center with a small group, but if Lord Pitt decided to burn Sabine at the stake instead of releasing her, we would prepare for an attack. Aldric outlined his plan. It was risky. But it was the best and soundest option, the only chance we had.

  The men were weak and hungry, and we were outnumbered, but we would fight anyway. I would lead the charge myself.

  As we raised the portcullis, I was the first out of the gateway. I peered into the distance to the tree and the cage with armed guards beneath. Sabine still hung there. Fresh agony slashed into me. The thought of her sitting against the uncomfortable metal bars and shivering through the night without food or water was torture to my soul. What had I done?

  Panic began to well up, along with the frantic thought that I had to go get her. Now.

  “Wait,” Aldric said from his steed next to mine. “We have to attempt to do this peaceably first.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to steady my rampaging pulse. Aldric was right. We’d have the best chance of freeing her if we negotiated first. Although I was good with my sword, Lord Pitt’s army was stronger and larger. Now that I was thinking with a clear head, I could see that marching against him would likely be a death sentence to most of Maidstone’s men. Could I really ask all of them to put their lives at stake for my foolish mistake?

  But if I didn’t, I’d lose Sabine.

  We halted in the center of the field and waited as one of our men rode ahead to deliver the news to Lord Pitt that we required his presence in another meeting. The morning air contained the lingering nip of the night. The long grass was still damp from the recent rainfall. But at least the sun was shining again, its morning rays containing the promise of another warm day. I hoped the warmth would soon envelop Sabine.

  As we waited and watched the camp, from the movements of the men I could see that several were chopping wood from a dead tree they’d dragged into their camp. They’d erected a pole and were piling the logs around it. Prickles formed on the back of my neck as I realized what they were doing.

  They were preparing to burn Sabine.

  “I don’t think they’re planning to negotiate,” I said, gripping my reins tightly in an effort to hold myself back.

  Aldric’s eyes narrowed on the camp. After a moment, he sighed wearily. “We have to try.”

  I nodded, but from the resignation that settled over his face, I knew he’d come to the same conclusion that I had. We would have to fight to free Sabine and would probably die trying.

  Chapter

  18

  I peered into the distance, to the gathering of the lords in the center of the field. The flurry of men riding back and forth between both sides had been happening for some time. The pounding of hooves matched the grimness on faces, and I had the feeling things weren’t going well for either party.

  I could see the straight, proud bearing of Bennet and the stocky frame of Aldric on the horse next to him. They’d been talking with Lord Pitt for a while, but apparently not long enough to stop the preparation for my trial by fire.

  Several soldiers had been working steadily since dawn, chopping wood. I could tell the old elm they’d dragged into camp was damp from the recent rains, which would make the burning process slow. And agonizing.

  I pinched my eyes together to fight back the panic that had been building i
nside since the first ping of the axe. As brave and determined as I’d been yesterday, now that I faced the reality of my torture, I wasn’t sure that I could go through with it.

  I shifted in the cage, making it sway. Every part of my body ached, and I knew switching positions wouldn’t ease the bruising. My fingers and toes were still numb from the long night, where I’d huddled into a tight ball to stave off the dropping temperatures. My stomach had ceased growling with hunger and now simply gnawed my insides. Worst was my thirst. I hadn’t been offered even a single drop of water, and my tongue was dry.

  But even as I thought about all of my physical discomforts, I knew they were the least of my concerns. They would pale in comparison with what was to come.

  “Father in heaven,” I prayed as I had throughout the night. “Forgive me.” I shouldn’t have hidden my skin discolorations from Bennet. If I’d been honest with him, then he would have known about the danger, and he could have protected me.

  Deep down, however, I knew that the real problem was my lack of confidence and my unwillingness to accept myself for the way I was. I’d had all night to think about how long I’d been carrying around my insecurity.

  When I’d been a little girl, I hadn’t known I was different, hadn’t known I was repugnant until my father had come home after one particularly long time away. I remembered running to him in my excitement to see him, and throwing my arms around him. It had been late at night and I’d rolled up the shirtsleeves of my linen shift to cool myself. My father had gingerly peeled my arms away from him, staring at my blemish the entire time.

  At first the horror in his eyes had confused me. Then I’d understood that he’d been repelled by the sight of my blotch. From then on, I’d made sure the blemish was covered every time he came home, so that he never had to see it again.

  But hiding the discoloration hadn’t made him love me. Perhaps if I’d shown it more often, he would have grown to accept it and accept me.

  Perhaps the same was true of Bennet. Whatever the case, through the long hours of the night, I’d come to the conclusion that I needed to be the first to accept myself, flaws and all, before I could expect anyone else to. If I constantly hid my true self, if I was ashamed of the way God had made me, then it stood to reason that others would be ashamed of me too. But if I stopped hiding the real me—if I accepted and embraced everything about myself, including the mark on my skin—then I’d take the first step in showing others that they had nothing to fear from me.

  At a distant shout, I opened my eyes. Lord Pitt and his men were riding back to the camp. It seemed the meeting was over. Bennet and Aldric had also turned their horses and were returning to Maidstone. I’d gazed upon the tall towers and strong walls of the fortress during the fading hours of daylight yesterday, wishing I was back inside. From this side, the thick square keep with its four-cornered towers was imposing. Even if I’d been starving within the stone walls, at least there I’d been safe.

  Now my chance of salvation was retreating into that fortress. My heart sank, and the tiny bit of hope I’d been holding on to disappeared like a mist over the moors. They weren’t coming to my rescue. I was alone. I’d have to face the torture by myself.

  A shiver slithered up my spine.

  It didn’t take long for Lord Pitt and his men to assemble in front of the wood that had been placed around the stake. The silver coins that Aldric had given them yesterday had been scattered among the logs.

  “Time to burn the witch!” came the shout of the gravelly voice that belonged to Captain Foxe. He stood next to Lord Pitt a short distance from the stake.

  One of the guards at the base of the tree began to climb up toward the chain that suspended the cage. Within moments, he was lowering my prison in jerking motions toward the ground. It hit with a thud that knocked the breath from me.

  As he approached the door, I could see the trepidation in his slightly crossed eyes. None of the men wanted to be near me, much less touch me. The fear I’d seen on their faces yesterday remained today. They believed I was a witch capable of harming them or bringing them bad luck.

  Could I find a way to use their superstitions to my advantage? Could I pretend to cast a spell? Or utter an incantation that would send them scurrying away so that I could try to make an escape?

  But even as the thoughts spun through my mind, I rapidly put them aside. I couldn’t pretend again to be a witch. That’s what had caused trouble with Captain Foxe. I’d played on his fears, and look where my deception had gotten me.

  “Tie her up,” Captain Foxe growled, revealing his pointed teeth, “so that she can’t put a spell on us.”

  “If I was really a witch, I’d have cast spells on your camp by now,” I called back. “But as you can see, I’ve done no such thing.”

  The door rattled as the guard unlocked and swung it open. Aching in every part of my body, I crawled to the grate and climbed through it.

  Along with mud from being dragged around yesterday, my beautiful lapis lazuli gown was stained from the rust and grime of the cage. I tried not to think about how much of it was the blood and human flesh of the victim who had been there before me. My hair had come completely loose, as had my veil, which I’d discarded in the bottom of the cage. I hadn’t made any effort to plait my hair again, since I’d lost my ribbon, and now the tangled strands fell in disarray down my shoulders and over my face. I still wore one glove, my other lost and likely trampled somewhere in the field.

  As disheveled as I felt, I had no doubt I looked the part of a witch. But the panic that was mounting inside wouldn’t allow me to be led meekly to the stake this morn. All my good intentions of yesterday, of sacrificing myself for the sake of Maidstone and Bennet’s art collection, were gone. In the face of the piles of wet wood, I was a coward.

  “Perhaps Captain Foxe is the real witch,” I said as the guard behind me hesitantly approached with a rope. Tasked with the job of binding me to the stake, I could see that he didn’t want to touch me. “Or maybe a werewolf. He certainly has the canines of one.”

  Captain Foxe guffawed, showing his teeth again. But no one around him laughed. Their expressions were all too serious, and some of them cast suspicious glances at the captain. His grin faded, and he shifted nervously.

  The guard with the rope reached for my arm, but then stopped as I turned to face him. “What if this guard is a troll?” I said, raising my voice louder. “His eyes are crossed. Mayhap he’s cursed.”

  The man sucked in a breath and took a quick step back, his hands fluttering with sudden anxiety.

  I studied several more men nearby. “What about him?” I nodded at one of the axe wielders. “He has a limp. One of his legs is shorter than the other. What if that makes him the devil’s helper?”

  The wood cutter’s face blanched. He dropped his axe and turned and ran.

  No one stopped him. They all merely watched wide eyed as he limped away.

  Again I scanned the men and nodded at one after another. “He has a wart on his nose. Look at that mole on that man’s cheek. This one’s hair is balding.” Each squirmed under my scrutiny until I lifted my shoulders and my chin and glared directly at Lord Pitt, who stood at the forefront of his men. “Do their imperfections make them less worthy of living? Why not condemn them to burn at the stake too?”

  Lord Pitt’s eyes were narrowed upon me. His gray hair shone silver in the morning light. He was attired in battle armor, as though he’d been prepared for resistance from Bennet and Aldric.

  “Maybe that scar running the length of your face is a sign of the devil,” I said. “I’m surprised your men don’t condemn you to die alongside me, my lord. You clearly have marred skin as well.”

  All attention turned upon Lord Pitt, upon his scar.

  “There is not a single man here who is faultless,” I continued, raising my voice so that I could be heard by all. “Each one of us is imperfect in some way. Perhaps God designs it so. Then none of us can claim to be like him, the only truly perfec
t being.”

  I paused and let my words find their way into the men’s hearts. I tried to still the trembling in my legs as I waited, and I prayed I’d convinced them to have mercy.

  A stampede of hooves began to rumble the ground, and a chilling war cry rent the air. I spun in surprise at the same time as Lord Pitt and his men. There, charging toward us across the field and gaining distance rapidly, was the army of Maidstone.

  Lord Pitt’s men began to scatter in alarm. He called out sharp commands in an attempt to rally his men into formation. But very few had their weapons at hand. Many knights were only half clad in armor, their squires having just begun to prepare them for the day.

  For a moment, I stood unmoved by the chaos around me. The men seemed to have forgotten about me. I stared at the oncoming army bearing down on Lord Pitt’s camp. There were fewer men on horse than usual, since we’d been forced to slaughter some of the magnificent beasts for meat. But even so, there were still enough to make a decent attack with their maces, halberds, and broadswords. They were followed by foot soldiers wielding sharp pikes, and behind them came a line of archers.

  As the danger drew near, I knew I should move to safety, but I was frozen in fascination. I’d never been at the forefront of a battle, with an entire army riding straight at me. I watched the rise and fall of the horses’ legs churning up damp earth in their wake. I took in the sunlight’s glint off the helmets and the raised sword blades. A breeze brought the scent of horseflesh and the calls of men riding into combat.

  Already, behind me, Lord Pitt’s men were reaching their weapons and turning to face the army of Maidstone. If I didn’t act, I would soon find myself in the middle of a bloody clash. Now was my chance to escape while everyone was distracted. I needed to get away from the logs piled and waiting to consume me.

  But the bearing and broad shoulders of the knight breaking ahead of the line of the advancing army arrested me. The suit of heavy armor and the helmet hid the identity of the man, but my pulse pattered its recognition of Sir Bennet. There was no one else like him in his intensity and purpose. And there was no other soldier as comfortable in his armor or in the handling of his weapons. Bennet bore his as though he’d been born with them in hand.