Page 98 of My Hero
Below her, a horse stamped its hoof, crushing a tiny daisy in the courtyard grass.
Beyond the crowd, a chicken squawked and flapped ineffectual wings as a hound snapped at it through a hole in the wattle fence.
Two little girls at the fore fought over a cloth doll.
Mothers with babes she’d birthed sobbed in loud protest, pressing futilely against the restraining wall of scarlet knights.
Behind the row of guards, Roger buried his head in his hands.
The aroma of pork pastries wafted past.
Heads she’d once bathed with healing elixirs hung in impotent grief.
Nearby, a wool merchant wrested her cart brazenly past the guards, undaunted by the spectacle about to take place, extolling the virtues of her wares. Cynthia noted wistfully that, like herself, the woman was also large with child.
Below, the executioner’s brand blossomed into flame, and odor of curing pitch curled sweet and heavy into her nostrils.
Images flashed by more quickly.
A beautiful dark-haired wench in burgundy skirts flirted saucily with one of the guards.
A hawk wheeled high overhead, screeching.
Black smoke blew across Cynthia’s field of vision as the brand was brought aloft.
The merchant called out, “Worsted! Fine worsted!”
A wave of heat suddenly made Cynthia nauseous.
The flirting wench gave the guard a coy wink.
Cynthia could almost taste the ash as the burning torch swung by.
“Broadcloth!”
Icy fear made a cold sweat break out over Cynthia’s brow. She clutched in panic at Gath’s hand. He gave her palm a long, slow, steady, calming squeeze.
“It will be over in a moment,” he whispered roughly. “And then, I swear, nothing will keep us apart.”
Cynthia bit her lip. “I…we…will love you forever.”
The dry tinder snapped and popped as it ignited. She coughed as the first acrid smoke rose. Holding tight to Garth’s hand, she willed herself not to scream.
Chapter 22
Below Cynthia, the wool merchant’s wagon rolled slowly forward. She frowned as it steered perilously close to the fire. Faith, if the woman didn’t take care…
The stack of cloth in the wagon shifted, writhing as if it were alive. At first she thought it was a trick of the fire. But the fabric continued to undulate. She blinked back the impossible sight. Yet before her eyes, the wool bulged upward like a foaling mare’s belly, billowing out, then falling away at last to deliver its contents.
She gasped, inhaling a lungful of acrid smoke. Up sprang a knight in full armor wielding two enormous swords. He struggled to his feet in the middle of the cart, kicking the bundles of cloth aside.
Then, with a great cry, the man slashed toward her with both swords. Cynthia thought for an instant that he meant to slay her outright. She closed her eyes, but didn’t flinch. It would be a blow of mercy, after all. But his blades came down instead on the binding ropes. She found herself untethered so abruptly that she nearly tumbled onto the crackling tinder below.
In the blink of an eye, Garth, cut free as well, scooped her into his arms. Then, without a backward glance, he tossed her through the air over the smoldering kindling. It was the executioner who saved her from a fiery death. The black-hooded giant caught her in his massive arms to set her down safely upon the ground. While she was still dazed, he threw back his hood, revealing a handsome, swarthy face, an overlong mane of gleaming black hair, and blue eyes that sparkled as he grinned.
Before she could gasp in surprise, the pregnant wool merchant appeared at her side, her eyes narrowed in concern. “Are you all right?” she asked, cradling Cynthia’s belly as tenderly and familiarly as if she’d known her all her life.
Cynthia could only nod.
