B00CGOH3US EBOK (19 page)

Stop talking.

But he kept rambling on and on. Was he going to let the rod roast through the whole sermon?

Shut up, already!

Finally, the priest ended his long-winded speech and to the altar to perform the Lord's Supper. Jill was surprised when he came to stand before her, offering her Communion. After three days of forced fasting, her stomach growled at the thought of one morsel of stale bread and the muffled rumble echoed off the stone walls. A few snickers erupted from the congregation, quickly shushed by others. She opened her mouth to receive the Sacrament, hoping she didn't drool on the man's hand.

Father Gerald then offered Jill the cup of wine. She was tempted to grab it and chug the whole thing if it would numb her to what was to come. She prayed the whole congregation wasn't going to take Communion. At this rate, the rod would be a glob of molten metal before they got around to the ordeal.

The priest returned the cup to the altar, then paced off the floor, putting a mark on the stones indicating the nine steps she was to walk holding the rod.

He pulled Jill to her feet and brought her to stand by the glowing brazier. The heat was intense just standing beside the coals. She whimpered, imagining how hot the metal bar would be.

She looked around at the people in the church, their faces eagerly awaiting the moment of truth. She wanted desperately to find Baelin in the crowd. She needed his support if she was going to make it through this. She scanned each and every face until her eyes locked with his.

He was there, off to the side in the front row, just as he said he would be. He stood tall among the others, his face tense, his eyes willing his strength to her. She tried to smile, to let him know she wasn't afraid, but the effort was too much.

Father Gerald retrieved the rod from the coals with a pair of metal tongs and held it out.

"My lady Donahue, if you are innocent of this charge, you may confidently receive this iron into your hands and the Lord, the Just Judge, will free you, just as he snatched the three children from the burning fire."

Jill stared at the glowing metal rod.

No!
her mind screamed, every instinct within her balking at the insanity of what she was about to do. Jill let her arms drop to her sides and the curved scales hidden in her sleeves slipped into her palms. The simple sleight of hand would not have made Houdini proud, but she hoped it was enough to fool the people watching her. When no one cried foul, she breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

She prayed it would work, that Baelin was right and the scales would keep her hands from receiving the third degree burns she was sure the metal would inflict without wearing NASA-grade asbestos-lined oven mitts.

She kept her hands palm side down so the scales couldn't be seen. She cast one more look at Baelin, and then grabbed the red-hot iron the priest held out to her before she lost her nerve.

Fire shot up her arm instantly and she bit back a scream.

Nine paces.

She could do this. Just put one foot in front of the other and go nine paces.

The pad near her thumb and the ends of her fingers were burning where the scales didn't cover them. She gritted her teeth and kept going.

Eight paces.

Seven.

She tried to keep herself from running. But the closer she got to the finish line, the hotter the rod got in her hands.

Six.

Five.

Oh God, it hurt. It was as if she were holding a hot cast iron skillet with a worn out pot holder, the heat seeping in gradually until it felt as if she was grasping it with her bare hand.

Four more steps.

Three.

The pain was shooting up her shoulder now, setting the nerve endings at the back of her head on fire. She didn't know if she could make it to the mark. The distance was so short but seemed like a mile away.

Two.

One.

She dropped the rod and it clattered on the stone pavers, the metal already fading from pink to grey as it cooled. The charred scales fluttered to the ground, but she was too delirious from the pain to care anymore.

Her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed, barely noticing the two strong arms that caught her before she could crumple on the cold, hard stones of the church floor.

Baelin tried to suppress the sneeze coming on.

He managed to succeed only to have his ears feel as if they exploded from the inside out. If someone passed by, they'd no doubt see smoke seeping out of them.

He never hated the rain more than he did now. Since the trial, he'd stood outside in the elements, never daring to leave the place of Lady Jill's confinement should she awaken and call for him. But would she, even if she could? He'd sworn to protect her and he'd failed. Why would she rely on him now?

As he sat by the small window, his ears strained for any sound from the woman within. She seemed to be resting peacefully now. But even if she were not sleeping, she would probably not speak to him. No doubt she hated him now, angry he'd not tried harder to save her from this fate.

Perhaps she'd been right. Enraged at her deceit, perhaps there had been a small part of him that wished to see her punished for it. But no longer. After the trial, her cries of pain as she tossed and turned in her cell had nearly torn his dragon heart from his breast.

But three days had passed. Three days with just as few words from Lady Jill.

Baelin leaned his back head against the hard daub of the house and cursed himself. He'd risked both of their lives in giving her the scales, and for what? She had still suffered. Would that he could have spared her all of the pain. His only solace was that he'd been able to catch her as she fell, blessed oblivion stealing away the worst of her suffering. No one witnessed him retrieve the charred scales and hide them in his cloak as he cradled her unconscious form to his chest.

The sext bells rang. Baelin tensed, knowing Lady Jill's guilt or innocence would be determined within the hour. If the outcome went poorly for her, he mentally prepared himself for what he must do. As much as he hated the thought of shedding innocent blood, he would do it if he must. If need be, he was prepared to slay every man in the village to save Lady Jill's life.

He would not—could not—let her hang.

Baelin sneezed again, this time unable to contain the force of it. A small fireball shot out, slamming into the side of the cottage across the way. For once, he was thankful for the rain—it kept the thatched roof too wet to catch fire.

"
Gesundheit
."

The softly spoken word drifting through the window startled him. "My lady?"

"It means God bless you, for the sneezing."

Crouching in the mud by the window, Baelin peered into the darkness of the room, but he couldn't see her. "How do you fare?"

"As well as can be expected after being branded like a longhorn steer."

He wasn't sure what a long-horned steer was, but she was speaking to him and that's all that mattered.

"I am sorry you had to endure so much pain." He hesitated, searching for the right words, not quite certain what she would accept from him. "You were very brave. Braver than many a man I have seen put to the iron."

"Thanks." She made a humorless chuckle. "You know, the really scary thing is this is a common enough occurrence that you've seen it happen before." There was a long silence from the within the room and Baelin wondered if she'd succumbed to sleep once more. "Baelin?"

"Aye, my lady?"

"Thank you…for staying with me, even after what I did to you."

"I could do no less. I only wish I could have spared you all of it."

An unladylike snort punched the darkness of her cell. "Well, you can't stop me from being stupid. As you said, I brought this on myself. It's the story of my life. I'm a walking mistake waiting to happen." He heard her heavy sigh. "Although it usually doesn't hurt this much."

Mumbled voices came from within the house, followed by the thud of footsteps down the ladder to the cellar level. Baelin shifted out of sight as the door opened and two men entered. Lady Jill groaned and he imagined them jerking her to her feet with little, if any, gentleness.

Baelin soon joined the other villagers in the church to watch as Lady Jill was ushered inside, looking pale and drawn. He willed her to glance his way so she might know he was there for her. She raised her head and looked about the church, her eyes finally locking with his. Gone was the fiery spirit and teasing laughter he'd come to know in them. Now they were hollow, the light in them perhaps forever dimmed.

Be strong, my lady. 'Tis nearly over.

She knelt before the priest. With the steward and his clerk standing to the side to oversee the verdict, Father Gerald grasped Lady Jill's arms by the wrists and held them up so all could see the stained bandages on her hands.

He hardly heard the sound of the priest's droning voice as the man recited the beginning prayer. Baelin's entire focus was on his lady.

His salvation.

When the prayer was completed, one of the village women stepped forward to unwrap the bandages from Lady Jill's hands. As the last strip of cloth dropped to the stone floor, the woman gasped. "'Tis a miracle."

Both men approached to see what the woman was talking about.

"This cannot be," the priest sputtered. "Why, I saw her stealing the statue with my own eyes. She must be guilty."

The steward frowned at Father Gerald. "Then your eyes have deceived you, for the evidence proves otherwise."

Pulling Lady Jill to her feet, Master William turned her to face the congregation. Standing behind her, he held her hands so the people could see them. Her palms were red, the fingers terribly blistered. But thanks to the scales, her hands were not nearly as burned as they might have been.

"Let it be known to all that the accused's hands show no sign of festering, but are healing. By the laws of England and the divine judgment of our Lord God, it is the judgment of this court that my lady Donahue is proven innocent."

Lady Jill closed her eyes and a single tear trailed down her dirty cheek.

Baelin released the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding, relief cooling the sticky sweat trickling down his neck. His hand eased off the hilt of his sword and he offered up a silent prayer of thanks that he had not been forced to harm the innocent to save her this day.

They walked for what seemed like hours before Baelin deemed it safe to stop for the night by the shore of a pristine lake. In reality, the sun wasn't even close to setting—if the sun could be seen behind the dark clouds overhead.

Jill knew he was stopping for her benefit. She didn't care. Her pride was in shreds. She'd take pity now, any way she could get it.

As he set up camp, the sound of lapping waves drew her to the lake's rocky bank. The thought of crisp, clean water beckoned to her. For days, she'd had nothing but murky sludge in a wooden bucket that looked as if it'd been used to clean stalls before they'd given it to her.

She sat on a large, flat rock by the water's edge, wanting nothing more than to jump in and wash away the filth and grime covering her body. But she couldn't. She couldn't even scoop up water to quench her thirst. Her bandaged hands made that simple task impossible.

Frustration welled within her. She felt so helpless, at a loss as how to survive in this godforsaken place, her very survival dependent on a man who wasn't even completely human.

Wrapping her arms around her legs, Jill rested her chin on her knees, her vision mesmerized by the reflection of the impending storm clouds passing overhead. She leaned closer, afraid of what she would see in her own reflection.

The truth staring back at her was hard to face. Her hair was a matted mess, as if some small woodland creature was using it for a nest. Her eyes showed dark circles, her cheeks hollowed. She didn't need a modern scale to tell her she'd lost weight. Dropping a few pounds was usually a welcome bonus in any given situation, but she wouldn't recommend the medieval diet plan to anyone.

Jill glanced back to find Baelin standing a few feet away, watching her with guarded eyes. Did he think she would try to leave him again? Probably.