The Sapphire Broach

Chapter 29 (rough draft)

The palace loomed ahead on the hill. Kenric entered the city still riding Sweetie at a full gallop, but he slowed for he felt something amiss. The town seemed deserted. He had expected the bustle of busy streets, but instead found empty silence.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

Sweetie whinnied in response.

He walked her through the empty street toward the hill. They continued on until he finally found someone. An old woman sat in a rocking chair on her porch and gazed up at the palace.

"Woman!" he called as he dismounted. Pain shot across his stomach, but he ignored it. He could rest later. Now was not a time for weakness.

The woman turned toward him and her chair creaked. "Yes?" Her voice wobbled with age.

"Where is everyone? The town seems deserted."

"Oh." She took two shaky breaths. "There is a hearing." She paused again.

Kenric felt such urgency that he nearly went to the old spinster to shake the words right out of her, but he restrained himself.

Her chair creaked again. "A public hearing at the square."

"A hearing for what? Who is being accused?"

A withered hand brushed slowly at her thin gray hair. "I believe a woman is charged with treason."

Ivy!

Kenric ran back to Sweetie. He ignored the cough that shook him again and mounted his horse, then charged up the hill. He soon found the gathered crowd which exceeded the space of the town square and spilled onto the side streets. Voices muttered and grumbled as they talked among themselves.

He leapt from Sweetie, tied her to a post, then hurried into the crowd. He pushed his way forward through a sea of onlookers.

"What do you say, my people?" he heard King Rymond cry. "How do you charge this woman?"

Kenric looked up and stopped. There on a raised dais stood Rymond. He looked regal with a billowing velvet cape, angry flushed cheeks beneath a graying beard, and a dozen armed guards flanking him. Across from him Ivy stood alone. She looked determined, but forlorn in her tattered dress and mussed copper-blond hair with her hands bound before her and the swords of soldiers behind her back.

He reached in his pocket and rubbed his fingers across the broach. What was he do to? He was one man against an angry crowd. One injured man. There had to be a way to get the broach to her, but how?

***

Ivy raised her chin to meet the crowd's decision. She would not grovel before them or beg for her life. She had said what needed to be said and nothing else mattered. Aunt Maurie would survive without her. People from the village would step in and chop her wood for the winter. Bonnie would get a good price for selling her farm and would be able to free Carl from prison. And Kenric . . . he had a family to care for. She had only been a burden that dragged him down. He didn't know who she was and would probably never hear word of her fate.

"Tell me, my people," Rymond screamed. "Do you believe her, or is she guilty of treason?"

The crowd did not hesitate. Calls of "Treason", and "Hang her" filled the air.

A drum roll startled her and brought a licking flame of fear to her heart. She could no longer feel her limbs or hear the crowd's angry cries. A rushing filled her ears and a numbness seized her body. The guards motioned with their swords but she couldn't hear their shouts. The drums beat an even rhythm that she felt more than heard.

Her gaze drifted to the gallows and she saw in memory the man's body swinging gently on the rope. Something nudged her in the back and forced her forward, forced her toward death.

Her heart pulsed a million beats for each strike of the drum. And suddenly her tough façade crumbled. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to be sacrificed for the truth. She wanted to live and breathe and marry and raise children and grow old and then some day, a long, long time from then, die peacefully in her home with her husband and family beside her.

The thick rope of the gallows loomed before her and drew ever nearer. Would it hurt? Had the man been in pain while his body writhed and struggled for breath? Would it hurt to hang completely helpless while her life slipped from her?

She couldn't do it. Her legs could no longer take her to her death. Her chest ached from the hammering of her heart. The incessant drum pounded a death toll through her head. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. Why had she come to the palace? She should have gone into hiding like Kenric said.

"Stop!" The cry rang out powerfully. It reverberated across the square and broke the deafening silence that had overpowered Ivy's senses.

Everything stopped, even the pounding of the drum. She turned and saw Kenric standing on the dais. The gallows vanished along with the soldiers, Rymond, and the gathered throng until there was nothing left but him, standing there like a beacon of hope.

A great heat enveloped her and she felt she might swoon.

"Please," he called. His gaze never left hers. "Please. This woman is my love. If she is to die today, let me kiss her one last time."

Silence followed his words, though she couldn't think who might speak.

Then Rymond cleared his throat and the entire scene again appeared before her eyes. The gallows. Her death. Kenric. Why was he there? How had he found her? His love. Kiss her one last time? They had never kissed before. None of it made any sense.

The throng stared at Kenric as he stood before them all.

Then a soft murmur started in low and grew to a great chant. "Kiss. Kiss. Kiss! Kiss!"

"All right!" Rymond's call silenced the crowd. "It appears the people desire to grant your request, young man. You may approach her."

Kenric stepped forward and she felt she could no longer breathe. Her burning desire to live grew stronger with each of his steps. Why had he come? To watch her die? To steal what little strength remained within her? She couldn't bear it. She wanted him, not this terrible fate that had befallen her. He had saved her so many times, but there was nothing he could do now. He should not have come.

He stopped in front of her and reached out. His hand cupped her cheek and she gasped. He felt so warm and alive. She wanted him more than anything she had ever wanted before. She wanted him even more than her own life that was nearly over.

His lips brushed softly against hers, then came again with power and intensity. She returned the kiss with desperation and longing. His other hand brushed against her neck and traveled down the hemline of her dress to just below her collar bone where he seemed to struggle one-handed with something on her hem. His kiss took her to an oblivion where she did not face death, a murderous king, and an angry throng. Then he released her and pulled away.

She panted, unable to draw a proper breath. The real world crashed back down upon her. Must it end already? Could she not have him for a moment longer?

His dark eyes gazed into hers, then darted to her hemline and back up. Then he placed one last kiss on her lips and backed away.