“She is,” he replied softly, remembering the puzzling fortune Towla had told him only a few days ago.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in a silence that was more companionable than strained. The lady’s quietude impressed Sandor, for he knew that his wife, who had died in childbirth two years ago, would have chattered nonstop like a witless jay if she had faced the same fate that this lady faced. Remembering his loss, he again blessed God for taking his wife with quick, painless hands. For her sake, he would do the same for Lady Gastonia when the time came. He was relieved to see that the gadji left no scraps or crumbs.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he rose and beckoned to her. “Come, my lady, if you wish to watch me…work.” He could not bring himself to name his macabre task.
With a heart-stopping smile she followed him out of her dark prison.
Fortified by the food and buoyed by her reprieve, Tonia almost skipped along the uneven paving stones as the executioner led her into the sunshine. Crossing the bare courtyard, she glanced back at the place wherein she had spent the past week. The dilapidation of the mountain fortress surprised her. The wing that housed her cell was the only section of Hawksnest that still had four standing walls. The second and third levels of the fortification had long since tumbled down the sides of the ravine. Until now, Tonia had thought she had been kept in a more substantial building. From its air of desolation, she guessed that Hawksnest had not been used for well over a hundred years, perhaps longer.
She nodded to herself. Considering the precise directions of her death warrant, the King and his overzealous minions intended that her execution would not only be done in secret, but that she would virtually disappear from the face of the earth—her resting place unknown, unmarked and unmourned. She knotted her brows together in a frown. ’Twas meant to be a cruel punishment for her family as well as for herself. How could men who professed to love God do something so pitiless as send her to eternity without the comfort of shriving her soul? Their perfidy was doubly damned for forcing her dear parents to grieve her unknown fate for the rest of their lives.
She cast a quick glance at the tall man who walked ahead of her. Perhaps he would send a message to her father. Then Tonia remembered that the headsman could not write. Perhaps he would allow her to send a last letter to her family, telling them where they could find her grave. She chewed on her lower lip. Since her too-intriguing executioner couldn’t read, he didn’t know that her grave was to be unmarked. She decided that she would not enlighten him; in fact, she would do exactly the opposite.
Just then, he veered to the left toward what remained of the stable block. He whistled and a soft whinny answered him. Glancing over his shoulder to Tonia, he smiled at her beneath the ominous black mask.
“’Tis Baxtalo, my horse,” he explained, his tone much more lighthearted. “He must be wondering what happened to me.”
Tonia stopped outside the stable while the man disappeared through the dark doorway. She heard him speak a strange language to his mount. Tonia gave a quick look around the now-empty courtyard. Ahead of her, she saw the yawning portal that led to the outside world—and freedom. Her instinct to run almost overwhelmed her until her common sense prevailed. If she bolted now, he could easily catch her, especially when she had no idea of the lay of the land beyond the fortress’s walls. The executioner might decide that she was too much trouble and kill her on the spot. Tonia’s best hope for her life was to stretch out the time as long as possible, as well as win her executioner’s trust and goodwill.
Hearing the horse’s hooves scrape against the stones, Tonia looked back toward the stable. Grinning with pleasure, the man led out a spirited gray stallion with charcoal mane and tail. At Snape Castle, Tonia had grown up riding the best horses that her father could buy, and she recognized a good animal when she saw one. In fact, the quality of the headsman’s mount surprised her. The execution business must pay exceedingly well, she thought. Then she remembered that the man had said that he was not an executioner.
He guided his horse toward Tonia. “Are you afraid of this one, my lady?” he asked in a solicitous tone.
Smiling, Tonia shook her head and approached the horse with her hand out, palm up. “Nay, monsieur. I love horses and yours is particularly fine.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I wonder where you got him.” She recalled that Gypsies were reputed to be sly horse thieves.
He caressed the horse’s velvety nose and patted its neck with obvious pride of ownership. “I have raised him from birth. He was a gift to me from his dam. That is why I call him Baxtalo. It means ‘lucky’ in my language.”
The sleek animal sniffed Tonia, then allowed her to pet him. She admired his confirmation. He’s in excellent condition. I wonder if he would allow me to sit on his back after he’s gotten used to me. Baxtalo could be her savior.
While Tonia mused on the fresh possibilities that the horse offered, his owner returned to the stable. When he emerged, Tonia saw that he carried a short-handled shovel over one shoulder. The headman’s mouth had reverted to its usual serious expression.
When he drew near to her, his blue eyes hardened to ice behind the slits of his mask.
“Come, Lady Gastonia, show me where you would like your grave.”
Chapter Four
Though his brief words chilled her to the marrow, Tonia kept her smile fixed on her lips. “My family and friends call me Tonia.”
Amazement replaced the headsman’s grimmer look. A cynical grin curled his full lips. “You think I am a friend, my lady?” he asked in a gruff tone.
“They say that a gentle death is a good friend to be desired, and you have promised to be gentle.” Tonia prayed that he did not see how much she shook under her cape.
He stared at her for a moment, then took up Baxtalo’s reins. “The day grows older,” he muttered as he started toward the main gate.
“And more beautiful, methinks,” she replied, following him.
He didn’t look back at her but plodded through the archway. Tonia’s heart soared as she left the walls of her prison behind her. Beyond the gate, a broad, rock-strewn meadow sloped down to the stream that they had seen from the wall walk. Though the remains of last summer’s grass were brown and brittle underfoot, Tonia thought it the most splendid piece of earth she had ever seen. After watering his horse, the headsman turned the animal loose to forage. Then he looked at her.
He swept his arm in a graceful arc, like the lord of the forest that grew on the far side of the stream. “Well, my lady…er…Tonia, where pleases you?”
A hundred miles north of here at the very least. She skipped down the gentle hillside until she stood before him. Turning, she looked back up at the ruined fortress. Even in the bright sunlight, it exuded a dark, forbidding air. She certainly did not want to be buried within its looming shadow. Closer to the stream, she saw a hillock that overlooked the deep valley below them. She wondered if the dead were able to admire the beauty of their final surroundings.
“There.” She pointed to the sunlit spot.
He nodded. Without a word, he walked over to the mound, braced his legs apart for balance on the slope and struck the earth with his shovel. He muttered something under his breath. Tonia joined him.
“Still yet frozen.” He pushed the shovel down with his foot. A few clods of dark earth broke free.
Tonia concealed her glee. She sent a quick prayer of thanksgiving to Saint Michael. The executioner’s spade loosened another small clod or two. At this snail’s pace, it would take him a week to dig a grave that would be deep enough to hold her—and if the weather again turned cold, that time could stretch out even longer.
Masking her joy at this unexpected turn of events, Tonia pretended to be crestfallen. “’Tis not very promising, is it?” She prodded one of the dirt clods with