Days went by. There really was nothing to do except guard her hard earned spot by the window and occasionally fight over scraps of food guards delivered in to the cell. She was actually waiting the moment they would cart her to the market place. One swing of the sword and it would all be over. No torturing or flogging for her, because she intended to plead guilty when asked. No need to purge her soul when she was ready and willing to commit her sins.
“Rogue!” Was this it? Was her long wait really over? She stood up, and the crowd parted from around her. The guard stood side by side with the executioner at the door. The executioner dwarfed the guard with his size, spreading cloud of heavy, dark air and anticipation around him with his long, dark cloak that accentuated the width of his shoulders and the grim look on his face. But why only one guard? Wasn’t she even worthy of a proper escort?
She stepped forth little hesitantly, brushing back her long hair and smoothing the crinkles from her clothes.
“Enough with the primping now. Get out from there,” the executioner murmured, his voice echoing from the stone walls. She walked fast past the bars, and the door slammed shut behind her.
“Do you need these?” Guard asked, handing a heavy set of rattling chains to the executioner. Man snorted, quick smile tugging the corner of his mouth.
“Leave them. She can barely walk as it is, I’m not planning to carry her.”
She flinched when they stepped outside of the prison, sun hitting her on full force making her eyes water. Strong hand grasped her elbow, steadying her until she had the time to adjust to the fresh air. The guard. Executioner was already walking forward with long strides, parting the crowd as he went.
“We better hurry up,” the guard whispered and pushed her forward, keeping his hand on her arm to give her something to lean on in case she stumbled again. She took deep, calming breaths and tried to keep her pose. She wasn’t going to be dragged under the sword crying and writhing like a dog. She was going to walk there on her own, her head held high, because she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Where are we going?” She asked puzzled when rather than walking straight to the market place where executions took place the guard guided her towards the gates of the town.
“Do as he tells you to do, don’t run, and behave,” guard whispered to her, shoving her forward and turning back towards the prison looming behind their backs. She stumbled forward, but managed to gain her balance before she collided against big, black stallion standing in her way. First thing she noticed were the animal’s enormous hooves, pounding against the ground when it got surprised of her sudden approach. Then the sword. In a sheath hanging against the stallion’s shiny, black side. The executioner. On his horse rather than standing behind her with the sword poised to strike.
He didn’t ride fast, but she was still forced to run to keep up with his horse. The executioner lived outside of the town, away from fearful eyes of the people; yet close enough to perform his duties when the need arose. When they got in to his lodging she was ready to keel over, out of breath and robbed from what little strength she had had.
“Go and get cleaned up. There’ some clothes for you by the fireplace,” the executioner grunted and started taking care of his horse.
She entered the small hut hesitantly, fully expecting to see evidence of his grim occupation. Instead she faced small but cozy kitchen with open fireplace, and stairs to the second floor. There was a pail of water, and a bar of soap next to it on a table in front of the fireplace. A red shirt, skirt with the same color, and a white apron were neatly folded on a chair. There was also a comb to tame her hair and get rid of the lice, as well as a red ribbon to tie back her long locks when she was finished.
For a moment she just stood there, everything falling in to place slowly. She had gotten a year. For what reason she did not know. But she wasn’t planning to ask either. She washed herself quickly and threw the rags she had been wearing in to the fireplace. Flames ate them greedily while she put on her new clothes and started tackling with her hair. Obviously the executioner had wanted her to be in presentable condition.
She was braiding her hair, sitting on a chair next to the fireplace when he stepped in, darkening the doorstep momentarily, seemingly dragging cold, bitter and stale air in after him. He closed the door after him, and turned to look at her.
“You may rest tonight, but I expect you to start your duties tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“You wake up at dawn, light the fire, then feed the horse. After that you prepare my breakfast.”
“What else?” That couldn’t be the whole extent of her duties.
“You should know. After all, you were a good wife. There’s always something that needs repairing, cleaning or washing. You may choose in which order you go on about your tasks, but at the end of the day I’m expecting everything to be in order, house warm, and good meal on the table.”
“Very well. And… Thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
She sat by the fireplace, watching as he repaired the saddle of his horse and started sharpening the sword. Movement of the whetstone over the gleaming steel was mesmerizing, as was the play of his fingers when he tested the blade. His hands were much larger than Carl’s had been, forearms strong and covered with dark hair. White shirt he wore under the black vest looked worn, but clean. Just as the black leather trousers he wore. She stared at his hands unashamed, her head nodding slightly with each passing it took over the blade, screeching sound of it oddly calming and comforting. Her eyes started to close with every stroke, the voice of it going straight in to her skull and spine, instead of dread and fear spreading warmth and nice tingling feeling to her whole body.
“Tired?” She heard him asking and forced her eyes open. He was still working on his sword, his eyes fixed on the task at hand.
“Little. It has been an eventful day,” she whispered, covering her mouth when wide yawn escaped.
“There’s a bed for you on top the fireplace. Behind the chimney. Go. Sleep. You need your strength tomorrow.”
There was a surprisingly soft mattress and a blanket stuffed to a small niche behind the chimney. Place was warm and dry, and relatively spacious. She could get in and undress away from his watchful eyes. She folded her clothes neatly and placed them to a small shelf that was mounted to the side of the chimney before curling on to the mattress and closing her eyes. Hunger was gnawing at her stomach, but she wasn’t going to complain. She was warm and comfortable, and most importantly she didn’t have to fight anybody over her small share of the world.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Few more to go. Oww... I think my eyes just blew up. Need sleep... Need sleep... Need brain...