Some faceless voice spoke up. “She appears to be with child. Can one be executed in such a condition?”
The judge snorted louder. “Any woman who would abdicate her duties to marry King Henry VIII is dually noted to be insane. As we know, following the execution of Lady Rochford, it is now legal to execute insane women.”
He glared down at me with hate hot in his eyes. “As for that bastard she carries. Her womb was designated and divinely chosen for use by the King himself and none other. This truth alone shows that, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the heathen bastard occupying the traitor’s womb is also guilty of High Treason!”
An uneasy silence cloaked the courtroom as the judge sat on the bench, snorting like an angry bull, just waiting for provocation to explode again. After a moment, a man in the back gingerly raised his hand. “Why not execute her here? And be done with the likes of her?”
That bit of provocation was all he needed. “The traitor’s execution will be carried out in London, where His Majesty may attend if it be his pleasure!”
I bit my lip and my throat threatened to close. My hands tightened around my unborn child, the living remembrance of my beautiful, perfect husband. It was done and over and scarcely anyone had cared for what I had to say, aside from the sour judge. Then, my words only angered him more, and effectively made me into more of an enemy. I sucked in a breath. I wouldn’t let them execute me or my child without fighting to the last breath.
The judge banged his gavel again. “Take her to London, men, as it pleases the King.”
And now, a sneak peek at
High Treason
The King’s Pleasure • Book 2
Highwaymen
G
uilty. High Treason. Back to London. That unborn bastard is guilty, too. As it pleases the King. The words were a fog, blotting out all my senses. Except one. The only feeling that remained was a sense of absolute and total dread. My baby, conceived in love with my husband Jean before he was forced by King Francis to wage war for France on our native England, fluttered in my stomach.
“Take the traitor—and her bastard—to London,” the sullen-eyed judge hissed. “And may God have mercy on your soul. If He so chooses.”
The larger of my two captors strode toward me, a length of chain stretched before him. He kept his voice a whisper as he approached. “Come now, Miss.”
I pushed my aching frame up from the unforgiving wooden chair, to the jeers of the crowd, and accepted the chain. My lower lip trembled as he draped the iron links across my protruding belly.
He clipped my hands into the shackles, but didn’t tighten the chain. “Don’t fret, Miss. I’ll take care not to make it too tight.”
“T-thank you.” The tremble in my lip moved to my voice.
“I’m Lyge, Lady Bridget. Allow me to escort you to the carriage.”
“Not to the dungeon?”
He shook his head. “Perhaps a prayer will calm your nerves, m’lady?” Lyge matched his steps to mine as we strode the length of the courtroom. “I noticed it kept you on your feet on the walk here.”
I dared a glance at him. Still unsmiling, his face was somehow softer. Kinder.
“Most people put on trial for treason pass out when Ramish opens the dungeon door. You, however, did not.” Lyge pushed on the wooden door leading out of the castle. A whoosh of fresh air and sunshine welcomed us. If not for my chains, I might have smiled. “You would have made a fine queen, Lady Bridget.”
Horse hooves clomped along the stone street. I knew the black carriage they pulled in an instant. My stomach turned over as it ground to a halt in front of us. “Thank you for your kindness, Lyge.”
“My sister was chosen as a Lady-of-Choice.”
My eyes widened as the doors on the back of the carriage flung open. “Really?”
“Seems she had an occurrence with her lapel dipping into her soup bowl. She said you were kind to her. For that, I thank you, Lady Bridget.”
He bowed his head, as I stood, dumbfounded.
“Come on with you,” a guttural voice barked. “Road to London shan’t get any shorter.”
“Godspeed, Lady Bridget,” Lyge whispered as he helped me into the back of the carriage. “And God’s will be done.”
The doors slammed shut and closed me in the stuffy darkness of the carriage. It may as well have been a tomb.
A hand clasped over my bare ankle. “He didn’t properly secure you,” the man growled. His fingers dug into my flesh.
I whimpered. “I am secured, sir.” I balled my bound hands into fists, but nothing much could be done to protect myself, or my baby, should the need arise to do so.
Slowly, the man dragged his fingers up my leg.
“Please stop,” I begged.
“Now, there’s nothing to do between now and London. But I can think of a few things.”
I shook my head, but it was useless. He couldn’t see me in the absolute darkness. “No,” I shouted.
His hand met my cheek with a smack before falling back into my lap. At once, they began to fumble with my dress.
The carriage jerked to an abrupt halt. A voice, presumably our driver’s, called out a greeting. “How may we be of assistance?”
Silence filled the tense air as my carriage-mate contained to fumble with my dress.
