Page 6 of Dancing On Air

“Eleanor,” said Connor, looking over at his betrothed. She stared at him with those big hazel eyes filled with tears, waiting for him to decide his father’s fate, just like everyone else. Bid the devil, why did he have to be the one put in this position?

Time stood still and every second seemed like an hour to Connor. Why the hell was his father asking him what he should do? If he told his father not to accept the deal, the man would be beheaded in front of all his children. It would be devastating! No child should have to see that. It would also scar his siblings for life.

If his father’s life was spared, Connor’s dream of someday becoming a knight would be shattered. He would be labeled an outcast from this day forward. The only profession he’d ever know would be as hangman when his father passed on. All Connor wanted right now was to turn back time so he could have somehow kept his father from killing anyone.

He looked over at Eleanor again, and she seemed terrified. She wiped a tear from her eye. This wasn’t getting any easier.

His siblings wailed. They needed a father. But did anyone really need a father who was a hangman? If Connor’s father’s life was spared, it would condemn his entire family to hell, because that is what their lives would be from now on.

“Son? It is up to you,” said his father. “Do I die? Or do I live?”

“Damn you,” Connor ground out under his breath. He shouldn’t be the one making this decision. He was only sixteen years old. He now regretted even being here today at all.

“Connor, don’t let father die,” wailed Leoric. “Save him.”

“We just lost Mother. We can’t lose him too,” said Francesca once again. “Please, Connor. Don’t let him die.”

“Well? Answer your father, boy,” snapped the impatient Lord Sampson.

“Father,” said Connor, feeling as if he were the one about to be condemned to death right now. He’d be damned with either decision, and was sure to regret it for the rest of his life. He looked back at Eleanor once more, his heart feeling so heavy in his chest. “I’m sorry, Eleanor,” he whispered. “I just can’t let him die.”

“Connor, please! I don’t want to lose you,” begged Eleanor, crying even harder.

Connor slowly turned back to face his father. “Your family… needs… you,” said Connor, holding one arm around his brother and the other around his sister. He looked back to see Eleanor holding her hand over her mouth. She spun around on her heel and fled through the crowd.

Connor had given the only answer he could. He had pushed all his dreams aside, because even if his father had made a horrible mistake, the man didn’t deserve to die because of it. It had been done in grief over losing his wife. He had been protecting his loved one like he always did—even if the woman was dead. Connor’s heart ached for his mother and he understood how badly his father must be missing her as well. The loss of a loved one can make anyone do things they normally wouldn’t. After just losing his mother, Connor didn’t want to lose his father as well. This was too much agony for one day.

“Yes?” asked Connor’s father, his voice shaky. “I should accept the deal?” he asked Connor, double-checking.

Connor’s jaw was clamped too tightly to even speak. All he could do was to give a small nod.

“Then I accept the position of hangman,” said Connor’s father, getting boos and more shouts and swearing from the crowd. “I accept the trade in exchange for my life.”

“The decision has been made. Get those chains off of him,” shouted Garrett. “Let the man off the platform anon.”

“Executioner, hand over your sword and robe to the fool who will now take your place.” Sampson had the nerve to actually chuckle. “Wyland, take your cursed family out of here and wait to be called upon for your first job.”

“Thank you. Thank you, my lords.” Wensel stood up and rubbed his wrists after the guard had removed his shackles.

“Oh, just one more thing,” said Sampson, sounding like he was enjoying all this. “The new hangman will need to be marked so no one mistakes him as a noble. Ever.”

“Sampson, let it go,” muttered Garrett, but the evil man wouldn’t let up.

“Blacksmith,” called out Sampson. “Bring me a hot poker from the forge immediately.”

“Wait. What are you doing?” asked Connor, his stomach feeling like it was about to turn inside out.

“It’s all part of the new job,” said Sampson. “Guard, bring the new hangman to me anon.”

Connor held tightly to his crying siblings as the guard hauled his father down to Lord Sampson.

“Here you are, my lord,” said the blacksmith, as he returned with the glowing poker in his hand. “It is red hot, so be careful.” Lord Sampson took the cool end of the poker.

“No one will mistake you for who and what you really are now, you murderous bastard!” Sampson reached out with the hot poker, drawing it slowly across Wensel’s cheek. Wensel cried out and backed away, leaning over to hold his marred face. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air.

“Nay! You cur! You can’t do that.” Connor dropped the hands of his siblings and approached Lord Sampson. “You just wanted to hurt him for killing your brother—admit it.”

“Connor, step back,” warned Garrett, but Connor was too angry to listen.