Page 102 of The Knight's Pledge
“So I’ll just leave the rest ofmyfamily to whatever fate befalls them next then, shall I?” she challenged quietly. “Take George away from his father to be surrounded by foreign strangers? Gain protection by taking a titled husband and forgetting everything I’ve fought for, forfifteen years?”
“What are your other options?” Lucan demanded in an equally harsh whisper. “Penniless in Scotland, like Thomas? Living at the Swan on Mari and Gale’s charity? What prospects will George have there?”
“I can’t leave them,” she said, shaking her head. “Not to save my own skin. It would be the ultimate betrayal.”
“Thomas agrees with me,” Lucansaid pointedly.
“You asked him?” Effie hissed even as she glanced toward her father, who was laughing and clapping Lachlan on the shoulder as his middle son bested Tavish at dice. Lucan continued while she watched the trio.
“He knows just as well, if not better, than you how hard life can be for those who’ve been made commodities by the rich. He wants better for you and for his grandson, and he knows I canprovide that.”
“Then we shall let him think that is what will occur,” Effie said quietly.
“What iswrongwith you?” Lucan demanded.
“I’ve been loved outside of marriage by a man whose fidelity I never doubted,” Effie said, each word slicing into her heart. “I’ll not be trapped inside a marriage to a martyr, and I won’t subject my son to it, either.” She stood up and left his side before he could reply, taking a seat next to Thomas as he challenged Lachlan at the dice.
Tommy glanced over at her, a sparkle in his faded blue eyes. “Lass, you’ll bring me luck, for certain.” He rolled and gave a triumphant chuckle before pushing the dice across the table to his son. He looked at her again. “Have you spoken with Lucan?”
“I have,” she said. “He’s told me you gave your permission.”
“Aye,” Tommy agreed with a nod. “Och, that’s too bad, laddie! Let me show you how it’s done.” He rolled again. “What did I tell ye? Who’s next to challengethe old man?”
He turned his smile to Effie, and it nearly broke her heart. “I’ve nae worries about you nor my grandson with Lucan. When he makes his pledge, he holdsit unto death.”
Effie put her arm around his narrow shoulders and laid her temple against his rough shirt as Padraig took Lachlan’s place.
Tommy grabbed up the dice. “I love ye, gel,” he said as he shook them in his hand and then threw them. “Oh, ho! What a beginning, laddie! You’ll nae be besting me now!”
“I love you, too, Dad,” Effie whispered into his shoulder.
Chapter 25
It was a perfect spring morning when Lucan and the others gathered on the New Palace Yard just beyond Westminster. The sun shone like a million candles, causing the warm breeze to nearly sparkle and the emerging green of the grass and trees to glitter with new life. Indeed, the very atmosphere was one of high frivolity and it seemed to Lucan that all of London had turned out to see Thomas Annesley hanged, crowding into the public area of the grounds on abeautiful day.
Jugglers performed while vendors walked through the crowd selling their meats and sweet buns. Several ale carts were bustling with customers. Families were spread out on blankets, children tumblingover the yard.
Lucan and the others were seated on a row of benches before the hastily erected gallows. All of them were ashen and drawn of face, Effie most of all, perhaps, even as she sat in her old woodland garb—a wordless rebellion, perhaps, against the king and his court. Her sentiment, at least, was obvious—she cared nothing for London or its inhabitants, she had no respect for its ruler, and she didn’t care what any of them thought of her. All color seemed to be gone from her skin and even her hair, so that she appeared to be a sketch left out in the rain—faded and blurry, and likely to tear at the slightest touch.
She didn’t want Lucan or the protection he’d offered her. And why should she? He had failed her. He hadfailed himself.
A trumpet sounded and the king and his entourage took their seats within the covered box to the left of the gallows. Caris Hargrave and Vivienne Paget made their way into the row behind the king, their sick triumph earning them a favored seat. None of Thomas’s children looked toward the box, but Lucan did. He wanted to be sure that Henry saw him, saw the condemnation in his eyes. This was no ordinary man who would die today.
Thomas Annesley was a survivor. A hero.
The hooded hangman mounted the platform first, followed by Thomas, escorted by a chaplain and then two guards. Effie’s father was wearing a clean, loose shirt and his own old trousers and boots. His gray hair was damp, combed back neatly from his forehead, and the drying furrows of it lifted stifflyin the breeze.
His hands were bound behind him.
When Thomas looked down at the benches and smiled at them all, Lucan thought for a moment he might vomit. This was wrong, so wrong—nothing in the world could everbe right again.
And you delivered him to it—twice.
The intendant stepped forward with a wide scroll, and as he spread it, the crowd quieted, straining to hear as the man recounted the charges against Thomas Annesley.
“For these crimes,” the intendant announced so loudly that his voice barked, “you are sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead.” The intendant lowered the scroll and turned his head to give the hangman a crisp, single nod.
The hangman stepped toward Thomas and placed the thick, pale noose around his neck, adjusting the coil and the knot, seeming to take great care that it rested comfortably where his neck and shoulder met. The hangman stepped away and picked up a dark square of material, neatly folded on the platform.
