"I don't know if I can wait much longer. I feel ill."
"Don't look anymore."
He cupped her head, shielding her view of Dafydd's final moments. The executioner lifted his axe, the crowd now eerily silent. The only sounds echoing in the meadow were Dafydd's cries of pain. The axe fell. The cries ceased.
The still crowd erupted into wild cheers. But there was still more, as the executioner quartered the prince's body to the mob's excited screams. Madness overtook the throngand many rushed the scaffold, fighting to get at the pieces of the body. Edward apparently had also noticed, for he dispatched several troops into the chaos, hoping to calm things.
Royce set Gillian away from him, his gaze traveling her face. A tear rolled down her cheek. He reached up and brushed it away. He needed to get her away from here.
"'Tis over."
She nodded in reply to his words. Slowly, she stood, extricating herself from his embrace. He reached for her, determined to keep her from seeing the gruesome display on the platform below, but he wasn't quick enough. She gasped and swayed uneasily on her feet. He reached for her as she fell back against him.
"Gillian, come, let's..."
"I'm going to be sick."
She bent and retched at his feet. He supported her head and shoulders until the spasms passed, then lifted her into his arms.
"Panther, why did not you tell us your wife was ill?" Edward questioned him as he got to his feet.
"She was not ere now, Sire. I am afraid the execution was... difficult to watch."
"Our apologies for insisting on her presence," said Eleanor. "Mayhap a rest will help her feel better."
"I will take her to our chamber immediately."
He carried her off the dais, ignoring the questioning glances directed their way. The crowd finally began to disperse, blocking his path. Muttering a curse under his breath, he ducked into the castle through a side doorway, pausing to set Gillian on her feet. She swayed slightly, then leaned against him, her cheek pressed against his chest.
"'Twas more horrible than anything I have seen before." Her shaky voice cut through him like an icy wind.
"Come, let us retire."
He guided her through the maze of corridors and rooms until they climbed the stairs that led to their chamber. Once inside, he closed and barred the door.
Gillian walked over to the bed and lay across it.
"Are you ill?"
She shook her head. "Just... I was very tired this morning, and the execution..."
"It's over. Parliament will resume on the morrow instead, and after that, we travel to London with Edward."
Gillian sat up, dismay curling her mouth down. "London? I had hoped to return to Lyndon. There is much to prepare for the winter ahead."
He inhaled sharply. He supposed she needn't accompany them to London, but the thought of being away from her left him oddly unhappy. Had he grown so fond of his bride that he now would cater to her whims? Nay! The very idea was laughable. Still, if he convinced Edward to travel ahead of the queen, Royce could escort Gillian to her home and return to her much more quickly than traveling with a royal train.
"Mayhap you won't need to go. I'll speak with the king. We will be very busy and I won't be able to watch over you as you will likely need."
He couldn't resist the jest, pleased when she smiled in recognition. While he enjoyed the rebellious antics of his wife, he found he also rather liked this easy rapport between them.
"You accuse me of being trouble?"
She rose and stood before him, her violet eyes piercing.
"Since the day I arrived at Lyndon. You try my patience endlessly."
"As you do mine. My lord."
