Page 50 of Warrior’s Lady

"What do you mean?" Rhiannon's heart leapt. A way out?

"Tell me where the Charm Stone is kept, and bring me that little girl, and I'll see that you stay free from harm."

"Who are you?" she asked. Betray Violet? Hurt Camden? Rhiannon stilled as she realized that she could never do it. Tears welled in her eyes and slipped beneath the cloth that blinded her. Perhaps she did deserve such an end. After all, she was a Ruthven — a dark and evil seed.

"They would not hesitate to betray you." The man cruelly pressed his finger against the bruised flesh of her cheek. "What's it to be? Death or freedom?"

Rhiannon couldn't speak. Her throat locked up as she desperately twisted her hands, searching for a release. She didn't want to die, at least not this way.

A hand cracked across her cheek with violent force. Agony rocked through her. "What's your answer?" the man demanded.

Rhiannon shook her head, trying to clear it of fear and the ringing pain of the blow. She wouldn't bring further suffering upon Violet or Camden. "I'll never betray them."

He struck her other cheek.

Pain exploded inside her head. "I might be a Ruthven, but I will not hurt those who have helped me."

"Then you're a fool." He backed away, the wood snapping beneath his feet as he did. "Burn her. It is the only way for God to purify her soul." The sound of his voice grew more distant. "I cannot tolerate the scent of burning flesh, so I'll leave her disposal to you. Do not fail me this time."

The sound of hoofbeats came to her ears. For a moment hope burst inside, until she realized the sound moved away, not toward her.

She heard a soft hiss. She struggled against the bonds that held her firmly to the pole, frantic to escape. The ropes stayed tight as the acrid scent of smoke filled the air.

"Damn this smoke," a gravelly voice cursed. "The wood is wet from the snow. Help me fan the flames to get the wood to catch faster." A shuffling of footsteps told her the men drew near, no doubt doing as they'd been ordered.

Oh, God's mercy, this was real. Horribly, hideously real. She wrenched her shoulders back and forth. She tried to kick her feet. But the ropes held. She would die, and Camden could do nothing to save her. Pain compressed her chest as a sob escaped her.

Swamped by hopelessness, she leaned her head back against the pole toward the heavens. She tried to recreate their brilliance in her mind. She had to think of something, anything but the inevitable end that awaited her. But even her imagination had abandoned her.

"Please help me," she pleaded, not really expecting any sort of divine intervention. When had God answered her prayers as of late?

Then she felt it, a featherlight dust of cold against her cheek. Then another. Snow. She smiled up at the sky overhead. An answer to her prayer. Though the snow would never be enough to douse the flames that licked at her feet.

At least she could picture in her mind's eye the flakes as they fell to the earth. A small comfort compared to the agony she would feel very soon. But for any distraction, short or long, she was grateful.