Page 11 of Dancing On Air

“Connor, wait,” came the sweet tone of her voice.

Flashes of memories filled his mind just from hearing her speak without the bitterness like before. It reminded him of many years ago, growing up with Eleanor at Saltwood Castle before she was sent to live at Marvane. They used to run through the hills during the summer, with him chasing her over the fields of green. He would tickle her until she begged for mercy. Then they would holds hands and stroll through fields of flowers as she sang and butterflies danced above their heads. Now, this seemed to him to be naught but a dream. Nothing but a different life, a different time when life was good and they were excited at what their future held. But it was only a dream, he reminded himself. One that he wanted to jump into and never return.

He turned slowly, his eyes fastening on Eleanor’s slender fingers barely touching his forearm. Connor cursed inwardly, feeling a wave of excitement shoot up his spine from her mere gentle touch. He held his breath, his eyes roaming up her arm and to her face now. She was touching him. Actually touching him. What was she doing? He was an executioner, and no one ever touched him! It was thought to be a cursed thing to do, and was highly forbidden. As if she could read his thoughts, she gasped and slowly released her grasp, lowering her arm to her side.

“Your face,” she whispered, having been there the day he received the mark of an executioner, but never having seen it until now. “I heard about it, but thought you’d be healed by now.” Sadness filled her eyes and she turned and slowly looked away.

His hand shot up to cover his cheek where he’d been branded a hangman. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of how ugly he looked to her right now. It made him want to hide his face from her. He didn’t want her to see it. She most likely thought he was hideous now, when at one time she’d told him that he was very handsome.

“You shouldn’t have touched me,” he told her, barely able to speak. God’s eyes, why had it felt so good to feel her hand on his arm? He had longed to be touched by Eleanor again, even if it was naught but in a friendly manner like in the past. It was all he could think about when he closed his eyes at night. And the fact that he’d never even gotten the chance to feel her lips pressed up against his made for many sleepless nights. Connor wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her right now, but sadly, that was never going to happen. “Now you’re unclean and will probably be shunned for doing such a stupid thing,” he told her. “Eleanor, what were you thinking?” His gaze dropped to the ground and shame washed over him.

“No one saw,” came her sweet reply. “And touching you doesn’t make me unclean or a bad person. You are a man, Connor. A man just like any other.”

“Nay. I’m not just like any other man, Eleanor. How the hell can you even say that? You know what I am now,” he said, looking out over the heads of the people who despised him, not able to face her anymore. “The burn on my face reminds anyone who might have forgotten.”

“Connor, please. We don’t have long. I had to see you. To talk to you. About what you’re doing. It needs to stop.”

This time, when he looked back at her face, those angry eyes he’d seen earlier were filled with tears. She seemed so sad that it about broke his heart.

“What is it you want me to do?” he asked, regretting being an executioner right now more than ever before. A stray strand of her hair blew across her face in the breeze, and he wanted more than anything to reach out and gently brush it back behind her ear.

But he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t touch her.

The fact that Eleanor had touched him willingly surprised him and somehow pleased him as well. Then again, it also made him angry, only reminding him of all that he’d lost. He hated and loved her action at the same time and confusion clouded his brain. Somehow, her touch seemed to awaken something within him that had died the day he’d had to walk out of his betrothed’s life forever.

It wasn’t just lust he felt for Eleanor right now, he realized. Nay, he had the whores on occasion to quench that urge. Instead, it was more. He’d felt the need to be touched again by someone who cared for him—or at least used to care. It hurt so much that it made him want to cry. Eleanor had been his best friend ever since they were children. He couldn’t stop thinking about that lately. He also thought about his dear mother often—hugging him as a child and making him feel… loved. Yes, that was what was missing in his life right now, and something he’d most likely never have again in this lifetime.

“I want you to stop being a hangman,” said Eleanor, making Connor shake his head and almost laugh aloud. If only it was that easy.

“You’re a noblewoman, Eleanor,” he reminded her. “You shouldn’t be near me and certainly not be seen speaking with me. Go now, before you get in trouble.”

“Connor, this isn’t right. You shouldn’t be putting people to death. You are a good and noble man. You have a kind heart and I know it. This isn’t the life for you.”

His head snapped up and he felt like shouting, but answered her with restraint. “Did you call me noble?” he repeated, blowing air from his mouth. “I might have been a noble at one time, but not anymore,” he told her. “That was a different life then. But now, that life is over. I don’t need you reminding me of something that has haunted me for the last five years.”

“Walk away, please. Don’t do this anymore. You are better than this.” A tear dripped down her cheek, and once again he found himself wanting to touch her face, to brush the tear away the way he had done so long ago on that awful day.

“I can’t, and you know it. Besides, why should you even care? You said I disgust you. I heard you call me heartless, despicable, and an ogre just moments ago.” Once more, he looked away. It hurt too much to gaze upon her when he wanted her so badly. It especially hurt that he had let her down. That was the last thing he ever wanted to happen.

Eleanor sniffled and wiped away her tear with the back of her hand. Then she raised her chin and looked down her nose at him as she answered.

“Well, you are all those things, Connor. I’m sorry, but it’s true! How could you pull the lever and send that poor woman’s husband to his death?” Her arm shot out and she motioned toward the widow who was crying and still clutching her children.

“Me?” he asked in confusion. “Nay, Eleanor, I didn’t pull the lever and kill that thief. My father did.”

“I saw you do it, so stop lying! You will end up in hell for what you’ve done.”

“I’m already in hell, sweetheart, so what does it even matter? I live in hell every day of my life. I’m sure you couldn’t even begin to understand.”

“Lady Eleanor, get away from that man!” shouted the abbess, rushing over and grabbing her arm, pulling her back. The nun looked cross. “Why are you even talking to the hangman? Get away from him, I say. No good can come of this.” She made a big display of blessing herself over and over again.

“I needed to talk to him, Sister Sybil,” said Eleanor. “This is the man I was once supposed to marry.”

“May God have mercy on you, and forgive you for speaking with the man of death,” gasped the nun, blessing herself yet again. “Let’s go, Lady Eleanor. Your job is to comfort those in mourning, not to befriend the executioner who took the widow’s husband from her.”

“I-I need to go,” Eleanor told Connor as the nun dragged her away from him. When she left, the wind blew her hood off her head again. The green ribbon tying back her hair came loose and fluttered to the ground at his feet. He reached down and picked it up, rubbing the smooth satin between his calloused fingers, wondering if her skin felt as soft. He found it hard to remember, and now would never know for sure.

“My lady. I think you dropped this,” he called, holding the ribbon out to her like an offering of peace as it dangled between his fingers in the breeze, unfortunately not unlike the dead man who had been swinging from the rope just minutes ago.

“Keep it. She doesn’t want it, now that you’ve touched it,” said the nun, pulling Eleanor away.

Connor stood there holding on to Eleanor’s hair ribbon, feeling like this was all he’d ever have of her. His heart was heavy, feeling like a weight in his chest. He watched Eleanor leave him, walking out of his life once again, the memory of that awful day playing through his mind once more. Then he looked down at the ribbon he now clutched in his hand, wanting to hold on to just this little memory of her, since it was all he’d ever have.

So close, and yet so far. He was being punished as God flaunted right in his face what Connor wanted most in life. Then it was whisked away from him, leaving him feeling even lonelier than before.

“Hangman, we’re waiting for you,” one of the gravediggers called out to him, leaning on his shovel.

Connor hated being called hangman. It sounded so dirty, so repulsive, and so unreal.

But that was what he was now, so what did he expect?

Shoving Eleanor’s ribbon into his pouch, he turned his back to the crowd. He had a man to help bury. This job should be getting easier to accept by now, but today, it had only gotten so much worse.