Page 59 of Dancing On Air

“I’d like us all to hold hands and say a prayer for Wensel’s soul,” said Eleanor after the burying was completed. No one objected. They held hands in a circle around the grave, praying out loud.

When Connor saw Alaric yawn, he walked over and picked up his little brother. “Alaric, you and Ginevra and Leoric are going to spend the night at the abbey.”

“Are you coming with us?” asked Alaric.

“Nay. I am going to stay here. I need some time alone.”

“I want to stay here with you,” said Leoric.

“Me too,” said Ginevra clinging to Connor.

“Leoric, I’m counting on you to watch over our younger brother and sister,” said Connor. “It will do you good to get away from here for the night.”

“Nay. We can all stay here together, Connor,” protested Leoric.

“I’m in charge now that Father is gone,” said Connor. “Now please, go with them. Be there for Ginevra and Alaric. I will meet up with all of you tomorrow.”

“All right,” said Leoric. “Come on, Ginevra and Alaric. I’ll watch over you. You don’t need to be afraid.”

“Now that Father is gone, does Connor have to be the one to murder people?” asked Alaric, almost breaking Connor’s heart. Is this really the way his little brother thought of him? Is it how he thought of their father? That he was nothing but a murderer?

No one said a word.

“I’m not going to be a murderer, and neither was Father,” said Connor in a steady voice.

“Please, don’t die and leave us too,” said Ginevra, once again clinging to him and crying.

“Stop it,” he told his sister, trying to be strong. “I’m not going to die. I’m going to see all of you tomorrow. But right now, you need to go to the abbey with Lady Eleanor and the others and get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m hungry,” said Alaric with another yawn.

“Lady Eleanor will make sure you get something to eat as well,” said Connor. “Now go!”

“Connor,” said Eleanor, pulling him to the side. “I want to stay here with you tonight.”

“Absolutely not!”

“You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. It’s much better if someone is here with you. You’ll need someone to talk to.”

“I’m done talking,” he told her. “I know you mean well, Eleanor, but please just take my siblings and leave. All I want is to be alone right now.”

“As you wish,” she said, gathering up the children. “Should we take the wagon?”

“Nay,” he said, not wanting his siblings riding in it right now, even though he’d cleaned it out. It symbolized death and filth, and he didn’t want them near it.

“There are three of us and three of them,” said Raven. “We can each ride double. It’ll be fine.”

Finally, they all left. Connor looked down to his father’s grave once more, shaking his head. “How could you let this happen? Why the hell did you take Leoric with you? Don’t you see what you did to him? He wasn’t strong enough to handle this. You scarred the poor boy for life.”

He stormed into the house, angry at Lord Sampson, angry at his father, and angry at himself. He kicked over a bench and then with a swipe of his hand, threw all the plates and cups from the table to the ground. He went over and used the poker to stoke the fire. Staring at it in his hand, the burn on his face started to ache. He looked at the hot poker in his hand and he felt like he was sixteen all over again. Cries and shouts echoed in his head. He saw his father about to be beheaded, kneeling down with his hands tied behind his back, waiting for Connor to decide his fate. Then he felt the hot iron from the forge burning into his face and he even smelled the scent of his own burning skin.

“Nay! Dammit!” He threw down the poker and headed to the bedroom, needing to clear his crowded mind. He pushed open the door almost expecting to see his drunken father lying on the bed, but he wasn’t there. Connor went over to his father’s trunk and dug inside, his hand closing around the neck of a bottle of whisky.

Sitting on the floor, he uncorked the bottle and raised the it to his mouth, guzzling down the golden liquid. It felt like his lungs were on fire and as if he had just entered hell.

He lowered the bottle and laughed. Now he knew exactly how his father had felt. With his father dead, Connor was the town’s new hangman. He looked down and fingered the dagger at his side, thinking it was too hard for him to execute another man, but felt it would be so easy to kill himself right now.

He slugged down more whisky, drinking until he couldn’t see straight. Then he removed his waist belt with his weapon and pouch and threw it on the floor. He plucked the dagger from his waist belt and held the tip of the blade to his chest.

“I don’t want this life and neither do I need it,” he said, knowing there was only one way to escape this life of hell once and for all. Sadly, once again, he was the one who had to make that awful decision.