An Uncertain Choice

“If I had to guess, I would have to say nearly three quarters of the poor population on my land has died.”


Derrick nodded thoughtfully. His forehead was marked with lines of concern.

“Don’t you find it strange that the illness isn’t spreading in a usual manner?” I asked. “Did you notice it only seemed to affect the poor districts?”

“That same question has been troubling me since I first heard the reports from my squire yesterday.”

As I rode along, I began to think deeper on the matter. Why did this particular illness affect only the poor? My parents’ death attested to the fact that illnesses like plagues usually feasted on rich and poor alike. I’d also found it strange that the survivors had all said the same thing, that the outbreak started after the sheriff and his men had visited.

Of course, the sheriff had visited only to collect the usual taxes, as he did at certain times throughout the year. But nevertheless, the fact bothered me. “Do you think the sheriff or one of his men is a carrier of the disease?”

Derrick frowned as if he too had been puzzling over the connection. “If so, then why didn’t the disease spread wherever those men went? Why just in certain areas?”

We were nearing the gates of Ashby, and the tall towers of my castle rose to welcome us back. The only problem was that I wasn’t sure I was ready to be home and to end the day with Derrick.

As if sensing the close of our time together, Derrick shifted in his saddle. His expression filled with sudden uncertainty. “Perhaps I should have planned a more light-hearted activity for the day.”

“No,” I assured him. “The day was perfect. And you were right. It far surpassed anything else I’ve done this month.”

The uncertainty lingered in his eyes. I wanted to reach out and span the distance between us, but instead I smiled and hoped it conveyed the depth of my appreciation for our day together. He hadn’t sought to amaze me with riches or beauty. He hadn’t tried to entertain or woo me. Instead, he’d taken me to the filthiest, poorest places to mingle among my people and help them. He’d shown compassion and insight. And he’d pushed me to do the same.

Derrick seemed as genuinely concerned about the plight of the poor as I was.

As we passed through the city gates, Derrick glanced to the duke and the guards, who’d fallen behind us. Then with a half smile, he drew his horse nearer so that his foot within the stirrup almost brushed me.

He reached for my hand and slipped his fingers through mine. The tender hold made me exhale in contentment. I resisted glancing back to the duke to check for his approval. Surely this linking of our hands wouldn’t displease him even if it was rather bold.

“You’re a strong woman, my lady.” His voice was pitched for only me. “You have earned my deepest respect for facing all that you did today with such dignity.”

Before I could think of a response that would vocalize all I was feeling, we broke into the town square and found ourselves on the outskirts of a gathering in the market green. To my dismay, in the center the sheriff stood before a man tied to a post. The man was stretched taut, and the sheriff was in the process of pressing a hot iron against the man’s bare back. Several bright red welts already dotted his flesh.

The instant the hot iron seared the man’s skin, his hoarse screams rose above the clamor of the townspeople who’d gathered to watch the display.

Nausea immediately welled in my chest, but anger rose just as swiftly. “Release him this instant!” I called. And without a moment to lose, I pulled away from Derrick and charged forward on my horse.

At the pressure of my horse bearing down on them, the townspeople couldn’t ignore my presence as they had the last time I’d tried to stop public torture. With silent fury spurring me on, I urged my horse onward until I crashed into the center green. I didn’t stop until I stood before the sheriff.

I jerked my riding whip toward the sheriff’s outstretched arm and slashed at the hot iron. The snap and power of the coil forced him to let go of the torture instrument and drop it to the ground.

As I worked to calm my emotions, I sat stiffly in my saddle. I sensed more than saw that Derrick had followed and was beside me. The crowd behind us had grown silent, so that the only sound was the labored breathing of the man tied to the post.

“What is the meaning of this, sheriff?” I demanded. “You know my laws forbid public torture.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed on me, and he wiped his hand across his dark beard and mustache, grumbling something behind his hand.

“Watch what you say, sheriff.” Derrick’s voice was hard. “You’d do well not to insult Lady Rosemarie unless you wish to pay for it.”

“And what are you going to do?” The sheriff’s expression turned derisory. “Are you going to cut out my tongue?”