The Unveiling Book One (Age of Faith 1)

The cruel hands fell from him, but as he reached for the rope, it tightened and snapped his chin to his chest. An instant later, he was hoisted off his feet. He flailed and clawed at his trussed neck but was denied even the slightest breath of air. Realizing that this night he would die for what he had intended to do…for what he had not done…for Henry, he would have sobbed like the boy he ever denied being had he the breath to do so. Unworthy! The familiar rebuke sounded through him, though it was many months since he had been called such.

Aye, unfit, for I cannot even die like a man. He turned his trembling hands into fists and stilled as the lessons taught him by Lord Wulfrith numbered through his mind, the greatest being that refuge was found in God. Feeling his life flicker like a flame taking its last sip of the wick, he embraced the calm that settled over him and set his darkening gaze on one of his attackers who stood to the right. Though unsure, he thought the man’s back was turned to him. Then he heard the wheezing of one who also lacked breath. A mute cry of disbelief parted his lips.

Of all those who might have done this, never would he have believed— Darkness stole his sight, swelled his heart, and brought to mind a beloved image. He had vowed not to leave her, but now Annyn would be alone. Forgive me, he pleaded across the leagues that separated them. Pray, forgive me. As death tightened its hold, he could not help but weep inside himself for the foolishness that had sent him to the noose. His body convulsed, and with his last presence of mind, he once more turned heavenward. Do not let her be too long alone, God. Pray, do not.