To Capture Her Heart

To Capture Her Heart

A Novel

Ginny Hartman

Copyright © 2014 by Ginny Hartman

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ginny Hartman

Photo Credit for Girl in the Red Dress: Lucia Segura

Book design by Ginny Hartman

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First printing: November 2014

ISBN-13: 978-1503068247

To Edna Fae, the best mother in the entire Universe!

For your support, your friendship, and your never-ending love.

You are enough.

Chapter
1

Execution

Gwendolyn de Valles stood firmly in the square, listening to the excited voices raised all around her. More people than she had ever seen in one place in Darth had gathered to witness the execution of the men responsible for King Eustace and Queen Constance's deaths. The kingdom had not been notified of the treacherous act until the people responsible had been found out and caught, and as angry as the entire kingdom had been, it was no wonder that the whole lot of them had appeared this day to witness justice being served.

The sticky heat of the day seemed only to bolster the already high spirits of the crowd. Several groups of people were sloshing mugs of ale together in clumsy toasts of celebration, while hoards of children ran cheerfully up and down the square, weaving haphazardly through the throngs of people. Gwendolyn stood on tiptoe, trying to get a better look at the executioners block several yards in front of where she was standing with her family. It was nearly impossible for her to see over the heads in front of her.

Cursing her short stature, she rocked back on her heels and turned towards her brother, Terric, who was standing with his hand placed reassuringly on Rosalind's back, offering her support. Rosalind was the daughter of the late Queen Constance and King Eustace, the princess who would now become Queen of the Southwestern territory of Darth. Her marriage to Terric and her subsequent coronation were scheduled to take place in three-day’s time.

“You'd think the future queen of the Southwest could have managed to get us a better view of the execution,” she grumbled.

Terric rolled his eyes at her, “Gwen, 'tis not a show provided for your sole entertainment. Besides, Rosalind doesn't want a better view; she's only here as a formality.”

Gwendolyn glanced at Rosalind and for the first time that day noticed how pale her friend was. “I'm sorry, Rosalind. I know this must be hard on you.”

“Thank you,” Rosalind whispered softly.

“But I can't help it,” Gwendolyn continued. “I'm morbidly curious about the whole affair. 'Tis my first execution after all. Would you mind if I went up closer to get a better look?”

Her mother, Millicent, stepped forward, putting a firm hand on her arm. “I don't think that's necessary. You will have all the view you need from right here.”

Perfecting a pout, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and huffed, “If only you had deflected your gift to me Terric, then I could easily transport myself up to the executioners block, witness the execution myself and be back here before any of you could stop me. 'Tis not fair that you gave Rosalind your gift and not me. You have known me longer,” she pointed out, “and I am your only sister. Surely that has to count for something.”

Terric laughed at her reasoning. “'Tis not how it works, and you know it. If I could have given it to you simply because you desired it, I would have. For surely no one else is as anxious to possess a gift as you are.”

Gwendolyn harrumphed. “I can't help it if I'm feeling left out because everyone seems to have a gift but me.”

“Everyone?” Terric asked with amusement, one eyebrow raised.

“Well perhaps not everyone, but I'm bound and determined not to be one of those ordinary people without any special talent or gift.”

After a brief pause she continued, “But I refuse to stand here and discuss my deficiencies with you any longer. I have an execution to witness.” Pulling the skirt of her gown up with both hands, Gwendolyn turned abruptly and began shouldering her way through the crowd, trying to ignore the way the hot, unfamiliar bodies pressed up against and jostled her as she walked.

Though she was a slight thing, she wasn't afraid to do as she wished. Her mother may very well be calling after her, but it wasn't her fault if she couldn't hear her above the bustling noises of the crowd. She knew without looking that Terric would have his eyes trained on her the entire time, watching for any danger that may befall her during her brief absence.

The energy of the crowd seemed to increase the closer she got to the executioner's block, and her step lightened in response. There was something exciting about being amongst so many people of differing villages; she couldn't seem to help herself. She ignored the irritated scowls that were directed at her as she continued to push through the throngs until she made her way safely to the stage. Pleased with herself, she let her skirt drop and used one hand to flick her thick, dark braid over her shoulder as her eyes took in everything around her.

The guillotine was set up on center stage, the shiny blade gleaming brightly in the sunlight. There was only one man standing on the stage at the moment, a large man dressed in a black hooded robe, disguising his features completely. She watched as the man stood eerily still and wondered what he might be thinking about. Just then, someone began making their way towards the rear of the stage, as the noise of the crowd buzzed even louder in anticipation. An excited tremor went through her body as she once more went on tiptoe to take it all in.

The man wedged through the crowd that refused to part to give him any room. She curiously wondered why he seemed in such a hurry. Mayhap he was just as anxious as she was to witness the grisly scene. She watched intently as the man with the chiseled face and flowing mane of tawny hair pushed his way up to the back of the stage where a defender was waiting impatiently for him. As soon as he approached, the defender roughly shoved a black cloak at him with a scowl. Gwendolyn couldn't help but stare at the man as he rubbed a strong, tanned hand over the short beard on his face before  angrily throwing the cloak over his well-muscled body, pulling the hood quickly over his head to obstruct her view of him completely. So he was the second executioner, she concluded with a fair amount of amusement. So much for keeping his identity a secret, she thought, as she regretfully watched the hood fall into place and cover the man's rugged features.

King Cedric, dressed in a cloak of deep purple silk stepped regally onto the stage, her brother Aeden, his lead defender, not more than a step behind him. The masses of people hushed almost instantly, an eerie silence washing over the throngs. Gwendolyn couldn't take her eyes off of the King as he spoke, the mysterious executioner all but forgotten.  

“We are gathered here today, united as a kingdom, to witness the execution of Asher Corbet and Alexandir Goff who have been found guilty of killing King Eustace and Queen Constance.” He stopped speaking long enough to clear the emotion from his throat. “Let this be a reminder to all that such treachery will not be tolerated in Darth. Without further ado, let us begin.” He nodded his head solemnly in the direction of the two executioners, then fell back out of the way as the prisoners were brought to the stage.

Gwendolyn watched curiously as two men, both dressed in course, brown smocks, were led angrily onto the platform. The first man was tall and lean, his cheekbones jutting sharply from a face that was stoically passive. She knew that he must be Asher from Terric's description of the man. The second man was broad shouldered and stiff with an angry expression contorting his face. She knew that he was the man responsible for the actual killing of the king and queen.  She shuddered with revulsion as her eyes beheld such evil. Glancing once more into Asher's face, she wondered how he could appear so unaffected by his impending death.

A loud chant bellowed in the air, causing Gwendolyn to jump.

“Kill them, kill them, kill them.”

She looked all around her and realized that nearly everyone in attendance was shouting the refrain. Though she was just as anxious to see justice served, she abstained from joining in the chorus and instead turned her focus once more to the stage. She knew it was only a matter of minutes before both traitors’ heads lay in the dirty basket in front of the guillotine—no amount of chanting was going to speed the process up.

Alexandir, the assassin, was to be executed first. Two thick, surly guards forced him into a horizontal position, forcing his neck down into the lunette where they could trap is head into place.  The chanting of the crowd slowly died out as the larger, hooded executioner stepped forward and pulled the rope that released the shiny blade. A slicing sound was made right before a thud was heard as his head fell ceremoniously into the basket. The sight of the blood spurting forth from the deceased's neck made Gwendolyn's stomach churn. She placed her hands angrily to her mouth to keep from retching as her eyes, of their own accord, turned away from the gruesome scene.

It wasn't as if the sight of blood made Gwendolyn squirm, for in her training as a healer, she had encountered her fair share of blood and gore. No, it was more than just the blood that had upset her. Perhaps it was the thought that if Rosalind hadn't learned the truth about Asher, it would be her brother Terric's head laying in the basket just now instead of the assassin’s. Mayhap it was just death in general that upset her.

Growing up the daughter of a former defender and the sister to two of Darth's bravest defenders, she knew that the possibility of death lay always just around the corner and had always feigned a brave front so as not to shame her courageous family, but deep down, death scared her. Not her own per say, but the thought of losing anyone she loved caused her body to break out in a cold sweat.

She clamped her eyes shut even tighter, trying to squelch the memories of her father's death from her mind. She had always been especially close to her papa, and his unexpected death had left a gaping hole in her heart that had been filled with a very real fear of losing anyone else she loved. Though the men being executed held no special place in her heart, she knew that somebody somewhere loved them, that both men had family's somewhere who cared about them no matter how wicked they had become.

As the guards began clearing Alexandir's body away, the crowd once more began chanting. This time, “Kill Asher, kill Asher,” were the words being bellowed loud and clear throughout the square. Gwendolyn focused on the rhythm of the angry chant to distract her from her painful thoughts. She wasn't sure if she could watch another execution, though she was desperate to see for herself that Asher got his due rewards. Swallowing hard, she removed her shaking hands from her mouth and pressed them into her stomach, as she bravely raised her eyes once more to the stage.

Asher went to the chopping block without a fight, as if he was resigned to his fate and unwilling to fight it. As soon as he was securely in place, the second executioner, the handsome man she had spotted earlier, had stepped forward and pulled the rope. Gwendolyn tried to keep her gaze glued to the scene, but found her eyes flickering to the ground as soon as she heard the swish of the blade. The loud thwack of the head hitting the bottom of the basket was proof enough to her that Asher was indeed dead, she didn't need to see his bloody stub of a neck to prove to her that he was.

A loud and excited cheer went up all around her, and from somewhere in the distant background, she heard music begin to play. She knew that the remainder of the day would be spent in joyous celebration and feasting, but suddenly she wasn't in the mood to eat or celebrate.  She was only in the mood to get as far away from the crowds of people as possible.

Twisting her hands into the skirt of her deep blue gown, she shouldered her way past the throngs of people singing and drinking around her until she finally broke free from the crowd. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she took off in a run, unsure of where she was going, unsure of what she was feeling, only sure of the incessant need she felt to flee.

Chapter 2

The Most Important of Tasks

Gavin turned from the bloody lifeless body that was lying prostrate on the guillotine's wooden bench. His work was now done so there was nothing keeping him there. He quickly retreated from the guillotine as the rusty smell of blood filled his nostrils, anxious to be away from the nauseating scent. As soon as he stepped off of the platform, he gave a cursory glance around to see if anyone was paying him any attention. When it appeared that no one was giving him any mind, he hurriedly removed the dratted hood that was causing him to sweat in the muggy heat of the day. Though the sun wasn't shining, the air was plenty warm, the dewy humidity causing him to feel wet all over.