What I do not say, but feel, is loyalty to the greatest friend of my life. She will be pardoned for the King is fond of her and her actions have allowed him release from Carr’s bitterness. The great love she holds for Robin will bear fruit. The risks we took will lead others to want what she has: freedom from cruel husbands and a say in whom they marry. Beneath the dread I feel a core of heat: it is joy at the actions we took, the chaos we created, the possibilities we saw, the lives we led; it is love.

A man on the beam shouts down, telling me to put the noose around my neck. I turn and take the rope in my shaking hands. It is rough and heavy. From the crowd come shouts of “God bless you,” as I put it over my head. It weighs down my shoulders. Dr. Whiting pulls the black veil over my face and I feel someone attempt to take my arms and tie my hands behind my back. Dr. Whiting wishes me Godspeed and promises to carry out my instructions, but I barely hear him. I wrench my hand free and press my handkerchief into his hand. He tucks it into his sleeve.

“May you stand forever in God’s love,” he says softly. Suddenly I grip on to him. When he leaves, I will die. How can he leave?

He pries my icy hand from his chest and holds it to his mouth, blowing warmth on to it. I cannot let him go, cannot die without fighting to live.

“It is not for yourself but for your children you must be brave,” he reminds me.

An image of Barbara comes to me, choosing the clothes in which I will die. I thank my eldest daughter for her courage, and for sending sleeves wide enough for me to bend my arms and feel my own heartbeat. It is fluttering as if winged but, while I still have life, I will do what I can for my children.

I am so cold.

Dr. Whiting climbs down from the tumbril and leaves me to face my last moments alone. Again, someone takes my arms and this time I allow them to tie my hands behind me. The rope is heavy, there are so many faces. I am greedy for the light in my eyes. A shout, and the horse slowly pulls forward. I tiptoe along the carriage floor as it moves.

I must not fall.

EPILOGUE

Summer 1650

Ricocheting along the hard-rutted lanes, Barbara repeated and reworked the words, over and over, until meaning fled and only fear remained.

“My mother’s final request was … My mother asked that I … My mother humbly requested…”