The Execution by Sharon Cramer Page B

create a
meaningful and honest explanation. Finally, he just hung his head
and said, honestly, “I just wish to say I’m sorry. I hope that the
incident didn’t cause you any embarrassment. Please forgive me.” He
stared down at his hands, twisting the reins about in them. “I’m
sorry that I disturbed you, and I’ll go.”
    “ Wait!” Julianne said
abruptly as though she was afraid he might leave. “Wait—I want to
ask you something. You don’t have to go.” She'd replaced her
garments and walked up softly behind him.
    By the time he realized she was behind
him, he turned to find her mere inches from him, gazing up into his
eyes.
    “ In fact, I’ve been
meaning to speak to you, about this morning,” she said, as though
serious about wishing to put right the transgressions which
occurred, the opportunity having presented itself so nicely for
both of them.
    Urgency threatened to overcome him and
he could hardly bear to be so close to her. Her scent drifted
delicately up to his nostrils, and her large, smoky eyes sparkled
clear and bright.
    That unfamiliar pull in his belly
returned and his chest ached. He couldn’t breathe, ‘Was he ill?’ He
started to panic, fearing that he might awaken from this
dream.
    The look on her face was one of
confusion. She scanned his face and came to rest on his eyes, as if
trying to determine his sincerity. Her brow furrowed, her fairy
eyebrows arching. “Of which are you most sorry? That you have
disturbed me here, or that you defiled me in mass this morning?”
She peered at him, eyes narrowed, obviously suspicious of his
intentions.
    She very slowly allowed her eyes to
travel the distance of him, although she appeared completely
unaware of the effect she had on him. Then she glanced at the
gelding. “You shouldn’t ride him so hard when he’s not used to it,”
she said and turned, gently stroking the horse’s shoulder. “We
should walk him or he may be ill.” She gave D’ata no option to walk
him alone.
    “ You’re—right,” he
stammered, “we should,” He hurriedly added, “I don’t usually ride
him this hard. I was just...” His voice trailed off.
    She looked over her shoulder at him
again, her eyes inquisitive but cautious. She seemed unprepared to
leave, almost drawn to D’ata. “You don’t exactly fit the mold of a
man of the cloth.”
    Fidgeting with the bridle, D’ata
pretended to adjust it, not sure how to answer. His story was too
complicated.
    She looked him up and down again. “My
name is Julianne. I live close to here with my father, two
brothers, and sister.” She reached for the reins and pulled them
from his grasp. “I come here often when the weather permits. It’s
so private—a secret getaway, I suppose, and not so far from where I
live.” Before he could assemble a response, she continued, “So what
brings you here today, Monsieur Le Priest, since you say you
weren’t following me?”
    He let her pull the reins from his
hands as she guided the big bay around and headed back to the path,
up towards the meadow. D’ata concentrated very hard to answer her
question. “This probably sounds contrived, but I come here often
too. It’s very beautiful, as you say.”
    Julianne's expression remained one of
doubtful intrigue, as though he was not yet to be trusted. “So you
come here to pray?” Suddenly, it appeared that she enjoyed
provoking him a bit. Then, she did what appeared to be a very
calculating thing. She passed her book to him, allowing her hand to
momentarily brush his. She turned as though she wanted to see the
reaction on his face, her own expression dead serious, although her
eyes danced.
    “ I pray in the church, I
come here to hear the voice of God,” D’ata answered.
    She seemed surprised and pleased at
his response. “And what does God tell you today?” she quipped as
they topped the little ridge and turned to lead the horse across
the meadow. She walked easily beside him, as her stride was almost
the same as