The oars cut through the water as the executioner pushed and pulled them closer to the small island in the middle of the lake. Milady shivered in her thin, white chemise and the early october morning wasn't entirely to blame. Four men were vanishing into the mists behind them; her jury and executioners but hardly her peers. Not one of them was qualified to judge her guilt. Only the silent man in the boat could accuse her lawfully, but even he didn't know the full story. In her short 25 years, she'd wracked up quite a debt and if there was a God she would have much to answer for. But, then, if there had been a God she would never have gone so far.
When she'd been a child, her faith was unflinching. Her father had told her there was a God and that he would protect them always. This was more than enough reason for her and she'd spent many hours in prayer for her family and neighbors. But her Father's God had not protected him in the King's war and he'd not tilled the fields in his absence and he hadn't heard her prayers when her mother's new husband had forced his way into her room.
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