One of the men upfront turned in his saddle and shouted to the rest.
“We’ll halt a while here.”
Ariana tried to blink away her tears as her cob was led from the path into a small copse of tall trees. Around her, the men dismounted heavily, talking in low voices and swigging from leather pouches of wine. She was ignored, but that was better than the alternative. Her horse lowered its head to crop at the fresh grass and she sat silently, a mere passenger, her senses growing dull from weariness and sorrow.
Minutes passed. The sun was rising in earnest now, casting a rosy glow over the forest of Kenmar. Ariana was not familiar with every acre of her father’s lands; but this part she recognized as a favorite haunt of the druids. Fluttering, faded ribbons around an overhead branch confirmed her suspicions. She had played here as a child, picking berries and climbing trees, happy to be away from the disapproving glare of the Kenmar court. The recent rain cast a shimmering hue of moisture over the canopy of leaves overhead. Before her tired eyes, the greenery seemed to dance in the morning light.
She risked a glance back to her tormentors, who had now formed a tight little group and were talking avidly, taking regular swigs of rich wine and wiping away the residue with calloused hands. The air smelled fresh and clean, suddenly full of tantalizing possibilities.
She could urge her horse onwards. They would be gone in minutes. Mayhap these rough, untrained soldiers would fail to find her amongst the maze of trees and thick gorse. She could make her way to the druid camp and seek shelter there. Thepossibility of escape seized her by the throat, she must take her chance.
Cautiously, she nudged the cobb with her stockinged heels, her lips pressed together as she silently cursed her impractical attire. Her pattens had long since slipped off her feet and the animal’s coarse hair made him less responsive to her cues, especially when he was grazing so determinedly. Greatly daring, she risked a sharp kick, gratified when the horse raised his head, pricked his ears, and launched forward into the undergrowth.
Her heart pounded so loudly she feared her captors would hear as they made lurching progress beneath the trees. She ducked forward over the horse’s neck, wincing as water droplets fell down her neck, yet rejoicing at the realistic possibility of freedom. No shouts of warning came from the slovenly soldiers; they had not yet noticed their prisoner’s absence. All she needed was a little more time.
A flock of crows took flight, squawking and flapping their wings. Her horse shied to the side, nearly throwing her from the saddle, but worst of all was the cry that went up from the copse.
“She’s gone.”
Frantically, she urged the horse forward with her legs, having no recourse to use her hands or her voice. The animal broke into a trot and she pressed herself against his hairy neck, fearful of the branches whipping past her head. Her cloak snagged on a bramble, and she heard a tear as the fabric ripped. But the cloak was thick and sturdy, it did not give easily enough, and the next moment Ariana found herself pulled backwards in the saddle. Had she been holding the reins, she could have righted herself easily enough, but with her hands tied behind her, the small pull of resistance was enough to unseat her. With a muffled shout of alarm, she tumbled from the horse’s back into the sharp prickles of a gorse bush.
Pain ripped through her cheek and wrists, and the sting of blood mixed with the salt of her tears as she struggled to her feet. She could still escape. It might even be easier on foot. She could run and hide, fling herself into a ditch and cover her cloak with dried leaves as she’d known the druids to do. She darted forward, unsteady with her hands still bound, and wincing at the sharp press of twigs beneath her feet. She spun around the trunk of a mighty tree and barreled straight into the unyielding chest of one of her captors.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled back her head, leering down at her. She smelled the sourness of his breath as her mind raced for a way to escape his clutches. But it was no good; he held her in a vice-like grip, she’d be a fool to struggle against him.
Instead, she forced herself to be still, raising her head and meeting his eyes. She mumbled through the dirty rag, knowing he wouldn’t understand her.
“I’ve got her,” he shouted back towards the copse. “What will we do with her?” he enquired, as one-by-one his fellow soldiers trooped towards them.
“Put her back on the horse,” said the man she’d identified as their ringleader.
“The horse has gone,” replied her captor.
Ariana held onto hope that they may yet remove the filthy rag from her mouth, to hear her side of the story, but they had little interest in conversing with her. All they cared about was transporting her back to Kenmar like a haul of timber. She’d already decided to blame her horse. She would claim it had carried her off into the trees, with her unable to either change its path or sound an alert. But her excuse was unnecessary. She had no more autonomy than a dull, senseless animal.
The ringleader swore, then spit on the damp ground. “She’ll have to come up with me then.” He took a step closer, and shecouldn’t help flinching away from the strong, unwashed aroma wafting from him. “I’ll keep a tight hold of you, milady.”
Guffaws of laughter greeted his words. Ariana found herself with a strong man at either side of her, gripped by the arms and all but carried back through the forest to the waiting horses. They made short work of throwing her up onto the ringleader’s saddle. Her skirts rose up around her thighs, scarcely covered by the torn cloak, but there was nothing she could do about it. The soldier hauled himself up behind her, clamping an iron arm around her waist and breathing hard onto her neck.
“Don’t try anything else, Lady Ariana,” he whispered menacingly. “I’ve never yet had a countess.” His other hand danced a deliberate path upwards from her knee and Ariana knew a further clutch of fear as his dirty fingers wandered beneath the hem of her gown. “We’ve had orders to deliver you unharmed, as far as possible. But who’s to say what’s possible all the way out here?” More tears seeped from the corner of her eyes, but thankfully the man removed his hand to snatch at the reins. “Let’s go,” he called to his men, and they set off at a canter towards the sloping path leading out of the forest towards the castle of Kenmar.
*
Ten days later…
“My lady, youmust eat something.”
Ariana forced open her eyes, dimly recognizing the small, stout figure of Chiara, the castle cook, at the foot of her bed.
“I’m not hungry,” she croaked through dry lips. It was true, the very idea of food made her stomach churn and she’d had nothing to break her fast even though the sun was high in thesky, casting determined pools of light into her narrow, cheerless childhood bedchamber.
Chiara wrung her hands in her stained apron, tutting loudly. “But you’ve hardly eaten a thing since coming here. And you always had such a healthy appetite as a child.”
Ariana forced herself onto her elbows, blinking in the dappled sunlight filtering through the shutters. The chamber was bare save her narrow bed, a singular wooden closet, a rickety nightstand and a footstool pulled up near the window. “You speak as if I am a guest,” she grumbled, shielding her eyes as she accidentally moved into a burst of light. “Close the shutters more firmly, please Chiara.” She couldn’t bear to glimpse the outside world and know that life was carrying on beyond these cold walls.
“I will not.” Chiara stood up tall, letting her apron fall to her sides. “It’s not right, you up here all alone in the darkness, sending back every plate of food barely touched. You’ll fall ill.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Ariana sank back onto the thin mattress; the small effort of conversation having exhausted her strength. “It is probably what my father wishes, truth be told.”
