by Shea,Lisa
Eagerly, she ran forward to grab up the bread and cheese, eating it with a fury. She had not consumed anything since early the previous day and found she was ravenous. She gulped down the ale, then returned to her station. Time would tell what the kidnappers wanted. Until then, she would have to wait, and be ready.
The day drew by slowly, and she passed the time by doing exercises against the wall, stretching her arms and legs in regular cycles. There might be a chance for escape, no matter how slim, and she knew she had to keep her strength at its peak in order to take advantage of even the slightest opportunity.
She went around the room once an hour, pulling at the stones, twisting at the bars, peering up the fireplace, diligent in her search for an escape. Twilight began to dim the room, and yet nobody had come to talk with her, to take away the plate. Soon, exhaustion overtook her and she collapsed on her mat, the blanket curled up tightly around her.
The next day dawned in grey turmoil, storm clouds gathering outside her window. Constance tried to shrug off the ill omen, but her heart sank. They obviously knew who she was. Surely the ransom demands would have been sent immediately on her capture; the kidnappers would want their money as soon as possible. Had they really asked for so much that her family could not instantly provide it?
She ate the food when it was brought, did her hourly cycles of exercise, and searched vainly in the forest for any sign of life, any indication of a landmark. The day drifted by in long languor, and she found her hand moving to press at the medallion beneath her thin chemise, drawing hope and strength from it. Someone would come for her. She knew it. Still, it was a long time after dusk before she managed to fall asleep.
When she woke to the grey, misty morning, she felt a moment of panic. Had it been two days since she had been captured, or three? She sat counting out the events in her mind, reassuring herself that it was now the third day. Still, the thought that she could so quickly lose track of time unnerved her greatly. The chamber pot had been emptied sometime in the night, and the food dish removed. There were two protruding handles on the chamber pot. Carefully, gently, she wedged one of the handles into a corner of the room, pressing against the body until the handle came off with a sharp snap in her hands. A small thrill of victory coursed through her. She moved over to where her thin mat lay, and lifted up a corner. Carefully she scratched out three long stripes on the stone beneath the mat, and secreted the handle there as well. She pressed her hand against her pendant for a long while, drawing strength from its presence. Then her food was brought, and her daily routine began.
Another dawning of gloom and bleakness. Another line joining the others in her daily count. She found herself standing by the open window for long hours, staring out at the freedom beyond the barred walls. Surely by now Barnard or Charles would have raised the ransom money and would be bringing it here to exchange for her. She tried to visualize it in her mind, tried to will it into being.
A goldfinch called out in the forest, and suddenly it was not Barnard she was visualizing. It was as if the six years had not passed, as if she was still sixteen, and the Beadnell fair had just begun …
Constance smiled, sure she could see her own reflection in the bright eyes of the goldfinch, the dollop of sunlight singing fiercely from within its wicker cage. She turned to Gabriel, and only half jested when she asked, “Should we free the poor thing? Surely she would rather be soaring in the sky on this beautiful day!”
“If that truly is your wish …” offered Gabriel with a gentle smile, his eyes twinkling. “I would be more than happy to oblige.”
The elderly stall owner turned at that, his wrinkled face lighting up. “Ah, not to worry,” he reassured them in a creaky voice. “If I were to try to keep her alone for too long, she would die from loneliness. You see up there?” He pointed to the top of a nearby oak tree, and Constance turned to follow his outstretched finger. To her surprise there was a glow of gold in the top branches, and the grizzled man chuckled again. “Yes, he will stay there all fair long, keeping an eye on her, making sure she is all right. When the fair is through, I will release her again, and nature’s balance will be restored.”
Constance found herself pouting. “But if you are going to release her, why cage her in the first place?”
The shopkeep smiled more broadly, waving his hand with a flourish. “I have far more visitors stop to examine my goods with this pretty thing on the corner of my table,” he admitted with a rusty laugh. “And besides, perhaps she appreciates her true love more after they are apart for a while. I could be helping things along!” He gave her a wink. “In any case, lass, the sooner I sell my wares, the sooner I free the little creature. Might you be interested in a ribbon or two?”
Constance laughed out loud at that, and in a moment she had chosen three long ribbons to bring back for the cook’s daughter, handing a coin to the shopkeep with a smile.
She turned from the stall, and the tumult of the fair swept over her in a fresh wave. There was so much to see! The music of the singers, the loud laughter of the crowd filled Constance’s ears as she pressed merrily through the throng. She loved going to the fair each year, sampling the wares of the vendors, shopping for new fabrics, for jewelry and carvings and clothes. Gabriel strolled along beside her, his face relaxed and content. There was little danger here, and it was a chance for them to be together away from the prying eyes of the keep.
She nudged into him in delight, and his mouth softened into a smile as he looked down at her.
“I am famished!” she cried out as they passed a table sporting an assortment of baked pastries. Gabriel stopped to talk with the rotund woman who manned the counter, picking out a selection of hot cross buns for the two of them. Constance’s eyes were caught by a flash of silver – ahead of them a booth provided a selection of necklaces and pendants laid out on a black velvet table. She pressed ahead through the mob to take a look.
There were golden chains, silver crosses, Celtic rounds, French beadwork … her eyes flitted from item to item, enjoying the fresh sunshine of the day. The slick haired man behind the booth smiled but said nothing, content to let her browse at her leisure. Constance looked up and down each row, appreciating the quality of the selection but not quite finding anything which spoke to her.
And then – there it was. At the end of one of the rows, a round pewter pendant, perhaps two inches in diameter. It was a Celtic dragon. She sensed somehow that it was female – perhaps by the curled scales, perhaps by the gentle look to her face. The dragon gazed off to one side, smoke lazily tracing from her nose. The image seemed both protective and peaceful, and Constance wondered what the creature was looking at. She picked up the pendant, turning it over in her hand. On the back was one word in Latin. Amor.
Constance smiled. She knew that word.
Love.
She felt a presence behind her, and turned to find Gabriel standing next to her. He was staring down at the pendant with a sharp focus.
“Oh, Gabe, it is lovely!” Constance cried out, turning it in her fingers. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
Gabriel shook himself and looked up at the dark-haired merchant. “How much for the necklace?” he asked, his voice low.
The merchant smiled at the couple genially. “That is quite a unique piece, is it not?” he suggested in agreement. “I have not found another pendant like it in all of my years. It looks to be one of a kind, although of the style usually done in pairs. This is a treasure to last a lifetime. I will part with it for only … five pounds.”
Constance’s mouth fell open in shock. “Five pounds? I could buy a fine sword, complete with engravings, with that kind of money.” She moved to put the pendant back down on the table.
“Done,” stated Gabriel firmly, pulling out his pouch.
Constance saw the merchant’s eyes light up with avarice. “No,” she protested, putting a hand on Gabriel’s arm. “It is far too much. Besides, you are supposed to haggle!”
Gabriel did no
t slow in his motions, drawing out the coins. He handed them over to the merchant, who counted them with delight. In a moment Gabriel had the necklace in his hands, lifting the long, slim leather loop toward her.
Constance was too surprised to speak as Gabriel slowly lowered the pendant over her head, pressing the medallion in place over her chest.
“This is a guardian symbol,” he murmured, looking up from where the dragon hung. “She will watch over you when I cannot.”
Constance gazed at the image, marveling in its beauty. She noticed with a smile that the dragon was looking to the right – looking to where Gabriel stood at her side. Impulsively, she turned to give him a warm hug in thanks. He glanced around instinctively, then relaxed against her, drawing her in against his body. She felt his head nuzzle down into her hair for a long moment, and then he gently pressed her away again.
“If anyone deserves to wear this, you do,” he added hoarsely, looking down at her with tenderness. Then, giving himself a small shake, he reached into his bag, drawing out the hot buns, and the two began to walk down the fairground aisle, the noise and bustle of passers-by surrounding them.
The dragon was hidden beneath her chemise now, but she knew every corner of her face, every swirl of smoke by heart. She had never removed the medallion from her neck since he placed it there that afternoon. It had been beneath her chemise on her handfasting day, had comforted her on the long nights after the loss of her children. It would keep her strong here in her captivity, until she became free again. She knew it was only a matter of time. She would remain ready.
Day five … day six. She became thankful for her scratched lines, for her only link to time passing. Nothing else changed in her world. There was no sound from the outside, no movement in the forest, no sense that the world was revolving and continuing outside her cell. She began to wonder not when someone would pay for her release, but what would happen to her if nobody did. Would her captors keep feeding her forever? Would the food stop arriving at some point, leaving her to starve in this room? She could not afford to ponder that alternative. She needed to keep up her hopes, her strength. Something would happen to break this monotony.
She had become so accustomed to the silence by the end of a week that she began hearing things. She was convinced she saw shadowy figures in the trees, heard horses rustling through the dense leaves. She called out until she was hoarse, until her throat ached with raw pain. There was no change, no alteration of the sun’s slow progress across her worn floor, the absence of voice, of humanity …
Constance was jolted from a deep, dreamless sleep. It was pitch black, and she found herself being roughly dragged across rocky dirt. There was a sharp pain in her hand, and she realized she held the pottery shard in a tight grip. She looked up to see a starry sky, and she cried out in surprise. A fist landed hard across her face, and she shrunk back, dazed with pain. In a moment she was roughly flung into a wooden wagon. Two men climbed in after her, pressing her down into a bed of hay, pulling a grimy rag of fabric across her mouth to muffle her voice. One man drew out a sharp dagger and pressed it against her neck. She froze at once. Gabriel and Ralph had both taught her evasions from a hold, but she was far too weak, far too outnumbered to try. It was best to bide her time, to wait for a better opportunity.
The miles rolled by at a quick pace. Constance did her utmost to watch the passing road, to glance at the stars to get a bearing of where she was going. It seemed that they were moving north, but beyond that nothing looked even remotely familiar.
At least they were on the move. Perhaps her ransom had been paid! The kidnappers could be bringing her to safety! She clung to that hope with all her might, bringing a hand up to press against the dragon for good luck. Her ordeal would soon be coming to an end.
It seemed several long, dark hours later before she was wheeled toward a large stone structure. It appeared to be a ruined tower. She had never seen it before, and wondered where they could possibly be. The two men grabbed her roughly by the arms and began dragging her toward the building.
The main hall was small by her standards, and poorly kept. A rotting pile of kitchen scraps moldered in one corner, and the few tapestries which hung on the walls were frayed and threadbare. Several lit torches flickered in sconces on the walls. For the first time, she was able to see something of the men who were holding her. They were rough cut and dressed in grungy clothes. The taller of the pair had salt and pepper bristly hair. She realized with a start that he was one of the men who had dragged her from bed at the tavern – who had slain her guards. Constance gave a shiver at the thought.
He spoke in a low, surly growl. “Where do you want her, Mark?” he asked, maintaining a tight grasp on her arm.
Constance glanced up. A man was coming toward them, his red hair gathered in tight curls around his head. It was the other partner in the kidnapping. In the light of the room she could see a thin scar tracing its way down his cheek. His body was layered in black leather. He ran his eyes up and down Constance’s body in slow appreciation.
Constance blushed at the appraisal, but the men at her side held her arms fast, preventing her from covering herself. She wore only the thin chemise she had been captured in, and she knew it did little to hide her shape from view.
“There is no need to rush,” murmured Mark with a grin, stepping toward her slowly. He reached out a hand, and Constance reacted on instinct. She tore a hand free and slapped Mark across the face.
His response was immediate – he hit her a resounding blow on the temple which dropped her to her knees and sent her head ringing. She was hauled back up by the two men at her side.
“Careful there, lass,” warned Mark with heat. “The rules have changed. You will be with us for a long time. You had best learn to behave.”
Constance’s head was throbbing with pain, but worse was the stab in her heart as she heard these words. How long could she last in the grasp of men such as these? Her pride burned bright within her and she pulled herself upright. She would hold out as long as she could. She threw her head back and looked to meet Mark’s gaze, not willing to show her fear before these men.
Mark reached out a hand toward her face, then his eyes lit up and he slowly traced his hand down her cheek to her neck. Constance held herself rigid beneath his touch. If he thought he would have a docile victim because of one blow, he would learn his lesson soon enough. She’d had far more bruising in her workouts with Gabriel or Ralph. She held her knee at the ready …
All of a sudden Mark’s fingers tightened, then yanked, and Constance felt a searing pain along both sides of her neck. She fell back, gasping, feeling the blood begin to drip down from the wounds. It did not matter – the only thing that mattered was that Mark now held her pendant in his hands, his eyes alight with interest.
“No!” pleaded Constance, her heart shattering in unbelieving shock. She had worn her guardian dragon for years – it could not leave her now! Not when she needed it most!
Mark smiled with greed, spinning the pendant around in his fingers. “Oh, our master will be very pleased with this prize,” he chuckled to the other guards. Glancing up, he nodded off-handedly to the men. “Put her downstairs in one of the cells, Jacob” he added dismissively. “I will get to her later.” Still staring at the pewter pendant he turned on his heel and left the room.
Constance almost did not feel the ground beneath her feet, did not sense the ever dimming surroundings as the men half carried, half dragged her down a set of stairs into a damp, mold-smelling area. She was flung against a pile of musty hay, into a room which was completely dark, and a door was slammed shut on her. She curled up into a ball in the blackness, holding her hand firmly against the empty place at her chest, finally allowing herself to weep in despair.
***
Constance woke with a start, her body curled in a tight ball on the corner of her mat. It had been four days – or was it five … six … since arriving at this dark prison. A lone torch flickered outside her room, g
iving no sense of day or night. Food was brought at seemingly random intervals, the greasy fare nauseating. Was it feeding time again? She felt torn between gnawing hunger and a sense that she could not down another mouthful of the sickening gruel.
There was no sound at all coming from outside her cell door. No guard moved down the stairs at a slow, regular pace, no creaking told of a door opening slightly to admit food. There was not even the scurrying of mice from nearby grain stores. It was as if the world held its breath.
Constance remained perfectly still, every sense stretched to its limit. Something had pulled her from her haven of sleep. Her ears ached from the absolute silence. It was as if nothing existed outside of her four stone walls. It was as if she did not exist.
Still … there was a sound. A faint scratching. Sharp, distant … the sound of metal on metal. No, not a scratching. More of a clanging. The noise began to grow louder …
Constance struggled to a sitting position, putting her back against the corner of the room, pulling her knees in tightly against her. That was sword fighting she was hearing, coming from the far reaches of the keep. She swept her hand beneath the mat to come up with the handle of the pot, worn to sharpness from her hours of rubbing it against the stone floor. This could be friend or foe who approached. If it was a rival within the bandit group, she might remember her times in this cell with fondness.
She wrapped both arms around her knees, clenching the weapon in her right hand, and waited. She could see nothing, but with her ears she traced the progress of the invaders as they slowly, inexorably worked their way in past the outer walls. She heard men’s shouts, calling for reinforcements, cursing their opponents. No footsteps came running in her direction to move her. So it was not Barnard’s forces, then, launching this assault. If it had been, she had no doubt that she would be brought out instantly by the bandits as a bargaining tool. Her blood ran cold. There was nobody to protect her now from the rival bandits that approached. She remained alone, tensely curled up, waiting …