my situation, they hid it well, showing me their caring with smiles and kindness.
It was hard to stay frightened all the time.
The dragons were waiting, I knew, and I wondered what, if anything, the beasts thought. My thoughts veered to them more and more often, not out of self-pity but from true curiosity about those huge creatures. I knew next to nothing about them. I didn’t know where they came from or how long they stayed. Ever since Frederick’s ending remark that I would “die a virgin,” I wondered about the dragons and myself.
Did dragons prefer virgins? It did bring up questions. There was the book hidden away in my saddle bags. I wondered if those ancient pages answered any of these questions. Part of me wanted to know and part wished to remain ignorant.
During the days when the sun was up and the morning was soft with dew, I could escape and pretend I was on a lovely jaunt into the woods.
Mostly, I watched the sky, patted my horse, sang little songs in my head, and observed the exchanges between the men. Each evening around the camp’s fire, the whines of the cicadas harmonized with the snorting, spitting and snoring of the men. Their risqué jokes had me laughing aloud as we sat eating our evening meal. Lucinda glared at them but they were unrepentant.
I told no one of my nights when all my terrors surrounded me. Sleep would come and with it dreams of sharp, tearing teeth and claws. I would awake sweating and trembling, my breath coming fast and hard as if I had been running. I would cradle the pawn my father had given me; smooth out my official signed documents; and try to envision a different end game. But the dreams kept coming and I would greet daybreak with the joy of one for whom a pardon is received moments before the executioner raises his axe.
--
I was lost in thought when Captain Markus called a halt to rest the horses. The afternoon sun was scurrying westward. A beautiful meadow, strewn with orange and purple wild flowers, stretched out before us.
I dismounted and handed Winter’s reins to Jeremy. Lucinda clambered off her horse, landing heavily with a nasty twist to her ankle. She shrugged aside Malcolm and Douglas’ offers of help and went on about her duties, cooking supper, laying out my supplies while the men set up camp. I sat stitching my embroidery as Lucinda limped by.
At our evening meal, she hobbled over with my meal: some unfortunate rabbit one of the men had shot, together with a lovely fresh trout. Not royal fare, but truly wonderful after a full day in the saddle.
I put my plate down, observing my entourage. How could I have overlooked this? They were also tired and hungry. I noticed Malcolm, bedding down Winter and Dumpling, and Michael’s weary yawn as he went about setting up my tent.
Lucinda hobbled back with the tea kettle. "Sit down," I said. “You need to rest.”
She shrugged, pushing a mug of tea into my hand and made her way back to the fire. I got up and followed her. Enough. No longer would I sit as if behind canopied stands. This, for now, was my life.
“You’ll do me no good if you don’t take care of yourself.” I practically dragged Lucinda to the side of the fire and sat her on a log, propping her leg up. “Sit here and rest. Tomorrow, well, we’ll see,” I said. She shook her head impatiently and started to get up again.
I placed my hand on her shoulder. “No, truly, I wish you to rest. This is only the beginning of the wilderness. You must heal so that when I need you—and I will—I can count on your strength.” She relented then, her face ash-white with pain.
I poured her a cup of tea from the kettle, burning my finger in the process.
By the next morning, Lucinda’s ankle had swollen up like a gourd. Captain Markus examined it, declaring it a bad sprain but nothing more. I rose early, restless, and yet more awake then I had ever been. I stirred the fire and put on a kettle of water as I had seen the men do. Lucinda limped over,
It was hard to stay frightened all the time.
The dragons were waiting, I knew, and I wondered what, if anything, the beasts thought. My thoughts veered to them more and more often, not out of self-pity but from true curiosity about those huge creatures. I knew next to nothing about them. I didn’t know where they came from or how long they stayed. Ever since Frederick’s ending remark that I would “die a virgin,” I wondered about the dragons and myself.
Did dragons prefer virgins? It did bring up questions. There was the book hidden away in my saddle bags. I wondered if those ancient pages answered any of these questions. Part of me wanted to know and part wished to remain ignorant.
During the days when the sun was up and the morning was soft with dew, I could escape and pretend I was on a lovely jaunt into the woods.
Mostly, I watched the sky, patted my horse, sang little songs in my head, and observed the exchanges between the men. Each evening around the camp’s fire, the whines of the cicadas harmonized with the snorting, spitting and snoring of the men. Their risqué jokes had me laughing aloud as we sat eating our evening meal. Lucinda glared at them but they were unrepentant.
I told no one of my nights when all my terrors surrounded me. Sleep would come and with it dreams of sharp, tearing teeth and claws. I would awake sweating and trembling, my breath coming fast and hard as if I had been running. I would cradle the pawn my father had given me; smooth out my official signed documents; and try to envision a different end game. But the dreams kept coming and I would greet daybreak with the joy of one for whom a pardon is received moments before the executioner raises his axe.
--
I was lost in thought when Captain Markus called a halt to rest the horses. The afternoon sun was scurrying westward. A beautiful meadow, strewn with orange and purple wild flowers, stretched out before us.
I dismounted and handed Winter’s reins to Jeremy. Lucinda clambered off her horse, landing heavily with a nasty twist to her ankle. She shrugged aside Malcolm and Douglas’ offers of help and went on about her duties, cooking supper, laying out my supplies while the men set up camp. I sat stitching my embroidery as Lucinda limped by.
At our evening meal, she hobbled over with my meal: some unfortunate rabbit one of the men had shot, together with a lovely fresh trout. Not royal fare, but truly wonderful after a full day in the saddle.
I put my plate down, observing my entourage. How could I have overlooked this? They were also tired and hungry. I noticed Malcolm, bedding down Winter and Dumpling, and Michael’s weary yawn as he went about setting up my tent.
Lucinda hobbled back with the tea kettle. "Sit down," I said. “You need to rest.”
She shrugged, pushing a mug of tea into my hand and made her way back to the fire. I got up and followed her. Enough. No longer would I sit as if behind canopied stands. This, for now, was my life.
“You’ll do me no good if you don’t take care of yourself.” I practically dragged Lucinda to the side of the fire and sat her on a log, propping her leg up. “Sit here and rest. Tomorrow, well, we’ll see,” I said. She shook her head impatiently and started to get up again.
I placed my hand on her shoulder. “No, truly, I wish you to rest. This is only the beginning of the wilderness. You must heal so that when I need you—and I will—I can count on your strength.” She relented then, her face ash-white with pain.
I poured her a cup of tea from the kettle, burning my finger in the process.
By the next morning, Lucinda’s ankle had swollen up like a gourd. Captain Markus examined it, declaring it a bad sprain but nothing more. I rose early, restless, and yet more awake then I had ever been. I stirred the fire and put on a kettle of water as I had seen the men do. Lucinda limped over,
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