Page 61 of Besotted
I became conscious of ropes binding me so securely my feet and hands were numb. I was upon a horse, sitting sideways in front of a rider, and we were galloping at a punishing speed. The pounding of multiple hooves told me there were several horses.
What had happened?
The last thing I remembered was starting to cry and rushing off into the shrubs. Had someone snuck up behind me and knocked me over the head? If so, who? Wetness on my scalp and the sticking of my hair told me the hit had been hard enough to cause bleeding.
From the angle of my position in the saddle, I couldn’t see any of the other riders. But I could see that we were back in Inglewood Forest, the heathland nowhere in sight, not even through the distant trees.
How long had I been unconscious?
From the way the sunlight slanted through the branches overhead, I guessed ’twas afternoon, which meant many hours had passed since I’d been taken captive. Not only did my head ache from where I’d been hit, but my body was sore from the endless riding.
As the horse leaped over something and landed, I jostled against my captor. He was wearing a chain-mail hauberk and gauntlet gloves. He smelled of metal and horseflesh and seemed to take no care that I was sitting awkwardly in the saddle.
I stiffened and bumped the reins to get his attention. But he kicked his mount harder and lifted the reins away from my reach. I tried to speak but couldn’t utter a single coherent sound. I wiggled my hands and feet, but the rope cut into my flesh.
An eerie disquiet swelled within me. I’d been captured, bound, and taken away. Only one person would do this. The one person I’d been hiding from my entire life. Queen Margery.
Were these knights even now taking me to her? Riding overland into Warwick would likely take several days. If they were intent on delivering me to Queen Margery’s royal residence in Kensington, the journey would be even longer.
I strained to see the riders again, but the movement made my head throb. I wanted to release a frustrated cry. This was my fault. I shouldn’t have started weeping over Kresten, shouldn’t have been feeling sorry for myself, and shouldn’t have walked off. If I’d acted responsibly and maturely like a true queen, I wouldn’t have made myself such easy prey.
Now I needed to escape from my captors and find my way back to Chester. If I didn’t, I would face certain death. Unless...
What if I gave Queen Margery what she wanted—Mercia and the desire to reunite the country into Bryttania? I could relinquish my throne to her and put an end to the madness.
After all, I wasn’t sure I’d really make a good and wise queen, at least not one like my mother.
Could I bargain with Queen Margery? Tell her to send me far away to live in exile? In doing so, would I be able to find a way to reunite with Kresten and convince him to come with me?
Even as I entertained the possibility of a future with him, guilt pricked me. My desire for a simple life without riches and power couldn’t be considered selfish, could it? All I wanted was to be happy. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, was there?
Queen Margery was the selfish one, never satisfied, always seeking more. From everything I’d learned from Aunt Idony’s lessons as well as the news Chester brought back from the outside world, Warwick’s citizens had faced increasing poverty and hardship while the queen paraded around in lavish jewels.
The simple truth was, Queen Margery cared more for her own interests and gain than for those of the people.
Her own interests.
Would I be guilty of the same if I chose to abdicate Mercia’s throne and live as a common woman? Caring for my own interest rather than the interests of others? Thinking only of what I wanted and what was best for me instead of what was in the greatest good for my people?
Whether highborn and wealthy or lowborn and poor, the plague of selfishness could afflict us all. Was it possible, no matter our status, that we had to choose how to live? For ourselves or for others?
As much as I longed to embrace happiness with Kresten, a truth Aunt Idony had taught me from Scripture resounded in my head:“It is more blessed to give than to receive.”I might initially find contentment with Kresten, but in the long term, I would obtain more satisfaction giving of myself, my love, and even my life rather than clinging to my selfish desires.
Perhaps I wasn’t yet a strong queen. And perhaps I still had much to learn about my country and her people. Nonetheless, I couldn’t deny my birthright or the path God had bestowed upon me.
I closed my eyes and whispered a silent prayer for the strength and wisdom to somehow free myself from the danger I’d brought upon myself.
We rode until well over nightfall. By the time we stopped and my captor lowered me to the ground, I collapsed, unable to hold myself up. My bindings had chafed my wrists and ankles, causing my skin to blister and bleed. My mouth was parched, making me almost delirious for want of a drink. And my body was bruised so that I ached in every conceivable place.
I was too weary to take note of my surroundings, except that we’d come upon a camp with more soldiers and horses milling about. From the way the men greeted one another and the wary glances they cast my direction, I guessed these were more of Queen Margery’s men.
Though I was both cold and hungry, no one thought to position me by the blazing flames of a bonfire or give me a portion of the roasting game. From their callous treatment, they clearly had no incentive to treat me kindly, had likely been tasked to bring me before the queen alive and naught more.
When one of the soldiers finally untied my gag and tipped a cup of water to my lips, I drank greedily and to my fill. After I finished, he tied the gag back in place, but thankfully, it wasn’t as tight. I lowered myself into the dry leaves, exhaustion overtaking me.
Shouting awoke me. Before I could make sense of what was happening, one of the queen’s knights was yanking me to my feet. The camp was in a commotion, with men calling to one another and mounting their horses. A second later, I felt myself being lifted onto a saddle in front of a soldier. I couldn’t tell if this was the same knight as previously. All I knew was that I was weary, sore, and in more trouble than I’d ever been in before.
I should have used the break to attempt an escape, and I vowed to make a getaway at our next stop. That meant during this leg of the journey, I needed to wrestle more diligently to free my hands of the fastenings.
