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She'd been wandering for days, the food in her bags nearly empty. Having overheard her stepfather making plans to bind her to that old goat-looking noble in Great Town had her plotting her revenge for hours that night. Not even a real wife, she was to be second-spouse, lower stature, practically a mistress. Almost a servant, but she wouldn't even have the protection a servant would have had. She wouldn't have been paid like a servant, wouldn't have had protection from his fists or his whip or his men like a servant would have. No she would have had to submit both her body to his rutting and all her worldly goods to his coffers without word or whisper of complaint. All because she was legally a spouse.
Second-spouse, my ass" She had muttered to herself, packing away her mother's jewelry, her heaviest cloak, and her sturdiest clothes and boots. An earring here, to a servant girl to look the other way as Lisabet snuck down the back stairs and out of the building. A brooch there to the boy who took care of the horses, as together they got her settled on her mother's filly, a fine black steed with white marks on her forelegs. She would have given another earring to the cook, but the food came free with a hug and a pinched cheek from the woman who had known Liz since she'd been a babe.
And then she'd ridden, deep in the night while her stepfather was away to the village with some of his men, enjoying the money her family had earned, the money her mother's inheritance had given him. Her poor mother, dead only six months. Was it childbirth, or was it his fists that had brought her low? Lizabet had been away when her mother died, and only now the rumors of her mother's death were truly coming to light.
Fortunately she'd found a brook to travel beside, so water wasn't an issue. And that's where she was, huddled on a rock next to her horse with the reins in her hand and dragging her waterskin to fill it up again, when she thought she heard a noise. Liz looked up warily at the think green forest around her, saw nothing, then looked again. Was someone there?
Second-spouse, my ass" She had muttered to herself, packing away her mother's jewelry, her heaviest cloak, and her sturdiest clothes and boots. An earring here, to a servant girl to look the other way as Lisabet snuck down the back stairs and out of the building. A brooch there to the boy who took care of the horses, as together they got her settled on her mother's filly, a fine black steed with white marks on her forelegs. She would have given another earring to the cook, but the food came free with a hug and a pinched cheek from the woman who had known Liz since she'd been a babe.
And then she'd ridden, deep in the night while her stepfather was away to the village with some of his men, enjoying the money her family had earned, the money her mother's inheritance had given him. Her poor mother, dead only six months. Was it childbirth, or was it his fists that had brought her low? Lizabet had been away when her mother died, and only now the rumors of her mother's death were truly coming to light.
Fortunately she'd found a brook to travel beside, so water wasn't an issue. And that's where she was, huddled on a rock next to her horse with the reins in her hand and dragging her waterskin to fill it up again, when she thought she heard a noise. Liz looked up warily at the think green forest around her, saw nothing, then looked again. Was someone there?
