Belinda: A Maiden of the Early 1300's

Journeying

At the top of the high hill behind Shelburne Castle, almost at the edge of the farthest field, Belinda paused for one last, long look at the keep that had been her entire world for her whole life. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Belinda turned and walked on.

The road ran nearly parallel along a ridge at the top of that high hill behind Shelburne Castle for a while before slowly descending. Belinda had rather expected to travel on a hard-packed, dirt track as she did in the village but the road degenerated into a wide clearing cut through the trees, mostly overgrown with grass and weeds.

Belinda had no doubt that if any other travelers happened upon her, she had but to crouch down behind a bush at the edge of the forest and allow those weeds to hide her.

When the sun was fully up, Belinda allowed herself a handful of grain to munch on. There were still berries growing along the roadsides and the first hips showed on wild rosebushes. Belinda nibbled at these as she walked.

Her skirts were wetted by the dew, her shoes soon soaked through but Belinda decided that the discomfort of wet shoes and clinging hemlines was preferable to the idea of marrying her mother's lover. The sword grew heavy and Belinda's bag dug into her shoulders but still, these discomforts were minor in Belinda's way of thinking, certainly not enough to force her return to Sir Crandall's attentions!

A lone horse's hoof-beats thudded dully behind her, so Belinda crouched down under a bush beside the road with her cloak slung over her. Two wet spots worked into where her knees pressed her skirts into the ground, thorns dug into her from the briars, her back stiffened in the uncomfortable position but Belinda ignored the sensations.

Only when Belinda no longer heard anything of the other traveler did she allow herself to rise and stretched the kinks out of her back, then continued on her way, picking stray thorns from the weave of her cloak. The sun rose above the trees, dispelling the morning chill. Her skirts dried, leaving two brown mud spots where her knees were.

It wasn't long before the lone horseman returned. Belinda had no time to hide before he espied her, so she adjusted her cloak to hide her face and bent over, hoping the bag slung over her shoulders would disguise her shape, that her mud-stained skirts would appear appropriately peasant-like.

"You there!" He stopped his horse just before her but Belinda kept walking, forcing him to turn his horse and accompany her. "That cloak is stolen from Shelburne Castle. I suggest you return it before the owner sees you hanged."

"And how do you know the cloak is stolen?" she demanded. Belinda raised her head and quickened her pace, her spine stiff with ire. Keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her, Belinda didn't bother to look and see who addressed her. "I myself spun the thread and wove it into cloth," she bit out. "It was my hand that sewed the hems and threaded the ties while my lady mistress embroidered her precious tapestries, so you tell me to whom this cloak belongs!"

"Maid Belinda! I must beg your pardon for my harsh condemnation. I well know who fashioned your cloak," the knight agreed, his tone softening. "And I would know that weave anywhere for I wear the same. It is a weave that I dare say you bestowed on me with your own hand." He paused, obviously trying to decide how to proceed.

Though mollified, Belinda kept walking, determined to escape her mother's clutches. At least she needn't hide her face anymore, Belinda decided as she allowed the hood to fall from her head. "Milady is a far way from her home," the knight observed from his high perch atop the destrier. "Have you a destination in mind?"

"My father's brother resides in Carleigh. I intend to find sanctuary with him." Belinda made her tone conversational, though she was well aware that if the knight decided to return her to her mother, there would be little she could do about it.