1523 Folkestone (Edited)

My body, which is suspended in the air, feels light as a feather. Below me, a poorly dressed man with sparse, greasy hair grins malevolently. His face is flush with victory, and the vultures which are perched on his shoulder share the same mischievous grin, revealing crooked black teeth. A flash of steel shoots forth from his chest, protruding at a strange angle. Instantly, red blood pools where the weapon had pierced through. His face reveals his shock, swiftly changing to anguish, as pain flares through his body. His blood spills onto the floor. "Witch."

I hear screaming. It takes me a moment to realize it is my own shrill cries which bring me back from the nightmare. I open my eyes, startled, and I am greeted with the surprisingly bright light of day. I blink several times to adjust to its glare. It was not a nightmare of my own creation, but a memory, which will forever be imprinted into my mind.

I can hear a loud mumble of voices rising from the floor below me, combined with the sweet smells of freshly baked food. An inn or a friendly family, I suspect, have given me hospitality.

I pull back the woolen blanket, slipping my bare legs over the side of the bed. I am not wearing my dress; its silky green bodice has been removed, leaving me in my chemise, which barely reaches my knees. Blushing, I smooth out the creases. Someone must have undressed me while I was out cold. I can only hope it was someone respectable: a suitable maid or a woman of note.

Unsure what to do, I pace the room until I eventually return to the bed. I must go downstairs, but dare not. A modest lady does not go strolling around with her legs on show. If my mother saw me now, she would have a fainting spell. I have made such a mess of it already;;if anyone sees me here, I will never get close to the King. I feel exhausted.

Then I remember everything—the knight, the old man . . . my powers . . .

A smile crosses my face at the realization that it had saved my life. But it quickly turns into a frown, because I then recall that it had also taken a life in turn. At least I can be certain that my mother spoke true about our family inheritance, but it is so unused, unpracticed and dangerous. It is to be used sparingly and wisely.

If there was ever a reason to use magic, then that was it. That man had wished to defile my body, or maybe do something possibly worse. The king of England would never lay with a woman who had been defiled by a dirty peasant. I would have been sent back home, broken, used, and useless to my mother. I will not feel guilty for using my powers. It was my reputation, my life, against that of a thief, rapist, or worse, a murderer.

"Hello, dear," someone says with enthusiasm. I jump slightly at the sound, too caught up in my own thoughts to notice the door open. The owner of the voice is a short, squat woman. "We thought you would be asleep for longer, you have had a rough night by all accounts," she says.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask.

"Not long enough. You need rest; it is only mid-day and God only knows the time you two came through my door last night."

The squat Serving Lady looks me up and down, clearly searching for distress. She will be wondering what has happened. No doubt I had been carried in by my knight, probably covered in mud, filth and blood. She had some sense to her, though, sensing my wealth underneath the dirt, or she would have sent us both on our way, if she had thought we were anything less but rich.

I run my fingers through my hair. It has been brushed and cleaned. My skin is clean too; it seems the maids or the serving lady must have washed me with warm rags. She would clearly be expecting some reward for her hospitality.

"Are you well?" The lady asks.

"I am perfectly fine. I would like to thank you for your kindness," I reply.

"It was an honor to be able to help. If I can assist you in anything else, let me know; you will see it done," she says.

"Is my knight safe and well?" I ask.

"Your knight . . . do you mean the steward who carried you in last night?" I nod.

"He is downstairs. Would you like me to send for him?" She looks at me, eyeing my state of dress. "Or perhaps, you would like to change and attend him downstairs?"

"Yes, I suppose that would be best," I reply.

The squat lady returns swiftly with my riding dress, which, even though free of filth, is stained. She picks up on my hesitance to don the dress, so she quickly offers me a less glorious dress.

I lift the cotton dress over my body, and frown as the material scratches my skin. I look at the woman holding my discarded garment tightly to hand. Silk is expensive, no matter how damaged. I can see her possessive hold and I know she does not expect to return it. If not for my noble expectations, I would've taken it back.

"Your steward is waiting downstairs for you, My Lady," she says quickly.

Smoothing over my new dress, I look at myself critically. It does not matter that I now wear cotton, for as soon as we arrive at my sisters', I will be able to change. My wardrobe from France will be waiting for me, if it hadn't been misplaced as well.

The stair creaks. It feels unsteady beneath my feet as I descend. A flush of embarrassment makes my cheeks flame. I have had plenty of time to contemplate while getting dressed. I know the attack on the road was my fault. I had not heeded my knight's advice, and above that, had been rude and un-lady like towards him.

He is still a stranger to me. By his voice and stance I know he is a young man in his prime. I have done nothing but show him a stupid french girl, who has no clue how to act in a different realm. I am foolish. The thought of seeing him deepens my blush. I have only a moment to compose myself, for the stairs are sharp and short. My feet touch the last step and I am already in the hallway. The knight has sat on one of the benches, however, he is longer wearing his visored bascinet, and if it were not for the rest of his armor, I would not have recognized him.

His hair is a light shade of brown, which curls down to his eyebrows. His skin is unblemished, except for a small scar which runs across one cheek and to the stubble which covers his chin and upper lip.

A cough from the serving lady breaks my trance, and I move to sit next to him.

"I trust she has seen to all your needs?" He asks politely. "For obvious reasons I was ushered out of the room until you awoke."

I nod. "She has been very attentive to me. Are you well?" I eye him for injury.

"They did not know how to use the weapons they stole. Can you ride today?" He asks.

"I believe so." I look across into his deep, hazel eyes. I can not help but feel flutters in my chest. He is a true knight of tales old. I look away from his penetrating gaze. "Let's make haste," I say quickly.

He nods in agreement, moving swiftly towards the stables, a purpose in his stride. I leave him to prepare the horses while I offer a gift of coins to the serving lady. She was wise enough not to ask any more questions. She accepts the gesture in thanks.