The bells would be tolling soon, and then there would be nothing that could be done. If she were going to make her move, now was the time. She knew this, and yet, she stood, petrified.
There was a faint sound like tiny bells as the small pieces of metal fastened to her wedding clothes trembled against each other with her fear.
This was not the life she wanted. She did not love him. But her grandfather would not hear her pleas. And her father, well, he had long since relinquished anything he had resembling a backbone to the patriarch of their lineage.
Her entire body sang with tension, her muscles longing to spring into action, to flee. And yet, she remained. Where would she go? To whom could she turn to for support? She had no skills short of book balancing and the ability to turn a fair stitch. Were those skills enough for a woman on her own? Could she make a living in a shoppe, or perhaps with a money lender?
She would have to go where no one knew her, and, unfortunately, due to her grandfather’s success in the trades, that was going to have to be far. She knew that there was great value in each of the small chiming bits on her chemise and pants. Would that perhaps be enough to secure her safe passage to the next province, and feed and house her once she got there? Would it be enough of a provision until she were able to secure her own income?
The horse was there, pawing at the earth, it’s saddle already in place. It was ground tied, so all she need do would be to launch herself into the saddle, easy enough for an experienced rider. The gates would be open, to admit the wedding guests. She need only outride the guard, easily enough done on her nimble mount against war horses and fully armed guards. The weight of their armour alone would guarantee her escape.
Then why was she still just standing there, waiting for the bells to toll?
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