The Princess and The Pirate

The stranger, with the kidnapped girl still over his shoulder, galloped off into the City of Rocqueburne. The ride was exceptionally unpleasant for Jacqueline as with every lift and fall, his shoulder slammed into her gut.

Through the dizzying ride, the Princess watched as her castle grew smaller in the distance. Eventually, the only way she could see it in the dark was by the flames curling off its side. No guards, no “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men” were behind them. She was simply being taken like a commodity from an unwatchful shop.

With a harsh tug on the reins from the man, Trystan skidded to a stop, grating her hooves and shoes on the cobblestone.

The horse tossed its head from side to side, displeased. People—strangers—were in front of her, boxing her in, terrifying the poor mare. Her rider made soothing sounds, trying to avoid bucking and kicking of the unnecessary sort.

Before the pair was an awaiting wagon. Its canvas cover was pulled back revealing a full load of golden, bright yellow straw.

Jacqueline felt herself drop right into the arms of a much larger, fouler smelling man. He wasn’t dressed like a swashbuckler; on the contrary, he was dressed like a forgettable day-laborer. His large face was caked in dirt and he wore rough burlap.

She lay in his arms stiffly and then slowly bunched up, closing like a flower. Pulling her knees to her chest and curling her wrists under her chin, trying to make herself smaller, hoping somehow the fetal position would change her current predicament.

In reality, it only made her easier to carry, akin to a hat box.

Tilting her head back, she watched her captor dismount and address the handful of men waiting around in darkness.

“Alright sailors,” he said with a younger voice than his demeanor suggested, “back to the ship, discreetly.”

With that, Jacqueline was flung into the awaiting hay. She flew like a ball right into the high pile and sank into the scratchy, itchy mess. To make matters worse, the burly man threw more hay on top of her, covering their prize.

Then, to add the finishing touch, he climbed in with her.

The canvas top came over their load and the two were hidden. She sank herself deeper in, trying to see between the frail, fragile stalks. Hearing his heavy breathing, heavy as he was, didn’t make her feel any better.

His breath paused and Jacqueline felt herself slide slightly in the itchy mess. Suddenly, she felt the cold air on her bound ankles and felt a lone finger slide up and down the soft, warm sole of her foot.

The Princess whimpered lowly, finding no comfort in her scratchy prison. All comfort was futile; she tried to pull her feet away from him, only to have them tugged back.

Outside the hay wagon, the men were changing into similar burlap attire. They grabbed handfuls of dust from the ground and rubbed it on themselves.

“I’ll ride ahead and prepare the rest of the crew.” The men agreed with a unified response of “Aye, Captain.”

The stranger then smacked Trystan’s flanks, trying to shoo the horse back home.

She neighed stubbornly, stomped her hooves, but didn’t run. If anything at all, she shoved him back.

Not expecting the rebellious assault, he took a forced step forward.

“GET! Get out of here, horse!”

The horse only gave him a fierce stare and softly brayed.

He and the mare had a moment, burning their eyes into one another. Finally, with a roll of his eyes, the captor climbed on again.

“Well, you’re mine now, you stubborn mule,” and with a hard kick, he and Trystan were off.

The men climbed on the wagon's seat and some sat on the lip of the cart. One took hold of the reins attached to an old, beat up, decrepit horse and snapped it gently. The merry band of filthy impostors slowly started rolling down the road.