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The lord of Westhall bent down and took her hand lightly in his own, then kissed it with his rough lips.
It took great strength for Princess Ayla, repulsed, not to pull away.
He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, in a stern, determined glare. 'I wish to marry you, Princess.'
Ayla stopped grimacing, and paled.
'No!' the gasp escaped from her mouth before she could stop it.
Westhall looked disapprovingly at her. 'Your father agrees it would be an excellent match.'
No!
'It has already been finalised?' she gulped, dreading but knowing the answer. She could not marry Westhall. He was greedy, selfish and cruel; no wonder he got on with her father so well.
The land he owned was poor and dying from neglect. His own people, he grounded into the dust with taxes, taking everything they owned and living in luxury.
'The wedding is a week hence.'
She wanted to vomit.
There could be but one reason for his wanting of marriage. She had worked out a long time ago that she would be hassled by many suitors.
She was princess and only heir to the king, her mother was dead.
If Westhall married her, one day he would be the most powerful man in all Britain.
There had been so many offers of marriage or 'business' as Ayla liked to call them, but her father had waited, biding his time to find the opportune man to inherit his kingdom, or to at least stop him from taking it now.
And it made sense. Westhall was dangerous, he had lots of supporters and his power was rising. The king would tuck him away under his wing, to be watched, and if necessary dispatched. Westhall would be rendered harmless if he became her husband.
'Urrhrrgh,' was all she managed to muster.
Westhall stood up. He was a tall, stocky man of 28, ten years Ayla's senior. His face was thick and strong, with old scars, from his days in the army before inheriting his estate from a deceased brother. He rarely smiled.
'No doubt you want to gather your thoughts on this tremendous occasion. I will leave you.'
'Thank you, my lord.'
'Gratefully accepted, although there is no need, I too anticipate our union with great pleasure.' He exited.
Arrogant fool! I wished him thanks for leaving!

2
Left alone in the room, she did indeed gather her thoughts, but these were ones for escape.
Ayla knew that she had to leave tonight, under the cover of darkness.
She planned to scale down the wall of her tower with a cunning use of bed sheets and knots. Her bedroom door was locked in the evening but her window ignored. Then she would find her horse Eva from inside the stable and disappear into the night.
The plan seemed simple enough. She had very little food but a great deal of money that she had stored and saved away secretly over the years.
Also, from underneath her bed she grasped a sword that she had hidden away many years ago when a knight had left it unattended.
It was not a great sword. It had rather a bulky handle and was heavy but she adored it, caressed the sharp blade, lovingly with her finger, not because she loved the idea of power and hurt this sword could inflict upon someone, but because she believed that with the sword upon escaping she would not be brought back so easily, this sword offered the protection she had never had.
The thought of an escape had been the only reason for her sanity in the loveless, cold house in which she grew up, despised for her sex.
That night she dressed in her warmest clothes, and into a bag packed a few spare garments.
It seemed sensible to rest and gain as much strength as possible but she could not sleep for the adrenalin and excitement running through her.
When at last it became pitch black, she rose from her bed.
She fashioned the rope out of bed sheets and tied it securely to a bed post, praying it would hold as she did so. She was tall but not spindly which would have been an asset in such a situation.
Out the open window she flung her ladder to freedom, imagining the servants finding it in the morning when they unlocked her door. Serves them right, she thought. And then the thought of the misfortunate servant who would be made to tell her ghastly father made her wince.
She was half way down the wall, her bag fastened round her waist, when suddenly a nightmare instigated.
Loud shouts could be heard from within the castle and the scraping of weapons and the clinking of armour resounded in Ayla's head.
Oh hell! I've been discovered!
Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried and tried to go faster down the wall, for she would not climb back up to her room and pretend she had been in her room all night, could not go back to that loveless life and a miserable future.
She jumped the last few feet, and fell to the ground winded, but quickly recovered herself as four soldiers came rushing round the corner.
Ayla jumped back into the shadows of the wall, pressing her back against its cold dampness, trying to regain control of her breathing.
The soldiers were discussing something hurriedly in loud voices.
They had not seen her.
Ayla listened carefully trying to catch their words.
'What is it, sir? What has happened?' the voice clearly belonged to a young boy.
'You must be at your stations, boys, be ready to fight,' this voice deeper, gruffer than the other. 'The Castle has been breached.'
Ayla gasped. Breached? By whom!
She peered into the gloom desperate for more answers, but the soldiers had gone. Indeed now she heard the clanking of weapons and the screams of men dying, and saw fire blazing in the night.
I must go!
It was easy for Ayla to acquire Eva from the stable. No one could see or noticed her in the gloom and distress of what the night had become.
Quietly, she slipped away down the road, away from the castle and the anguish of the now hurt. She did not look back, except once to ensure she was alone, but there was no need, only the comforting, steady clip clop of her horse's hooves followed her as she disappeared into the night.

3
She rode entirely through the night and one day. Stopping only a few times to buy food but being careful not to reveal her identity, by lacing a scarf round her head and mouth as if to keep off the summer dust and flies.
She kept to the road, the undergrowth and forest surrounding it too thick to make her own path through, but it seemed safe. All she passed were travellers with horses and carts bound for the next town to sell their wares.
Still she felt uneasy, and although it was tempting did not let herself get complacent with her position.
A good two days from escaping, the news that the princess had gone missing had travelled wide and far. It was thought that she had been kidnapped by the band of brigands who had stolen into the castle the night she disappeared, naturally.
Ayla was keen to learn about the 'band of brigands', but was wary of talking to strangers. A young woman travelling alone aroused great suspicion, she had taken on the story that she had a sick mother with a bizarre illness and was in search of a doctor who could cure her.
One night she was asleep hidden in a tree off the road, her sword by her side, she woke up suddenly.
It was nearing dawn so she could not see clearly, but the drumming of horses' hooves was unmistakable.
The king's men.
Ayla's heart leaped to her mouth, as she looked down into the undergrowth. Where was Eva?
Carefully, quietly, not sure she was right in doing so, she jumped from the tree.
'Eva.' She whispered, trying to keep from the shrill squeak which was forcing up her throat. 'Eva!'
And then she saw her. Eva was on the road. She was helping herself quite happily to a large tuft of grass on the other side but right, full in the open.
'Damn horse!' she exclaimed, as the riders appeared over the hill and spotted it.