Winter's Rose ~A Beauty and the Beast Retelling~

The Attack

The constant jolting of the wagon made Rosalind feel sick. They had been on a bumpy road for what had seemed like hours. The men kept to themselves for the most part, they did not speak to her and she did not speak to them. Exhaustion had taken hold of her, but she was afraid to sleep. She was tired, hungry, and cold. Her entire body shifted forward as the wagon abruptly came to a halt. She heard the men laughing and talking as they dismounted their horses. She pulled her knees close to her chest, she felt vulnerable and alone. She shivered in the night air, her lightweight day dress was not antiquating for keeping her warm. She didn't regret her decision, how could she? She prayed that Andrew wouldn't pursue them--he'd get himself killed.

She could hear the men cutting logs and the crackling of fires starting. She did not know where she was, how far they had travelled. She was deep in her own thoughts, when she felt the wagon dip under added weight. Rosalind could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She was still, afraid that if she moved a muscle, the presence would see her there. She felt a hand clasp on to her shoulder, and she immediately tensed under the touch.

"'Tis all right, Lass, I ain't going to hurt ya." A thickly accented voice declared. She kept her head down. She remained still, even when the hand was removed from her shoulder. "Suit yourself then."

She began to let her muscles relax. While the presence had initially incited fear, the voice that had spoken made Rosalind feel less and less perturbed. The stranger's voice was thick and grandfather like. The sweetness to his tone reminded her of her own father. How could this be? This stranger seemed less harsh than his companions. Was he not a part of the same band of men who had come for her family's home just hours ago?

"The name is Grover, or at least that's what they call me," the man, Grover, offered.

"Rosalind," she is surprised to hear her own voice. After hours of not speaking her voice was soft and hoarse, as if she had just woken from a deep sleep. "My name is Rosalind."

"Rosie," Grover says, testing the name on his lips. Rosalind's lips twitched into a soft smile. "Say, how old are ya, Rosie?"

"Nineteen. I'll be twenty in two weeks," she says softly. She hadn't thought much about her birthday. She hadn't realized how close it truly was. Rosalind didn't know why she felt at ease with Grover, but she couldn't seem to help it. Like any child she had been warned about talking to strangers, but deep in her heart she knew the Grover meant her no harm.

"I have a lil' girl, I suppose she's a little younger than ya. She married last summer--or at least I think she did," Grover trailed off. He grew quiet.

"You don't know?" Rosalind was intrigued.

"Aye, Rosie, I have not seen my Brianna in three years," he said solemnly.

"Why?"

"Sometimes Lass, people are better off without ya." His statement made Rosalind think of her reasons for leaving. She realized then how similar Grover and her were. They both left their families so that they would have a better life without them.

"You're right, Grover."

"What ya did was brave, leaving home like ya did."

"Thank you," she said softly. She could smell the smoke of the camp fires, it made her eyes sting every, and her throat dry. She could hear the other men mingling among themselves. Rosalind heard their laughter and jokes as plates a cups clinked against each other. She coughed slightly, "Grover, where are we going?"

"To the manor, Lord Hersey will no doubt have a job for ya; 'tis about a day or so from here."

She felt sick. Rosalind had heard stories about the man. He had come to town once before; he was a stout plump man with a hard face. As he would pass, the shop owners would whisper amongst themselves about his wives. The man was her father's age and he had been married four times--four wives, all who have left him widowed. The rumors say that they all passed with mysterious circumstances, and that he always seemed to marry a new girl with in a month of the wife's passing. This was where she was headed. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and she suddenly felt home sick. This was the first time, she regretted her decision to leave. It was too late now.