Monday, August 17, 2015

Unthinkable

 I write this as Brigid and I stay in a convent. For after what has passed we now have had no say in the matter of our haven. We thankfully take the safety given to us by the nuns for there is nothing we can or should ask for from them. Though we are together we are not together. We are broken but I fear Brigid more so than me. I am afraid what will become of her if or when we leave the safety of the convent.

  Our story starts some weeks ago with our cart rambling on one day in the late afternoon sun, Brigid, who is peeved that I am driving the horses, and I talk of where we think we should stop for the evening to take our meal and relax. The settlement we went through offered no respite for us for there is no tavern or such comfort offered for travelers. As we travel on we pay no mind to our surroundings when we are assailed by men from a local farm that we had passed by, what we thought was a safe distance ago. Brigid tries to protect me as I tried to protect her but the men pull us apart and out of the cart on to the ground. Separated on either side of the cart I tried not to cry but to fight off the outlaw that was attacking me and and tearing at my clothes. I was failing when I heard Brigid's scream as her  clothes were being torn and this made me cry out in anger and I to fight and claw my way to get to a knife so I could stab my outlaw and then go after Brigid's outlaw and kill him for hurting her. Alas, my fight only brought about more evil from the outlaw attacking me for he started hitting me own my head especially after he tried to cover my mouth and I bit him. The last thing that came to my mind before darkness over took me was a man's scream weaving with poor Brigid's scream, as only God knows what was being done to her which I hope was not as it was, I fear, done to me and which I deserve for putting her in such peril because I wanted to see Sir Guy's grave.

   Forgive me for I can write no more at the moment for my quill trembles and the ink is splattering on the parchment and my shaking hands. Then again my hands are not the only part of me that is shaking here in my cell. I feel as if the whole world is shaking. I suppose it is for it is Brigid's my world that has been shaken.