Beholden (The Fairest Maidens Book 1)

by Jody Hedlund

  I was also one of those privy to the truth, although it had taken my father’s death to fully understand the depths of depravity Queen Margery had sunk to in order to ensure the gem production continued. Ever since learning of her vile practices, I had one burning goal—to end the evil and avenge my father’s death.

  Still muttering, Curly strode away, gathering around him the gang of loyal slaves who followed and respected him. A good number of them were missing one limb or another to accidents or rat bites. They crossed over barren-land, which separated the village from the bridge. And they positioned themselves near the tower guardhouse that stood on the edge of Slave Town adjacent to the bridge. They would welcome the newcomers just as they always did—with a show of intimidation.

  Although I didn’t agree with Curly’s methods, I couldn’t condemn him. Even though the truly dangerous criminals were locked away in the queen’s dungeons, desperation and despair oft led people to do things they wouldn’t normally consider. And Curly’s control prevented anarchy.

  The overseers doled out our rations and made certain we followed all the rules. The armed guards ensured that we didn’t try to revolt. But neither the overseers nor guards went down into the mines if it could be helped, which made Curly’s leadership all the more important.

  “Come,” I said gently to Alice as I knelt beside her and slid my arm around her waist. “Let’s get you home for the night.”

  Home. The very word brought a painful lump to my throat. While I missed many things about Rockland, more than anything I missed my father. After he’d died, the grand castle with its many outbuildings didn’t feel like home anymore. Once the Duchess of Burgundy and her two daughters had arrived to oversee Rockland, I felt like a stranger there.

  “Ah, my lady,” Alice replied as I lifted her to her feet, her breathing finally even again. “I ought to be helping you, not relying upon you for my daily needs.”

  “Nonsense. We must lean upon each other. ’Tis the only way to truly survive.”

  If only I’d never said anything to the duchess about my faithful servants. Instead, I’d beseeched her for their well-being, asked her to show them mercy. Rather than granting my request, she found twisted pleasure in hurting me even further by expelling Benedict and Alice from service and accusing them of stealing from Rockland’s coffers alongside me.

  I berated myself every day since then for being so foolish, although I suspected my two faithful servants would have come with me anywhere, regardless of my protests. They’d been like grandparents, stepping in whenever my father traveled, bestowing upon me all the love I’d ever needed. And now they were suffering on my account.

  “I’ll go see if I can find anything for us to eat.” Benedict wearily regarded the dozen or so thatched huts that made up our village at the top of Ruby Mountain. Only rotting stumps remained of the pine, hemlock, and firs that had once graced the level area. Now the surface was barren and rocky from all the crushed stone we brought topside every day in an effort to meet our daily quota of digging.

  “Thank you, Benedict.” I suspected he’d come home empty-handed as he had the last time. Even if one of the other slaves had an extra piece of fish or bread they were willing to sell, we had naught to exchange in payment. We’d long since used up the few commodities of value we’d been allowed to bring into slavery, and we owned nothing anymore.

  From the frustration etched into Benedict’s once-distinguished face, he realized the futility of his search as well. And yet, he cared too much about Alice and me not to try to find something for our meal. Perhaps he would pledge his own rations away as he’d done last time.

  Alice hobbled next to me as I led her away from the mine entrance. Once I settled her in the hut we shared with several other slaves, I made my way through the growing darkness toward the infirmary. Without any medicine or pain relief, the best I could do for the sick was offer them water and what little food was available. Most of the time, I simply sat at their sides, held their hands, and sang to them. It wasn’t much, but kindness was oft the best remedy for an ailment.

  Shouting from the overseers at the edge of town drew my attention. A man dangled from a broken slat in the bridge. More than half of the wooden step had vanished, having dropped into the ravine hundreds of feet below. And now the unfortunate newcomer was about to follow suit.

  “No,” I whispered as my father’s voice echoed in my head: “If someone is in need, ’tis better to try to help, even if you fail, than never to try at all.”

  I couldn’t just stand by and watch someone fall and die.

  Frantically, I glanced around for something—anything—I could use to rescue him. But our town had naught to boast of except hardship and barrenness.

  I stumbled forward regardless, tripping over the rocks and nearly falling in my haste to reach the bridge. All the while, I untied the rope around my waist that served as a belt for my mining tools. It wasn’t long, but it was something.

  One of the newcomers, a thickly muscled man who’d already crossed the ravine, was straining against the hold of the overseers and several other slaves. “Release me! I shall go back for him.”

  Curly was one of the men attempting to contain the newcomer. “If ye be stepping on the bridge and getting it moving, yer friend won’t be able to hold on.”

  “He won’t be able to hold on as it is!” The man lunged, causing the four or five men at his sides to have to wrestle him back.

  Making full use of their distraction, I approached the bridge. As I stepped lightly onto the first slat, I held my breath and hoped the ropes wouldn’t sway too much. I was lithe and lightweight, especially after toiling in the mine pits for the past months. If anyone could cross without swaying the bridge, I was the most likely to do so.

  I tiptoed several slats in before Curly’s anxious command beckoned to me. “Gabi, ye get back here right now, d’ye hear me?”

  “You know I am the best choice to make such a rescue,” I called over my shoulder.

  “No one can be helping him but himself! Now get on back here.”

  I took another delicate step, praying fervently I wouldn’t cause the man to lose his grip. His knuckles were white, but he seemed to have a strong hold, one hand on the broken slat and the other on the cord that ran the length of the bridge. If only I could toss my rope out to him so he had something sturdier to cling to.

  As I continued my tentative walk, my thoughts strayed to the day I’d arrived last autumn, to how frightened I’d been to cross the bridge. With each step I’d taken, I hadn’t been able to block out the terrible rocky gorge that lay far below. Not only had I feared I’d slip and fall to my death, but I feared crossing to the other side would lead me to the bowels of death itself, to a future so different from anything I’d known that I couldn’t fathom how I’d survive.

  Of course, my new life was as hard—perhaps harder—than I’d imagined. Yet even though I’d lost everything, I still had so much to give, especially kindness. “Kindness is a commodity one can never use up.” I recalled more of my father’s advice. “And kindness is a commodity that will always be in demand.” People around me needed it in abundance every day. Like now . . .

  “Hold on,” I gently urged the dangling man. Drawing closer, I could see he wasn’t a man after all, but a lad of twelve or fourteen. What had he done to earn a place in the mine pits? Likely not much. Very few in Slave Town were true criminals. Most were simply victims in a land where justice rarely prevailed and mercy was nonexistent.

  Only six slats away now, I met the young man’s gaze. His pupils were dark and wild with fear.

  “I shall throw you this rope, and I want you to use it along with the side of the bridge to heft yourself back up.” And while he did so, I’d pray for the strength to hoist him. “Do you think you can do that?”

  He nodded, even as his fingers against the slat began to slip. He hastened to readjust his hold, the veins in his wrists and fingers protruding from his effort at hanging on.


  “Gabi, get back here!” Curly’s shout was loaded with urgency. “Why can’t ye be thinking about yerself for once?”

  I ignored my friend. He gave me too much credit and praised me too oft for taking care of others. What he didn’t see was the bitterness eating away at me since my father’s death—an ugly part of me, festering and growing and at times choking off my singing.

  After two more steps, I was close enough. I looped and knotted the rope around my arm and then tossed the rest of the length toward the lad. It fell close to his hand but not close enough. I dragged it back and threw it again, this time hitting his knuckles.

  “Ready?” I grabbed on to the bridge’s handhold to brace myself.

  “Ready.” He heaved a breath, then let go of the slat and lunged for the rope. He fumbled for a moment, dangling by one arm from the side of the bridge. I was vaguely aware of shouting and tussling behind me, but I had to focus if I had any chance of saving this young man.

  I leaned in and shoved the rope so it draped over the edge of the slat where, hopefully, he could see it. He groped frantically and managed to wrap his fingers around it. The moment he had a hold, his weight nearly yanked me off my slat. But I held fast, even as the knot tied to my arm sawed into my skin, twisting the tender flesh.

  “Come now,” I said with as much encouragement as I could. “You can do this.”

  The commotion behind me grew louder, and I thought I heard Benedict’s voice raised in alarm. No doubt he was attempting to come after me, and someone was detaining him. I could only pray they would succeed and he’d remain safely on level ground. If anything happened to him, Alice wouldn’t be able to survive.

  The young man pulled on the rope again, and this time managed to drag himself up until he was clinging to the next slat. As he gripped the wood with both hands and lifted his body onto it, the pressure against my wrist subsided, and I released the tension in my shoulders.

  We’d done it. He was safe.

  “Careful!” came a shout from the end of the bridge.

  In the next second, the sound of splintering wood filled the air. The board beneath the youth ripped into two pieces. Panic once again flashed across his face as he hung on to the sliver that remained.

  I held myself motionless, willing him to press onward.

  But the rotting wood crumbled beneath his fingers, and he began to fall, dragging me with him.

  Chapter

  3

  Vilmar

  I wrenched loose from my captors and darted toward the bridge. Though several of the men leapt after me, I was too quick now that I was free.

  If they’d allowed me to go back for Farthing as I requested, then the young woman wouldn’t have gone onto the bridge. And now instead of losing one person, we were at risk of losing two.

  As I flew across the slats, the bridge rocked from side to side. But the movement was of no concern this time. Only speed mattered.

  Somehow she managed to grab the edge of the bridge, whereupon she released a desperate cry, as though trying to summon inner fortitude. Nevertheless, the weight of the boy pulling on her arm was too much. Her bandaged and bloodied fingers were slipping.

  With mere seconds before Farthing dragged them both down to their deaths, I threw myself the last distance and caught her arm.

  “Grab on to me!” I commanded, digging into her flesh and stopping her descent.

  She grasped me, her fingers tightening around my wrist in return.

  I hoisted her high enough for me to clutch the rope binding her to the lad. As I held the weight of both of them, the slats beneath me begin to crack. I needed to get off the bridge with haste. The structure could hardly bear my weight, much less all three of us.

  I’d known the bridge was unsafe from the moment I first stepped onto it when making the crossing. In fact, I’d warned the others to tread on the outer edges of the boards and not to put their full weight into the middle. But the lad hadn’t heeded my advice.

  Behind me, at my waist, I felt a sudden tug. “Pull,” Ty said in his usual calm tone.

  With Ty’s strength added to mine, I scrambled backward, dragging the pair upward and onto the bridge. Thankfully, neither weighed much.

  As more slats gave way, I towed the woman back with me. Ty did the same with Farthing. The boards crumbled in rapid succession, but within seconds we made it to solid ground.

  Jagged stones covered the mountaintop. Even so, I knelt, bringing the woman down onto my knees. With the weight that had pulled against her arm, her shoulder had been dislocated. Before she could protest, I jerked her joint back into place.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, then her eyes fluttered closed, but not before I saw the pain radiating there. As Ty worked to loosen the knot around her wrist, I ran my hand over her arm, checking for broken bones. But other than bloody and chafed skin from rope burn, she hadn’t sustained additional injuries.

  A ragged-looking man with graying hair pushed his way to my side. “My lady.” His voice vibrated with distress. “Oh, my lady.”

  “She has succumbed to unconsciousness,” I said. “But she will be well enough once she awakens.”

  The men who’d restrained me crowded around us now too, their expressions grave as they regarded the woman. The one with the red hair had been the first to meet me when I’d stepped off the bridge, and his greeting had been a fist in my gut along with a sharp knife pressed into my ribs. The blood he’d drawn was still seeping into my tunic. “I’m in charge here,” he’d said in a low tone so the guards couldn’t hear him. “Ye do what I say, and we’ll get along just fine. D’ye hear me?”

  I’d heard him and nodded my acquiescence. I had no wish to make enemies my first day in the mine pits. In fact, my philosophy was not to make enemies on any day of the week. If the red-haired man was some sort of leader amongst the slaves, then I was more than agreeable to following his orders and respecting him, so long as he respected me in return.

  Now he stared down at the young woman. The anger he’d been spouting at the woman moments ago disappeared. And in its place fear marked his ashen face. “Is she hurt?”

  “She had a great deal of strain upon her shoulders and arm.” I lifted her as I stood. “But I don’t detect severe injuries.”

  As I settled her against my chest, I couldn’t keep from noticing that she had red hair too. Except hers was a lighter, softer red like the fur of a newborn fawn. Her face, while streaked with dirt, was undeniably beautiful. Long lashes rested against her high-boned cheeks. She had an elegant nose and full, rosy lips.

  She was obviously a favorite of the men and for good reason.

  “Where shall I take her?” I asked the redhead. “Her arm will need tending and bandaging.”

  With a nod, he started across a barren strip of land guarded by several soldiers in a tower positioned next to the bridge. With their bows and arrows at the ready, I guessed they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot at any man who stepped foot onto the bridge. Perhaps they would have shot me if I’d attempted to rescue Farthing. Maybe this man’s efforts at restraining me had been for my protection more than anything.

  Now he headed for a cluster of dilapidated thatched huts made of wattle and daub, none of which looked sturdy enough to house livestock much less humans. I followed him, nonetheless, to one of the dwellings. Ducking low, he entered the dark interior.

  I hesitated merely a moment before I stepped inside after him. Red coals gleamed in a small center fire pit and gave off enough light for me to see the red-haired man. He knelt next to an old woman lying on a pallet who was covered with a tattered blanket. At his low words, she released a cry of dismay and pushed herself up.

  “Lay Lady Gabriella here.” She crawled onto the dirt floor and patted the place she’d vacated.

  Lady Gabriella? Why was a noblewoman living as a slave in the Gemstone Mountain mine?

  As I lowered her to the pallet, she groaned but remained unconscious. The ragged old man now knelt next to the elderly woman. Their onc
e-elegant garments and gentle mannerisms indicated the couple had been servants in Lady Gabriella’s household.

  Although my curiosity was heightened, I exited the hut to find myself face-to-face with the redheaded man. Night had fallen, and I couldn’t make out his expression, but I stiffened in readiness for the rest of my initiation into slavery. What would this man and his minions require of me? Groveling? Extra work? Payment of some kind?

  “Thank ye for saving Gabi,” he said gruffly.

  I was taken aback by his gratitude and struggled to find a response. What relationship did this man have with the young noblewoman? He clearly cared about her. “I could do nothing less—”

  He grabbed my tunic and jerked me up, cutting off my words. “Don’t ye be getting any ideas about her. Stay far away from her, d’ye hear me?” He twisted my tunic around my neck, choking me.

  “I hear you,” I managed through my constricted airway.

  “If ye touch her again, I won’t be thinking twice about cutting off yer hand.”

  This man must have already claimed Lady Gabriella for himself and wanted to make certain I understood it. The thought of a noblewoman in the clutches of a baseborn man like this made me ill. And yet, what could I do about it? I hadn’t come to the mine pits to get involved with the people who languished here. I was here for my Testing, to bear the weight of heavy labor and to persevere under harsh conditions. In so doing, I would prove myself the most worthy to become the next king of Scania.

  He choked me for several more seconds, then shoved me back into the hut. I dragged in a gasp of air and watched him stride away with his companions.

  If only I could reveal the truth about my identity and purpose in being here. If men like the redheaded leader understood I posed no threat to them and their position, they’d leave me alone to focus on my Testing.

  I’d simply have to show them my willingness to cooperate by abstaining from meddling in the affairs of everyone else—particularly abstaining from Lady Gabriella.