Free First Light by Michele Paige Holmes

wagon.
    I balked when I saw the narrow door and confining space inside, but I was no match for those hands and the huge man they belonged to. One shove and I stumbled forward, striking my head on the low entry. I pressed my lips together to hold back a cry of pain and crawled up the last step, palms pressed to the rough boards. My nose wrinkled as a musty smell assaulted me. I’d barely climbed in when the door banged shut behind, leaving me in near darkness, save for the light slanting between the three bars on the narrow window. I grasped these as the caravan started with a mighty jolt. Looking out I saw Gemine rein his horse in behind the wagon.
    He grinned, revealing his perfect teeth. “When you are ready, milady, you may ride with me again.”
    “Never,” I hissed and turned away from the window, shrinking into the darkness, where I hoped he could not see me. Why had I trusted him? I felt ill used and suddenly dirty. Pulling my sweater sleeve over my hand I rubbed the spot on my cheek where he had touched me. I thought again of my parents. My mother would have been appalled at my earlier behavior, and that bothered me. But my father would have been disappointed , and that left me feeling keenly ashamed.
    Perhaps this was what he’d meant when he’d warned me never to cast my pearls before swine. Last night’s boar seemed harmless compared to the gypsies with their fine clothing and pretended kindness. Again I berated myself for being taken in by them— by him , I admitted, feeling worse by the minute.
    Gemine was the first boy who’d ever paid me any attention, and I’d enjoyed it— both his conversation and his touch.
    “Foolish— gullible,” I muttered, utterly frustrated with myself. I, of all people, knew about looks being deceiving. Were not several of my siblings quite handsome? And yet the characteristics I knew them best for were idleness and selfishness. “A pretty face is not necessarily the reflection of the soul,” my father had often said.
    But I had forgotten. Only two days away from my home, and I’d forgotten the wisdom he’d worked so hard to impart.
    “No more,” I vowed. My voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Papa. I won’t make that mistake again. Please forgive me.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I sat in the dark, suffering the penance my own foolishness had brought.

“Adrielle does not know her value, nor the value of the bracelet.” Gemine’s voice, carried on a soft, evening breeze, drifted through the lone window of my prison.
    I’d been barely asleep, worn out from what seemed like hours of bumpy travel over the rough forest path. Every muscle ached, and my jaw was sore from being clenched as I’d tried to prevent my teeth from chattering together over each and every knoll. Adding to my misery was my stiff, throbbing backside— a painful reminder of my foolish morning ride.
    A loud crack— from the fire, I presumed— sounded outside, followed by the noises of logs being dropped, boots stomping, and low, indistinguishable voices.
    Despite my discomfort, I eased myself into a sitting position and scooted closer to the window, eager to catch any of the gypsies’ conversation— a mixture of their language and mine.
    A man snorted. “Of course she doesn’t know about the pearls. If she did, she wouldn’t still be here— would she?”
    “But she is , and she knows nothing.” I thought I recognized Gemine’s mother’s voice. But whatever she said next, I missed, as a group of children scampered past my wagon, chasing each other. I waited for them to pass, hoping those at the fire would say more. A few minutes later my patience was rewarded.
    “By this time tomorrow, I imagine she’ll be most willing to part with the bracelet.”
    “What will become of her then?” Gemine asked. “What did you see in her hand?”
    “No one is watching out for her,” his mother said. “Except the evil one.”
    At the moment I couldn’t imagine anyone more evil than