Carolynn never once looked back after she had passed the gates of her father's village. With her white skin, soft hands, and long, gold hair, she fancied herself a noble and therefore immune to attacks on the road. The truth was, she was no noble, but a miller's daughter. She did, of course, look like nobility, travelling as she was in her best dress. What she didn't know, again, was that this made her all the more likely to be ambushed on the road. She absolutely refused to marry the man her father had arranged to give her to, calling him the mere servant of a great knight. Carolynn did not understand that the man was in training to become a knight himself, and that such a marriage, far from beneath her, would raise her social standing considerably. What she did understand was that she was nineteen years old, and she was not going to let her father run her life. She was certain she could find work and take care of herself in the city.
She found herself walking down a pleasant forest path. Her feet were tired, and the sun hung low in the sky. "I must have come a dozen miles by now," she thought, "they'll never find me, this far from home." She glanced at her arms, noting with dismay that dust from the road had dimmed the lustre of her skin. So intent was she on rubbing the dust from her hands that she did not notice the men creeping around her on the path until she walked right into one. She stepped back, murmuring "Oh! Excuse me!" as she noted the wide, golden hoops hanging from his ears and the bright, baggy fabric he wore. Carolynn took another step back, realising that this was a gypsy and she needed to get away quickly. She backed straight into another man, and, looking up into his black face, shrieked "a moor!" The man laughed and picked her up effortlessly. Two men held her wrists and ankles, keeping her from struggling in the slightest, as the first man walked up to her calmly, leering. "My lady," he said, holding a foul-smelling cloth over her face, "don't you know it's dangerous for a lady to travel alone in these woods?" She tried to scream again, but no sound came. A moment later, she was unconscious.
When she came to, she was in a dark, echoing place that smelled of roasting deer and incense. It took her a moment to realise that she was blindfolded, and she wondered how far she was from the fire she could hear crackling. Her wrists were bound with leather thongs above her head, and her ankles bound spread apart to the floor. She had been stripped of all other clothing. She didn't know it, but the gypsies had washed the grime of the road carefully from her body, and in the firelight—she was, indeed, very near the fire—her white skin gleamed like marble. After a moment, she strained slightly, testing her bonds.
