Chapter 3, part 5

“Have you all lost your minds,” Catherine cried, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.

Martha pulled out a lovely black dress from a shelf and shook it.

“This will have to do. Put it on and I'll braid your hair.”

“No, I'm not marrying him! I'm barely sixteen years old, you can't force me to do this!”

“Of course I can. Lillian!”

She began tearing at the buttons on Catherine's dress and tried to pull off the sleeve around the bandaged arm without letting go of the other. Lillian came running into the room, saw what was going on and tried to help. They pulled the dress off of the weakly struggling Catherine and began heaping the other one on top of her head.

Catherine did not struggle as much, not wanting to suddenly run out of the room in her underskirts. Lillian roughly forced the sleeve unto her still healing arm, and Catherine hissed. The bone might be as good as mended, but it was painful none the less.

When she was dressed again, she readied herself to bold, and did her best to follow through. She threw herself with all her weight towards Martha, who fell over and allowed her free passage towards the door. Lillian must have been prepared. She had grabbed her by her long braid and pulled on it as hard as she could. Catherine fell on top of Martha with a shout of surprise, only to see the toes of Lillian's shoes fly towards her face.

She hit her jaw. The impact caused her to bite down hard on her tongue, and her mouth was filled with warm, salty blood. She opened her mouth to cry out, and blood dripped onto Martha's dress. Lillian looked triumphant, but covered it up as soon as Martha sat back up, looking in disgust at the red spot on her dress.

“Oh no, sister, I'm so sorry,” Lillian said. “You have to stop fighting. Don't you know how much if a privilege this is? Besides, you'll want to look pretty on your wedding day.”

Catherine tried to hit her, but Martha grabbed her wrist again.

“Stop it, both of you! Lillian, you will keep your mouth shut. Oh dear, this is such a mess. Catherine you look horrible!”

She did her best to braid Catherine's hair, but soon gave up when it became obvious that her hair would only get more messy the more they fought. Catherine caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped. She looked like a wild beast.

The black dress was crumpled around her, her hair, partly loosened from an already messy braid was pointing in all directions. An impressive bruise was forming on her cheek, and her teeth and lips were red with blood. All of it on top of her pale, blotchy skin and red eyes.

“Fine,” she spat. “I'll go like this, but I will not say yes!” She felt a little triumph at the thought of herself getting into a chapel looking like that, refusing to actually get married. If anyone saw them, they would never forget the sight.

Jan was knocking on the door and shouting that a carriage had been rented for them. Alfred's angry face awaited them on the other side of the door. Catherine almost smiled when the men saw her. She had looked much prettier going in to the room, but at least the dress was new and clean. Alfred seemed to go purple for a second, then stormed out of the kitchen.

“Catherine, you should be ashamed,” her father sad sadly. She shot him an angry look and allowed them to drag her limp body into the carriage. The ride was more than unpleasant. She was surprised when they did not go to the chapel they would usually visit. A questioning glance at her father told her that he had a plan. She felt less sure of the plan she had made a few minutes earlier.

They arrived at a tiny chapel in a rather dirty street. The look of the priest told her that she would not be asked before the ceremony even began. It was very short, to the point of it being just the priest, her father and Alfred agreeing to sign, then signing, a small piece of paper. Less then half an hour later they were back outside.

“There,” her father said. “I'm sorry it had to be like that Catherine, but I don't see that we had a choice.”

Catherine was too busy sobbing to answer him. She would not have had anything pleasant to say to him as it was. She could not even remember what her new name was, not that she cared. She did not plan to act married, no matter what they had forced her to do.

Alfred pushed her into a carriage and told the driver to take them to his home. Catherine never stopped crying and Alfred did not try to console her. Her display of defiance had killed any warm emotion he might have been able to find in himself for her, and he did not want to look at her bloody, bruised, tear stained face or her incredibly unruly hair.

She did not fight him when he led her into the house and showed her to her bedroom. He had arranged for it to be furnished for her and now regretted putting so much effort into it. It was nicer than she deserved, he thought.

He sent Hilda up to help her find out where everything was and was slightly satisfied to her the old woman scold her thoroughly. Catherine was still sobbing, of course, but he would leave in a few weeks and expected to find her calmer when he returned later in the year.

He was considering this and pouring himself a well deserved glass of wine when the sound of trampling feet of the street alerted him to what was happening outside. He ran out of the house and stopped when he saw the army.

He assumed that it was in fact a lot smaller than a real army, but there were at least a hundred armed soldiers standing on both sides of the street. The blasted prince stood among them, facing Alfred.

“I'm sorry to interrupt you on suh a happy occasion,” the prince announced in a dark voice. “But I'm sure you remember the many warnings I gave you. The girl's family have been given a fine for forcing a child to marry. If you let her come with me this instant, I might be equally gracious with you.”

Alfred opened his mouth, not making a sound. He tried again.

“You cannot mean to take my own wife from me. Your majesty.”

“She is not your wife, old man, she is a small girl wed by a corrupt priest. Hand her over.”

Catherine appeared in the door, her sobbing had subsided, but her face remained unwashed. Alfred wanted to protest when she ran past him and towards the prince, who immediately handed her to a servant standing behind him and stepped in front of her.

“Very good. The sheriff here will let you know what amount you will have to pay for your crime. I'll have you know that I could have had you thrown into prison for a nice amount of years for this.”

He took Catherine, who looked like she was shaking, by the arm and helped her get into a luxurious carriage that had been waiting behind one group of soldiers. Alfred let out a sigh of relief when the soldiers followed the carriage down the street and only a few uniformed men stayed behind to talk to him. He was able to pay his fine right away, although it was a painfully large sum, and ignored the men's disgusted looks. He did not think he would have much contact with Jan Emerson once he had gotten the bride price back.



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