And no one appeared on the ledge.
Hope tapped her foot impatiently, and then after another long moment, shouted, “Are you coming up?”
“I’m trying!” he shouted back up to her.
Try harder, she thought impatiently, then nixed it. If he did manage to come up, she’d have to entertain him. Or worse–he’d want to kiss her and make out now that they had privacy. She’d prefer he stayed on the ground.
He wasn’t a bad guy–he just wasn’t Callum.
There was another vicious yank of her hair, and then more cursing. At this rate, it was going to grow long enough to flood the countryside. She had to keep tightening it on the rod even as it continued to grow, the strands outside still warmed by the late afternoon sunlight.
After another impatient minute, she gave herself enough of a lead to walk over to the windowsill, her hair still wrapped around the pole just in case Walter decided to give it another shot. She peered over the edge. Sure enough, there was a flood of her thick brown locks on the ground, and standing in the center of it was Walter, his face red and sweaty as he tried–rather unsuccessfully–to brace himself and climb up to see her.
“Is everything all right?” she asked in her sweetest voice.
“I…seem to be having a bit of trouble,” he shouted between panting, and gave up, dropping his hands to his knees to catch his breath. “Do you have a rope or a ladder of some kind?” She nudged the rope ladder under the bed with her toe, hiding it. Not that he could see up here, but still. “No, I don’t. What should we do?”
He squinted up at her. “It seems that I cannot get up there to see you, my sweet dove. And I was so looking forward to showing you my love, my darling angel.” Ugh, the pet names. She ignored it, though she was secretly glad that he wasn’t going to be able to
‘show her his love’. The fact that he kept mentioning that exact phrase had her more than a little concerned. “What about your bodyguard? Where is he tonight?” Walter waved a hand irritably. “He had business to attend to. Departed court to go home.” Go home? Her response died in her throat.
What the hell. He’d abandoned her? Left her here to go home? Shock made her stomach painfully.
What would she do if Callum was gone? She choked for a moment, then managed a strangled, “I see.”
“I’ll return tomorrow if I can,” he said, squinting up at her. “And I’ll bring a ladder of some kind.” He studied the tower. “Perhaps a pulley.”
“Why do you think he went home?” she blurted, then wanted to slap herself for asking. She didn’t want Walter to be suspicious. Not that she wanted to marry the man, but he was the king’s son, and she couldn’t afford to piss him off. “I worry for you and your friends,” she added hastily.
“Just a dispute with a local, I imagine. Or sheep stealing. Something along those lines. It’s unimportant.” It’s important to me, she thought, but held her tongue this time. “That’s too bad. Is he coming back?” The prince shrugged, unconcerned. He mounted on his horse again and squinted up at her face. “It doesn’t matter, my love. You have me. Like I said, I’ll try and be back tomorrow.”
Hope thought quickly. She had a hunk of dry bread and some fruit, but that wouldn’t last her two days.
“But what about food–”
He galloped away before she could finish her protest. Oh, sure, she thought with a scowl. Dating a girl was fine and dandy as long as she was stuck in a tower and you only had to see her when you felt like it.
Some Prince Charming he was. Even though Callum had left her, she was rather glad she hadn’t put her money on Prince Walter.
Dragging her long hair across the tower floor, she grabbed the enormous scissors and began to saw at her hair, taking out her frustrations on it.
Stupid prince.
Stupid Callum.
He’d abandoned her. How could he do that to her? He knew she was trapped.
She thought about Callum’s abandonment of her and sighed unhappily. Had she just fallen for a pretty face? Was she truly that stupid and now that he’d had sex with her, he was off to save another damsel in distress? Was this the medieval equivalent of a one-night stand? A tower booty call?
If so, this sucked.
***
Neither did Callum, which didn’t surprise her either, but did hurt her feelings. Still, things were getting dire for her. Not only was she bored out of her mind, but she was abandoned by the only two men in the world who seemed to know she was alive.
Nor had the fairy godmother stopped by. Hope felt well and truly neglected. She stared up at the ceiling of her small tower room. “Muffin, can you hear me? Are you coming back?” Silence.
“Ever?”
Nothing but more silence.
Hope sighed and hoped the fairy godmother could hear her anyhow. “I hope this is all part of your plan.
I’m pretty sure that the original Rapunzel didn’t starve to death.” The shutters flew open and a bird squawked. Hope sat up in bed, gasping at the bird that fluttered in. It looked like some sort of fat pigeon, with a small sack tied to one leg. The poor thing screeched and wobbled as it flew in, turning in wild circles, clearly off balance.
Muffin must have sent it. Hope quickly ran to the shutters and closed them before the bird could figure out how to escape, and spent the next fifteen minutes chasing the poor flapping thing. It couldn’t fly worth a damn with the bag weighing it down, but it was too frightened to sit still long enough for her to grab it. Eventually, she was able to throw a blanket over the frantic bird and hold it down long enough to grab the bag free.
Once that was done, she reopened the shutters and let it fly out.
Exhausted and sweating–and covered in bird feathers–Hope wiped at her forehead and went to see what the bird had brought. She tugged at the red ribbon holding the bag shut and an envelope fell out.
Curious, she picked it up and read the address.
Rapunzel
(or a reasonable facsimile thereof)
1 Big Tower
Middle of Nowhere
Scotland
The return address was simply Muffin’s full name–Muffin Muffet. Stifling the giggle that rose from her throat, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the glittery pink stationary.
The note was brief.
Dear Hope,
Sorry, girlfriend, but I’m on deadline. You’re on your own for now. And before you accuse me of not
caring, I sent you a sandwich. Hope the bird didn’t crap on it. So you can keep sitting in your tower
waiting for Prince Not-So-Charming to return, or you can go out and make your own way. But at
least
you’ll do it with a full belly. Never say I didn’t give you anything.
Love and kisses,
Muffin
She dug through the bag and sure enough, there was a deli sandwich, wrapped in brown wax paper.
Hope dug it out and took an enormous bite, then sighed with pleasure at the flavor.
“You are an awesome fairy godmother,” she said to the air around her. “No complaints here.” The bag rolled against her foot, and it felt like something hard was in there. Hope shook the bag and a glass bottle of root beer fell out and rolled on the floor. With a happy cry, she scooped it up and twisted the cap off, not caring that it fizzed everywhere.
Muffin was so thoughtful.
Hope happily ate her sandwich and drank her root beer and thought about the fairy godmother’s letter.
Why was she sitting here waiting for someone to come rescue her?
Sure, she was trapped here during the daylight hours, but her hair stopped growing at night. That gave her plenty of time to get out and explore the area.
And if Callum wasn’t coming back, she was going to have to do this on her own.
Which made her a little sad, but all the more determined. If he wasn’t going to help her, she’d save herself, damn it.
She glanced over at the rope ladder, wiping the crumbs from her lap, and then went to pick it up.
She examined the hooks on the end that latched under her windowsill, and experimentally opened the window again. The sun was below the horizon, the skies purple with night.
Hope leaned forward through the window, waiting.
No tingle in her scalp.
She could go out at night. Perfect. Now she just needed to find that nearby village and ask the witch to help her.
With that in mind, Hope changed into her darkest, warmest dress. The night air was a little chilly.
She looked for a cloak and didn’t find one, so she tore the skirt off the ugliest dress and created a makeshift shawl with it, testing the fabric over her hair. For whatever reason, if she didn’t get back before the sun came up, she hoped that it would hold the worst of the sunlight off of her hair.
If not, well, everyone from three villages around would soon figure out what her curse was. She hoped these locals were rather open-minded, and not the medieval peasants who tended to burn women at the stake like they showed in movies.
With that thought in mind, Hope grabbed her dinner knife and tucked it into the belt of her dress.
Better safe than sorry.
She threw the rope ladder down and began to descend, her heart hammering in her throat. This was either a brilliant idea or a really stupid one. She didn’t know anything about this time or place. She didn’t even know where the village was.
Still, she wasn’t going to solve her curse by sitting in the tower, waiting for Walter to remember to bring her food. A lonely, unhappy pang twisted in her belly. Thoughtful, handsome Callum had abandoned her.
Descending the ladder was relatively easy, even if she was a little anxious about placing each foot.
She took her time and made it to the ground with a little hop, just as the sky grew black with night.
Hope looked around at her surroundings, and her throat tightened a little.
She was used to the darkness being covered with thousands of twinkling lights of nearby houses, used to growing up in the city where night was just a different collection of noises, and the dark was never truly dark.
This? This was pitch black and silent. It was creepy.
How had she never noticed this in her tower? She swallowed, feeling exposed and more than a little frightened, and examined the forest.
Trees surrounded her tower, but she didn’t see a path anywhere. An owl hooted somewhere in the darkness.
Well. She had to pick a way to go. She could walk for a time, and if she didn’t find the path, she’d simply walk in another direction, until she found one.
She considered the length of her scarf. She could tear small pieces off of it to leave herself a trail…
and then what? She wouldn’t be able to find them in the dark, and if the sun was coming up, it was already too late. With a sigh, she headed into the trees. This might be a bad idea, but she sure wasn’t going to find the village standing at the base of the tower.
Hope walked for a ways, her steps cautious. The little wimpy shoes that had been fine in the tower were worse than useless in the woods, and she winced every time she stepped on a branch or a pebble. Owls hooted overhead, and she clutched her knife close, staring at her surroundings with alarm. Not exactly nice and comforting, and the trees showed no signs of thinning out.
After she’d been walking for what felt like hours, the trees cleared and a small, heavily rutted and muddy road appeared. She pumped her fist in triumph, surging forward, only to step in something that smelled like horse poop.
Definitely a road, even if it was empty.
Hope scraped her slipper clean and turned on the road, looking in each direction.
One way would lead to the village and the other would clearly lead away from it. The question was which one? With a bit of eeny-meeny-miny-moe to make her decision, she picked a direction and headed that way.
She’d been walking for no more than ten minutes when the thunder of hooves and the jingle of a bridle sounded close by. Someone was tearing down this crappy road.
A wee lass out in the wild is fair game for any man.
Remembering Callum’s words of warning, she scrambled to the side of the road and fell into the muddy bushes just as the horse charged past.
Before she could even catch her breath, she heard it neigh, and heard the hooves come to a halt.
The bridle jingled and then a gruff voice spoke, “Who’s there? Show yourself.” Oh, hell. She’d been spotted. The voice sounded familiar, but maybe it was the accent? She burrowed deeper into the bushes. Maybe if he couldn’t see her, he’d go on his way.
The horse paused a moment, then began to slowly walk toward her hiding spot. She couldn’t see the rider, only a shapeless hood covering his face. The sound of a sword leaving a scabbard filled the quiet woods, and the rough voice warned again, “I said, show yourself.” Well, crap.
She stood, shrugging the shawl over her long hair and hiding her face with it, and stepped out onto the road. The urge to raise her hands like this was a stick-up was strong, but she doubted that whoever this was would even know the gesture. “Hi. I was just heading for the village. I don’t suppose you can point me in that direction?”
The hood lowered, and she looked up in surprise at Callum’s face. “Hope?” he asked.
Her jaw dropped. “What are you doing here?”
He dismounted, dropping the horse’s reins and landing on the muddy road with a squelch of his boots.
Callum frowned as he strode over to her side. “Heading to see you. What are you doing out of the tower?”
She sidestepped him when he got close, giving him a wary look. “I was told you went home. That you left me here.”
He rolled his eyes. “Who told you that? The weasel Prince Walter?”
“Bingo.” She sighed and dropped her hands. “Okay, so I might have panicked. You didn’t go home?”
“I did,” he said, moving toward her again now that she had stopped retreating. “Prince Walter told me that he’d heard rumor of raiders attacking my land and stealing my sheep, so I went home. Only there’s no’ been a single attack.”
All signs were pointing toward Walter being the one to curse her. “Do you think he’s responsible for my hair?”