Scotland

?Scotland,? you say. He stops the horse.

?Thou dost not sound like a bloody Scot,? he says. ?Ist thou a spy?? he demands.

?No!? you quickly retort. ?I?m not even sure where I am!?

?Like hell.? He looks up and down your disheveled countenance. ?I admit, thou dost not look a spy.? You inwardly take a sigh of relief. ?But that is not for me to determine. We?re going straight to the king.?

Your protests fall on deaf ears as he winds around town and towards the castle. Onlookers gawk, wondering if you?re a prisoner or another concubine for the king. The knight stops several times, speaking with guards and other nobleman. You gather he?s trying to gain an audience. It?s not long before he succeeds. Dismounting, he forces you into the castle and towards the throne room. Approaching the king, the knight stops about ten feet before him and bows. Hoping to gain his good favor, you do the same. But on your way back to an erect position, the knight pushes you to the floor. **** back tears, you stay on your knees, eyes towards the floor.

?And what is this?? commands the king. His presence is notable

?Your Grace, I found this tramp on my return from the village. She?s pretending to be a lost girl from Scotland, but I do not believe her.?

You can feel the king?s eyes bore down on you, yet you still don?t risk meeting his gaze.

?She has no Scottish accent,? the knight continues. ?In fact, her accent does not sound like anything I?ve heard on the continent. Her clothes are also very peculiar.?

?Miss!? the king booms. You look up. ?Whence comest thou? And what is thy name? Shall thee answer me with dishonesty, I shall have thee locked in our dungeon henceforth!?

You get the feeling that this would be the least of your concerns. Nervously, you manage to speak. ?My name is Gabriella, your Grace. And I hail from Kiev, a city near Russia.? You?re not sure if Ukraine would make any more sense than America, at least if you?re in the century you think you?re in.

The king continues to eye you suspiciously, but now with greater contempt. ?And what is thy reason for your presence in London??

You can?t lie anymore. ?I?I honestly don?t know. I woke up and didn?t know where I was. Then your brave knight found me and helped me.?

For a moment, you can sense as if the king?s eyes soften for a bit. Perhaps he wants to believe you. Or perhaps he?s deciding if you would make a nice treat for his eldest son. ?You look too weak to be a spy,? he says. ?But I still cannot trust thee. I need to know more about thy past before I can let you free. I admit I know little about Russian people and their customs. Are you Catholic, Protestant, or Jewish??

You feel it would best not to renounce God at this point and claim agnosticism. ?Jewish,? you reply weakly.

?That is all I need to know, then,? says the king. ?Sir Dyer, please lock her up until tomorrow.?

?Yes, your Grace,? he says as he picks you up off the floor. Quite roughly, he drags you through the castle and to a tower.

You can barely bear asking. ?What is going to happen to me?? you plead.

?Thou ist being placed in the Tower of London,? he says. That doesn?t sound so bad. ?Not long ago King Edward proclaimed the Edict of Expulsion, having all Jews removed from England. You will be placed here until the next ship is ready to export.? That doesn?t sound so good. ?Although, the king has been known to take pity on his prisoners before, and I sensed that he likes thee. Luck may shine upon thee.? He throws you in a dark room with nary another word, closing a heavy wooden door behind you. You hear it being locked behind you, as you pass out once more.

You?re in the white room again. Naked, once more, but no longer receiving pleasure from unseen hands. In fact, the room feels smaller, colder. Looking behind you, you find that the walls and ceiling have turned black. A raven is here, sitting on the floor beside you. He glares at you, with pity if you?re not mistaken.

The whispers start again. They?re louder and harsher than you remember, not soothing at all. It?s difficult to make out the words, despite the slow crescendo in volume. Your eardrums are banging. You suddenly feel very exposed, ****. The raven flies away, into the black, gone.

?Wake up!? you hear clearly this time. Wrenching yourself from sleep once more, you manage to pull open your eyes for a second. Looking over you is a young man, nineteen or twenty perhaps. ?Get up. We have to get you of here!? he whispers as loud as possible.

?Wait!? you manage to gasp. ?What are you tal?who are you??

?Shhh! Not so loud. We can?t wake the guards. You?re Jewish, right??

?Yeah, but who are you!? you plead.

He grabs your arm and helps you onto your feet. ?I have no time to explain. If you want to get out of here you?re going to have to trust me.?

?How do you know I?m Jewish? And why should I trust you??

?I?ll explain once we get out of here. You have to decide, now.? He holds out his hand. His face is hard and his eyes look cold.