Chapter 2................................................................................................

The trek through the forest had begun immediately after lunch was served. Marguerite would not of course let her shame and humiliation get the best of her. She proudly stuck her nose in the air as she grabbed her one small bag and stalked out of the castle doors, shocked at the immediate slam. She stopped and turned toward the castle, looking up at the grand towers that she explored as a child. And as the tears began to come at the thought that she would never see them again, James yelled at her to hurry up. Angrily, Marguerite turned to face him.

"Well, what is this? I hope being married to me brings this much sadness." He walked back to her. "I suppose I can be some sort of gentleman." He took her bag from her and offered her his arm. Marguerite just stared through her tears and quickly turned straight ahead. James's smile faded and he began walking "Well, fine, if that is the way you want it," he dropped the bag, "you can carry it on your own. Now, please follow me and try to keep up, Prin-... Oh that's right, Marguerite." She gritted her teeth and then the tears fell, silently. She followed him through the woods for an hour struggling with the bag and stepping in every hole and tripping over every root possible.

"Well, this bag is getting much too heavy. I can't just ask him to take it after that", she thought. "Well, Mr. Buxton, where exactly do you live?" she forced herself to ask as coldly as possible.

"About two hours more into the woods. I live at the base of a lake and small circle of trees. It is just outside of your father's land and the owner doesn't mind if I am eating the game on his land."

"He sounds very kind," she remarked, "Does he have a name?"

"You wouldn't know him. He is a wealthy Prince that doesn't stay in England very often. He likes to travel the continents. His name is Prince John Roxton."

"Roxton?" she said, "The name sounds dreadfully familiar, but I can't rem-.... Oh."

"What?" he turned.

"He was one of the suitors who came for my hand last night."

"Last night? You mean I am married to the woman Prince Roxton rejected?"

"I rejected him." She said staring at the ground.

"Whatever for?" he laughed.

"Now I'm not so sure," she said as she tripped over another root, dropping the bag.

"Well, your loss I suppose. At least I have a new hand to help me with my work. It is a pitty though. You could have owned all of these woods, the meadow, and the river that runs through his town of Avebury." He said as he reached for the bag. He looked back up at Marguerite. Seeing her tears, he remarked, "Now why in the world are you crying? Because you have to leave your glorious lifestyle with servants? Because you were foolish enough to reject every suitor in the land? Well, you can't do anything about that now. Now, let's get home. It's been a long day and I'm famished."

This made Marguerite cry all the more. She followed him for an hour more before her tears stopped. James turned to her. "We are almost there," he said.

"Well, if you don't mind, I would really like a rest."

"Oh all right, but not for long." He sat on a log, leaving plenty of room for Marguerite to join him. Marguerite in turn walked as far as she possibly could away from the spot and huffed down on a stump.
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After another hour of walking they finally arrived at the tiny hovel. The thatched roof was falling in and the house, or hut rather, was in need of all sorts of repairs.

"Well, this is it," he hunched over to go in the door.

"There are only two rooms!" she exclaimed "If this is the kitchen and that is your workroom, where am I to sleep?"

"Well, I have a cot and a few spare blankets. They will do."

"A COT! You expect me to sleep on a cot?" she cried.

"No, of course not, I expect you to sleep on the floor, the cot is mine," he smiled. The smirk of triumph was enough to set her off again.

"NO! I am NOT. I have wandered around in the woods for over three hours, I have left everything I have ever loved behind, I haven't eaten since noon, and on top of that I am beaten and bruised from every bloody rock and stump along the path. And if that isn't enough, I am married to the most insufferable peasant in the whole damn country and I am NOT, I repeat, NOT going to sleep on the bloody floor!"

"My, my, what a temper. Well, if you insist on not sleeping on the floor you may sleep outside." He laughed.

"What?!"

"I'm just joking, my dear wife, you can always share the cot with me, of course, we will be cramped, but-"

"Oh, no, I much prefer the floor."

"Well, I'm glad that's sorted out. Now what can you make for supper?"

"Supper?"

"Yes, supper, you do cook don't you?" he asked.

"No, I never had to learn," she said.

"Whatever do they teach you at your Princess schools? How to walk and speak, but not to cook?"

"I never had to go to one of those schools," she said proudly.

"Well you should have, look at the way you've been stumbling around so ungracefully like a new born calf, and as for your tounge..tsk, tsk, tsk...." he laughed merrily. At this he turned just in time to meet the wrath of Marguerite's fist. Shocked, he raised his hand to hit her back and she flinched. He caught himself, and stopped, smiling down on her. She looked up into his face, at his amused grin.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"You're quite attractive when you're angry," he smiled as he grabbed her wrist as she swung at him again. "Your father was right, you are a little shrew" He pushed her down onto the cot and turned to go outside.

"Where are you going?" she asked bitterly.

"To get some firewood for you to cook over."

"I told you I can't –"

"You'll learn" he replied slamming the door behind him. Marguerite let
out an angry shriek as she picked up a bowl lying beside the bed and
throwing it against the shut door.