Rescuing Rapunzel

Copyright 2012, Candice Gilmer
All rights reserved - Lyrical Press, Inc.

“And look at that,” Penn said.

Nick spun around. They stood in a garden, neatly sorted with rows of vegetables interspersed with sections of green plants Nick did not recognize, but Penn was pointing at the long, golden rope that hung from the window.

It swung in the breeze, just waiting to be climbed.

“What kind of rope is that?” Penn asked. “I have never seen one quite that texture.”

Nick held up his arm, barring his friend’s steps. “Wait outside. Signal if someone comes.”

“Of course, m’lord,” Penn said, sketching an elaborate bow. “As the future duke, you get to have all the fun.” He heaved a mock sigh, but said nothing more as he went through the door.

Nick approached the rope with caution, and it was not until he got closer that he realized it was not rope at all.

It was hair.

Long, golden hair bound in multiple braids and twisted together.

He looked up to the window. That had to be twenty ells. Could he really climb it? Would it hold him? He wondered how many horse tails it would take to create such a long rope. Eventually, with no other option--he had come here to get into the tower, after all--Nick took it, and it was soft and silky in his hands. It felt, undeniably, like hair. Why would somebody make such a rope? Shrugging off his doubts, he braced his legs against the wall and climbed.

It seemed an age--and a very strange one at that--before he reached the window. The hair…the rope was smooth and fine as opposed to the coarse fiber of his prior experience, and he found himself slipping a number of times before he got the knack of it. When he finally pulled himself to the ledge, he swung his legs inside and was met by a blood-curdling scream.

“No, wait, please.” He held up his hands, palms toward her.

“Who are you? What have you done to my mother?” Rapunzel stood before him, wide-eyed and shaking, brandishing a pair of scissors at him. His muscles slackened, and his arms fell limp at his sides. He did not move, could not move, though it had nothing to do with the scissors, or not wanting to alarm her.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her skin was pale and creamy, her lips rosebud red, her eyes as startling as emeralds in a field of snow, and her hair…Oh Lord.

He had climbed a rope of actual, living, growing hair. Attached to her head.

Rapunzel made a stabbing motion with the scissors. “Well?”

Right. She had asked him a question. “I have not done anything to your mother.” Sense returning to him, he dropped to the floor. He put his hands up and stopped where he was, trying not to look threatening.

She scrambled backward until she reached the bed, where she waved the scissors at him with one hand while fumbling under the pillow with the other, never taking her eyes off him.

“You must have, she only just left. How dare you!” Her hand reappeared, clutching a dagger.

This was not going as Nick had hoped.