They will say I am cursed, tie me to a stake, and then set fire to it.  I feel this is my luck.

At the very least, I will never be able to marry again. I prefer this to the first option. But I should not borrow worry as my lord is still breathing. I have not brought death to my new husband. Yet.

As the wedding feast wears on, I watch, alarmed, as his sickly grey skin turns a curious green by the firelight.  He has a habit of pinching the space between his eyes. And heaving deep sighs. I am doubtful this does much for him.

I try to place his age, but sickness is a sly fellow and is hiding it from me. He merely looks haggard and gaunt. His long black hair hangs stark and limp against his neck.

Had I known, I would have marched right up to the village fishwives who gossiped so falsely these few years and say...no, not say...I'd even be so bold as to shout: "Handsome?! Such tales!"

Of course all that would earn me is some bitter laughs and a higher price for the day's fish.

Indeed, I said I would explain the sudden but gentle emotion that stole over me at the ceremony's end. Indeed. But I have already forgotten it all due to a fresh dread.

As the sun slips behind the curtain of forest beyond our village, as torches wane, as guests begin to depart, I am reminded: this is my wedding night. What am I to do? Are we to hold hands again? I think it is far worse than that.

I notice it is only the wives giving me a fine share of pitying looks as they come to say goodbye. The men have only glances for my lord, loaded with smirks and sparkling eyes, and I cannot explain the sudden urge to shake the greasy grins right off their faces.

But none of this comforts me. Had my mother still been alive, I suppose she would tell me. She is not. And I am frightened.

"Would you like to rest?"

I nearly fall from my seat. His voice is deep and strained and I envision a mighty roaring river constrained to flowing from a tiny crack in the dike.

I should think he would like to rest. But I bite back the reply.

"Most of the villagers have retired for the night. We can head home soon," he says and half of his mouth lifts up. I think had he not delivered this small smile on the backdrop of a putrid color, it would have been a sweet gesture.

Home. What a transparent word. I do not quite feel I have one of those. No place is left for me at my father's and I can hardly imagine Lord Vane's as my own.

I drop my head lightly in assent. "Yes, my lord."

At this, the other half of his mouth rises and I am tolerably amazed at how I am handling so much dread in one day.

Chapter 2 End

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