Days bled into one another, the cruel wind lashed across the fields, creating the sight of waves with the long grass. Thunder and lightning causing the animals unrest, the work in the fields no longer possible as a torrent of rain fell down upon the farm. The shutters closed tight, the stables secure and the mill wheel forced to stop for fear the sails would tear. Her home, a creaking fortress of wood, childrens toys, mementos from distant lands, now lay open to another.
Less cautious had the woman become, her heart once stoic, akin to stone and hardened through tragedy, was showing the faintest of cracks. In her mind, he was to be on his way soon, his leg healing well though still far from strong enough to walk unaided, yet, he stayed. It confused her, for her duty was done, not simply to this fallen rider but to her people. She had taken a broken, wounded man, sewed his skin, built up his strength, made him once again to the point where he may meet their foes, the sickening black tide that was a scourge on their land. Though now he spoke of remaining at her side.
Each day every honeyed word from his lips forced its way into her heart, her stone like facade crumbling with shared laughter, concerns met by reassurances, a pledge to teach her son and to give him the father figure he never knew. Though doubt, a firm companion of hers, refused to allow these words to be truth. Sweet promises turned to soft kisses, the request he gave never changing, to allow him to remain at her side.
With the change of weather came a change of heart, and it was upon this day, one where he would manage to venture from the farm to the mead hall with crutch in one arm, her the other, that she witnessed two things to aid her in her choice. A choice she knew she must make.
The mead hall was bustling, raucous music and laughter filled the air from those who sought respite from their burdens. The servers, some buxom, some slim, performed their duties well, keeping the mead flowing into the tankards of the men whose roving hands took advantage. Dogs chewed upon sinewy pieces of meat and bone, even children ran through with their ill gotten gains of bread and drink. Then there was him, a man known to watch her, known to try and court her, a man she had no interest in and her refusal for many, many seasons only seemed to be an encouragement. He had coin, a modest property and was portly, his face red from drink and his trousers tied beneath his overflowing gut, he also had the unfortunate habit of reminding her she was a spinster. His greying hair and ruddy skin reeked of the mead and the sweat of who knows how many days without bathing. Walking past him, he took his chance, grabbing her by the waist, he attempted to pull her into his lap, the mead making him far bolder than she would like. The matter lasted but a moment. Glaring she broke free, though, perhaps his hands loosened on their own accord for her companion glowered, raising the crutch of wood in a threatening gesture.
They sat elsewhere, away from the man who nursed his bruised pride with more mead, and they spoke, or rather they tried to. A serving girl, a little younger than she, yet pretty and provocative in the manner which she dressed, bent low beside her companion, her arm swept about his shoulders, her jug of mead in the other hand, and her bosom, barely contained at his eye level. The display from the server did not offend her, she had witnessed this many a time and it was simply as these girls were, friendly, flirtatious and there to bring pleasure, to a point. Yet, he did not respond as she would expect. His eyes did not linger upon the display of flesh, instead, he tipped the jug of mead a little higher by its base, encouraging the flow of the amber liquid into the tankard. He thanked the woman, and in turn she moved on to the next man in need of her company. It was then that they spoke.
His eagerness was clear, he wished to know what she felt for him, for his heart had been opened to her. He asked what promise he could make, what pact would appease her, and at this she had no words other than to bade him go one day, to the next, to see what might unfold. For she -could- not, no matter how much her heart wished it, she -would- not risk being betrayed again, and he was content, for the time being.
Yet, hearts are oft to blame for our actions, had only the mind been stronger perhaps she could have resisted him. Loneliness had taken its toll and as she lay in her bedchamber, listening to the crackling embers of the hearth, she knew what was her fate. From how he defended her when speaking of past lovers and from the drunken pawing of the man in the hall, to his clear adoration, the look in his eyes and the sincerity of his words. She was to allow all he asked of her, to be a father to her son, and to become his lover.
