I am evil. This must be what you think. As I wander the length of the gallery, it looks like I am truly interested in the Vane family portraits and their respective histories (the polite versions, as told to me by Ulra). But I am only here to entertain myself.

Rain banishes me from the gardens and I am still not allowed to the stables. So, instead, I search a hall of the deceased for a great brown mole with a single coarse hair, high on a left cheek. I will know this to be Lady Malika once I find it.

Her tale varied some from one talebearer to the next. Sometimes it was a fairy that blighted her strong strong pride; sometimes it was a troll. Either version, her mole was a kiss from a wrathful creature that the lady had erred in crossing.

As children, we learned the cost of pride from this story. But now with just a few days in this place, I've learned other versions of these elusive grand people. And they are far different from their fantastic tales.

Ah, here it is. The mole is not that big and I see no hair.

What was it Ulra said? Lady Malika had an insatiable thirst for learning. It drove her to other lands in search of wise mentors and brimming libraries. She left as an attractive girl with a lovely face mark and returned as something else entirely. I imagine shunning her local folklore and reaching above her station was enough to consign her to trolls and alter her beauty in the eyes of the villagers.

I am nearing my lord's study when I stop at a striking painting of a raven haired beauty, Lord Vane's great great grandmother. Hers is a grisly end, told and retold next to the crackling common fire. I hope you won't mind if I save her tale for another time, although the gloomy weather is the perfect backdrop for it.

I head further toward the study and freeze when I hear shouting.

"WHAT KIND OF LORD ARE YOU?!" The man sounds like a growling bear.

Even from the place I stand frozen in the hall, I hear him heave hard for his breath. "YOUR PEOPLE DEPEND ON YOU AND THIS IS WHAT YOU GIVE 'EM?!"

If there is a reply to this, I cannot hear it.

"MY WIFE IS DEAD. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD! HERE YOU HAVE THE BEST CARE, EVERYTHING YOU NEED WITHIN THESE WALLS. ALL COFFERED BY MY FARM. I COULDN'T EVEN AFFORD TO HELP MY OWN WIFE BECAUSE OF YOU FILTHY LANDOWNERS!"

There is no time to retreat even if I had the presence of mind to. A red haired man thunders past me, his face distorted with unfettered hate. But I still recognize him.

Farmer Benru. His farm is a distance from the village and I hadn't seen him around in years.  His wife and two children, a girl and a boy, sell wares and goods at the market occasionally.

I knew her to be pregnant and, honestly, it has been years since she looked well to me. The village fishwives often said she was courting Lord Death.

When the sound of Farmer Benru's heavy footfalls fade, I come enough to my senses to leave the area as silently as I can. I find another hall to walk, my mind a pulsing mess. Four days into my marriage and I can't help but feel heavy with the accusations I just heard.

A woman, wife, and mother is dead. And my husband was just laid to blame through neglect. In what way exactly, I do not know yet, but the damage is done and my heart is wringing.

I stare at the rain, half tempted to step out in it, hoping it would wash this feeling away. More than half hoping it would wash this past week away.

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He hands me an adorable ball of fur which I proceed to bury my face in. It is the warmest thing I have felt since I left my father and cousins. Lord Vane...Gavriel, pardon me, is teasing that this little dog is the new lord of the manor, stepping closer to peek at the pup's face now buried in my hair.

I assume he has caught sight of the tears I was trying to hide.

And in the barest of whispers, I hear:

"Charis..."

He sounds as perplexed as I feel.

He waits a moment before speaking again, patting the puppy's back gently, as if it were mine.

"Charis, when the rain lets up, would you like to take a carriage in to see your family?"

I nod. It's all I can do.

"I will send a servant to inform them ahead of time so they can prepare for you."

This last part was meant well, I am sure. Thoughtful, I suppose, but I should laugh at the absurdness of it. Inform them ahead of time? Prepare for me?

What will they do? Rearrange the few chairs we have? Slaughter a cow for a feast? My family is not so grand as that. The chasm between he and I is wide.

"Let's find Ulra. She will help you find the necessities for his bed." Gavriel turns away.

I follow close behind, noting how slowly he is going, perhaps to give my eyes time to dry.

We find her near the kitchen setting down a tea tray. She seems startled to see us, then her brisk manner and unemotional facade transforms in an instant.

"Oooooooh! Look at this handsome pup!" Ulra coos, promptly removing him from my arms and murmuring words of adoration into his little floppy ears. His tail wags furiously at the new attention.

My heart plummets at the loss, but rises again when I see the warm pleased look on the maid I am growing quite fond of. I cannot help but smile. She looks as enchanted as a new grandmother.

"I guess he'll have to do until you two place a wee babe in my arms."

Gone is my lord at Ulra's timely comment. As he rounds the corner, I note the flush high upon his cheek.

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Chapter 5 End

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