She was breathless by the time she reached their usual meeting spot. She was afraid, too. How could she tell him? What would he say, do? He had a wife. Oh, she had known that from the very start, but his vivid blue eyes, the sharp planes of his face - they froze her like an enchantment the first time she had seen him. It had been uncanny. And when he had spoken to her, smiled at her, as if she were the only woman alive - how could any woman resist that?
And now here she was. Ruined, for sure, unless he took care of her.
Surely he would? After everything they had said to each other, promised each other, between wild, sweet kisses; walking through the trees; under the night sky; on hot, lazy afternoons in the meadows beyond the edge of town. Surely everything would be all right.
Surely.
Father...he would kill her. Or disown her.
She waited.
He came later than usual. He cantered up on his roan horse, slid off, tethered the horse, and swept her up into his arms, spinning her around. "Ro...Ro, Ro, Ro, my armful of delight! And how are you today, sweetness?" He bent down to kiss her, and she quivered with delight, her lips opening beneath his. This was what she lived for, these stolen moments. But right now...she sighed and pushed him back a bit. He lifted an amused eyebrow.
"So serious, Ro!" he chuckled, putting a finger under her chin and tilting her head up. She took a careful step back, folded her hands in front of her, twisting the fingers awkwardly together, looked at the ground.
"I have news, Roderick." She glanced up at him, bit her lip. He waited, still amused.
"I am...with child..." Her voice faltered as she spoke. She looked back down at the ground.
He didn't say a thing. The silence grew, became a wall. She darted a quick look at him, and flinched. His smile had shifted, become stiff and uncomfortable. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself.
"Girl. How did that happen? I thought you village chits knew ways to avoid it?" She shook her head quickly, wordlessly, still focused on the ground, her long red hair blowing in the breeze. What? Did he think the village girls were magic of some sort, to stop nature?! Well, some might be, but she wasn't - she was just the tanner's daughter.
"Well." He was abrupt. "You'll have to do something about it."
She paled, looked up into his eyes, locked on. "What...?"
He snorted. "I certainly can't have my wife hearing about this. You'll have to go away, leave town. Maybe when you get back, we can see each other again. But it's probably not a good idea." He turned back to his horse.
She reached out, clutched his arm before he could mount. "Roderick! I canna do this alone! 'Tis your bairn!" She closed her eyes. "Please," she whispered. His hands - the same ones that had stroked her back, tangled in her hair, held her against him in the moonlight - peeled hers away.
"And why should I believe that?" He asked, a note of light scorn in his voice. "You were quite willing to lay with me, eager, even. Why should I think I was your first?" Her head jerked back as if she had been slapped. A spark of anger flared. "Go back to your village boys, see if one of them will wed you - "
The spark flared into fury. She tossed her head, sending her hair dancing. "Och! So that's it? Take me into your arms, whisper sweet words and promises, bed me, then, when I come to you for help, when your very own bairn is growin' in my belly, turn me away? What kind of man are you?!" she shouted.
He got up on his horse and looked at her dispassionately. "Well, pretty little Ro, I'll tell you one kind of man I am not: I am not going to be saddled with you and your child. Come, Ro - " His voice turned rueful. "One of those village lads is the best thing for you. These things happen, lass. You were a nice little spring and summer fling, but I have a wife. And commitments. So best you just toddle back to town, start working your wiles on one of those foolish boys, and everything will work out perfectly well for you." He wheeled his horse around, blew her a kiss, and cantered off, leaving her alone.
Alone.
She was alone.
She stood there a long time, long enough for her tears to dry. But the anger was still there. It kept her warm. She cuddled it, stoking it with his lies, his deceptions, his false talk of love on those wild, lovely nights. She ignored the rippling pain underlying it.
The anger would have to keep her going, because otherwise, nothing would.
He fingers, which had twined together with nervousness before, now clenched into small fists.
Time to start making plans. She drew in a deep breath and began walking back to the village.