All morning Joan had waited for the curse to manifest, even long after the moon had started its descent.
The weather was so damp, the sky so dense that for a moment the mirror of souls had glimpsed among the clouds. Yet her blood had remained silent and she wondered once more if the spread had simply died.
By noon rumors had come back of lord Mercier's raid as well as other affairs, but she could pay no mind to any of that.
So as they left their table Corentin approached and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Staying inside is bad for your health. What do you say we go out for a stride?"
Abelard was already heading out of the hall; this was no sudden whim, she deduced. It felt interesting but the werewolf was too preoccupied to go frolick in the fields and the last thing she needed was a warden.
"I would rather not." She pushed back his hand.
"Sorry, I formulated that as a proposal. I shouldn't have."
She tensed. It was feeble but it was there, some struggle by that human to defy her. If she didn't resist now, Joan thought, she would look weak and worthless.
How could it be otherwise?
Even knowing what those brothers liked, even if she was meant to be quiet and soft, that could not go against the most basic common sense.
Her troubled silence made him think she had agreed and so he went first, turned when noticing she hadn't moved and Joan, after a last hesitation, followed in his steps.
They went for the stables where the noble mounted a grey steed, was handed a spear and javelins that he fixed on the saddle before calling for two men to follow. He then turned to his future wife who remained on foot, her skirt already stained by the muddy bailey.
He offered her his hand.
"Come on, hop in."
She approached to take it but the horse balked. He held it by the reins, thought it calmed and gestured for her to try again. Again the mount reared so furiously as to nearly dismount the man. Servants approach to help him and he pushed them back angrily.
"This is getting ridiculous." Corentin groaned.
He pushed his horse toward her, so close as to almost shove her: it never came to that and once more stablemen had to help with the panicked animal.
Joan felt humiliated.
"Let me go on foot." Her angry voice offered.
"Just get on a horse already." Corentin answered in kind. "We can't have our future wife walking like a peasant on the roads."
"She already did, milord," Joan pointed out, "though the roads weren't as wet."
The noble rubbed his eyes. Two guards had already mounted to join him and, after a moment of thought, he gestured for them to approach. No matter how low his voice, she heard him order for them to follow at great distance.
In short, three horsemen would only amplify the strangeness of a lone lady walking among them.
"Fine. Let's see how you fare."
They departed, each on one side of the path, but he made sure she would walk a bit ahead for what little it mattered, and he himself followed at a tepid pace.
It was indeed a silly sight for the villager, that lady on foot escorted by a lord who had to hold back or outrun her.
She already recognized what direction they were taking, upstream and toward the sawmill. Around them the late harvest was waning, with kids still picking remains behind the sheaves. They guarded cows in other fields and watched them pass just as excitedly.
There was as much fear in their eyes as there was curiosity.
"I see." Corentin was leaning on his saddle. "So this is the pace at which you caught an assassin."
Her skirt was short enough to not drag on the mud and the boots could handle the puddles. But she too could tell how slow they were going.
She could also see that mud accumulate on the tissue, mud that was all but missing before. This had not escaped the noble either, but he made no comment of it.
"Does milord want to show me something?"
"Has milady anything she feels the need to see?"
Love, she thought. Love seemed to be sorely lacking in that village and those fields. If humans knew love, they hid it well.
She picked up the pace for sole answer until they were past the first houses and at the sawmill itself.
A carpenter approached, his shoulders low.
"Sir, good day sir," he pleaded, "what brings you to this quiet part?"
Behind him the saw slowly rose and fell, pulled by the even slower roll of the waterwheel. Men were cutting new logs into firewood that their kids carried back to dry. Further away, three of them finished pruning a tree of its last branches.
"First," the noble replied, "greet lady Joan of Cormoran."
"Ah, lady, good day, good day! Good health to you!"
She just waved it off, leaving the man worried.
"Second," Corentin continued, "we need a carriage. Our wedding comes in about a week and will be at a good day of travel, so it needs to be rich and comfortable."
"Sir, a carriage in a week? We would need months."
"You have five days. If you start from a cart, it should be doable. And if you fail," his eyes hardened, "you would cost us a whole domain. His lordship would not appreciate."
"Of course, sir! You will have your carriage in five days! Should it be enclosed? We don't... we have never seen a carriage before."
The noble just shrugged. He was so majestic, in his tunic and tabard, mounted without a stain on him but his weapons at his side and yet, his indifference felt so banal.
Had he even seen one himself...
"By the way," Corentin seemed interested again, "I heard someone was attacked by animals?"
"Yes! Thank you for your concern, sir! Rest assured, he is working again!"
"Good, good. What's his name?"
"Brenin, sir! He lives on the other side of the hamlet, the last house before the woods! Should we send him to the castle for you sir?"
The young noble didn't bother to answer, but turned to Joan and had his mount pace forward.
"Let's go."
She followed him away from the heavy labor and through the few houses where, at her passage, again the animals went into a frenzy. But this time so did the women at the sight of this knight and his spear.
"Milord," Joan noted, "how come you let them call you sir?"
"How come you let a sheep bleat? They have no reason to know how to address a noble, they are not meant to talk to us. Have no worry, their ladies and sirs have enough fear to satisfy a heart even as rabid as yours."
"I suppose." She frowned. "As long as they tremble at your sight."
"Well then, how come you haven't killed him for not saying goodbye to you?"
She stopped. They were almost out, she could already make out that house where the spread lived but it wasn't what had given her pause.
Joan had been so busy caring for how the noble looked that she had not even safeguarded her own pride. His remark was equal to having trampled her with his steed.