“If you must.” She hoped he did not notice her flushing.
“Do not think of this as a proposal, merely a suggestion.” She glanced at the door as he spoke. “When the time comes and you are ready to pick a husband, may I suggest that you choose me?” He stared at her intently, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “I have two hundred arpents of land that stretch down to the river. I’ve already built a good-size house, though it’s not so large that it would take more than twenty cords of wood to heat in the winter. It’s large enough for a family of eight… ten if we’re lucky.” He held her gaze until she squirmed and looked away, then he continued in a soft voice. “I have less than some, though more than others, and I am grateful forwhat God has given me. What I should like more than anything in the world is you—”
“Stop.” Élisabeth held up her hand. Her fingers were trembling. Inside her belly it felt as though the demon danced, slamming its cloven hooves into her guts. Francoeur’s words were sweeter than anything Rémy had ever said to her. Yet she could not hear him out. His proposal was meant for some other girl—a passably pretty bride who could love a hodgepodge husband. Her task was to find Jeanne Roy and lift the curse. And then find a way to return home to her true love.
“I must go.”
“Of course,” he said, his smile fading. “It was merely a suggestion.”
Élisabeth gave the soldier a brief curtsey and started to leave. She was halfway across the room when Francoeur called after her.
“Wait.” He crossed the room and pulled a small bag out of his coat pocket. “I have a gift for you. My favourite fruit. Would you like to try it?”
She took the sack and peered inside at a few handfuls of small dark berries. She looked up at Francoeur. The only gift Rémy had ever given her was a rose, plucked from the vine at the front of the big house. A flower he had snatched back when his mother had rounded the corner and discovered them.
She took one of the tiny berries, no bigger than a currant, and put it in her mouth. The burst of sweetness surprised her. She looked up at the soldier.
“I like it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“They’re called blueberries.” His smile returned. “Take care not to get them on your clothes. The juice will stain.”
“Thank you. I think…” She could not explain what she thought. Not even to herself. “I am sorry I must leave you. I must attend my friend’s wedding.”
“Do you mean Mademoiselle Roy’s marriage? I am on my way to the chapel myself.”
“You are?”
“I could accompany you.”
Élisabeth clapped her hands together. “Yes, please!” She could have thrown her arms around this man, if she had not just refused him.
Sister Gagnon stepped through the doorway. “You appear to have come to an understanding?”
“Yes,” Francoeur bowed. “We have agreed that we should attend the wedding of Mademoiselle Roy and my friend Grandbois. May I have your permission to accompany this young woman to the chapel?”
“What aboutyourmarriage?” the nun persisted. “Are you ready to sign a contract?”
Élisabeth recoiled. “No! I-I don’t want to marry him. I only want to go to Jeanne Roy’s wedding with him.”
“Have you lost your senses?” Sister Gagnon cried. “You cannot go into town alone with this man. Not unless you intend to accept his offer of marriage. Don’t be so wayward, girl!”
Élisabeth staggered backwards.
Wayward.
She felt as though a beast had sunk its fangs into her stomach. The demon was rising inside her. It clawed at her with its talons, shredding her heart into ribbons. And why should it not? For surely the Devil never possessed someone he did not find to be in mortal sin.
The nun crossed her arms. “So, what do you say? Will you marry him?”
“I cannot.” She looked at the soldier’s hodgepodge hazel eyes, now downcast, and steadied herself against the rush of emotion sweeping over her. Sister Gagnon threw her hands in the air.
“Then you shall go to your bed and think about your situation. A bride who refuses to marry! Good Lord, what a thing. Francoeur, I am sorry for your wasted journey.”
The nun pointed at the door, ordering Élisabeth back to the dormitory. Élisabeth stared at Francoeur, who gave her a sad smile. Then she looked at the nun and saw the hard set of her mouth. She could not believe what washappening. Jeanne Roy was on the cusp of disappearing, and with her Élisabeth’s last chance to be rid of the curse. Without the witch’s remedy, who would want a barren bride? Barren, and possessed by a demon.
“Go!” the nun barked and Élisabeth fled up the stairs. She ran into the brides’ room and flung herself onto her mattress, her breath coming in short gasps.
Only then did she remember the small bag of blueberries in her hand. She sat up. The bag had been crushed underneath her when she fell. There was now a mottled blue stain on her chemise, right above her heart.
