“Even so,” Gaspard cut in, his smile never reaching his eyes. “A woman cannot own property in Thorndale. Thou knowest the law.”
I did know it. I’d just never thought it would apply to me, somehow. In my mind, I’d always been half-owner of this cottage alongside Papa. My father always told me my worth and to accept nothing lower. But the law saw differently. Women themselves were property, to be passed from father to husband.
“What exactly is thy meaning, Gaspard?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and drawing my shawl tighter, as if the thin wool could shield me from whatever was coming.
“I’ve come to offer thee a solution,” he said, straightening to his full, imposing height. “I will take thee in as my ward. Thou shalt want for nothing under my care and protection.”
The crowd erupted in cheers at this proclamation, as if Gaspard had just announced the end of winter rather than the subjugation of a grieving daughter. Their faces shone with admiration for their hero, their mighty hunter who always provided, who always protected.
My ears began to ring, a high, thin sound that nearly drowned out their voices. Gaspard as my guardian. Gaspard controlling where I went, what I did, who I saw. Gaspard watching me across the breakfast table each morning, across the dinner table each night.
Gaspard waiting until I was ripe for his picking.
He’d made no secret of his intentions toward me over the years. I’d heard him boasting to the other men at the tavern about my ‘child-bearing hips’ and ‘fertile figure’, as if I were a prize mare he intended to breed. I’d felt his eyes on me during church services, during market days, during village gatherings. Always watching, always waiting for me to come of age.
And now Papa was gone, and there was no one to stand between us.
“What about my things?” I asked numbly, playing for time as panic rose in my throat. “My garden, my herbs—”
Gaspard waved a dismissive hand, as if my life’s work were no more significant than a child’s collection of pretty stones. “Thou won’t need to concern thyself with such nonsense anymore. I have servants to tend to my gardens. Thou shalt learn proper wifely arts. Thou will learn cooking, cleaning, and minding children. Useful skills for thou’s gender.”
The hidden message in his words was clear as spring water: useful skills for when he decided to make me his wife. Not if—when. The heat behind his gaze made that abundantly clear.
I searched the crowd for a friendly face, for someone who might understand the horror of what was happening. Most wore expressions of approval or envy. The poor orphan girl, rescued by the village’s most eligible bachelor.
What a fairy tale ending. Oh, how I wished to gag myself into vomiting now.
Finally, at the back, I spotted Colette. Unlike the others, she wasn’t smiling or nodding. Her face was solemn, her eyes wide with something like dread. She alone knew my true feelings about Gaspard, had heard me confess my revulsion at his obvious designs on me. She alone recognized this for what it was: not a rescue, but a capture. He’d been hunting me, stalking me, but now he finally claimed me.
Our eyes met across the sea of faces, and I saw in her expression the same thing I felt in my heart. This wasn’t salvation. This was a funeral procession, and I was the corpse being marched toward the grave.
“I...” My voice faltered. What could I say? Refuse? And go where? Do what? I had no money of my own, no relatives to take me in. The cottage would be seized by the village elders come morning, as was the law with unclaimed property. I would be homeless, penniless, alone, and I’d lose everything handcrafted by my father’s hands.
Gaspard knew it. Everyone knew it. There was no choice at all.
“There’s no need to thank me,” Gaspard said magnanimously, mistaking my hesitation for speechless gratitude. “It’s what any decent man would do. We’ll come for thy things on the morrow.” He glanced past me into the cottage. “Pack only what thou need. I have everything else a young woman could want in my home, and furniture came from The Noble City itself.”
I nodded mutely, too numb to form words.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice dropping to a register meant only for me. “I’ve waited a long time for this. For thee.”
The threat in those words, thinly veiled as they were, sent ice through my veins. Gaspard stepped back, addressing the crowd once more. “Let us leave Isabeau to her rest. She has suffered a great loss today, and tomorrow brings new beginnings.”
More cheers, more congratulatory slaps on Gaspard’s broad back. The crowd began to disperse, torches bobbing away into the darkness like fireflies, leaving me standing in my doorway, rooted to the spot by horror.
Only Colette lingered, hesitating as if she wanted to approach but didn’t dare with Gaspard still watching. She mouthed something to me. Words I couldn’t make out but understood nonetheless. An apology. A warning. A farewell.
Then she too was gone, swept along with the tide of villagers returning to their homes, to their families, to their lives that would continue unchanged while mine lay shattered at my feet.
I closed the door with a hand that felt disconnected from my body, sliding the bolt home with mechanical precision. The sound of it echoed in the empty cottage like the final nail being driven into a coffin.
My legs gave out beneath me, and I sank to the floor, back against the door, knees drawn to my chest. First Papa, now this. It was too much. Too cruel. Too fast.
The Harvest Moon’s light spilled through my window, illuminating the table Papa had built, the chairs he had carved, the home he had made for us. By this time tomorrow, I would be gone from here. By this time tomorrow, I would belong to Gaspard Coventry.
Unless...
My fingers found the locket at my throat, warm against my skin despite the chill in the air. “Protect me,” I whispered to it,though I knew not how a piece of jewelry could save me from what was to come.
