a patchwork of large red handprints.
"Lark Willoughby, are you going to do as you are told and marry me?" he asked. "Because I will not let you up until I extract a promise that you will obey!"
To Lark, this was exceedingly unfair. Witches did not make promises lightly; their word was their bond. Once an oath of loyalty was made it was adhered to.
"Promise me!" Colin said, and brought his hand crashing down on the soft undercurve of her bottom.
"I PROMISE!" Lark shrieked, knowing she'd find no relief until she'd capitulated.
She continued to kick her legs even after Colin's broad, hard hand had ceased punishing the tender skin of her bottom. It was as if she thought she could kick the pain away. Colin held her as she thrashed herself into a state of exhaustion, then he turned her over onto his lap and held her close. He'd hope she soften and fold into his embrace; it bothered him that she was still rigid and stiff with defiance. Down deep he knew she was right. He was taking advantage of her situation to press her into a marriage he'd secretly wanted for as long as he could remember. But he believed just as strongly that once he and Lark were married, she'd realize that she loved him. It was her pride - her stubborn pride - that kept her from admitting it.
There was a knock at the door and Colin tipped Lark to her feet. She turned, rubbing her eyes briskly with the back of her hand, her face reddening to the same shade as her bottom as she worried whoever had come to call heard the sounds of her punishment.
"Reverend Fordham," she heard Colin say.
"Forgive me, but Rev. Fervor is eager for the nuptials to begin. He is convinced that that this is all just a ruse and since you left with Lark he's been convinced it was to spirit her away. He's sent me to escort you back to the church." The Reverend's tone was apologetic, as if he knew there was no good reason why he should be doing the bidding of this visiting clergyman. But like everyone else, he was afraid of Rev. Fervor's influence.
"The good reverend also disapproves of the two of you being alone without chaperone," he said. "He considers it a further sign of...."
"Of what?" Lark asked, turning towards him now. "Of my sinful nature."
"Lark," Colin sighed her name, tired of fighting. "Please prepare for the wedding."
Lark knew there was no time to run now, and that any refusal would land Colin in as much trouble as she. The men stepped outside so she could change, and when she emerged she looked starkly different than she usually did. The buttons went all the way to the middle of her neck and the dress, made her look more restricted than the flowing garments she usually wore. For Lark, the binding feeling of the garment reflected how she felt on the inside.
"You look beautiful," Colin said, and meant it even if he secretly preferred to wed her in the dress he'd always imagined - flowing white. He's always imagined they'd take vows in a woodland glen or under a bower. But as storm clouds gathered they headed towards the village church.
News had traveled fast and the townspeople stood in their doorways to gawk at the accused witch traveling to the church to marry the village trapper. Lark did not meet their eyes, but she could feel them. And two pairs of eyes she could feel more than the others. Lester and Gertrude Hatch stood in the doorway of their butchers' shop. Lester's expression was sullen. But his mother's expression was livid. Lark thought back to Gertrude's reaction when Colin had announced their plans to marry. Something was foot with the old woman and suddenly she felt shame for the pride that nearly had her denying Colin her hand. The old woman, she realized, sought a union between Lark and the doltish brute of a son. The thought sickened her and she reached for Colin's hand.
But as the wagon rolled by, Gertrude's desperation only increased.
"Come, son," she said, picking up her skirts and stomping after the cart.
"Where we going, mother?" Lester
"Lark Willoughby, are you going to do as you are told and marry me?" he asked. "Because I will not let you up until I extract a promise that you will obey!"
To Lark, this was exceedingly unfair. Witches did not make promises lightly; their word was their bond. Once an oath of loyalty was made it was adhered to.
"Promise me!" Colin said, and brought his hand crashing down on the soft undercurve of her bottom.
"I PROMISE!" Lark shrieked, knowing she'd find no relief until she'd capitulated.
She continued to kick her legs even after Colin's broad, hard hand had ceased punishing the tender skin of her bottom. It was as if she thought she could kick the pain away. Colin held her as she thrashed herself into a state of exhaustion, then he turned her over onto his lap and held her close. He'd hope she soften and fold into his embrace; it bothered him that she was still rigid and stiff with defiance. Down deep he knew she was right. He was taking advantage of her situation to press her into a marriage he'd secretly wanted for as long as he could remember. But he believed just as strongly that once he and Lark were married, she'd realize that she loved him. It was her pride - her stubborn pride - that kept her from admitting it.
There was a knock at the door and Colin tipped Lark to her feet. She turned, rubbing her eyes briskly with the back of her hand, her face reddening to the same shade as her bottom as she worried whoever had come to call heard the sounds of her punishment.
"Reverend Fordham," she heard Colin say.
"Forgive me, but Rev. Fervor is eager for the nuptials to begin. He is convinced that that this is all just a ruse and since you left with Lark he's been convinced it was to spirit her away. He's sent me to escort you back to the church." The Reverend's tone was apologetic, as if he knew there was no good reason why he should be doing the bidding of this visiting clergyman. But like everyone else, he was afraid of Rev. Fervor's influence.
"The good reverend also disapproves of the two of you being alone without chaperone," he said. "He considers it a further sign of...."
"Of what?" Lark asked, turning towards him now. "Of my sinful nature."
"Lark," Colin sighed her name, tired of fighting. "Please prepare for the wedding."
Lark knew there was no time to run now, and that any refusal would land Colin in as much trouble as she. The men stepped outside so she could change, and when she emerged she looked starkly different than she usually did. The buttons went all the way to the middle of her neck and the dress, made her look more restricted than the flowing garments she usually wore. For Lark, the binding feeling of the garment reflected how she felt on the inside.
"You look beautiful," Colin said, and meant it even if he secretly preferred to wed her in the dress he'd always imagined - flowing white. He's always imagined they'd take vows in a woodland glen or under a bower. But as storm clouds gathered they headed towards the village church.
News had traveled fast and the townspeople stood in their doorways to gawk at the accused witch traveling to the church to marry the village trapper. Lark did not meet their eyes, but she could feel them. And two pairs of eyes she could feel more than the others. Lester and Gertrude Hatch stood in the doorway of their butchers' shop. Lester's expression was sullen. But his mother's expression was livid. Lark thought back to Gertrude's reaction when Colin had announced their plans to marry. Something was foot with the old woman and suddenly she felt shame for the pride that nearly had her denying Colin her hand. The old woman, she realized, sought a union between Lark and the doltish brute of a son. The thought sickened her and she reached for Colin's hand.
But as the wagon rolled by, Gertrude's desperation only increased.
"Come, son," she said, picking up her skirts and stomping after the cart.
"Where we going, mother?" Lester
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