“There is time enough,” Lord Polwarth said, then laughed, “though, with my fifty years, you never know. Snow, you stun the eye.” He took her hand as soon as he reached her side. “You are beautiful, my dear.” He kissed her hand to the annoyance of Thaw, who growled at him.

Eleanor had said something similar to her earlier when she had finished helping her get ready for the ceremony. Snow thought it kind of her to say, since she believed she looked little different than usual. A gold-colored tunic covered a deep green shift and Eleanor had swept her hair up in some fashion, though some strands were left free to partially fall along her neck.

“How kind of you, Lord Polwarth,” Snow said and eased her hand out of his upset that she felt a great unease at his unobtrusive kiss.

That was another thing she had given thought to, intimacy with Lord Polwarth. He seemed kind enough, and yet the thought of coupling with him left her feeling unsettled. And now that his kiss to her hand left her feeling uneasy, she worried how she would react to a more intimate kiss.

Did she follow through with this marriage or did she heed Slatter’s words and go live with them and be well-loved?

The door opened and a short, rumpled cleric entered, servants rushing to help him close it, the wind that rushed in with him too powerful for his frail demeanor.

“Gray clouds and wind, another storm brews,” he said, shaking his partially bald head.

Snow placed her hand on her stomach, wishing she could stop the churning from growing worse. Or was her upset stomach an omen she should pay attention to? What was it her mum had often said?

If a decision causes discomfort or doubt, pause and give thought.

In her sadness and self-pity, had she unwisely committed to something that wasn’t right for her?

“It is good we see the ceremony done with haste so that my new bride and I may be on our way home before the weather keeps us here,” Lord Polwarth said.

“But there is the small celebration that’s been prepared,” Willow argued, not ready to let go of her sister.

“I fear the weather prohibits us from lingering. We’ll celebrate another time,” Lord Polwarth said and once again took Snow’s hand. “It is time, my dear.”

Snow let herself be directed where to stand, her mind churning as much as her stomach. Did she want this? Should she stop it?

Did she love Tarass?