Nimue’s smile froze on her face at Maric’s words.<br/><br/>"This is Nimue, my bride-to-be." He said, slipping his hand into Nimue's, giving it an encouraging squeeze.<br/><br/>She almost couldn’t breath and icy needles stabbed her heart. He was ashamed of her. Why else would he deny her in front of his family. From a hazy distance she heard,<br/><br/>"It is so nice to finally meet you!" Talia squealed excitedly, holding her hand out in greeting. "Faren has told us so much about you! I'm sure that he hasn't told us the best parts about you though. Ooooh, I'm so excited! It's like I'm going to finally have a sister!"<br/><br/>Nimue took the outstretched hand and managed to say the right words and the courteous gestures. What she wanted to do was to claw Maric’s eyes out and kick him in the shin, but SHE was married to the man and like it or not, she knew she would never disgrace him in front of his mother.<br/><br/>"Talia, stop pestering the poor girl." Their mother scolded kindly. "I am sorry, she gets very chatty when she is excited."<br/><br/>Nimue nodded and smiled with a genuine understanding while the sound of her breaking heart filled her head.<br/><br/>"Not unlike someone I know." Said the father with a chuckle. Nimue dropped a curtsy his direction, in a sweet acknowledgment of his office of father.<br/><br/>“Won’t you come in and rest?” Nimue said, beckoning the group inside. She set about seeing to the comfort of the parents and then said,<br/><br/>“Talia, I’m sure that Samantha wouldn’t mind sharing her guest quarters with you. And Maric, surely you will give up YOUR bed for your mother’s rest. Faren and Maric can grace the hearth or the stables.” Nimue said sweetly, with pointed looks toward Maric.<br/><br/>The rest of the evening was a blur and rage had dug razor sharp claws deep in her brain. Nimue was operating on her training that the Lady had pounded into her for the past two years. She was gracious. She was kind. She was gently spoken when she did speak. She kept her eyes downcast and played the part of a hostess to the hilt. When the sun began to set, behind the Tor, she excused herself,<br/><br/>“I must go to my HOME on the Tor. My Lady will be sore displeased if I should be out too late.” She said, taking her blue cloak from the peg by the wall. She curtsied deeply to Maric,<br/><br/>“Good night, my lord.”<br/><br/>And she was gone in a swirl of garments, closing the door softly behind her.<br/><br/>She ran, full out tilt toward the lake. Rupert was there, tippling a flask of whiskey but took one look at her face and straightened up. He didn’t utter any smart remarks either but commenced to rowing.<br/><br/>“Keep the ferry on the Tor side,” Nimue instructed him, “until the morning.”<br/><br/>She got off and heard a voice calling from the other side of the lake. Maybe it was Maric and maybe it wasn’t, just like maybe she was married to him and maybe she wasn’t. Turning from Rupert, she sped toward the path that led to the Tor. Tears blinded her and the twilight gloaming turned the landscape into a shadow. Head bent, eyes down, she never saw the men who hit her, tied her up and carried her away with her eyes and mouth bound as well. She would know, soon enough when she saw the blue stained tattoos of the men who had killed her son and husband.