There was a disconnect in Arisa's mind at that moment.  The well educated noble paladin's mind was quick to spot several interesting 'clauses' in the marriage contract that certainly did not belong in a normal marriage contract.  But Tamilla's memory only focused on two things; that she'd become nobility and the large sum of gold to be paid to her parents.  Even as Airsa's mind screamed out that certain phrases bore asking about, she could feel herself instinctual reaching for the pen, just as Tamilla had done.<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><strong><br/>"...shall make every attempt to bear Master Fritz a heir within the first year of marriage..."<br/><br/>"...violation of agreed upon rules shall be seen as breach of this contract..."<br/><br/>"...understands that certain areas of the master's home are his domain alone and are off limits..."<br/><br/>"...agrees that the master's life prior to the marriage may continue regardless of her protests..."</strong></span><br/><br/>These lines and even more made Arisa's mind question what Tamilla had gotten into.  There was a clause about how the mistress of the house would become nobility and would be treated fairly and in a way befitting her new station.  But for the most of the contract, if one was smart enough to read through the lines, it read like a voluntary slave contract.  Arisa watched as her slender fingers dipped the quill into the ink well.  Tamilla had signed up for a life where her main job was to bear Master Fritz a child.  Secondary to that was to keep secret the kinds of debauchary he engaged in, follow his orders, and present a good image to the world.  Arisa was cleaning the quill on the edge of the ink well and watched as her hand lifted the ink laden quill out of  the inky glass jar.  Still, Tamilla knew that Master Fritz was an older man, not likely to live too much longer, another decade, two at the most?  Then she'd be the lady of the house, and her child or children would be wealthy and powerful.  She could stomach that kind of a trade, couldn't she?  It was better than grubbing in the dirt and eventually being married to a smelly farmer before spitting out a dozen kids, right?  How bad could it be?<br/><br/>Tamilla looked at the slender hand that held the quill above the page, and wondered why she was even hesitating.  Why did her hands look so pale and clean?  Her hands even looked like a noblewoman's hands already!  How odd.