Sentence The Twohundredandfortysixth
And in her chamber, Griselda of Longformacus watched as the door slowly opened, she was half-afraid, half-excited, and half-filled with a cold fear, the weight of responsibility heavy in her belly, she – a merrit wummin noo, an a virgin yet, forby, not the result of adamantine vows as those of a religious like her elder, Evadne, now a member of the Benedictine Sisters, for it was murmured in the villages
that there was too much of the boy in Griselda for either Man nor God to handle: what if it was The Maister, her now Husbandman, of whom she knew too little; she had not chosen him, but she had been in no position to refuse her Father, Gilbert Eglantyne of Longformacus, when he had made her cognisant of the Marriage plan, the only way, he had said, to discharge his debts and keep the Family Estate intact for her brother, Wee Gibby, only thirteen and in France being educated to succeed their Father as Laird of Longformacus; all she knew about The Maister of Kilquhenny was what her Father had told her when he announced that she was to marry this elderly bookworm in a few days: “he's auld, so he shouldn't be around for ower lang, and they say he has a wheen o dwarves tae fulfil his needs in thon auld hoose o his, so ye'll no hae ony work tae dae yersel, Hen, so am telt, or duties tae perform for him, if ye'll forgive yer auld Faither bein a wee bit cheeky,” and he smiled knowingly – though she'd not the foggiest notion of what he meant; and here she is on the civilised, feminine side of the oaken door while on it's antipodean – the dark, mysterious, untamed farther side, who knows or cares?