Father Harndall had come and gone, and now it as just Lisbet and her dying husband in the quiet of the room. Harndall had given him is last rites and prayed for a long time by his bedside. Now Lisbet knelt on the wooden floor and prayed too as she had done every day many times since Cordell had become ill.

She did not know what to ask for anymore. At first she had prayed because she felt like she should. After all he was her husband and he was ill, it was a Christian thing to do. But as the weeks wore on and Cordell’s health steadily declined, she had found her prayers for his survival becoming more and more fervent, until she was begging for him to be spared.

She would have given anything for her husband to yell at her and call her a banshee or a witch. Anything would be better than this deathly silence, the pale, wasted figure lying before her, struggling for every breath. She had watched that face so long she felt like she knew every curve, every hollow. His superficial injuries had begun to heal but there had been no sign of the fever abating, and they had told her he would probably not last the night.

Was this how it would end, Cordell like a fish dragged onto the shore by a hook in its mouth, finally losing the battle for breath. Despair welled up in her and suddenly the grief was too much to bear and she stood up, almost knocking the chair over.

She thrashed around wildly, as though the movement would somehow abate her sorrow. Her head was whirling and she felt dizzy and short of breath. Her body shuddered with great, gasping sobs and her ears were ringing as darkness pressed in at the edge of her vision.

She managed to stumble to the edge of the bed and then collapsed onto the floor, leaning heavily against the bedpost. Her life was crumbling before her, all her cruel comments, her unfair demands and insults ringing in her ears. How could she have been so stupid? How did she not realise what she had before it was too late. She felt as though her eyes were open now to all the possibilities that had been before her and she had ignored. And now it was too late.

She gasped for air, retching, her heart pounding inside her chest. She couldn’t live with this pain, how could she go on another day like this, in a world without him. Her heart would surely break apart inside her chest, oozing blood until she was cold and dead.

She slowly stood up, her knees shaking beneath the weight of her body as she steadied herself against the bed. She had never shared a bed with her husband, never known what it was like to sleep next to a man. But tonight she would even it would be the only night she ever did.

She carefully sat down on the edge of the bed , as nervous as though it were her wedding night. But she would never have one, never have his children, never be loved by him. All these things would now be cruelly pulled from her desperately grasping hands, just as she realised how important they were to her.

Another wave of sorrow crashed over her and she hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face, her sobs muffled by the heavy fabric of her dress.

She maneuvered herself under the blanket, and tentatively pulled it up to her chin. Although she had shared beds with her sisters before, it was a strange feeling to know that there was a man in this one, her man, her husband. She should be giggling as he tried to kiss her smiling mouth, feeling his strong arms wrapping around her, knowing she was safe there with him.

Instead she felt like an intruder, as though she had accidentally climbed into the wrong bed and found someone there she had not expected. Worse, she felt as though her husband was so far gone already she may as well be climbing into the crypt to lie beside his cold, dead body.

She brought her small hand up to the pillow and stared intently at the wedding ring on her finger. She had been so angry to have it put there in the first place, this sign of possession. She had hated it so as though it had been shackles around her ankles instead, had even considered throwing it into the river. But now, glowing soft gold in the candlelight it seemed to her a thing of exquisite beauty and she wondered how she could have ever disliked it so fervently.

She carefully moved over, edging closer to the body of her unconscious husband. Even though he was so far gone nothing would have woken him, she did not want to disturb him.

She drew as close as she dared to his body, as near as she could be without actually touching him. She could feel that he was not cold, but very warm indeed, the heat of the fever radiating from him and warming the bed around him.

With a brief burst of courage she crossed the remaining space between them, burying her face in his long mane of hair. She had expected him to smell bad, he had been bathed during his illness but still he had been lying there for weeks, thrashing around in a fever. But he didn’t, he smelt warm and safe and with her body pressed against his she could almost imagine he were just sleeping and in the morning he would wake and roll over and smile at her. But it was not to be.

The tears began to roll down her face again, dripping silently onto the pillow. She had been so wrong. But now she knew and she wanted to say it even though it was too late. Perhaps it would be something to comfort him on his long journey to the land of the dead, or perhaps he would go cursing her name but she would say it anyway.

She brought her soft mouth to his hot ear and whispered gently the words she had never spoken to him.

“Cordell, I love you”.