A Game of Hearts

by Joanna Barker

I pulled on my gloves, hesitating a moment as my eyes caught on the thin pink line of my still-healing cut. For half a second, I hated the sight of it, marring the smooth skin of my forearm. But then I set my jaw. That scar meant I had survived. That I had people who loved me enough to dig through the night to reach me. I decided right then that every time I noticed my scar, I would say a prayer of gratitude for each and every blessing that I had.

“You want me to make a lady’s bow,” he had said slowly, eyeing me as if I’d asked him to help overthrow Parliament.

Teaching only increases one’s own knowledge.”

“It is certainly not the life I dreamed of,” I said, laughing softly. “But I am beginning to think it is the one I should have wanted all along.”

“Marigold,” he said fiercely, “I am to be your husband. I will stand by your side, no matter the battles you face. You will never be alone. Not now. Not ever.”

“It appears that the middle of an archery tournament is not the best place for an intimate discussion.”

“I know I was not your first choice, or even your hundredth. But you are mine, Marigold. My first and only choice. And I’ll choose you every day, without pause, for the rest of my life.”

She had no idea how often I did this, simply watched her in almost bewildered disbelief. This woman had somehow consented to be my wife. She had said the vows and taken my name, had moved with me to the dower house on Uncle’s property, and now lay beside me every night and every morning. I was not terribly religious, but it seemed something of an ongoing miracle.

My wife was a sound sleeper, I’d learned in our month of marriage, and she disliked waking as much as she disliked losing. It was time to use that to my advantage.