Gentle rain had begun to fall again, but it was too light, too soft, more of a mist than separate drops. She waited for the hard, thrusting downpour that must surely come soon and had been hinted at all day in the clouds. There were no stars that night and perhaps this added to her sense of being smothered by the waiting dark. The usual wide expanse of sky, peppered with gleaming stars, was not visible tonight. All was still, silent, heavy with portent. Until a sudden rap at her door broke through the quiet night and stopped her agitated pacing. Jeanne rose up from her bench at the foot of the bed, took a candle, and went to the door. As soon as it creaked open she heard the Baron's slurred voice. "I would see my wife alone, woman. Wait outside." Jeanne curtseyed and left, closing the door quietly behind her. It was not the first time he'd come to her chamber, of course, but she certainly had not expected him to try tonight when he was plainly beyond the last threads of soberness. Perhaps that was why he came, she thought grimly—he was too drunk to know the futility.
