The Sheriff's Wife

13th Century France.

Her name was Marie Bonneuve, or at least it had been before she got married. Married to Marcel de la Croix, the town’s man of the law.

He was a sort of mix between mayor and county sheriff, and she had been a foolish girl when she agreed to marry him. Or rather, she had not had much of a choice. When he had asked for her hand in marriage, who was she to refuse? He was powerful and wealthy, and would provide security for her for many years to come. It was the logical choice. Besides, he was not exactly difficult to look at either.

Marcel was a striking man; strong, healthy, tall and handsome. His hair had turned an iron grey now, but it was still thick and hung down to his shoulders. She felt safe with him – he was the man of the law, after all – while at the same time, in his presence, she was not actually safe at all. He was not much of a drinker, luckily, but he had a terrible temper and had no qualms as to taking out his frustrations on her, especially since she had proved unsuccessful to provide him with an heir to the family name.

Marie was torn between her feelings for him. On one side, she loathed him, and would like to see him dead. On the other hand, he was her husband, whom she had some twisted kind of respect for. She had thought of escape, but there was no place for her to go.

Her family would not welcome her return; not when she had been foolish enough to let go of a perfectly good life of status and position, in order to satisfy her own follies. No, she could not go back to them, and she could not get a divorce either. Divorces were not in God’s favour, and the church was against it. Leaving her husband was out of the question too. The only way out was for him to die. Could she really bring herself kill him, though? She was not so sure.

Most of the day, Marcel was out of the house, and Marie could do as she pleased. One day, that had meant coming across Henri Cloutier, a local carpenter, who had come to their house to build them some new furniture. As she had been instructed to have the furniture made to her liking, she had decided to keep him company, and to watch over his progress, coming with various ideas to what she wanted the furniture to look like.

There was an instant attraction between them. Even though she was only needed to meet with him on the first day of the build, she kept coming back. Henri was wonderful company, in her limited opinion, and he put a smile on her face. Finally, the days did not seem endless, and her husband’s outbursts did not matter so much. Gradually, the two of them had fallen in love, and for most of the time, they were oblivious to what was going on in the world outside.

To begin with, they kept their relationship strictly professional. She would sit in the same room with needlework to keep her occupied, while she watched him work. He did not feel her presence disturbing in any way, and although he had first been intimidated by who she was, he came to realise what a different person from her husband she was. It was such a crying shame a woman like her had become entangled with a man like Marcel de la Croix. The people of the town liked and respected the man, but at the same time, they feared him, as he was a little too good at his upholding of the law.

Henri came to enjoy her company, and they would talk about many things. Things which he used to ponder in his lonesome, but had never voiced with anyone else, because he had never felt the right person to talk to. Yet there she was – the sheriff’s wife.

She in turn amused him with stories about fairy folk and magic, of noble knights and fair princesses, and she would listen to his words and discuss his ideas at great length. All the while, he was creating some of the most beautiful pieces of furniture he had ever made. In a way, she was his muse. He was so gentle with the wood, carving it with such wonderful detail, and he made sure to make it smooth for her, so she would not get splinters.